#and no all of this has to come up only AFTER I’ve had therapy today!!!

[daincrediblegg]

Man why did I even go to therapy today when all I was gonna do is have a breakdown about my dad at the end of the day anyway

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware 

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know. 

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange. 

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption. 

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it. 

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.  

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge. 

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one. 

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart. 

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy. 

It’s why he’s here. 

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness. 

That’s what they promise you when you come here. 

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state. 

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. 

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him. 

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was. 

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize. 

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion. 

God is still under review. 

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them. 

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off. 

But Joel is distracted. 

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part. 

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha. 

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day. 

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long. 

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all. 

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be. 

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance. 

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well. 

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company. 

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter. 

That counted very much in Joel’s book. 

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch. 

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said. 

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change. 

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible. 

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body. 

“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out. 

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur. 

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name. 

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such. 

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all. 

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks. 

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple. 

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before. 

He’s the one to look away this time. 

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other. 

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years. 

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity. 

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such. 

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her. 

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother. 

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering. 

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him. 

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table. 

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry. 

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.” 

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth. 

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything? 

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound. 

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.

He might be losing his mind. 

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up. 

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously. 

He hasn’t the damndest clue. 

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name. 

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process. 

And now he knows you. 

-

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea. 

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky. 

It’s true, you’re alone. 

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of. 

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber. 

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution. 

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut. 

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it. 

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man. 

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this. 

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog. 

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now. 

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.” 

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought. 

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this. 

“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community. 

“Before this.”

“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots. 

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another. 

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now. 

Such fun. 

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts. 

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then. 

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him. 

You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat. 

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.” 

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands. 

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply. 

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.” 

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.” 

Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin. 

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

Everyone’s here for a reason. 

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew. 

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you. 

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another. 

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones. 

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like. 

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.” 

“Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line. 

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy. 

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”

“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface. 

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing. 

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters. 

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go. 

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats. 

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.” 

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out. 

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park. 

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow. 

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you. 

“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted. 

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.” 

You think it sounds right. 

“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back. 

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic. 

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold. 

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

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[feyhunter78]

Three Times Buck Wanted to Sleep with You (and the One Time He Did) Pt 2

Description: Weeks after drunk texting him, you get a call and much more from a very high and very honest Buck.

Part 1

“Y/N, my favorite girl, how are you doing this fine day? Don’t tell Maddie I said you’re my favorite she’ll be upset.” Buck says, his voice weirdly hushed but also loud at the same time.

You pull the phone away from your ear, double checking the time and pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“Hi Buck, I’m doing good, how about you?” You ask, slightly suspicious.

“I’m seeing pollen right now, and I saw this cat on the street that reminded me of you, and I just had to call you, it was so cute.”

You huff a laugh, and lean back in your green faux velvet armchair, your next patient isn’t due to show up for another half an hour, you’ve got time to entertain whatever this is. “That’s so sweet, but what do you mean you’re seeing pollen, is the count really high or something?”

“No, no like I’m seeing it, right in front of my eyes, and I think I’m hearing it too.”

Okay now you’re a little concerned.

“Buck, where are you, aren’t you working today?” You ask carefully, already sending a text to Athena asking if she’s anywhere near the station.

“Some convention center, there’s a bunch of tiny beauty queens here, tiniest ladies I’ve ever seen. Why wanna hang out?”

“Are—are you out in the field right now?”

“Yes, but you know you can always come by, you’re my girl, I always want to see you. Plus, Eddie and Hen are here too, they said you should come hang out.”

His girl, his girl, his girl. He’s going to kill you, always telling you that you’re his best friend, dodging all your sober and drunk attempts at seduction, only to turn around and do this.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to come to the scene of an active emergency, plus I’ve got a patient soon.” You tell him, pulling your phone away again to read Athena’s text.

Athena: Yeah, I’ve got the three of them in my sights, looks like they’ve been dosed with something.

“Aw boo, ditch the kid, he’ll survive a missed therapy appointment I missed a ton as a kid.” Buck says, and you can hear Eddie booing in the background, though you’re pretty sure he has no idea what’s going on.

Y/N: Dosed???? With what????

“Okay um we’re gonna circle back to that comment but Buck, are you high right now?” You stand and begin to pace.

Athena: We have to arrest them; think you can rein Buck in?”

Y/N: I’ll try

“High on life, on the sound of your voice, maybe I put a bit too much pre workout in my shake this morning.” He draws out the “e” sound in maybe, and you try to ignore how you can hear him smiling through the phone.

“Come on, I’m serious.” You say, biting down on a manicured nail worriedly.

“I’m serious.” He mimics, then he gets loud again. “Whoa hey Athena, no fair, I’m talking to y/n.”

“Buck, just let Athena put you in handcuffs, it’s for your safety and the safety of others.” You say making your tone soothing, trying to lull him into doing what Athena says.

“Call me baby like you did in the bar when you wanted that guy to leave you alone, and maybe I will.” He says, his voice teasing and low.

He’s such a brat, you can’t believe you’re in love with him.

You can hear Athena groan in the background, and you sigh heavily; your face flushing even though you’re alone. “Buck, baby, will you please go quietly with Athena?”

“Will you come bail me out?” He counters.

“You’re not going to jail Buck.” Athena says, flatly.

“How about I come to the station after my next patient, and you just sit pretty waiting for me?”

“You know I’d wait forever for you sweetheart.” He purrs, and your stomach flips.

“You’re so sweet, now let Athena arrest you, I have to go.” You say quickly, trying not to scream.

“Okay, bye y/n.” He says, and you can hear Eddie and Hen chiming in as well.

You race over to the 118 after your last patient, tapping your nails on the steering wheel, worrying at your bottom lip. Your shoes click against the concrete of the floor, and you take the steps two at a time until you see him. He’s half slumped on the kitchen table, but he brightens when he sees you.

“Y/N!” He stands quickly, closing the distance between you, wrapping you in a bear hug and lifting you off the ground.

“Buck—put me down!” You laugh, clinging to him for balance.

“No, if I put you down, you’ll leave again.” He pouts, his large hands going to your thighs, holding you up, your legs wrapping around him in an extra effort to keep yourself steady.

It’s not even necessary, Buck’s arms aren’t even slightly straining under your weight, it’s like you weigh less than a bunch of grapes.

“I just got here, I'm not going anywhere.” You tell him, face burning hotter and hotter the longer he keeps you in his grip.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He smiles, and your stupid heart skips a beat.

“Although you’re the one who ran out on me the other week.” You drawl, taking advantage of his diverted attention to draw circles on the nape of his neck with your nails.

“The other week?” Buck’s cheeks redden and he looks dazed, distracted, his squeezing your thighs every so often, an unconscious reflex or a side effect of the drug, you’re not sure.

You bite your lip and Buck’s eyes drift to it. “My apartment? Before all the craziness and the countywide emergencies, I offered to make you breakfast, and you just bolted.”

“Oh yeah…” Buck says, as he carries you over to the couch, sitting down, keeping you in his lap. “Sorry about that, that was rude of me, huh?”

“A little bit.” You tell him, hoping no one comes upstairs, because Buck might not have any shame, but you sure do.

“Let me make it up to you.” He says, giving you the most puppy dog look you’ve ever seen.

“Buck you’re high, we can talk about this when you’re sober.” You tell him, moving to get off his lap.

He holds you fast, his large hands on your hips. “You said you wouldn’t leave.”

Yeah, you’re definitely gonna bring this up to him at a later date, he needs to talk to a professional about his abandonment issues.

“Buck I can’t just be straddling you in your place of work, it’s not appropriate.”

He pouts but lets you move to sit beside him, keeping his hands on your hips. “Fine, fine, but seriously y/n, I’ll make it up to you, anything, tell me what I have to do.”

Tell me you love me, tell me you want me, tell me I’m not crazy. You want to say it, he’s high as hell, he won’t remember, but it feels wrong, like you’d be taking advantage of him somehow.

“You don’t need to make it up to me, we’re friends, I shouldn’t have expected anything more.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you mean?” Buck asks, his brows furrowed.

“We’re friends, you say it all the time, and I know I shouldn’t expect more than friend behavior from you, but sometimes I’m a little delusional.”

“And?”

“And?” Now it’s your turn to furrow your brows. “No and, that’s it.”

He shakes his head. “There’s always an and.”

“Fine, and I want more.”

“More friend stuff?” He asks, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt seeking out your skin.

“More than friend behavior. But I know you don’t feel that way, and really, we shouldn’t even be having this conversation right now, you won’t even remember—”

Buck drags you back into his lap, and kisses you, his lips soft, melding with yours, intent on devouring you, and fuck you’ve wanted this for so long, but you can’t, he’s not in his right mind.

You break the kiss, and pull back, stomach flipping when his lips chase yours, giving you that puppy dog pout he wears so well.

There’s a heartbreaking uncertainty that flickers across his face. “I thought—?”

“No, no you’re right, you thought right, it’s just Buck, you’re high.” You stress, cupping his cheeks, swiping your thumbs back and forth along his cheekbones.

“Yeah y/n, I know.” He groans, “everyone keeps reminding me.”

“And just like how you told me no when I was drunk, I’m telling you no now.” You say firmly, undercutting it by booping his nose.

He wrinkles his nose in response, all uncertainty gone. “Fine, fine, you’re a good person y/n, kinda a tease, but it’s okay I still love you.”

You swallow hard and get off his lap. “Yeah, let’s see how you feel when you sober up.”

Eventually Maddie comes to pick Buck up and you head home, thoroughly wiped by the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been on. Falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You wake up the next day to a text from Buck.

Buck: Fully sober, I meant what I said, did you?

Y/N: Yeah I’ve actually been flirting with you for months

Buck: I’ll be over in thirty sweetheart, and I’m bringing breakfast

[emlovessid]

@into-the-jeggyverse for the bingo prompt beard scruff, 662 words bingo masterpost

Regulus wakes to an arm heavy over his waist, breath fanning across the back of his neck.

There’s a moment where he wonders whether Barty drunkenly ended up in his bed instead of his own last night, and is ready to untangle their legs and kick him in the shin when maybe-Barty adjusts in his sleep, tightening the arm around Regulus’ waist and pulling him closer. He feels lips press lightly against his bare shoulder, unable to help the shiver that runs through him at the brush of beard scruff across his skin; Barty has never been able to grow anything remotely close to a beard.

Eyes flying open, he realises he’s not in his room at all. And that’s when it all comes rushing back to him.

Laughing over slices of pizza about the garlic bread James had burnt to a crisp; I swear to god I set a timer, I don’t know what happened.

James’ reluctance and eventual surrender when Regulus suggested watching a scary movie; you’re paying for my therapy after this, just FYI.

The space between them on the couch that became smaller and smaller with each jumpscare and blood-curdling scream from the speakers, until they were pressed against each other from their shoulders down to their knees. The way James’ hand darted out to grip his the next time he flinched, Regulus only hesitating a moment before stretching out his fingers to thread them with James’ and giving them a comforting squeeze.

The next part is a bit blurry for Regulus, all he remembers is that one minute they were both watching the movie and the next they were only a breath apart, eyes meeting for a moment before their lips brush, tentative at first until something snapped and they crashed together. 

He remembers the warmth of James’ hand as it slipped underneath Regulus’ jumper and met his bare skin, the taste of James’ lips as they parted at the touch of Regulus’ tongue, the sound of James’ moans as Regulus runs his fingers through his hair, the feel of James’ stubble against his chin, his neck, the inside of his thighs.

This time when he feels James – not Barty – adjust behind him, he rolls over to face him. He looks so peaceful in sleep, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, mouth parted slightly. He tries not to be embarrassed by how long he lies there watching James sleep, before Regulus eventually slips out from underneath him to head to the bathroom down the hall, heart tugging at the small whine half-conscious James lets out.

He’s just closed James’ bedroom door behind him when he comes face to face with his brother, a cup of tea in each hand on the way back to his own bedroom.

“Morning,” Sirius says casually, though the smirk at the corner of his lips makes Regulus nervous.

“Morning...”

“You slept with James, didn’t you?”

“What?” Regulus chokes.

With a wave of his hand, Sirius clarifies, “Well, at the very least you made out with him.”

“How did you—” he splutters, realising too late he’s just confessed, not that Sirius hadn’t somehow figured him out already with only one look at him.

“James and I have been friends for a long time. Over the years, I’ve been witness to a number of James’ hook ups leaving the flat the next morning. Unsurprisingly, all of their chins looked a whole lot like yours does right now.”

Regulus’ hand flies up to his face, wincing when his fingers press against the tender skin of his chin that James’ beard scruff has apparently torn to shreds. When he looks at Sirius again, he’s grinning triumphantly into his cup of tea.

“I hate you,” Regulus groans.

With a mock gasp, Sirius says, “I think you should be thanking me, actually. After all, it’s because of me that you even know James.”

He has a point, but Regulus isn’t willing to concede. Not today. “I still hate you.”

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Orbit - Act Two

Y/N has a little problem and it’s that she’s literally never alone. She hasn’t known what a little peace and quiet is for nearly a decade. When her therapist suggests a wellness retreat, she expects to be bored to death and just maybe learn to like meditation a little bit. She does not expect to meet someone that she has an insane connection with. Too bad it might be too good to be true.

You can find the masterlist here. 

Genre: medium au, a hint of soulmate au, heavy on the angst 

Pairing: Minghao x reader (featuring therapist!Jeonghan, best friend!Junhui, and ghost!Vernon, with a tiny bit of coworker!Seungkwan)

TW/CW: *deep breath* a lot of discussion of death and moving on (or not) afterwards, grief, trauma (specifically regarding a car accident), therapy, meditation, hypnosis, sleep disturbances, psychic abilities, discussion of mental illness and treatments, and explicit smut. MDNI. 

There are some difficult topics in this story and they are handled as delicately as possible, but proceed with caution if anything here might be upsetting.

Word count: 9.4k

Jeonghan sets a metronome in front of you and you glare at him. 

“I am not in the mood,” you warn, feeling particularly temperamental today. You’re running on next to zero sleep and the only reason you showed up today is because he’d give you a hard time for cancelling on him. Again. Jeonghan huffs at you.

“Y/N, you have to work with me here. I’m a therapist, not an expert in mediumship, but I’m really trying here.”

“Where did you even get that thing? And are you trained in hypnosis? You know it’s not a recommended practice, right?” Your tone is biting, and Jeonghan narrows his eyes at you across the coffee table. 

“You’re in a fine mood today,” he bites back. “And if you must know, I borrowed it from a friend and I did take a class. And I was the one that sent you the article saying it was not recommended, remember? But your file breaks all of the rules for typical therapy, so I’ve tossed out the rule book when it comes to you.” 

In the six months since your wellness retreat, Jeonghan had doubled down on trying to find things that could help you gain control of your abilities. He had seemed to fully accept that you were indeed a medium. 

Maybe it had something to do with you relaying a message for him from behind the veil. His grandmother was not happy about the woman he was dating. Jeonghan had thrown his notebook in the trash can and announced his resignation, particularly after you nailed the way his grandmother would have ranted about it. And yet, he was there the next week, ready to try something new. 

He’d pressed about how your wellness retreat had gone and you’d done your best to dance around the topic. Yes, it was insightful but it would take some practice. He’d given up on pressing for more details and just asked for you to send him the things you found insightful so he could research them. This had led him down the rabbit hole over the last few months and now today’s experiment was apparently hypnosis. 

You’re still glaring at him from across the table. “What’s your goal with hypnosis?”

“First, to see if it works,” Jeonghan bites, before huffing, settling into his seat, taking on a defensive pose that you almost call him out for. “I think it might since the meditation has been working. And I’d like to explore your lost time.”

You tense. “What lost time exactly?”

Jeonghan hesitates before finally saying, “I’d like to explore the lost time of your accident. But we can start with smaller bouts of lost time instead, if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know that it would be worth exploring the lost time during the accident. Supposedly, I was unconscious upon impact.”

Jeonghan nods, pursing his lips. “Maybe. But one thing I’ve learned from working with you is that you can’t assume that a word like ‘unconscious’ means ‘unaware’.” 

Your jaw ticks. He’s asking you to relive the genesis of all your troubles now. The only thing that could be worse than not knowing like you have for almost a decade is actually knowing. A lot of days, the facts you’d been given were enough. “If I… agree to this, how do you pull me out? I’m not interested in being re-traumatized on this fine Tuesday afternoon.” 

Jeonghan looks pleased that you’re even considering it. “We’ll use a code word that we establish up front. It would ideally have nothing to do with your situation and hearing it should break you from whatever you’re experiencing.” 

You can’t help but grimace a little. “You really have been to a hypnosis training, huh.” 

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Are you in or out? I have a back up for today if you’re out.”

You don’t have much to lose, except for maybe your sanity, but that’s been hanging by a very thin thread for a while. But missing your subway pickup might snap that thread just as easily. “I’m in.”

Jeonghan has you sit in the center of the couch, leaning back into the cushion. He says it’s important that you’re comfortable and relaxed. He even gives you a pillow to hold, musing that you can keep your defensive pose if it makes you feel safer. Then he sits up across from you, starting the metronome that faces you on the coffee table. 

“This is similar to meditation in the beginning. Watch the metronome, get in tune with the ticking. Maybe even sync up your breaths with it if it’s comfortable. When you’re ready, close your eyes,” Jeonghan instructs, sitting back in his seat. 

You’d gotten a little better at filtering and meditation, so you slip into that state with only a little resistance. Your eyes drift closed after a while, focusing on the steady click of the metronome amongst the noise. That noise starts to fade, but you hear Jeonghan somewhere in there. “Y/N, if you can hear me, nod your head.” You respond robotically. “Good. Our code word is ‘elephant’. If I say it, I want you to come back.” 

Silence stretches for a while and you do your best to focus on Jeonghan’s voice amongst the ticking when he speaks again. “Let’s go back to that night. You were driving right? What were you listening to?” 

You feel your body jerk in a weird way and then suddenly your hands are on the wheel. It’s dark and your passenger seat is full of bags. Jeonghan calls your name. “Some rock station, I don’t know the song,” you mumble. 

“Good. What were you planning to do that night when you got to your parents’ house?”

It’s not a memory exactly, but rather an active thought. You can’t wait to have dinner. Your mom is making one of your favorites because it’s your first time back home in nearly six months. “Hungry,” you say shortly. “Mom is making dinner for me.”

“You’re doing good, Y/N. How’s the weather?”

“Terrible. A lot of snow. I’m driving slow but it’s still slick.”

“Okay.” You wait, still ‘driving’ with your grip on the steering wheel tight. “Now, think about just before the accident. What do you see? Take a look around.” You look around, right and then left. There are no turns ahead yet but there’s a car coming your way on the other side of the road. The headlights veer in an unsettling way and then the light closes in on you fast. Panic slices through you. “Deep breath, Y/N. It’s a memory. It can’t hurt you. Slow things down. This is all up to you. Hit pause and look around.” Jeonghan’s wrong. It isn’t all up to you and you can’t hit pause because the car is on you in a heartbeat. But, unlike how your memory stops at that moment, you’re still conscious. “Y/N?” 

In the blink of an eye, you’re in the ditch, a horn blaring, but you aren’t sure which car it comes from. You look to the left. “It’s a tan sedan,” you blurt. 

“Okay. Can you make out anything else?”

You shake your head in this little vision of yours because you can’t. It’s too dark. There’s motion from the other car and even though you’ve sort of lived this before, relief floods you. Someone approaches in the darkness, but you can’t make it out. Whatever out of body you’re experiencing is starting to fade. Your neck and left side suddenly hurt. You’re in the car and yet you’re not. 

When it starts to become unbearable, you hear Jeonghan say, “elephant” and then you’re slamming back into your body. You squeeze your eyes shut because the light is too bright and all the noise makes you feel like your head might explode. All of it makes you fold into the pillow in your lap. The clicking stops and Jeonghan’s hand is on your back, a solid pressure that gradually brings you back to reality. He hands you a wad of tissues when you sit up. When you wave him off, he gets you some water and sits back down across from you, not looking relaxed at all. 

“Anything?” He finally asks. 

You shake your head, feeling defeated. “No. Not really.” The timer goes off and he turns it off, before pinning you with a long look. 

“Do you want to talk about it now? Or do you want some time to think about it?”

You feel so drained that the only thing you can say is, “I’ll see you next week.” He lets you go without a single snarky comment this time. 

You arrive to work a few minutes early and are kind of surprised by how many people are already there. Seungkwan spots you from the crowd and comes to meet you at your desk. “Did I miss a meeting invite?” You ask, scrambling for the app on your phone. 

“No. Didn’t you get the email?” Seungkwan asks, confused. You give him a blank look that must be answer enough. “Mr. Kim died yesterday.” 

Your eyes widen and you place the phone on your desk, giving Seungkwan your full attention. Mr. Kim was one of your managers, a sweet old man that was well past retirement age but enjoyed working to keep busy, particularly after his wife had passed and his kids had all moved away. His death isn’t a surprise exactly, but it’s still devastating in that he was such a positive force in the office. Everyone loved working with Mr. Kim. “What happened?” You ask weakly.

“He wasn’t feeling well and stayed home from work yesterday. When he didn’t answer the phone, one of his neighbors came to check on him. Must have gone in his sleep,” Seungkwan explains, clearly upset. You mask your relief because it’s not at all appropriate to show, but you think that it’s a good thing that it was in his sleep. You’ve seen what a traumatic death does to someone and you would never wish it on anyone, least of all Mr. Kim. 

“That’s awful,” you sigh. “Have they made arrangements yet?” 

Seungkwan shakes his head. “Not yet, but I hear they will today.”

You nod, letting Seungkwan drift to someone else as they approach with the same confusion that you had. You make it a point to not go to funerals for obvious reasons, but you’ll make the exception for Mr. Kim. 

Speaking of, you sit down at your desk… and see Mr. Kim. He’s sitting at his desk, twiddling a pen with a soft smile. He makes eye contact with you, raising the pen in his boney fingers like he���s waving at you. You smile to yourself, before wiping it away because it’s totally inappropriate amongst the grieving and log in to your computer. You have a feeling he won’t stick around for long, which is all you hope for Mr. Kim, even if you’ll miss him. 

You make it a point to not go to funerals, but you know you should show up to one with flowers when you go. After all, you had nineteen normal years to teach you those sort of things. 

You get to the area of town that the funeral home is in early and find the nearest florist shop. It’s a cute, little place, the exterior a dark red brick with pristine white shutters nailed around the wide windows. The bell dings above the door when you walk in and the shop is empty, save for you and a bunch of plants. 

Plants aren’t your forte, but you browse them. Most are too bright for the occasion - you don’t need a florist to tell you that. “Hey, I’m sorry, I was wrapped up in something.” 

You twirl at the sound of the voice, not because it came out of nowhere, but because it’s familiar. Minghao is standing behind the counter, clad in an apron, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks equally shocked. 

“Y/N? This is a surprise.” You feel warm all over at how his face lights up, like he’s genuinely happy to see you despite how you’d left things six months ago. You give him a shy smile back. 

“It is. I didn’t know you were a florist.” You glance around the shop before looking at him again. “This does remind me of you, though. It’s… comforting in here.”

He looks a little sheepish. “Maybe. I’m still trying to make it mine. I bought it off of the previous owner last year. I worked for her for years and couldn’t stand to see the place fall into someone else’s hands.”

You feel even more warm and fuzzy. “That’s thoughtful of you.” You both stare at each other for a long moment. “I’m… sorry I didn’t reach out. I feel stupid about it, but I lost your number somewhere between the airport and home.”

Minghao kind of looks entertained. “And here I thought you were just ghosting me.”

“No, not on purpose anyway,” you chuckle. 

He’s still smiling softly as his eyes sweep across you. “You look good, Y/N. Dare I ask what brings you here though?”

You’re not sure what kind of answer he expects, but he turns sympathetic when you say, “I’m attending a funeral in a couple hours.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Let me help you find something,” he says, walking around the counter to meet you out in the open. He takes you to a particular shelf containing some muted flowers. “Can I ask who it’s for?”

“One of my managers. He was a sweet guy, always looking out for everyone, particularly the younger team members,” you answer, feeling the sadness creeping up again every time you think about it. You haven’t had to grieve very many people in this way, though you’d sort of grieved plenty of people you didn’t know. Minghao’s hand brushes your shoulder in comfort and you suck in a breath as the sound mutes just like it did six months ago. He must think he’s done something wrong, because he pulls back quickly, going back to business.

“Roses and Lillies are typical choices for something like this. You can’t really go wrong with it. Marigolds work too.” You wait because he doesn’t seem totally pleased with any of these options when you glance up at him. “These are from you alone?” You nod. He abruptly spins, walking to the other side of the shop and you follow. “These are hyacinths. The purple ones symbolize sorrow.” You look at the flowers in front you and then up to him questioningly. He gives you a bit of a rueful smile. “Your relationship with this sort of thing isn’t really typical. You need something a little special.” 

You look up at him, blinking back tears. He might think it’s because of where you’re going later today, and it certainly contributes, but really you’re overwhelmed just like you were six months ago by how he just gets you. Your voice is a little watery when you say, “That sounds great.”

He arranges everything just so with a level of perfectionism that feels unmatched. You wonder if he puts that kind of work into every order. Perhaps he does. He seems like a meticulous personality, but you kind of wish this was something special for you and you feel selfish for the thought. When you pull out your wallet and ask how much you owe, he waves you off. “Minghao, please let me pay.” He stubbornly shakes his head, handing you the bouquet over the counter. You sigh, accepting them and holding them against your chest gently. “Thank you, Minghao.”

You aren’t ready to leave right this second and he must sense it. He walks around the counter, taking the bouquet from you and lying on the counter. Then he’s opening his arms to you and you don’t think twice falling into them. It’s not even the silence that is peaceful. It’s his scent and warmth and the way he gently rubs your back. When you eventually pull away, he beats you to drying your tears, hand lingering against your cheek. 

The shop phone rings, the tone shocking you out of the moment. “I’m sorry, I should let you get back to work,” you say, pulling away from him. He lets his arms fall but he doesn’t rush for the phone, watching you grab the bouquet and make your way to the door. Your hand is on the door knob when he calls out your name. 

“Don’t be a stranger. You know where to find me now.”

You smile and nod. You do know where to find him and you don’t know if he was ever really a stranger. You just don’t know what to do with any of that because the connection with him is scary in its intensity. 

You don’t have time to think about it because you have to get to the funeral home. 

Vernon nudges you awake sometime after 3am. You blink sleepily at him and you can already tell what he’s going to say because you’ve seen that face before. “Working again?” You mumble. 

“Yeah. It was a lot this time. Scoot over,” he says simply. You do as he says and he plops down next to you. You feel yourself dozing off again, the effects of the medication you took before bed still strong in your system. You hadn’t made a habit of taking it, but you thought you might need some help tonight after spending the afternoon at a funeral home - aka a hotbed for ghosts. “It hasn’t been quite that bad in a while,” Vernon muses, making you jolt from sleep.

“Had to go to a funeral today. I think I have some stragglers,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. 

“Ah,” Vernon says like it makes all the sense in the world. Maybe it does to him, being on the other side of the veil. 

“Vernon?” He hums. “Do you remember dying?”

He’s quiet for a long time. This is a topic that you don’t bring up often. He just doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. Eventually, he says, “Sort of.”

You look at him with hopeful eyes. “I’m not the only one with breaks from time?”

Vernon shakes his head. “No, you aren’t the only one.” He stares up at the ceiling for a while. “I remember drifting away. But I don’t remember a lot before that moment. One moment I’m with my friend and the next I’m staring up at a bunch of doctors and nurses, fading in and out.”

You blink at him in the darkness. In the nearly ten years that he’s been around, he’s never given this much information. “That must have been scary,” you mumble. 

Vernon looks at you with an entertained smile. “It’s funny that you of all people should say that. The only difference is that you didn’t drift away for good.”

“Can I ask you something?” You say. He raises an eyebrow, probably biting back a comment that says you already have. “Do you know why you haven’t moved on yet?”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Vernon teases. You pin him with a look and he rolls his eyes. “Sorry, sorry.” Then he gets serious. “I don’t know. It’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s just out of reach and I don’t know why.”

You nestle into your pillow a little more, lost in thought. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head at you. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. Life keeps going, even when it looks a little different. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

As you doze off again, you resolve that if you can ever figure out how to use this little gift, you’ll help him move on if he wishes. You just have to figure out how to do that first. 

Some Saturday mornings, you’re so restless that while you’d love to be in bed asleep, that doesn’t happen. You give up trying to go back to sleep around 5:30am and get dressed for the day. You kind of like to walk it off while the city is still sort of asleep. So you slide on your headphones and start walking aimlessly. 

You end up on the subway, riding for a while, then pick a stop at random really, getting off to walk the streets some more. Your mind is elsewhere and this isn’t quite the time loss that you and Jeonghan talk about all the time, but it’s certainly related. You don’t know where your mind is at when you end up in front of Minghao’s shop hours later. 

It’s a nice morning now, a little breezy but sunny at nearly 10am. You study the front of the flower shop. The lights are on but the sign on the door is flipped to Closed. You turn, thinking about where to go next. Your head is a little fuzzy when you snap back to reality like this, like parts of your brain are still booting up, and you don’t hear the shop door open behind you, too busy thinking about which line you should get back on, or if you should just hike it now that it’s daylight. The sunlight would be good for you, probably. 

“Y/N?” 

You spin, wide eyes meeting Minghao’s. He’s propped the door open, maybe to let some fresh air in. He smiles like he did last week when you stopped in and surprised him, but the longer he looks at you, his face starts to shift in concern. If he had any smart ass comment or cheery good morning, he doesn’t say it because he must sense you’re a little off kilter. “Do you want to come in?” 

Your feet carry you in without your mind really catching up. Minghao lets you ramble the store for a while, while he does some opening chores. You don’t hear him sneak up on you, but you know he did when the world goes quiet at the pressure of his hand on your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you help me water some of these?” 

You’re suddenly totally with it, looking sheepish. “Oh, I shouldn’t. I have absolutely no green thumb. It might actually be a danger to your business for me to even be here.”

His eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe he just hadn’t smiled like he is now. It’s relaxed and easy, soothing even. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” you snort. “At best, I’ll under-water it, and at worst I’ll drown it.” 

He picks up a small watering can from one of the shelves, handing it to you. He lets go of your shoulder and your eyes widen because the sound doesn’t rush back, at least not how it often does with him. It’s not a 0 to 10 sort of thing today. It’s more of a 0 to 5 at most. Not that you even know what to say about it, but he’s leading you to one of the shelves by the window, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

He keeps you busy most of the morning and you let him. A handful of customers trickle in, most for orders that are waiting for them already. You even handle a couple of those while Minghao consults with customers who aren’t sure what to buy. 

The afternoon is quiet. He’s taught you how to properly trim stems so you both are working on that when he asks, “feel better?” 

You feel so transparent around him, and normally that sort of thing would drive you up the wall, but you find it makes you feel safe with him. “Yeah, thank you for letting me hang out here.”

“My door is always open for you.” The ingenuity in his voice makes your throat clog up with emotion. “Do you wander like that often? You seemed kind of checked out.”

“Occasionally,” you say. “There are some gaps of time where I do that. I’ve been told it’s a stress response, but I don’t know.”

He’s quiet for a bit, but you know he’s not ignoring you. You know better than to think that. Whatever he says is always thoughtful. So you wait patiently, snipping stems. 

“I thought about you, you know?” You glance up at him and he’s not really cutting anymore, stem and scissors loose in his hands. He must think you mean about your last night together and he shakes his head. “Not like that. At least not as much as I was worried about you. I left that retreat wanting to see you happy, not being weighed down by everything you experience.”

You always feel so fucking emotional with him. You suck in a shaky breath, busying yourself with another stem. “It’s gotten… better. Incrementally, at least. I’ve kind of resigned myself to not having a cure for this sort of thing, but it’s not quite as suffocating as it once was.” You stop yourself before you tell him how much of an impact he had in just a few days on that. 

His gaze is sweet and you have to look away again, busying yourself with the next stem. You don’t know how many seconds, or even minutes, tick by before he finally says, “that’s great, Y/N. I’m really glad I met you.”

You give him a shy smile, hoping your eyes don’t shine as much as you feel that they do. “Me too, Minghao.”

Jeonghan gives a look that is crystal clear. That’s one thing about him, he does very little to mask what he’s thinking. He probably could (and he’d be far more ‘professional’ for it), but there’s something disarming about him choosing not to. It sort of takes the edge off of his typical bluntness when he speaks. 

Minghao squirms under Jeonghan’s look, which makes Jeonghan’s mouth tip upwards even more. Minghao knows he’s in trouble when Jeonghan puts his notebook aside, settling into his seat with a sly smile.

“Xu Minghao is twitchy. This should be something,” Jeonghan muses, waving his hand expectantly. “Come on, tell me.”

Minghao pins him with a look. “I regret ever calling you and making an appointment. You’re actually the worst.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You think that offends me? Someone threw a pillow at me yesterday and that was the gentlest of threats during that session.”

“You probably deserved it,” Minghao bites, crossing his arms. “You like to mouth off.”

Jeonghan still looks highly entertained. “That’s what I was told then too.” He finally settles, smile dimming to something more appropriate for therapy. “Come on. What’s on your mind?” Minghao blinks a few times. Jeonghan narrows his eyes and then groans, rubbing a hand down is face. “What is it with you people shutting down on me in the first five minutes?”

“Try having some tact,” Minghao smarts, picking up a pillow to hold in his arms. Jeonghan watches him move into the defensive pose, an unusual look flashing across his face, before he shakes it off. 

“Fine. Serious therapist face on now. What’s the deal today?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Minghao dodges. 

Jeonghan gives him a dry look. “You have an hour and you’re paying me to listen. So I have time.”

Minghao scoffs, looking anywhere but Jeonghan. He doesn’t like therapy. It requires divulging things that he feels are too personal, which he only does on the rarest of occasions. He knows that’s the entire point but it makes him squirm in a way that he normally never would. He sometimes forgets why he called and made an appointment almost two years ago, mostly because he clammed up in the first appointment and has stayed clammed up ever since. 

He’s also not prone to blurting out things, but he just spits it out because it might drive him crazy to hold it in any longer. “Do you believe in soulmates?” 

Jeonghan’s quiet for a few long beats and Minghao is afraid to look at him, opting to stare at a pot of fake flowers on Jeonghan’s bookshelf in the corner. Minghao keeps telling Jeonghan he’ll just bring some fresh ones in regularly and Jeonghan brushes him off every time. He thinks he might just do it one day without asking.

“I can’t say I’ve ever experienced something like that myself, but I’m kind of a fan of the concept. It’s pretty romantic. Why do you ask?”

“I met someone,” Minghao finds himself mumbling. 

He doesn’t have to look at Jeonghan to know that he’s intrigued. “Oh? Recently?” 

“Not exactly.” Minghao twirls the tassels of the pillow distractedly. “It was about six months ago. At that retreat. I ran into her again recently though.” 

Jeonghan hums and Minghao sort of wishes he’d pick up the notebook again. He hates when he makes a ton of notes, but he thinks he hates it more when he completely abandons the concept of notes altogether. “Fascinating.”

“Try to seem less excited. You’re supposed to be sympathetic,” Minghao practically begs. 

“You haven’t given me any information to be sympathetic about yet. And I wouldn’t think finding someone you consider your soulmate warrants sympathy, anyway. So I’ll need you to fill in the gaps here.”

Minghao isn’t really proud by how so not composed he is when he huffs, tossing the pillow aside and standing to pace. He feels Jeonghan watch him and Minghao’s sure he’s entertained. He’s never been a pacer in therapy, or really anywhere else in his life. He’s usually not even much of a talker. Jeonghan has to work pretty hard for the bits of information he does get in their sessions. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever connected with someone like that before. It’s something really special. To me, at least.” 

“And you said that you’ve run into her recently?” 

“I didn’t think I’d see her again actually. I don’t even know her last name or what she does for a living or much of anything else because it never even came up. And then I didn’t hear from her after we left the retreat. And then she just walks into my shop one day six months later. We were both surprised.”

“Romantic, something out of a movie, really,” Jeonghan muses. “Is she into all the spiritualist stuff too?” 

Minghao snorts. “Not really. At least, not much.” 

“Why is that?” Jeonghan asks curiously. 

Minghao wants to say more, wants to get it all off his chest, but it’s not his thing to share. “It’s hard to explain. But she started to come around to it at the end of the retreat.” 

“And does she seem into you?” 

The question shouldn’t blindside him the way it does, but he stops in his pacing. He rubs the back of his neck. He thinks you probably wouldn’t have slept with him that night if you weren’t at least a little into him. You don’t strike as the type to just do that. Not that it would be a problem, but you seem to like your space and a one night stand felt uncharacteristic. It makes him wonder why he seemed to be an exception. 

Jeonghan calls his name and Minghao is pulled out of his daze. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jeonghan’s smile is light, losing the look of pure entertainment from a few moments ago. He shrugs. “It’s worth exploring. I can’t make any comments on soulmates or anything.” He rolls his eyes, “but I’ve been researching some pretty interesting things lately, so… just see where it goes. What’s her name?”

“Y/N,” Minghao says, sighing a little, defeated. Jeonghan’s expression changes for only a flash before he is smiling lightly again. 

“See where it goes. Not just anyone shakes the Xu Minghao.” 

Minghao decides to take the leap. At some point today, anyway. When he works up the courage, that is. 

It’s a slow day at the shop. All orders have been filled and he doesn’t expect a lot of business today since it’s the middle of the week. There will be a rush after most people start getting off of work, but until then he has nothing to do. No orders. No watering. No repotting. 

That means he has all the time in the world to stare at your contact on his phone. 

It’s a pretty new addition, just entered into his phone a couple weeks ago when you last visited. It was you who thought to ask and he was elated to give his number to you. But since trading numbers, he hadn’t heard from you. Hadn’t seen you either. Since the beginning of all this, he’d decided to let you come to him. You seem like you wouldn’t like the pressure of him pursuing you. But he was getting antsy to be in your presence again. He wishes he had something, anything to do to keep him from almost calling or texting. He can’t think of a single time that a woman had made him so… twitchy. That was the word that Jeonghan had used. He’d known he was in trouble the moment he met you that first morning at the retreat. Then he thinks maybe that’s not totally true and brushes it off, busying himself with moving pots here and there in the window just for the sake of something to do. 

Minghao’s rewritten a single text a dozen times and finally feels satisfied enough to hit send when his phone buzzes and he almost drops it, heart racing. It’s a message from you. ‘Do you happen to be free tonight?’

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to reply because he needs some time to panic. Finally, he sends back, ‘You read my mind.’ He trades a few more messages with you to make plans.

Minghao closes up shop right at 5pm and rushes home to shower. His hands shake a little when he pulls up in front of your apartment building. He said he’d go up and get you when he was here, but he parks and turns off the car, just taking a breather. Pursuing this is simultaneously the best and the worst thing he could do. But he would be helpless to turn you down. He’s felt that way since he met you. 

He jumps at a small ‘knock knock’ on his passenger window. It’s dark but he knows it’s you. He just knows. It’s so ridiculous how all his panic drains as you open the door and slide into the passenger seat, giving him a soft smile. 

“Sorry, I got impatient,” you say sheepishly. Your words make all of his insides do little flips. You look pretty, hair pulled up in a ponytail away from your face. You’d followed his instructions, dressing warmly in thick leggings, a sweatshirt, and boots. You’re also wrapped in a puffy coat that swallows you. It makes him so fucking soft and he can’t believe you’re in his car right now. You reached out to him this afternoon to see him.

“That’s okay, I was just about to come and get you anyway,” Minghao answers, feeling sort of shy. 

In the darkness, it seems like you might flush a little. It’s strange because you usually seem so unaffected by those sort of things. Until you two slept together on the last night of the retreat, he really assumed that things were one sided. He’s still not sure if you feel anything close to what he does, but he’s hooked regardless. 

“What did you have in mind?” You ask gently. 

Minghao blinks, coming back to reality. “I was thinking a night drive, maybe look at the stars.” He watches the corners of your lips turn up, eyes turning a little entertained. “Unless you don’t believe in that sort of thing either.”

You snort and he thinks it’s one of his favorite sounds. It’s the type of thing that couldn’t be attractive if anyone else did it, but he loves when you do it. “Hao, I’ll go look at the stars with you. You don’t even have to ask.”

Minghao can’t help the big smile that spreads across his face. This might be the first time he’s felt giddy. “Buckle up.”

Nearly an hour later, he parks in the middle of nowhere outside of the city. He meets you at the hood of the car with a blanket, holding your hand to help you climb on and lay down. When he’s laid down next to you and tossed the blanket across both of you, he finds that you’re already looking at him. Your hand lands on his chest at the exact same time that he throws out his arm for you to slide into. He suppresses a deep sigh once you’re curled up into his side with your head on his chest. His hand curls into your waist and he thinks this must be what peace feels like. It’s what he’s been after for years. 

Minghao kind of thinks you might have dozed off when you surprise him by turning to look at the sky. “So what am I looking at here? Be my tour guide.” He tilts his head down to look at you and you meet his questioning look. A little playful pout falls onto your lips and he really has to resist kissing it off of you. “What? You were my tour guide at the retreat. You know about stars too, right?”

It’s his turn to snort. “Not that much, no. I just think it’s pretty.” You chuckle against his chest and you can probably feel how his heart races. But he still tells you want he knows. It eventually devolves into just finding your own shapes in the sky. But at some point, he realizes that you’ve stopped looking at the sky and are looking at him. He gives you a curious look because he doesn’t quite understand the expression on your face. It’s vulnerable but he doesn’t know what it means. 

“Are you always this romantic?” You ask like it’s a serious question. 

“No,” Minghao says automatically. “At least not like this.”

“Oh, so I’m special or something? You don’t take women out to look at the stars all the time?” You tease, grinning up at him. 

He absolutely cannot help reaching out to brush your cheek. He likes how your eyelashes flutter at the touch. “You’re very special, and no, this would be the first.” He bites his tongue to keep from saying it will probably be the only one too. He can’t imagine doing something like this with anyone else. It would feel too hollow and performative - a strong attempt to be romantic, whereas with you, it’s effortless.

You still look vulnerable, your big eyes staring up at him, but there’s something sobering about your expression. “Hao? What’s happening here?”

That’s such a loaded question and it makes him hesitate. It’s not that he wants to be dishonest - far from it. But there are some things he just doesn’t know how to say yet, so he opts for something he knows is true. “It’s what you want it to be.” 

“So you feel something then?”

Again, such a loaded question. “I feel a lot when it comes to you.” He brushes some baby hairs out of your face. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

“Oh, thank god,” Minghao sighs. 

You aren’t totally sure how you got here. You and Minghao eventually get cold while laying on the hood of the car but aren’t ready to go home so you both climb in the back seat. As you warm up, it starts with taking off your coats, then your sweatshirts. And now you feel like you’re dripping sweat as you’re nearly naked in Minghao’s lap as he sits in the backseat. 

The tone of this is different than that night at the hotel. It certainly doesn’t lack the intimacy and passion, but it does lack some of the gentleness he used last time. There’s even a tinge of desperation that makes your head spin. You’re enjoying it, the way he grips your hips and leaves some stinging bites on your neck and chest before soothing the sting with a sweet kiss or a soft sweep of his tongue. The back and forth of rough and sweet has you on the edge, gasping for air before he’s even felt how wet you are. 

Minghao finishes sucking a bruise onto your collarbone, sighing against the sore spot between little kisses. “You sound so pretty. Do you feel good?”

Your mind is numb in the best way. Not only is it silent, but you couldn’t imagine thinking about anything besides him. Nothing else exists outside of this car to you at the moment. “Yes,” you mumble, gripping his shoulders as he starts another bruise on your breast this time. “Can I have you?”

He groans against your breast, his fingers digging into your hips roughly. “You already have me.”

Last time was slow, almost painfully so. This time, it’s painful how much time it takes to yank his sweats and boxers down to his thighs and to pull your panties to the side. He maneuvers you by the hip, helping you slide down on him. The deep sigh that he lets out into your ear rattles our brain and when you’re fully seated, the rush from moments ago is gone. Like last time, he stays buried inside of you, totally still. You fold into his neck and his arms wrap around you tightly, hands soothing up and down your back. You wonder if it will always end up being less about the sex and more about the intimacy with him. He took you to the sky last time, of course, but what you remembered the most in the months that passed since then was the way that he held you close like this. 

You have no idea how long you sit in his lap like that. It’s only when you place a mindless kiss on his neck that the fire lights up in you again. The moment your lips hit his neck, you feel the little vibration of the sound he holds back. You place a few more kisses there, testing the waters. But the moment he tilts his head to give you more access, you’re all over him. As you kiss and suck spots onto his neck, you feel him tensing under you - his shoulder under your hand raises a bit, his fingers dig into your waist, his cock twitching inside you as his hips jerk up on occasion. It makes you grind a little and you love how he becomes putty in your hands. A moan falls from his lips and it spurs you on, lifting your head to press your lips onto his. His tongue dips into your mouth as you lift your hips and lower again, starting a slow rhythm. 

Your thighs ache when he finally pulls away from your lips to whisper against your lips, “I’m close.” 

“Come inside, I’m on the pill.” 

The words seem to light a fire. His eyes pinch closed and his hand flies into your skewed underwear to rub your clit. It all has you gasping, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelm. “Please come. I’ll come with you.”

The promise throws you over the edge, back arching. His hands slam you down to take him deeply and he holds you there, burying his face in your neck as he comes. The feeling is totally consuming, just like everything else with him. 

When you both have come down some, you both relax. He slumps back into the seat and you slump into him. You both have long caught your breath and the sweat has started to dry when you chuckle against the skin of his neck. 

“What?” He asks sweetly. 

���This will sound stupid. But does this mean we’re together?”

You’re sort of afraid to look at him, but he doesn’t make you. You feel his heart underneath your hand and it makes you feel better that you aren’t the only one. His hands sweep up and down your back in a way that you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of. “That’s what I’d like. Do you want that?”

You place a little kiss on his neck. “Yeah,” you whisper. “That’s what I want.” You swear you feel him sigh underneath you.

Minghao is laying in your bed next to you. It’s become a habit over the last month or so since getting together. He likes being in your space and you must like it too because you’ve already given him a key. When you did, he asked if you were sure and you’d given him this look that he still can’t figure out before insisting. 

He kind of feels like he’s floating with you. He gets the stuff that kept him grounded out of the way - he knows your full name, and what you do for a living, and where you’re from. All those things that you both would already know if you had more than a couple minutes of normal chitchat when you first met. But truly, your surname doesn’t matter, and neither does your job or where you’re from. Nice to know, sure, but your answers would have had very little impact on how consuming his feelings for you were becoming. 

You both had dinner together tonight and he agreed to stay over. It’s really his favorite thing, the domesticity of it all. He thinks he’ll never get tired of it. Like now, you’re curled up into his chest, snoring softly. You say you get better rest when he’s here. He does too, even though his night is no less active than usual. 

When he dozes off, he knows the moment that he slips away from his body. It’s happened enough times over the years that he knows it’s not just simple dreaming. Jeonghan calls it drifting. Minghao remembers how perplexed he’d been at his therapist’s word choice, but Jeonghan wouldn’t budge. Maybe it was because things like lucid dreaming or astral projecting didn’t fit into his textbooks or any version of the DSM, at least not in any sort of diagnosable way. Minghao knew that dreaming was really a huge question mark for psychologists, so he had resigned himself to Jeonghan or any other therapist not really being able to fix his issue. 

The drift looks different every time, like he’s standing in a different spot in the room every time. This time, he’s right where he fell asleep, in bed next to you. He can’t feel you curled up next to him, though he can see you. But he sees other things when he drifts. 

At the moment, that’s Vernon, sitting at the desk watching the TV on mute. It’s not the first time he’s seen Vernon. “Do you ever leave?” 

Vernon snaps his head in Minghao’s direction, a guarded expression on his face. “Yes, quite often actually.” He whispers. Minghao doesn’t quite know why he does that, but he thinks maybe Vernon is afraid of waking you up. Minghao still doesn’t understand everything, but it seems like people like you can peek into other planes. Vernon had likened it to a building. He’s upstairs, but when Minghao drifts, he drifts upstairs through the ceiling, usually without meaning to. And you, well… you know exactly where the stairs are whether you realize it or not.

“And you check up on my girlfriend all the time, why?” Minghao prods. 

Vernon rolls his eyes, turning back to the TV. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been visiting her for nearly ten years. You’re the one that’s truly new here.” 

“Do you have a crush or something?” Minghao teases, ignoring the unsettled feeling in his stomach. 

Vernon rolls his eyes again. “You know, I’ve hated you since I met you.” Minghao rolls his eyes back. “No, I don’t have a crush. It’s just that I’d consider her a friend and I worry about her.” Vernon crosses his arms, leaning back into the chair. “Plus, I can’t move on, so…”

Minghao doesn’t quite know what to say because that’s pretty far outside of his wheelhouse, no matter how spiritual he is. Vernon stands, turning off the TV and stretching. “Leaving?”

“Yeah,” Vernon says. “You guys are gross and I’m not needed anyway.” 

“Not needed?” Minghao echoes, confused.

Vernon gives him a look that says, ‘are you stupid?’ “There’s no line. She’s actually sleeping. Seems to be something you can handle, so that means I’m going for a walk.”

Minghao blinks as Vernon leaves, looking around the room. Huh. There is no line. He wonders how long that’s been the case. He doesn’t drift far from his body, just in case. 

It’s on a Sunday in late November when it clicks for Minghao. He’s at your apartment again. The shop is closed today so you and Minghao take it slow this morning. It starts with the sex. He thinks calling it sex is too crass. It doesn’t capture the depth of the moment accurately. He laughs to himself a little as he’s washing your hair in the shower afterwards because ‘making love’ doesn’t feel like it really comes close either. You think he’s laughing at how you’re squinting to keep soap out of your eyes and you scold him lovingly without even looking at him. It doesn’t click then. 

You guys make breakfast together. Since you both have the time you make a big spread, not just some toast. He listens to you chatter the whole time. He thinks he would have never gotten to the point where you talk the way you do with him now. You were so tightlipped when he met you. But he thinks he’d never get tired of the sound of your voice. It doesn’t click then. 

You wash the dishes while he dries them. He makes a smart ass comment and you flick some water at him. The air is sweet, overwhelmingly so, and he really can’t help the grin that’s spread across his face. He gets the cheesy phrases that he used to roll his eyes at. Weak in the knees. Heart racing. Brain empty except for anything to do with you. Head over heels. That last one in particular always made him chuckle, but he gets it now and never wants to not feel that way again. It doesn’t click then. 

It’s chilly, but you guys decide to grab your coats and go for a walk. It’s brief but he holds your hand the entire time. When you guys settle in again at your apartment, he goes to make some tea. You both sit on the couch and watch the TV on a low volume, drinking your tea. When both mugs are empty, you throw back your blanket and lay down, opening your arms to him. His brain stalls out. This is when it clicks. 

There’s some emotion bubbling up in him and his eyes prick with tears that he tries to blink back. He likes taking care of you and protecting you. Likes how you seem to feel secure around him when that seems to be sort of uncommon for you. But when you look at him like that, offering him a warm place to lay under the blanket with you… well, it crushed him in the best way possible. 

Minghao crawls to lay half on top of you, face pressed into your neck. Your arms fold around him and then the blanket comes around you both. That emotion might eat him alive, especially as you start to comb your fingers into his hair. 

“I love you.” Your fingers stop in his hair and he can feel your pulse quicken under his lips. “I’m in love with you. I don’t think it could ever be like this with anyone else.”

You pull back, making him meet your eyes, and his body floods with relief that there’s just as much emotion swimming in your eyes. “I love you too. In love with you. Nothing will ever compare for me either.” 

You both meet in the middle, kissing sweetly. Then his face is back in your neck and your fingers are combing through his hair again. 

He says it at least ten more times that day, if only because he needs you to know how much he means it. You say it back and kiss him every time. 

Jeonghan looks up from his computer when Hana enters his office with a soft knock. She doesn’t look happy to see him, but he isn’t really surprised by that. He’s kind of surprised she hasn’t quit yet, honestly. The downside of dating your receptionist, he guesses. When you break up, things get awkward. 

“I’m heading out,” she says curtly. “Are you staying?”

He bites back a smart ass comment like ‘obviously’, because she has her puffy winter coat on and her bag on her forearm and he’s buried in handwritten notes to type up. Obviously, she’s leaving and he’s staying. But he doesn’t need to give her another reason to hate him. So he nods evenly. “Yeah, I’m going to finish some things up. Go home and have a good night. Be careful.”

There’s a little flash of emotion that she masks almost right away. Their breakup wasn’t bad exactly, but she’d been much more into him than he had been into her. It felt unfair to string her along, so he cut it off as kindly as possible. He didn’t blame her for being bitter and he certainly didn’t blame her for feeling a plethora of emotions bubble up when they did have to interact. He’d be in the wrong profession if that sort of thing bothered him. 

Eventually, Hana nods. “Don’t stay too late. I’ll lock the front door behind me.” And with that, she’s gone. 

He finishes up the stack of patient notes and sighs, turning off the overhead lights and opting for his desk lamp. He grabs a glass and bottle of alcohol from his bottom desk drawer. It’s been one of those days, otherwise he wouldn’t reach for such a vice. He talks to clients all day about bad habits, and tries to not be a hypocrite when he almost lectures them. But the first sip takes the edge off, so he finishes that drink and pours another. He’ll need it because he’s been putting this off. 

The file is buried under a bunch of things on the corner of the desk. He got it weeks ago and has been hesitant to pull it out so it got buried. The tab on the file folder has a date of nearly a decade ago. He takes a deep breath and flips it open. 

He likes a mystery, mostly because he likes to toot his own horn when he’s smart enough to solve said mystery. But this one hasn’t been straight forward, not by a long shot. He needed more information, so he made a few calls. 

He kind of feels like he’s swimming in the deep end when he finally opens the file and picks up the first page inside. Your name is at the top of it, amongst others. 

It really is what you said it was. A not-so-freak accident in bad weather. No driver was deemed at fault because it’s described that even emergency vehicles and tow trucks had a hard time that night getting to the location of the crash. 

Vehicle descriptions are also there. Your black sedan and as well as a tan sedan. That last detail sends a little chill up his spine when he reads it. Occasionally, he doubts your ability, but according to the report, there should have been no way you knew it was a tan car because you were indeed unconscious when emergency personnel responded. But you did under hypnosis. 

He wonders if you’ve seen this report, but he thinks better of it because you’re so avoidant of everything to do with this situation. He thinks about the months that you dodged even addressing it beyond, “I got into a car accident.” He’d had to put in some serious work for you to even tell him how you felt about that accident. 

Objectively, looking at the pictures, he thinks everyone involved could have died. Jeonghan wonders if he should bring any of this up. Your appointment is tomorrow. 

He closes the file, stashing it away in a desk drawer, and finishing his drink. He feels kind of bitter because he’d hoped the contents of the folder would hold all the answers. 

That night, he sleeps restlessly, eventually giving up and opening his laptop. There must be 20 tabs open and he flips between them, well beyond laughing to himself about him, a psychologist, browsing metaphysical sites and articles about psychic abilities, active dreaming, and… soulmates. This whole thing makes him want to scream. 

He resolves to have you try hypnosis again tomorrow. There are dots he can’t connect and he needs you to help him, if only so it saves his sanity. 

[kadextra]

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about current lore, so it’s time to ramble my thoughts/theories/analysis whatever you wanna call it >:D

(long post get ready)

Alright, let’s talk about q!Cellbit… there is a lot happening with him rn. It’s been so crazy keeping up with all the enigmas lately

(these next thoughts about the character will all be centered on the idea that this is indeed him doing the worker murders, and he’s not being framed.)

His emotional state is unrestrained, and returning to past ways of violent behavior from the days of war and prison. he’s not repressing his feelings anymore, no more holding back. I could go on about these emotions and what they mean for him, but instead I’m gonna talk about the strategic reason I think q!Cellbit would want to kill the workers to begin with. I strongly believe that even if he’s in madness, no way is he mindless. his intelligence is sharp like the point of a dagger, and aimed straight at the federation. this is a plot of revenge on the “little bear” after all. “his toys will keep falling until he pays for everything.”

This is a guy that’s always careful about not leaving traces in all the investigative work he does, but here q!Cellbit is choosing to leave the bodies around the main spawn area where everyone can see, complete with encrypted messages next to them meant for Cucurucho to read (intercepted by q!Bagi) that so obviously leads right back to him. an intentional move, he stated in one of the messages that it’s a show and he wants people to watch- wants Cucurucho to watch, and hopes for the hunt to continue. though I think by being so obvious, he ultimately intends to get caught. ofc it’s not turning out the way he wants because q!Bagi is getting there first, but he is still set on a self-destructive path that I can only see ending up with him going down in a fight… but only after damaging the federation to a degree they can hopefully not recover from. which we know is his goal, he said as much in his last conversation with q!Bad.

Back then, q!Cellbit talked about how he realized that since q!Bad kidnapped Ron, it caused the federation to get into a lot of problems, he saw how going after the workers could cause some big damage. in the federation’s reports it’s shown how they had to put vital resources that would’ve gone to finding the eggs & pacifying the chaotic islanders into their own internal affairs, because all the workers were freaking out over the kidnapping. it was bad enough to make them need to hire psychological professionals to give therapy, send out people to search for Ron, and assign guards to the A-ranks so they could move safely around the island.

All the employees were already in constant fear over the past several weeks that they’d be the next one to disappear… and now here comes q!Cellbit turning the fears into a living nightmare.

Fast forward to today with workers being targeted left and right. as for why it’s only B-ranks? maybe because the A-ranks are too hard to catch alone right now (Bad also had trouble) but B’s are still a high level and can cause some major chaos as seen by Ron. and they just keep on dropping.

q!Cellbit’s building on this snowball of terror that q!Bad set off, all to crash into the federation and send it into even more disarray. it’s working. which gets even more chaotic when you factor in how he’s not even the only one doing something like this right now. q!Etoiles is unintentionally adding to it by breaking into federation facilities on behalf of the resistance and mercilessly taking out more workers. plus how the federation doesn’t even know q!Quackity has A-rank Fred locked in a jail. (or maybe the higher-ups know. tbh I still don’t know how qQ did this and still think the situation is sus. I have the theory that the federation let it happen as fred’s punishment for getting close to an islander)

Agent 18 told q!Foolish that all the employees are scared out of their minds right now with the danger of kidnapping + getting assassinated by the killer. they are staying shut inside the office cubicles and are too afraid to go outside alone. Agent 18 literally stepped out for 5 minutes, heard a small noise and it was enough to send them running back to hide

it’s clear that the federation workforce is now in shambles, and honestly I wonder how many might be getting disillusioned with the federation’s ability to protect them…. because yeah they are very weak right now. which is why I believe the federation has been introducing all this new tech to cut the losses: Minimes to give the workers an army as protection (failed because it was stolen by the islanders) and Cucuruchito placed at spawn, one of the main islander meeting points, and where it just so happens the worker murders are

Cucurchito is intended to passively gather intel for the federation, which I think they’re in dire need of because I am seriously doubting in the federation’s ability to know anything about what’s happening in these current events. they are in a rough state, just as confused as we are about where the eggs disappeared to, the islanders are all going crazy. they don’t know what the dark matter is and also somehow lost the president in the nether, there’s an obvious egg who’s supposed to be dead running around which they aren’t doing anything about. they got distracted from Ron’s case, don’t know Fred is missing, who the culprits behind both that and who is doing the worker murders are. employee morale is below negative.

but everything is a-okay because they have this little creature now!!! he’s the perfect solution :3

okay that’s the end of my rambles :D

I love the lore and as always, hope for future events to be unexpected and surprise me!! it’s really nice to have theories confirmed, though I also enjoy getting proven wrong ^^ excited to see what happens next, it be chaos on these quesadilla island streets

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Some time ago you answered the question what if Quaritch's case was retried and he regained custody. I wonder what if the court ordered supervised meetings between Quaritch and 16 year old Spider to start with, and the place where they were to be the home of the current foster family, the Sullys? How would a meeting go, considering the hatred of the Sullys and Spider towards Q?

Oh the Cabin Custody Au (part 1 and part 2) I loved writing that au so I’m happy to expand on it.

So I’ve read up on the reunification process between a parent and a child who’s been taken away by C.P.S. So from my understanding of things the process all depends on why a child was taken away. C.P.S and the courts comes up with a path to reunification that the parent has to follow in order to get their child back. That sometimes includes therapy, A.A meetings or parenting classes. In Quaritch’s case he would have voluntarily done a psyc evaluation as part of his court evidence that he is mentally stable and so the judge wouldn’t have him do therapy (even though he totally needs it)

So then the meetings. Again this is just my understanding of things but supervised meetings are overseen by a social worker or an agreed upon guardian in the court house or a visitation facility. They can take place at a home or park but only if the court allows. In this case since Quaritch and the Sully’s have beef that’s been well documented in court the judge would never allow the Sully’s to be part of Spider’s visitation. So the meetings happen at a visitation facility. Norm was Spider’s social worker until Quaritch argued that Norm being Jake’s best friend had a bias against him and couldn’t be impartial. So the courts assigned Spider a new social worker and he does not like her. She a complete Karen, fake nice and unsettling. She picks him up from the Sully’s four times a week to see his dad. Spider resisted the first few times, refusing to leave the house but Karen threatened to call the cops to force him to comply. Spider didn’t want to put the Sully’s through that so he begrudgingly goes.

Quaritch always gets there super early. When Spider is pushed into the room his face lights up. He’s so excited to spend time with his son even though he knows the boy wants nothing to do with him. Spider made that abundantly clear when the verdict was handed down. Quaritch went to hug him. Spider stormed out of the room. Now the boy is huddled in the corner, glaring at him, looking ready to lash out at the smallest provocation. Karen had given Quaritch a list of helpful talking points to try and engage his child in conversation so he asks, “how was your day.”

“Complete shit knowing I had to see you today.”

“Miles,” Karen shrieks, “there’s no need for….”

Quaritch holds up a hand, “it’s okay. This is a lot. I get that. He wouldn’t be my son if he didn’t have a spit fire attitude.” Quaritch smiles fondly at him. Spider dies inside refusing to speak for the rest of the meeting or any meetings going forward. Quaritch still tries to talk to him though, all calm and gentle. And it reflects well on him. Karen has to take notes to give to the court so she says that Quaritch is patient and kind with his son despite the boy’s attitude probably. She suggests Spider goes to reunification therapy, though this only stays a suggestion, the court never orders it.

So after a few weeks Quaritch gets bumped up to unsupervised visits. Jake won’t let Quaritch anywhere near his house so he drops Spider off at the chosen location. Jake doesn’t want to drop Spider off at all but everyone knows if Spider doesn’t attend his visits then Quaritch will accuse the Sully’s of keeping his son from him and then who knows how messy that’ll get. So Spider goes, meeting his dad at the park. Jake and Quaritch glare daggers at each other but for the sake of not ending up in court they don’t speak to each other.

When Spider approaches Quaritch tries to pat his shoulder only for his son to buck the touch and round on him hissing like an animal. Quaritch sighs, “well what do you want to do kiddo? We can grab something to eat, see a movie, i can take you to the skate park or….

“Can I go back to my real home?”

“Sure. In another two weeks when I move up to weekend visits you can come home. But for now what should we do?” Spider doesn’t answer, scowling. “Oh fine, I’ll surprise you then. Get in the car and let’s hit it.”

Spider runs off in the opposite direction instead. He’ll make his way back home on foot if he has to. Quaritch having expected this jumps in his car and follows him. Spider can run pretty fast but obviously the car is faster. Quaritch is driving by the sidewalk yelling, “you know if you go back I can say I didn’t get my full time with y’a. That’ll look bad on the Sully’s. I can go to court and say…”

Spider stops, rolling his eyes with a groan, “fuck fine, y’a bitch. Let’s just get this over with.”

Quaritch take him to a retro themed dinner where Spider gorges himself on food trying to hurt his dad’s bank account. His dad just chuckles and goes, “damn kid y’a sure you’ve had enough or do you need more.”

After to Spider’s surprise Quaritch takes him to the art museum. They don’t speak much while there. Quaritch just trails after his son as the boy happily runs from piece to piece.

The rest of their meetings are similar and then it’s time for a weekend visit before everything will be a done deal. Spider is determined to be a little terror the entire time. His dad just thinks it’s funny. Quaritch takes him shopping to get whatever he wants for his bedroom, a whole new wardrobe, a new laptop and anything else Spider’s heart desires. Spider once again tries to hurt Quaritch’s bank account but also is just a complete brat in the store in his attempt to humiliate his dad and get a rise of him. But it doesn’t work. Quaritch laughs at him and says, “boy do you really think I can’t see what you’re trying to do? Now stop this silly shit. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

When that fails Spider decides he’s going to give himself a black eye and blame his dad. He’s in his room, winding up with a metal thermos when Quaritch just barges right in, “Miles dinner is - what are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Spider hurries to hide his thermos, “haven’t you ever heard of knocking!”

His dad smirks, hands clasped behind his back, “you weren’t plannin’ on giving yourself a shiner with that thermos we’re y’a?”

Spider smirks back, “maybe I was. Who do you think the courts would believe? The kid with the black eye or the convicted felon.”

Quaritch moves his hands revealing his phone, recording their whole conversation. Spider’s stomach drops “Me. Don’t try that dumb shit again. Now come down for dinner.”

After that it’s a done deal. So all in all Quaritch and the Sully’s wouldn’t really come face to face because they all know they’ll just break out into a huge fight that’ll lead to some messiness in court. Spider would make things hard but Quaritch would know what’s up and be patient with him.

Thanks for the question 💞

[alice-after-dark]

back at it again with my shitty fandom hottakes — if you’re still accepting asks about the whole “canon v. fanon” thing, that is — because i have ✨ opinions ✨ that have been ruminating in my head for a while now and i kind of wanted to throw them out into the void (i DO humbly apologise for the length — i have more than one talking point and am not known for my brevity lol)

(1) Alastor being sex-repulsed, or just sex negative in general.

yeah, we’re getting the controversial one out of the way first: probably should clarify that i personally AM a sex-repulsed aroace and therefore, i can See why people, including our fellow aces, naturally come to this conclusion — really, it’s only when people tote this statement as fact *specifically* to deter shipping that annoys the hell out of me. Alastor is a mysterious character: we REALLY don’t know much of anything about him in the grand scheme of things beyond what he *chooses* to reveal and that includes the matter of his sexuality — and frankly, he doesn’t reveal much of anything on that front, man doesn’t even know what an “asexual” *is*, XD. Most evidence I’ve seen citing his so-called sex repulsion that *isn’t* just dubiously canon at best supplemental material such as the Hunnicast or simply headcanon being repackaged as fact are the two scenes where Alastor turns down Angel Dust — a character who, especially at that point in the narrative, is VERY forward in his hypersexuality. The thing that i just don’t see a lot of people acknowledge, however, is: (1) Alastor turns him down, yes, but not in any way that would characterize him as being *particularly* sex negative (“Ha! *No.*”/“Haha! Never going to happen!”), he’s just bluntly rejecting Angel Specifically; and (2) Husk *also* rejected Angel and far more overtly before the two started to genuinely bond + is much more open about his discomfort with Niffty’s kinks, and yet he isn’t treated as sex-repulsed by the much of fandom — quite the opposite, in fact. Frankly, while i can *see* the reasoning behind portraying Alastor as sex-repulsed, the idea of him being this sex negative person who lashes out or faints at the notion of literally *anything* that can be perceived as sexual to be laughable when you consider his long-lived friendship with Mimzy — a *flapper* — and that he grew up in a period of great sex revolution in the United States: just because the 1920s is considered “prudish” by today’s standards doesn’t negate that fact; i can easily see Alastor as being repressed as a consequence of the time period and his unwillingness to adapt, but not to the extent that he’ll keel over seeing a fucking ankle getting flashed or while getting hit on — he *is* an adult, after all, and has had plenty of time to adjust to Hell’s general hedonism while not partaking in it himself.

(2) the infantilization of Charlie, Niffty, and Velvette. pretty self explanatory, i think: fandom in *general* has a pretty glaring issue of treating happy-go-lucky or just...short characters, especially women or neurodivergent characters, like children and it’s not *just* limited to hazbin fandom — it just makes me sad.

Charlie gets it slightly less *severely* compared to the other two, i believe, but i still see it crop of in some sects: yes, she’s clearly sheltered, and yes, she wears her heart on her sleeve to her detriment, but she’s also a grown ass woman (Faustisse — who i don’t personally consider a reliable source for most things relating to the current day show by virtue to them having left the project in 2020 — has stated that she is around 200 years old, so i’m going with the general assumption she’s older than MOST sinners here) and she *is* trying to run a business beyond feel good therapy exercises, however messily because, frankly, she isn’t particularly *good* at doing business: still, i see certain sects of the fandom treat and portray her as having the naivety of a child, reducing her to an “uwu smol bean” blindly trusting even the shadiest of fuckers like Alastor without any hesitation or critical thinking whatsoever under the notion of “well, EVERYONE can be redeemed” and relegating characters like Vaggie to be glorified babysitters at *best*: in canon, yes her ideas of redemption aren’t particularly well-rounded *yet* and it’s clear there’s a disconnect between her and other sinners due to her upbringing, but she *isn’t* an idiot — she’s well aware Alastor is shifty as fuck and doesn’t have her best interests at heart no matter how much she hopes he secretly *does* care, that’s *why* she held off on making any deals with him until she was driven into a corner, and she has no problem calling people out on their shittiness or showing her teeth just because she leans more towards pacifism compared to the rest of the cast.

Niffty, frankly, isn’t treated *much* better in canon compared to fandom, but that’s honestly a rant for a *different* day: it’s obvious she likely has SOME kind of disorder to explain much of her more eccentric behaviour, frankly we can speculate but we simply won’t know for sure until we know more about her in general, which *may* come in s2 considering where things left off with her. Oftentimes in fanon, she’s pigeonholed into simply being “Alastor’s hypomanic daughter” rather than her own individual character, which is a shame — it’s obvious the two have an amicable relationship despite her being his thrall, but it doesn’t read as particularly familial to me personally beyond him finding her antics amusing (and in a, frankly, patronizing way typical of Alastor) — and she’s regularly coddled, not allowed to have relationships with other characters *beyond* a parental dynamic with deerboi or husk: despite the actual show pointing to her having, at the very least, a friendly relationship with Mimzy and the rest of the hotel’s guests, and her being a former housewife who’s explicitly into hardcore kink/BDSM.

Velvette getting this treatment is the most egregious to me, tbh: i’ve frequently seen her be boiled down to being staticmoth’s glorified wingwoman/their daughter rather than their *equal* and business partner — frankly, i think people hear that she was the “youngest Overlord” and took that in the most literal way possible to portray her as a glorified teenager, her being a social media influencer not helping matters in that regard because people tend to subconsciously associate social media primarily with teenage girls due to bias. i can’t speak on *some* aspects of her infantilization in fandom that gives me a particular case of the “ick”, but I can’t help but be bothered by it showing up even in work I *enjoy*. Food for thought, all that jazz.

(3) Vox being portrayed as this overly flirtatious and horny 24/7 voyeur creep guy, *especially* around Alastor. this may just be my bisexuality speaking, but it just...*doesn’t* sit well with me when so far the only *confirmed* bisexual male character in the show is written with this sleazy behaviour he doesn’t exhibit in the show proper — yes, he’s suave and charismatic, and clearly not a prude considering his frenching with Val and...well, Val: “[which whore] could i be talking about?!” Vox: [points to self], and yes, he runs surveillance literally *everywhere*, but...[sighs] He Would Not Fucking Say That, guys — where at *best*, he’s a horndog, and at worst, an outright rapist, who’s *solely* driven by his obsession with Alastor and fuck the rest of his character, i guess. It just...makes me uncomfortable. but hey, that’s just me.

(christ on a stick this is a lot, i am so, so sorry :skull:)

Oh, MK, this was delicious. Do not apologize for the length, I am absolutely delighted. I am always interested in hearing peoples’ hot takes!

(1) Alastor being sex-repulsed, or just sex negative in general.

I totally get you on this one and honestly, I never thought about the Husk angle but you’re absolutely right. Husk rejects Angel way more often that Alastor and yet I have never seen Husk labeled as sex-repulsed, yet Alastor is labeled as that for…doing the exact same thing? What? I’m asexual and possibly aromantic myself, and this just rubs me the wrong way with people just assuming because he’s asexual that he doesn’t like sex full-stop. Not how it works.

I also really like how you point out the historical context of it. The 1920s were a time, man. This fic explores some of the crazy things that went down in the 1920s and it’s wild. But yeah, the idea that he would freak out over any little sexual thing (which…we actively see him not do?) is frustrating and kind of makes him out to be this delicate flower whose innocence must be protected.

Now, if people want to make him sex repulsed for various reasons, then go right ahead, but I definitely agree that it irks me when I see people trying to use it as an argument against literally any ship with Alastor.

(2) the infantilization of Charlie, Niffty, and Velvette.

Yeah, I definitely see this. Charlie is naive, but it gets ramped up a lot. People forget she is literally now an official war veteran and has actually led an army into battle. She is an overwhelmingly positive character, yes, but she’s not an infant. We even saw in the pilot that she was cautious and hesitant to even speak to Alastor, let alone make a deal with him (she slammed the door in his face twice). She is kind and emotional and optimistic, but she’s not stupid. She wants to see the best in everyone. This doesn’t make her a child. And like you said, we see her demon side come out when she’s angry. She’s not above getting pissed and letting it show when she really wants to.

I think people honestly forget that Niffty is not a child. She looks like one, but yeah no she’s an adult. Like you pointed out, this is done pretty frequently in canon and fanon. I honestly like her and Alastor more as friends than as a parental relationship, someone who entertains him and he genuinely enjoys the company of. I do hope we get to see a little bit more of her being an actual character in season 2 because I do love her and want to see better for her.

Velvette is complicated for me as the Instagram kind of did set her up as their daughter, so I think a lot of people got used to that concept. But honestly? I prefer them as equals. I can see Vox taking on more of a mentor role with her when they first started out while Valentino was more her creative BFF, but ultimately she is shown to be a capable character who can stand on her own two feet. I do think the whole social media thing and her being the youngest plays into her infantilization alongside her previous incarnation, but I definitely prefer her as an equal player in the game.

(3) Vox being portrayed as this overly flirtatious and horny 24/7 voyeur creep guy, especially around Alastor.

Fucking THIS. Okay, gonna just jump forward a bit here, but people calling him a creepy horny voyeur because of the cameras bothers me so much. HE. IS. A. CONTROL. FREAK. Those cameras aren’t for him to jack off to! They���re literally to siphon information and blackmail and anything else useful. He is a connoisseur of information. Literally every instance where we see him using his camera, HE IS INFO GATHERING. The one exception is when he is watching Alastor’s fight with Adam and that is clearly outside his norm. That being said, I think people take that scene and run with it, especially his comment about being “so hard right now,” which I think is ridiculous. He’s exaggerating, he’s having fun and joking around because the guy he hates is getting his ass handed to him. And the idea that his obsession with Alastor rules his brain 24/7 is a hard pass for me. The man is the CEO of a media and technological empire. He does not have the time to devote his every waking moment to obsessing over Alastor. In the scene where Pentious calls him, it’s pretty clear that Vox was busy doing other things both times he was called. He wasn’t sitting around with bated breath waiting for Sir Pentious to report in. He was just going about his day and getting his shit done.

Also hard agree as a fellow bisexual that it’s troubling that the only confirmed male bisexual character gets so hypersexualized in a way that he…doesn’t demonstrate at all? Literally the one time we see him get sexual is the fight with Adam. That’s it and yet suddenly it’s his entire personality. The flirtiest we ever see him act is during his part with Valentino in the finale and even that isn’t focused on sex or romance. It’s more them talking about being in power.

[onceuponafosterkid]

Every now and then I am reminded how hard it is being an adult foster youth. I’m only 21, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. This week was really hard. I got sick on Monday while I was at work, but I have this fear of letting people down so I toughed it out. I got home and I had a fever of 103. I took some Tylenol but I can’t afford groceries right now so I don’t have any cold medicine or anything. I took Tuesday off of work thinking I needed a day to just recover. I mean, I’m working full time, taking three classes one of which is a two and half hour in person class twice a week after work so I thought maybe I was overdoing it right? But I’m pushing myself physically to avoid what’s going on mentally and yes I’m in therapy I know that’s not good but it’s what’s keeping me alive for right now. Anyway I go back to work on Wednesday but I have a cough and a headache and I just don’t feel great but I already took a day off I don’t want to make my boss mad. After work I take an at home Covid test my foster mom gave me and it’s negative, so I go to urgent care because day three of having a fever that’s now reached 103.5 and I don’t know what’s wrong. Urgent care does a Covid test that I know is going to be negative because I just took one, and they send me home. So if they sent me home I must just be overthinking this right? Maybe it’s not that bad. But I can’t work until the fever is gone and nothing is making the fever come down the cough is triggering my asthma so on Friday my foster mom takes me to the ER and there I find out I have pneumonia. They rehydrate me because I have been unable to keep anything down and sweating so much that water does nothing for me, and they give some antibiotics and I’m able to go home while they send meds to the pharmacy and finally I’m feeling like it’ll be okay. But the Walgreens they sent the meds to is closed on weekends, and I’m not supposed to wait until Monday so I call and ask them to send it to a different location which I find out halfway through Saturday the pharmacy is actually closed. So I call back again and ask them to send it down the street to Walmart but then they never call in the meds. So I ask my foster mom to call them for me and ask them to send the meds because it’s almost Sunday and I’m starting to feel like crap again and the fever is gone but I can’t breathe and my inhaler is expired and they were supposed to send a new one. She called and they said they would send them and she said she’d pick them up so I spent today cleaning in preparation for feeling better once I get my meds and once I’m done cleaning I sit on my floor and I start crying because I feel so freaking alone. Which is stupid because my foster mom has been taking care of me this whole time, sending me food and taking me to the ER but I can’t help but feel guilty because it’s not her job anymore to take care of me and she’s got a family at home, six kids counting on her but I don’t have anyone else to go to for help. I’m 21, I’m single, my bio family has left me again and it’s just been a really long week you know? It’s not like I have friends I can’t talk to, I lost them all when the assault at Wendy’s happened so I’m just sitting here fucking crying because I’m tired and it sounds very stupid but I’ve realized that it’s nobody’s job to help me. I’m in this alone and usually I can pretend that doesn’t hurt but not this week, not right now. But that’s just what happens when you age out. You’re alone unless you can find people and apparently I’m not very good at finding other people and I don’t know why. Anyway, I just needed a moment I guess. I feel like 12 year old me sitting outside my cottage at residential wondering if I’ll always be alone. I wish I could tell her the answer is no, but at this point in time I don’t have the answer she needs so for now I’m just crying with her.

[sadstrever]

i’m still 114lbs. i feel sick. yesterday was an awful day, i came home and had an out of body chew and spit session. i wish there was more research on this part of ed’s, or just more people who talked about it because i can’t be alone in this. i refuse to believe i’m the only sick person who does disgusting shit like this. anyways the reason why i call it an out of body experience is because it’s almost like binging-just without all the swallowing of food. i came home and immediately started doing it and filled up 1 and 1/2 2 liter bottles with food. i spent 5 hours doing this without even realizing and pretty much emptied out my whole families fridge. the guilt i felt afterwards was worse than a binge in my opinion. not only did i totally waste SO MUCH food, make a huge mess, ended up with disgusting bottles of mush in my room, i also have to face the consequences of my family coming home to an empty fridge. but when they got home they were happy that i “ate.” god i’m such a fucking piece of shit.

anyways after all that i took 4 laxatives to try and get the guilt of wasting the food out of me. i woke up in the morning today in terrible pain but still had to go to class, cuz what am i supposed to tell my parents? “yeah i haven’t eaten in almost a month and basically just threw all the food we have out in the trash and i also took 4 laxatives, can i please stay home tehe?” so i went to 1 class and ended up leaving because the pain was so excruciating. straight from class i went to the gym and somehow burnt 900 calories because i guess that’s what guilt does to me. i had to take the bus 2 hours home afterwards(bus delays and i went to a new further gym location this time), high out of my mind. i’m home now and my stomach hurts but the laxatives finally did their job. i don’t want to keep doing this. 4 years ago i said i’d recover and then i didn’t. since then i’ve forgotten about recovery (with the exception of a few random moments here and there that i block out immediately), i am so used to living in this fucking misery that i didn’t realize how abnormal my reality is. i don’t want to be a bad person anymore. but i can’t stop lol.

this is what bothers me about the girls who romanticize this disorder SO MUCH, when much of the time they haven’t realized how difficult it can become. i know i’ve done this, even now sometimes as a coping mechanism. but man, i’m sick of it.

i have a friend who writes poetry and she wrote a poem about eating disorders that make me so fucking angry. the thing is, i’ve known her for years and she’s always had the best relationship with food out of most of the people i know. she’s naturally pretty thin(not too thin but normal) and she’s very open about her struggles. i know every single one of her stories, i know she’s diagnosed with adhd. that’s HER disorder, that i don’t understand so i DONT write fucking POETRY about it. a few months ago she kind of forced me into opening up about my eating disorder. after i did, suddenly she started writing these stories about her eating disorder-very very very suspiciously similar to mine. i obviously didn’t tell her everything but i told her about how long this has been going on and just my emotions about it. seeing her start to adapt my fucking disorder into her poetry disgusted me. she glamorized the fuck out of it and made me feel so stupid for ever opening up about it. she’s naturally skinny so she got a bunch of support from our friend group from it and i’m just upset man. i’m sick of living in misery while other people can use the idea of living in pain for attention.

i promised my best friend that in 3 weeks i’ll go back to therapy and try my best to recover. it’s not true. man it’s never fucking true. it’s never fucking over. unlike ms.deep-poetry-girl i can’t just fucking write this and log off and then eat a good warm meal and talk to my parents without them mentioning my body. i can’t wake up tomorrow morning and hug them without worrying that they’re gonna feel my bones. i can’t wear shorts anymore without people noticing the bruises. i can’t go to school and keep my focus because i have nothing to feed my brain. i can’t let anyone get close because soon enough they’ll be just like YOU. OR they’ll hate me for not wanting to get better. i can’t love myself like you do because of the disgusting things i do each day. i can’t wake up thinner and suddenly stop hating myself. FUCK YOUUUUUUUU GOD IM SO SICK OF IT GOD. whatever im done. just sick and tired.

[engie-ivy]

(This started as an attempt to write something for @wolfstarmicrofic's Let's Get Physical prompts, but again, it became much too long😅 It was supposed to be a silly fic with Remus being jealous of Sirius’ flirtatious trainer, but it became a bit more serious. But don't worry, still a happy fic with mostly Fluff!)

Remus doesn't think Sirius has anything to prove, but if he wants to run a marathon, then Remus is sure as hell going to support him every step of the way.

But the charming and flirtatious trainer who clearly has a thing for Sirius, is making it all a whole lot harder.

Every Step of the Way

Sirius wants to run a marathon.

Because of course Sirius wants to run a marathon.

After being friends for ten years and roommates for three, Remus should know by now Sirius always goes the extra mile, and this time also literally.

It doesn’t matter how far he’s already come. It’s only a year since the accident, after all. A year ago, the doctors feared that Sirius might never walk again. But a year of intense physical therapy and hard work and perseverance later, and here they are. Sirius is standing, walking, running, everything. But for Sirius, it isn’t enough. He wants to prove for once and for all that he can do everything he could before, more even, and put the whole ordeal officially behind him.

Remus knows that Sirius doesn’t understand why no one else seems to be excited about the marathon idea. He doesn’t understand, can’t understand, what it’s been like for them.

Remus still feels dread in his stomach when he thinks about getting the call, a drunk driver who had run Sirius’ motorcycle off the road, when he thinks about rushing to the hospital and waiting, not knowing if Sirius was even going to make it, sitting by his bedside while Sirius was unconscious, just hoping and praying to a god he doesn’t even believe in that Sirius would wake up.

So when Sirius did wake up in the hospital, heard what had happened to him, heard about the damage in his leg and how he might not be able to walk again, to Sirius, it felt like a nightmare. But when Sirius did wake up in the hospital, to Remus, it felt like his every prayer had been answered.

If anything, the marathon is Sirius’ way of finding closure for himself, of proving something to himself, perhaps. He doesn’t seem to understand that he doesn’t need to prove anything to them. He’s alive, and for them, that’s all he needs to be.

But if running this marathon is something Sirius needs to do, then Remus is going to support him every step of the way.

But Remus can’t bring himself to be excited about the marathon idea, especially not when Sirius finds a trainer.

Juan broad-shouldered, tall, with tanned skin and dark eyes. From the very start, he’s very impressed by Sirius’ story, because who wouldn’t be? Later, it changes to him being in awe of Sirius, of his mind-set, his perseverance, his determination. Juan’s touches become more lingering, his compliments become more frequent, his jokes become more flirty.

And Remus hates it.

He hates seeing them together, whenever Juan comes to pick Sirius up for a work-out session, or they come back from a run, or they hang out together going over the training schedule. He hates seeing Juan look at Sirius in a way he doesn’t want anybody else to ever look at Sirius.

“You can really see the effects of all that training. It’s a good look on you, Sirius. Not that you didn’t look good before, of course.”

“This week we’re going to focus more on cardio, and a little less on strength. Not that I particularly mind how broad your shoulders have become...”

“It was looking really good today, Sirius. And your running technique wasn’t bad either.”

Sirius and Juan walk in while Remus is hanging out with Lily and Marlene.

“That was a good one, huh?” Sirius asks, a little out of breath.

“Definitely,” Juan agrees. “And I must say, I’ve never seen anyone still look so good after having just ran 20k.”

Sirius snorts. “Well, at least I’m ready for the finish photo then.”

“Always,” Juan grins.

“Your next client also lives around here, right?” Sirius asks.

Juan checks his Apple watch. “Yeah, I’m meeting him in half an hour.”

“Well, I’m gonna take a shower,” Sirius says. “But feel free to hang out here and grab a drink from the fridge while you wait.”

“Thanks,” Juan says. “If you don’t need your trainer to help you out with anything in the shower?” He adds with a wink.

Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes. “I think I can manage.”

Sirius pulls his shirt over his head as he leaves the room, and Juan stares after him with a hungry look.

Remus hears a crack, and as he looks down, he sees that he accidentally broke the pen he was twirling around in his fingers.

As Juan walks over to the fridge, Lily elbows Marlene. “Marls, don’t we have to go do that thing?”

“What thing?” Marlene replies absentmindedly.

“You know, that thing,” Lily says, giving Marlene a meaningful look. “That thing where we need to go so that we are no longer here and it’s only Remus and Juan?” She nods her head in Juan’s direction, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a soda while eying them with an amused expression.

Remus groans. They’re about as subtle a brick flying through the window. They’ve seen how Remus’ expression will grow dark, how he will ball his fists and clench his jaw, every time he sees Juan blatantly flirt with Sirius, and they’ve drawn all the wrong conclusions. They’re convinced that Remus can’t stand it because he had a crush on Juan, and no matter how much Remus denies it, they can’t be swayed. Of course they’re right about Remus being jealous, but he can’t tell them the real reason, so by now he has just given up on trying to change their minds. Unfortunately, since they believe that there’s nothing more than playful flirtation between Sirius and Juan, they’re also convinced that Remus should make his move.

“Oh, that thing!” Marlene jumps to her feet. “Right. Of course. Yes, we should go.”

As the girls leave, Marlene even goes as far as to give Remus a thumbs up.

Juan pushes himself away from the counter and saunters over to the couch.

Remus wonders if he’s going to get turned down by a guy he’s not even into.

“I know what’s going on here,” Juan says.

Remus highly doubts it. “I really don’t think you-”

“I know you’re not interested in me.”

Oh. Maybe he actually does.

“I know I’m not the reason for your jealousy. Or at least not in the way your friends seem to think.” Juan tilts his head as he studies Remus. “It’s him, right? It’s Sirius?”

Remus opens his mouth to deny it, but looking at Juan, he realises it’s no use. “Yeah...”

“I get it,” Juan says, looking at the door Sirius just left through. “He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

Remus sighs deeply. “He really is.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t blame you for having fallen for him,” Juan says. “I mean, how could I? I’m in the danger zone myself, and I only see him occasionally. You actually live with him! You didn’t stand a chance.” He smiles at Remus sympathetically. “I empathize with you.”

Remus looks up at him hopefully. “So you’ll stop flirting with him?”

Juan throws his head back and laughs. Then he gives Remus an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but a guy who looks like Sirius, and who’s also gay and single?” He shakes his head. “I can’t pass that up. In this case, it’s every man for himself, I’m afraid.” He holds out his hand.

Remus blinks, and without really thinking about it, accepts the hand.

Juan grins. “May the best man win.”

Remus hates that he shook Juan’s hand.

Like he agreed to compete with him. Like he can compete with him.

Sure, Sirius knows Remus better than anyone except probably his mum, and Remus knows Sirius better than anyone except probably James. But doesn’t that also mean that if there had been more than friendship in store for them, it would’ve happened by now?

Besides, Juan is charming and flirtatious, he works out twice a day, and in between he works out for a living too. Remus, on the other hand, is an awkward couch potato, and the closest thing he ever came to flirting with Sirius is when he tossed a piece of bread at his head (yeah, don’t ask).

And more important, Juan challenges Sirius and pushes him to his limits. He makes Sirius feel strong and confident. Ever since the accident, Remus constantly worries about Sirius, whether he’s taking proper care of himself, whether he’s taking enough rest, whether he’s not in any pain. He makes Sirius feel small, like he’s still a patient.

Maybe, and that’s the most painful of all, maybe Sirius needs someone like Juan.

In the time leading up to the marathon, Remus just continues as before, continues to support Sirius as best he can. He buys the foods that Sirius needs and likes, he cooks meals that fit within his training regime, and he shares in his joy every time he reaches a new milestone.

He doesn’t want to think about how things are proceeding between Sirius and Juan.

Remus has been a nervous wreck all day.

It’s the day of the marathon, and while he doesn’t care if Sirius can run a marathon or not, really doesn’t, it’s important to Sirius, and so it’s important to him.

“There he is!” James shouts, jumping up and down while bumping Remus’ shoulder, pointing towards the finish line.

And indeed, Sirius is running towards the finish. He’s going to do it. Of course he’s going to do it. And in an excellent time at that.

Remus claps louder than he ever has before. To his surprise, there are tears streaming down his face. He hadn’t expected to be this affected by it. The marathon never mattered to him, after all.

It’s just... that he remembers it all again. Seeing Sirius lying motionless in that bed, looking so small with all that tubes connected to his body, seeing Sirius’ fear and pain upon hearing he might never walk again, seeing Sirius’ anger and frustration as his body didn’t do what he wanted it to do. And then seeing him now, crossing the finish line, beaming with pride, strong, confident, happy, and alive. So, so blissfully alive.

Sirius looks around the people gathered behind the finish line, and his eyes lock with Remus’. Everything around Remus disappears, the crowd, the cheers, the claps, the commentator announcing names and times, and all he sees are Sirius’ eyes, with his own overwhelming emotions reflected back to him.

Remus runs up to Sirius and Sirius meets him halfway, and they fall into each other’s arms.

“Rem,” Sirius says, put of breath. “I did it. I actually did it!”

“You did!” Remus says, hugging him tight. “I’m so proud of you, Sirius. So bloody proud of you.”

Remus is looking on from a distance as James is taking a million photos of Sirius standing at the finish line with his medal, as their mother has demanded a printed and framed photo to hang on the wall.

Suddenly, Juan appears in front of him. He holds out his hand, and again, before he can really think about it, Remus shakes the hand.

“Congratulations,” Juan says.

“Oh, ehm, well, I should probably congratulate you. You trained him and ran with him after all...”

Juan looks over at Sirius with a fond look in his eyes. “Nah, this was all him.” He turns back to Remus. “Not what I’m congratulating you for anyway.” He grins. “May the best man win, remember?”

“Ah,” Remus awkwardly scratches his head. “I don’t think you can really say that we have a winner, if that’s what you want to call it...”

“Remus,” Juan says solemnly. “If there’s anything that’s important to me, it’s sportsmanship. And good sportsmanship involves accepting your loss, and knowing that there’s no shame in losing to a worthy opponent.”

“I respect that,” Remus says. “But why would you think you have lost?”

Juan smiles at him. “It wasn’t my face he searched in the crowd when he crossed the finish line. It weren’t my arms he fell into. He likes you, Remus. You should make a move. Life’s short, you know that, and you both deserve it.”

Juan pats Remus om the back, and with one last look at Sirius, he walks away.

Remus watches Sirius approach while thoughts run through his head. Could Sirius really return his feelings? It seems impossible. But then again, did it not only two years ago seem equally impossible that Sirius would ever run a marathon?

If there’s one thing Remus should know by now, it’s that nothing is impossible when it comes to Sirius Black.

“Ready to get out of here?” Sirius asks, still smiling brightly, as he stops in front of Remus.

“Yeah,” Remus replies, and then, just as Sirius turns to go, he says “Hey, would you like to go out for dinner tonight to celebrate?” He braces himself and takes a deep breath. Now or never. He reaches out and takes Sirius’ hand in his. “Just the two of us?”

Sirius stares down at their joint hands in wonder, then his eyes fly up and search Remus’ face. Remus sees disbelieve, hope, excitement, and something else in those eyes. He can’t wait to find out what that something else is.

A soft smile appears on Sirius’ face. “Yeah,” he squeezes Remus’ hand. “Yeah, I would like that very much.”

[drabblesandimagines]

Kitty (part 13)

Parts 1-12 here. Rei x (afab) reader

-

You’re in Kyu’s car – the front passenger seat this time, your duffel bag in the trunk. You are a little worried you’re about to wake up though, find yourself in your bed at the refuge and it had all just been a taunting dream. You’d even pinched yourself just to make sure. You can’t help the smile on your face – so excited at the prospect of seeing them again, seeing Rei again…

“Kitty, I haven’t exactly been 100% honest, but you’ll understand why I couldn’t have been in front of Hikoti.” You’d gone up to your room to pack and say goodbye to the others whilst Hikoti and Kyu had gone over some of the finer details. Hikoti had seemed somewhat worried about this family connection coming so out of the blue, especially when Kyu said they were happy to take you in today, on New Year’s Eve. He blagged his way through. After all, he was your supposed social worker.

You look over at him. “W-what about?”

“Well, they don’t know that I was there...”

Your stomach tightens – what does that mean? Are you not going back? Was this a trick, was this a…? You force yourself to stop – a technique taught in one of the therapy sessions – catastrophizing.

“..but I am going to take you to them.” He continues, side-eyeing your expression. “A lot has happened. This was still the right choice in keeping you safe – I stand by that, and so should they - but the danger has passed and my conscience wouldn’t let me hold off any longer. It’s clear they all miss you and I know you miss them. From what Hikoti told me, it seemed they’d actually been quite beneficial to your recovery already… somehow.” He still doesn’t sound convinced.

“Y-you said all, s-s-so Miri’s with them t-too?”

He nods, his face settling into a more solemn expression. “I’m sorry to say this, but Misaki is dead.”

That catches you by surprise. “The c-c-cancer t-took her s-so soon?”

“No. Ogino did.” Kyu hesitates. “He’s… He’s the man who tried to visit you.”

You push that bit of knowledge to the back of your mind, your concern for the precious little girl far more important. “Is M-M-Miri hurt?”

“Miri’s fine – not a scratch on her. Happy to be back with her papas. I’m not sure they’ve told her about Misaki’s death yet. She didn’t witness it, thankfully – slept through the whole thing.”

If it weren’t such a somber topic, you would’ve smiled at that – Miri did sleep like a log – but you don’t really know what to say. It’s horrifying. You weren’t sure what you thought of Misaki, you’d only had the one interaction with her, really, but it was clear Miri adored her and it’s awful that she met such a horrendous end. And then this Ogino had come to the refuge… What was his plan if they’d let him in? What would he have done if they hadn’t called the police to get him to leave?

“Misaki’s murder obviously demonstrates how serious everything was.”

“Y-yes, of course. B-but…” you swallow, a little afraid of the answer. “..w-what’s changed?”

“Ogino is dead, for one.” Your body relaxes at that - that’s a relief. “Secondly, Rei and Kazuki have left the Organization for good. I’m not sure exactly how they pulled it off, but from my intel they made a clear enough statement that the Boss no longer holds an interest in them or their activities.”

You can tell he’s holding something back. “D-d-did they g-get h-hurt?”

“They were shot, yes. Kazuki in his shoulder and leg, but he’s doing really well as far as I’ve seen. Rei’s injury was… is”, he corrects, “a little more permanent.”

“H-how?”

“He shot an important nerve in his right arm – he might not be able to use it again. He did it deliberately, to make himself worthless in his father’s eyes, apparently.”

He did it to himself? You can’t imagine the pain, the desperation… “P-p-poor Rei.”

“Kazuki said he doesn’t seem particularly fussed – happy it achieved his aim. Something else has been getting him down, though.”

“W-what?”

He smirks. “You know.”

You feel the heat fill your cheeks.

--

You’re surprised when Kyu doesn’t take you to the riverside apartment, instead taking you to a café. He unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, encouraging you to take a seat at the counter as he goes round the other side, starting to make a coffee. He looks at your puzzled expression and then his watch, “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

The bell rings above the door as it swings open and the newcomer caught you off guard. Kazuki’s eyes are cast down, hands in the pockets of his long green coat as he enters.

“Hi, Kyu, what did…?” He trails off as he looks up and sees you sitting at the counter. The door closes gently behind him as he stares in disbelief. “Kitty?”

“H-hi, Zuki.” You smile, nervously. Your last interaction with Kazuki had been tense and now you know that Kyu hadn’t even involved them in his plan you’re a little wary of what his reaction is going to be.

You shouldn’t have worried. Kazuki strides over, wraps his arms around and crushes you into his chest into a hug. “I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled into your hair as he holds you. You wrap your arms around him in return.

“It’s o-okay, I un-understand why…”

“No,” he pulls back a little, but still keeps you close. His voice is choked. “I didn’t handle that right at all. I was so intentionally cruel. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Y-you were u-upset. Kyu t-told me w-why, it’s okay. I p-promise.”

He squeezes you tight again, almost in disbelief, before looking at the man behind the counter. “What’s going on?”

“Kitty was doing so well there, they thought it was time she thought about coming home. So, I told them I found her family.” He replies, shrugging. “Which is true, right?”

“Yes, a proper family!” Kazuki beams, but then looks down at you hesitantly. “If you can forgive me, that is. I feel so awful.”

“Zuki…” You chide, “There’s n-nothing to apologise f-for. H-honestly.”

He squeezes you tight again, releasing a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Where’s Rei and Miri?” Kyu interrupts – he’d asked all three of them to come.

“He said he’d rather stay home with Miri,” Kazuki sighs, finally releasing you. “You were rather coy what this was about, Kyu, I’m sure his answer would’ve been very different if he had known who was here.”

“Is h-he okay?”

Kazuki shakes his head. “He misses you – a lot. Pining, I’d say. He’s been sleeping with that lion he got you ever since.”

You smile at that, you’d been the same with his t-shirt ever since you’d found it in your bag.

“Can I s-see him?”

“Like I’d say no! We’re staying at a different place, though. We’re having a little party tonight – I was going to grab some bits and pieces for it after whatever Kyu wanted.” Kazuki thinks for a minute. “Kyu, do you think you could drop off Kitty later this afternoon? It gives me some time to prepare and I think you’d make an excellent New Year’s Eve gift for Rei and Miri...”

--

Rei’s been silent most of the afternoon since Kazuki returned. He’d asked what Kyu had wanted. The blonde had shrugged it off as another box of Miri’s things from Misaki’s apartment. He wonders briefly why Kyu requested they come pick it up – he’s been by the house often over the past week, keeping them supplied with heavy duty painkillers, acquiring a sling for his arm, but that’s about all that can be done for it. Miri has questions, obviously, about why her papas wince sometimes. He tells Miri he had an accident, explains why Papa Kazuki helps him put the dangling limb in and out of the sling every day, why he can’t play video games with her right now, but he’s been passing on his wisdom, trying to teach her where the shortcuts are. She finally got her Morio Kart 2nd Edition.

There are still guns in the house – of course there are – but being here allows them to relax a little. Miri is excited for tonight - he’s not convinced she’ll last until midnight, but the little girl is determined to try. From what Kazuki had also brought home from the city, it seems the blonde’s plan is to keep her plied with sugary snacks. He lamented not being able to bake a cake – his shoulder won’t allow him to mix as well as he’d like at the moment. Rei wonders if you’ll be having a party tonight.

Kazuki and Rei are sat either side of the sofa, Miri’s in a party hat, sat on the floor and on the last race of the championship. Kazuki’s phone buzzes - one new text from Kyu. It takes all that’s in him not to smile as he reads it. He doesn’t want to give the game away just yet.

Gift for you to ring in the New Year. Can’t stop – dropped it at the door.

Rei gives him a questioning look as the blonde gets to his feet, sliding his phone back in his pocket. Kazuki answers before he can ask. “Text from Kyu. He’s dropped us off something. I’m just gonna go grab it – probably food or something.”

He nods and turns his attention back to the screen, watching Miri finish the lap.

“Second! Good job, Miri,” Rei compliments as the overall results come up. She’s been practicing hard with his tips and tricks. The little girl turns to beam at him, but then she lets out her patented squeal of joy instead at something behind him. He looks over his shoulder, wondering what on earth Kyu has sent to elicit that reaction from Miri when his breath catches in his throat.

It’s you. Your face is a little flush from the cold, your hands clasped in front of you and there’s a nervous smile across your face as you see him, but it’s you. Kazuki’s standing behind you, clutching his sweater over his heart, obviously trying not to cry.

Rei blinks as he gets to his feet. He’s worried you might disappear, you’re a hallucination from the painkillers, surely… Miri beats him to the punch.

“Kitty!” She squeals again, throwing her arms around your legs. “You’re back!”

“Hi, M-Miri,” you bend down so you can properly embrace the little girl. You’d missed her so much, glad for her enthusiasm and warm welcome in that moment.

“Are you feeling better?”

You nod. “L-lots better.”

“Good! And you won’t leave again, right?” She tilts her head, questioningly. “Papa Rei’s been so gloomy!”

You look up to Rei at that point – he still looks stunned. “Well, w-we can’t have a g-gloomy Papa Rei.”

Miri bounces on her heels. “But you’re staying?”

“She sure is, Miri,” Kazuki ruffles her hair before crouching down. “Say, I think Papa Rei has some things he’d like to talk to Kitty about – boring grown-up talk. How about you and I make some cookies to add to the spread for later, hm?”

“Yay!” Miri yells, tugging at his sleeve in excitement. She’s been wanting to bake all week but Kazuki had to keep putting it off because of his shoulder. He’s happy to be a little stiff in the morning to give Rei this moment though.

“You can thank me later, Rei…” Kazuki calls in a sing-song tone of voice as he and Miri leave the room, leaving the two of you alone.

Rei still hasn’t said anything, he’s just staring at you in disbelief and you’re feeling a little nervous. It’s silly how much you’ve dreamt of this moment, thought of what you’d say when seeing his face again, but now your mind is blank of anything.

“H-h-hi.” Start off simple. Even though Kyu and Kazuki had warned you of Rei’s injury, it hurts to see the limb strapped up in an immobilizing sling, holding it in place against his chest. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain he’s gone through.

You swallow. “Are y-you okay?” You regret it as soon as you say it – of course he’s not okay. “I m-mean…”

“I’m sorry.” Rei steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you at last. You think he’s going to wrap you into a hug but he drops to his knees, bowing his head so low his forehead is touching the ground. “I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“No, n-no,” you kneel down in front of him, your stomach sinking as you understand his intention. You place your hand on his shoulder, “Get up, please.” You’ve seen this act before – whenever the men at the house had disappointed him they often begged for forgiveness in the very same position. He’d loved every second of it, cackling as they mumbled apologies into the floor, deciding what their punishment might be. “S-sit up, Rei.” The demand feels a little foreign coming out of your mouth, but it works. He pushes himself back up onto his knees but keeps his head cast down. “Can you ever forgive me?”

You reach your left hand forward, placing it gently on the side of his face and tilt it up with the heel of your hand, hoping that’ll he meet your gaze. He has tears in his eyes – you can tell he’s trying his best to hold them in – keeping his eyes cast to the side. “There’s n-nothing to forgive. P-please don’t cry over me.”

“The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you, Kitty, I swear it.”

 “Rei,” you lean forward, placing your right hand on his face too so he finally meets your eyes. You want him to see you’re sincere. “It’s a-all right. I understand.”

“No,” he lifts up his left hand and pulls down your right hand in a light grip down onto his lap, squeezing it desperately. “I promised you that you could trust me. I just… I couldn’t see another way out. My father, he…”

“Kyu ex-explained everything. I k-know you just w-wanted to protect me, protect all of us.” You interrupt. “Please, l-let’s get off the floor, o-okay?” You remove your left hand from his face to get up, but his hold on your right hand remains firm as he continues to explain.

“I thought if I cut my ties, you’d all be safe. That I could go back to the life I had before, not feeling or caring… but I failed. I’ve missed you so much.” His voice breaks as he says it, a tear rolling down his cheek. You can’t stand to see him hurting so much. You wrap your left arm around him, trying to coerce him into an embrace. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his chest. He smells so much better than you remembered – the scent of him had become faded on the t-shirt that you’d cuddled with those weeks apart - and his touch makes your heart beat faster. He leans his head on top of yours, savouring the feeling of having you in his arms again.

“I missed you t-too,” your face is pressed into his chest and you can feel his heart thudding. “But I understand w-why you did it. I’m n-not upset or mad, I p-promise.” You mumble.

“I will spend every minute of every day trying to make it up to you.”

“No,” you pull back slightly. “T-the only person who needs to f-forgive you is y-yourself. You were k-keeping me and Miri safe. Please.”

He stares at you for a moment, scrutinizing your face. “Was it awful?”

“No, it w-was helpful, actually. T-they were all r-really nice. It was good for me…” you smile, shyly, before continuing, “But you’re even b-better. You make me feel whole, Rei.”

 “I’ll never let you go again, as long as you’ll have me.”

You bury your head back into his chest again for a moment, savouring his touch. “Come on, l-let’s get off the f-floor.”

He nods, though he seems reluctant to let go of you altogether. Your limbs are untangled for just a moment as the two of you get to your feet before his arm is wrapped around your waist again.

“I don’t want to waste another second if I can help it, Kitty, but I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, so…” his cheeks flush slightly red as he meets your eyes, “may I kiss you?”

“Please.”

He leans forward and presses his lips against yours ever so gently, as if you might break at his touch. It’s a little clumsy, the both of you nervous, but perfect all at the same time. It starts off slow, the two of you trying to feel each out a little as he pulls back slightly before kissing you again. Your head is tingling with each of his soft kisses and you’re not sure when it happened, but your right hand is flat against his chest, your left hand tangled in his hair, trying to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes up against your lips, parting them open a little more…

“Hey!” Your heart stops at Miri’s indignant shout and you pull apart, though Rei’s arm remains firmly around your waist as the two of you look towards the door. You can feel the heat in your face and your breath is caught in your throat, so you can’t imagine how you look. Miri has her hands on her hips and a pout on her face as Kazuki stands behind her, snickering. “Papa Kazuki said you kiss at midnight!”

“Well,” Rei smiles as he looks at you, adoration in his eyes, “we were practicing.”

--

Epilogue

Lips pressed gently against your forehead wake you up. “Mm.” You mumble, happily, feeling refreshed for once. Rei’s hair is loose, hanging down around his face as he leans over you.

“Morning,” he smiles back and leans down. “I love you,” he says, quietly, before kissing your lips. When he pulls away, he looks down at the cot at the end of your shared bed. “Somebody slept through the whole night.”

“Hm. She knows it’s an important day.”

Rei had been terrified as soon as you found out you were pregnant. It had been a surprise to the both of you. Your relationship had continued to develop slow and steady over the past ten years, each trying to heal through your own trauma. You’d slowly began to become more and more intimate over the years and though your period had returned, it was sporadic, never quite settling into a regular pattern. It was only after you’d thrown up four times in an hour one morning from the aroma of dishes they were cooking at the diner that Kazuki had gone out and came back with a box of pregnancy tests, sending you off to the bathroom.

Rei would never say it aloud, but it was clear he was worried what it would mean if the two of you were to have a boy. He still had nightmares about his own upbringing and his father, and though you had all moved away from the Organization and hadn’t heard anything in the last nine years, it still lurked at the back of their minds. Nightmares of his father coming to reclaim a Suwa heir – not that he’d let him get 100 yards within his family ever again. You’d gone for a scan to find out the sex as soon as you could, and he couldn’t hide his relief when the technician said it would be a little girl. You weren’t sure who was then more excited at the news, really – Kazuki, Miri or Rei.

“Miri, time to go!” You hear Kazuki call.

“Coming!” The teenager shouts back, before there’s the loud thumps of her descending the stairs.

“Well, Aiko,” you smile at the little girl, bashing some blocks together on the ground whilst you got ready for the day. After tying Rei’s hair up in a ponytail, he’d headed downstairs to start breakfast for Miri and help Kazuki prepare for the breakfast rush a little later on. “We better go and say goodbye to big sister, hm?” Aiko turned one last month and is an absolute joy. The happiest baby, full of smiles and a playful personality, a sweet face and her father’s black hair. You pick her up in your arms and carry her carefully down the stairs as she babbles away, walking into the tail-end of the conversation where Kazuki is…crying? Typical.

“I know you snuck out early yesterday to drink with the ladies,” Miri taunts.

You look over at Rei behind the counter, hoping for clarification but he offers back a half-shrug.

Miri spots the two of you and smiles. “Plus, Papa Kazuki, you still need to worry about Aiko here. She’s got a few years catching up to do on me.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that…!”

“Aiko, look,” you interrupt, trying to defuse whatever it is you’ve walked into, “Miri’s all ready for her first day of high school. Doesn’t she look so grown up?”

“Come here, baby sis!” Miri holds her arms out for a cuddle, but Aiko is already holding her hands out for someone else, squealing when she sees the object of her desire.

“Oh, she wants to see her Uncle Zuki, don’t you, sweetie?” The blonde takes her into his arms, bouncing her up and down, gently.

Miri frowns, placing her hands on her hips at her little sister’s betrayal.

“It’s the goatee.” You reassure the teenager.

“No, she just loves her Uncle Z… Ouch!” He winces, as her little hand grabs at his chin and tugs, forcefully.

“More she loves grabbing.” Miri laughs.

“She has her father’s strength.” Rei chimes in as he places a plate down on the counter with his specialty dish. “Come on, Miri, you need to eat anyway.”

“It’s great you have a special and all, man,” Kazuki walks around the counter with Aiko, wincing as her little hand is still entangled in his goatee, “but don’t you wanna expand the repertoire a bit?”

“Why?”

“You really are a one-trick pony.” Kazuki sighs. Aiko is reaching out for Rei now with one arm, her other still gripping onto Kazuki’s chin. Rei had been so scared to hold her at first, terrified of dropping her so much so that he’d only ever hold her if he was sitting or lying down. His arm was obviously irreparable – the way he had intended it to be to protect his family - and he’d gained back only a little strength and grip in it over the past ten years, but his confidence had developed and he always managed to wrangle her in place. After a little tussle, Aiko finally releases the blonde’s facial hair to settle in her father’s arms. Rei places a kiss on your daughter’s forehead and it makes your heart swell seeing the two of them together.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s great!” Miri squeals, the same way as she did when you first met her after taking a bite.

“I have to agree with them, Zuki. Everyone raves about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Miri drops her fork and runs towards the door.

“Little early for school, isn’t it?” Kazuki sounds puzzled.

“Follow me, please!”

Rei passes you Aiko as he follows Kazuki out behind the counter, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he does so. He still makes you blush after all these years. He slips an arm around your waist as you walk out the front of the diner and see Miri fiddling with her beloved selfie stick.

You stand in front of Rei, as usual, Miri in the middle and Kazuki to the side. Miri frowns at the image before looking at Rei and Kazuki. “Come on, we’re family, aren’t we?” Miri chastises. “Get closer, you two.”

“Huh?” Rei looks down at you but Kazuki clocks what Miri means.

“Oh, come here, you big lug!” The blonde loops an arm around Rei’s neck, bringing him in close. You’re standing in the middle of the two men now, holding Aiko tightly in front of you, Rei’s hand on the small of your back and Miri’s to the side.

“What’s a mouse’s favourite snack?”

“Kitty!” The camera clicks – the photo showing you, Rei, Kazuki and Miri all looking in surprise at Aiko and her first word.

--

Thought it was fitting to end this on part 13 as I think we all thought we were getting 13 episodes! Thank you so much for everyone's support during this series - I think this ended up being nearly 45,000 words! I'm open to dipping back into Rei and Kitty's relationship (I know a lot's happened to them between the end and the epilogue) so let me know if there's anything you'd particularly like me to write about <3 Thank you again for all the comments, reblogs and follows! Love Ghostdog x

[foxyanon]

Get To Know…Sihtric Kjartansson

*Magazine cover by me! This is a companion piece to the collab SMAU, The Lives of Friends by myself, @legitalicat, @thenameswinter99 (fic blog @thenameswinterfics) and @zaldritzosrose!*

Word Count: 1520

Dividers by @arcielee

Interviewer: I’m Jordan Penrose from Storm Coast Boxing Magazine. We are here today with none other than Sihtric Kjartansson, world champ and co-owner of Shield Wall Boxing Club. As everyone knows, Sihtric came from less than savory beginnings and is now a man at the top of his career. How are you doing today man?

Sihtric: I’m good, happy to be here Mr. Penrose. What about yourself?

I: I am fantastic. So let’s get right to it. What prompted you to pick up gloves and step into the ring?

S: I needed a constructive way to burn off all the energy I had as a kid. Like you said earlier, my beginnings weren’t all that great before I found fighting. I was into theft, breaking and entering, and even vandalism as a teen. My home life wasn’t great, Kjartan being the man he is and naturally I fell in with the wrong crowd. That all changed when I was about 14 or 15. I decided to try breaking into the sanctuary and as luck would have it, I met my now younger sister Alisanne. She introduced me to her parents, and that moment changed my life. I will say I am forever grateful to Rickon and Gilliane Stark, because they gave me the home and family I was lacking. Rickon, my dad, actually suggested I take up fighting as a way to help process the anger I felt as a teen, and we found out I’m pretty good at it so I just kept going with it and here I am now.

I: Pretty good is an understatement, you have a nearly undefeated career and you just won your latest title fight. The last person to have a record like that is your own father-in-law, Maegor Targaryen.

S: I still have some losses on that record, whereas he has, what, maybe one? Even at pushing 70, he could still kick my ass and not break a sweat.

I: True enough, I don’t think I would want to fight him. Speaking of family, did your family and friends support your choice to go pro?

S: Excluding Kjartan, actually yes. I got really lucky to have such a solid support system when I was starting out. Mom and Dad made time to come to my matches in high school and even still come to them now that Cregan has taken over at the sanctuary. I think my biggest supporter in the beginning of my career was Alisanne, she has always been in my corner from day one. Nowadays, I’ve got my lovely wife and her family supporting me as well.

I: Good personal foundations build strong and lasting careers. But not everything is perfect and walking down an easy street. So, what challenges have you faced?

S: After getting my life straightened out as a teen, I did struggle with school and balancing my life in all areas. I ended up going to therapy at moms insistence which helped me a lot. Even though I started on rock bottom with bad grades, I was able to turn that around with a lot of summer schooling and extra credit work. I may not have graduated top of the class, but I did get that diploma which had only been a pipe dream of mine before. Then of course there’s breaking into the professional sphere, which was tough. I had to do a lot of grinding and many fights to get seen by the right people before they would consider me for the big matches. Even though I was scouted by an agency out of high school, there was a mountain between me and the life I have now.

I: And boy have you climbed that mountain quickly. You were only a little man on the totem pole for about 2 years before getting your big break at only 20 years old. That’s impressive. Almost as much as you having had a consistent win over loss streak for nearly a decade. Which leads me to my next question, what was the most significant moment in your career?

S: Honestly, I owe my big break to Maegor and Pyrling. While neither of them fight anymore, they put in some good words for me with the right people and that put me in the position to take the next step up in my career. That all pales in comparison to meeting Rhaenerys, however. She, along with my siblings, really encouraged me to take the leap and open my own gym for other troubled kids like I was. I can easily say I would not be where I am now without them, but Rhaenerys has been my rock for the last four years and the fire that has kept me going.

I: What motivates you to keep boxing?

S: Several things actually. I did briefly consider retiring early, but my wife helped me find a new direction in the gym I now run with my long-time friend Finan. But outside her and my family, it would be the knowledge I am able to provide a positive influence in these lives of the kids and really anyone who walks into Shield Wall. We get people from all walks of life, including others looking to make a career out of fighting. Knowing that I can help them and provide a safe space for them has been the biggest motivator.

I: You keep mentioning her, and of course I have to ask. Tell me about the woman herself, Dr. Rhaenerys Targaryen. What is your relationship with her like and how did you two meet?

S: How much time do we have? We could be here a while talking about her, it’s one of my favorite pastimes. In all seriousness, she is amazing. I am truly lucky to have her in my life. We actually met at one of my fights, she came along with her dad to spectate since he had been following my career. I was smitten instantly, but it definitely took me quite some time to work up the nerve to ask her out. While I know now he isn’t that scary, Maegor terrified the shit out of me in the beginning. As I understand it, he was less than thrilled with me at first. Not because he didn’t like me but more so because Rhae is his little girl and he wanted more for her. I owe a lifetime of gratitude to my mother-in-law, Elvira, on that front. She vouched for me and the rest is history. We started dating when she was still in school, but we both knew pretty quickly that we would get married one day.

I: You two have been married a year? Little more than that? Which, by the way, was a beautiful day based on the pictures the public has seen. But now that you have settled down, what does your day-to-day look like?

S: A little over a year, yeah. As for my daily life, I work the gym most days during the week and occasionally on the weekends between fights. I don’t get into the ring as often as I used to now, really only sticking to the big ones though now that I’ve won my title, I may actually hang up my gloves and just focus on the gym. After all, I’m nearly 30 now and I’m looking forward to having more time home with Rhae and our pets. Our dog, Abraxsas actually just turned 10 earlier this year and of course we have Cupcake, that little black hellion we call a cat. Now that Rhae is settled at the museum, we have started talking about having a family of our own and I want to focus on that rather than training for my next big fight.

I: Sounds like you have a rather idyllic life going on. We will miss you in the ring but you are a testament that the products of your childhood don’t need to color your future. Last question, what would you say to others who have been in a similar situation?

S: Persistence and having solid support is key. If you want to change your life, you have to change your environment and your mindset. You can’t get anywhere you want in life if you aren’t willing to do the work. Sure, there’s an aspect of luck to get like me, but you have a far better chance of becoming lucky in success if you are surrounded by others who have that same drive as you. The crowd I used to run with? Most of those guys are either dead or in prison now because they stayed in that troublemaker mentality, never growing beyond what they could have. So yeah, changing your friend group to one who supports you and I mean really supports you, and persisting in the dream you want to chase would be my advice to anyone who has lived a life similar to mine.

I: And that is all the time we have for today, thank you for the chat Sihtric.

S: Thank you as well, Mr. Penrose.

[mayajadewrites]

Levi Ackerman x Reader: Almost

Chapter Six: Coffee Ice Cream

Chapter Summary: We start off in Levi's POV, getting more insight on him and what he's thinking. He invites you over for TV and some ice cream. Nothing more. *tehe*

Fanfic Preface: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x Reader fanfic I’ve been dying to write! Levi is my latest hyper fixation so this was bound to happen. There will be other AOT characters in the mix, but remember this is a modern AU!

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD

ao3 link

☕︎⋆˙⟡♡☕ LEVI ☕︎⋆˙⟡♡☕

It's been a few days since our little incident. I didn't want to come off as obsessive, which I may or may not be, but I knew if I wanted this to last and bloom I needed to give her space to continue to be her own person.

"Mr. Ackerman, I've meal prepped for you for the next week and there's a load of laundry going." My housekeeper, Daisy, says as she fixes her apron. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"No, thanks Daisy." I nod for her to dismiss as I walk through my mansion.

Honestly, I'm not sure why I have a housekeeper. No one cleans like I do. I guess I keep her around for the cooking since I'm shit at that. Cleaning has always relieved my stress and makes me forget where I am in the world.

I didn't start off as a millionaire, almost billionaire. I started at the very bottom, with my mother.

We used to live in homeless shelters and sometimes strangers couches, until she fell ill because of our living circumstances. I watched my mother wither away in front of me, like a rose.

"Levi, promise me you will be something." I remember she said to me as she was taking her last few breaths. "Mommy will always watch over you."

Then she was gone.

Social services picked me up after that and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They lived comfortably in middle class with no kids - lucky me.

I'd like to think mom would be happy with how far I've come.

☕︎⋆˙⟡♡☕

"Levi, your new assistant starts today. Don't run her off, please." Hange gives a pleading look. "She's nice."

"Nice and competent are two separate things." I continue to jot down notes from a contract I'm reading.

"Levi, this is Juliet. Your assistant." Hange walked into my office with, who I'm assuming is Juliet. She's young, with long blonde hair and brown eyes. Conventionally attractive.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Ackerman. What do you need me to do first? Do you want me to get you coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee. I drink tea. And I get that myself." I look up from my desk. "Hange, have her go over my schedule for meetings next week and make sure everything is in order."

"Sure thing boss." Hange left with Juliet, closing my door gently behind them. I have a therapy appointment today, thankfully it's virtual. I open my laptop and sign into the portal to initiate the meeting.

"Levi! You look good!" My therapist, Maria, smiles.

"Thank you. The camera probably smooths out my skin."

"So, tell me about your week. What are you feeling, what's going on, all that jazz."

"I punched a guy in the face last week."

"Levi! What did we talk about with your anger?"

"I did think it over. I thought before I punched, and after. I don't regret it."

Maria shook her head, bringing her glasses to the bridge of her nose. "Ay dios mio, you make my job so hard sometimes."

"That's why you get paid the big bucks, right?" I let out a rare chuckle.

"Why did you do that?"

Because he was touching whats mine.

"I thought he was going to take advantage of someone."

"Who's this someone?"

"I don't want to tell you about her yet. Then that means its serious."

"You punched a man because of her, that's not serious enough?"

"No. It's not. I'm 30 years old, Maria. I've never had a real relationship so I'm navigating it the only way I know how."

"Levi, she is not your mother. You can't treat her like she is a fragile human being. She has feelings, like you, and she is her own person. Does she want to be serious?"

"I'm not sure. We're ... dating? I guess that's different from being in a relationship."

"Ah, taking things slow. I see. Well, tell me about her."

"She works at my favorite coffee shop that I go to every day before work. Except I get tea. Anyways, I've seen her almost every day for 6 months and I've had long and short conversations with her. Only recently have we started seeing each other."

"And what are you scared of?" Maria's question stumped me.

I'm scared of everything.

I'm scared of losing her. I'm scared of losing what I have. I'm scared of starting a family only to have it ripped from me.

"Levi?" Maria snapped me out of my thoughts.

"I'm scared of, a lot. My feelings scare me. I feel, protective over her. I feel like I want to savor every moment we're together. I'm also scared she's going to run off once she truly sees my life."

I'm rich, like, filthy rich. She works hard for her money, lives alone, and has dreams of opening her own coffee shop. Which I can help with.

She's used to doing everything for herself. She doesn't have a housekeeper, a chef, none of that. She cooks, cleans, and does everything herself.

Everything I want in a woman is in her.

"You can't go around anticipating people leaving." Maria tapped her pen on her notebook. "You know what I say, everything happens for a reason. There's a reason you connected with her and there's a reason you feel the way you do about her. I don't think it would hurt to explore those feelings more."

After your therapy session, I decide I'm inviting her over for the first time. I want her to see how I am, in my house, and I want to observe how she is.

Me: Are you busy tonight?

Her: If by busy you mean I have a date with a pint of coffee ice cream and Grey's Anatomy, then yes.

Me: Would you like to do that here?

Her: Here is where?

She's gonna make me work for this.

Me: Here as in my house. I'll pick you up at 7.

☕︎⋆˙⟡♡☕ BRATTY BARISTA ☕︎⋆˙⟡♡☕

After getting ready for Levi's, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your outfit consists of leggings, crew socks, sneakers, a low cut tank top and a zip up hoodie. You can't lie, part of you wants Levi to continue what he started at your place last week. The other part of you is scared shitless to go to his mansion.

At 7 PM sharp, you hear tires roll in front of your place. By the time you lock your doors, Levi is waiting outside the passenger door for you. He kisses your cheek before letting you in the car, scanning your body.

You study the drive from your place to his - about 20 minutes. Levi lives in a rich, residential area with plenty of land to spare.

Walking into his home, it's spotless. Like, actually spotless. No dust anywhere, nothing is out of place, even the remotes on his coffee table.

"I bought some coffee ice cream and I have Netflix set up for that show already - Grey's what?"

"Grey's Anatomy. You're watching it with me?"

"I was serious when I asked you if you wanted to do that here. Can we start from the 1st episode?" Levi grabbed 2 spoons and the pint of ice cream.

"Sure." You walk over to the couch, which looks like a cloud, and sink your body into it. So this is what it's like to have money.

Levi pressed play, opening the pint. He plunged his spoon into the ice cream as neatly as he could, bringing it to your lips.

You open your mouth slowly, letting him insert the spoon into your mouth. You stare at his eyes as you lick the spoon, getting lost in the clouds that live in his eyes. He pulled the spoon out of your mouth, taking a scoop for himself.

Levi had coffee ice cream residue on his bottom lip, which he quickly licked away. You stared at his chiseled jawline as he watched the show, his eyes moving back and forth with the scenes.

Eventually Levi put the ice cream away, knowing we would eat it again later. As he sat down next to you again, you couldn't help but notice a bulge in his pants.

We meet again.

Levi put his arm around the back of the couch, leaning back so his chest was stretched out. You could see his collarbone peeking out of his shirt, along with his sculpted muscles.

"You're not even watching, brat." Levi interrupted your daydream.

"I'm watching something else." You turn your body toward him. "It's much more interesting."

"What do you mean? I think it's ok so far -" Levi directs his attention back on the tv, getting lost in the plot.

You took advantage of this moment and unzipped your hoodie a bit, exposing your cleavage. He didn't seem to notice, but he will soon.

You slide into him, making sure he can feel your body against his. He looks down at you through his jet black locks, seemingly by surprise.

"What-"

"Shhhh." You press your finger to his lips, pulling your leg over his lap so you're straddling him. "You can't talk until I'm done. I mean it. Not a word." When did you suddenly get bold?

Levi's erection was more prominent now, pulsing against your thigh. You trail kisses down his face, neck, chest, and eventually you snake down to your knees, in front of his belt buckle.

You look up at Levi, who's mouth is open like he wants to say something.

"Remember the rules, Mr. Ackerman." You wiggle your finger, unbuckling his belt. "Not a word until I'm done."

His belt slid off with ease, as you pulled his slacks down to his ankles. His dick print through his boxer briefs startled you, but you're not gonna stop now. You spread his legs, pushing yourself in between them.

You drag your fingertips down his stomach to his pelvic region, tracing the 'V' line gently. You glanced to look at Levi, who's eyes were dead set on you.

His underwear came off, and his dick slapped his abs. Your eyes grew wide from his size, knowing you might have bit off more than you can chew.

You take one hand and start pumping his dick slowly, brushing your thumb over the tip. Pre-cum leaked from the slit, motivating you to pump harder.

You take some of the pre-cum from your finger and slid it into your mouth with a 'pop' sound. Levi groans, letting his head fall back.

You bring your lips to his tip, sucking it gently while pumping his shaft. You could not take all of him in yet, but you will. Your other hand starts massaging his balls, which hitched his breath. Your tongue caressed every vein in his dick, paying special attention to the tip.

Levi finally put one of his hands in your hair, directing you on his dick. You took more and more of him in, eventually hitting your gang reflex, but you didn't care. The look on Levi's face is worth it. He whimpers as your tongue cascades along his length, the sounds alone causing him to almost overstimulate.

Levi moaned your name before you felt his dick start pulsating in your mouth and his hand pulled your hair roughly. "Where do you want me to cum?" Levi said with short breaths.

"In my mouth."

It was less of a mess that way.

That must have sent Levi over the edge. He unleashed his load in your mouth, holding your hair tightly.

You snake your body up to his face and smile, swallowing his load.

"Fuck." Levi caught his breath, kissing your lips gently. "My turn." Levi pulled you onto the couch, laying you down horizontally. "But you can be as loud as you want."

Levi slid your leggings off, revealing your hot pink thong. He played with the straps before sliding them down your legs, kissing your thighs as he passed by.

Your core was drenched at this point from sucking his dick alone, and seeing him at your pussy sent you to another planet.

He slid two fingers in without warning, pulled them out, and sucked them while keeping his eyes on yours. "What a good girl. So wet for me." Levi started pumping his fingers, curling at your clit.

"Levi.." You moan his name, curling your toes. Levi presses his hand on your stomach, sitting his face in-between your thighs. His lips touched your pussy, sending electricity up and down your body.

The entire time, his eyes are on you. Watching every face you make, listening to every moan. Levi ate pussy like it was his last meal. His tongue and fingers invaded you and made it their home instead. Your walls started to pulsate as his tongue went in and out of you, devouring every last drop.

"So beautiful." Levi mumbled against you, curling his fingers one last time before the world went away around you. The feeling is euphoric. A man hasn't made you feel like this, ever. You've pleasured yourself enough to give yourself an orgasm, but this is different.

"Levi." You moan loudly, gripping his hair, riding out your high. You could not focus on one thing - there were no thoughts in your head. Levi ate you through your high until your legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Making his way to your lips, Levi kissed you gently, the sheen of your arousal all over his mouth.

"I wish I could savor this taste forever." He groaned, putting his hand behind your neck and pressing you into him gently.

His lips moved with purpose, making sure every inch is taken care of. Your lips are plump from all the arousal, your heart feels like its beating out of your chest.

"Do you still want to watch Grey's Anatomy?"

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

Parings → Danny Sullivan x Reader

Warnings → Personality disorder, 18+, violence, language, blood, angst, fluff

A/N : This fanfic series does not follow the original series.

Summary → Danny Sullivan, your best friend, who has personality disorder. After you find out about his disorder you try to help him as much as you can.

Masterlist

The decision to get Danny help wasn’t easy. After his breakdown, when all the personalities tried to took over at once, you knew you had to do something. Danny was exhausted, his mind fracturing under the weight of his alternate selves. He didn’t want to leave you, terrified of being away and facing the world alone. But you knew that this was the only way he could heal.

Sitting on the floor of the ghost house, where he’d run after the fight, you held him in your arms, whispering soothing words while his body shook from the internal battle. You gently cradled his head, kissing his hair softly.

“I’ll be with you, Danny. Every step. I promise.”

His fingers tightened around your arm, his voice breaking. “What if I don’t get better?”

“You will. We’ll get through this. You just need help—real help.”

It took a week to convince him. The fear of being separated from you almost made him back out several times, but each time you reassured him that you would visit him every weekend. You promised that nothing would change between the two of you. And so, after some tearful goodbyes, Danny was transferred to a mental health facility that specialized in dissociative identity disorder.

At first, the adjustment was hard. Danny missed you fiercely, and the quiet of his room was oppressive. He’d told you that being there made him feel like he was losing himself, like he was trapped in a cage without you by his side.

“Y/n… it’s so strange here. I don’t know what to do without you,” he confessed one day over the phone, his voice shaky and tired.

“I know, Danny. But you’re doing the right thing. You’re getting better, for yourself,” you said gently. “I’ll be there this weekend. Just a few more days, okay?”

The days passed slowly for Danny, but he clung to your words. You visited him every weekend without fail, bringing little things to cheer him up—new sketchbooks, his favorite snacks, letters you’d written. Over time, the therapy started to work. Danny learned to understand his personalities and began to gain control over them. The facility’s staff guided him through the process, helping him integrate and communicate with each identity.

He would write letters to you in between visits, telling you about his progress. His artwork became an essential part of his healing. The facility’s staff encouraged him to channel his emotions into his paintings, and soon enough, Danny’s talent began to shine through. He sold several pieces while still in the facility, which gave him a sense of purpose and hope for the future.

In one of his letters, he wrote:

“Y/n, I painted something today that made me think of you. It’s us, sitting by the lake, the sun setting behind us. You’re smiling at me the way you always do—like I’m worth something, like you believe in me. It’s strange, but when I look at that painting, I can almost feel peace. Thank you for being that for me.”

When you visited, you two would sit together in the garden behind the facility, where Danny often showed you his latest work or shared what he’d learned in therapy. The walls that had once kept him at a distance from his feelings were slowly coming down.

One evening, as you both sat under the trees, Danny hesitated before turning to you. His expression was softer than usual, almost vulnerable. “Y/n… I’ve been thinking about something for a while.”

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, sensing the weight of his thoughts.

“I… I don’t know how to say this, but…” His eyes flickered to the ground, nervous. “I think I like you. More than just as my best friend. I’ve liked you for a long time, but I didn’t know how to handle it, especially with everything going on.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you smiled warmly, reaching out to take his hand. “Danny… I like you too. I’ve always cared about you, and nothing’s going to change that.”

His face broke into a small, relieved smile. “You mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it.”

From that moment, your relationship deepened. You both promised to stick together, through thick and thin, and you reassured him that you’d be there for him, no matter what happened.

After nearly a year, Danny was finally released from the facility. The day you picked him up, he was a mix of excitement and nerves. His eyes shone with a hope you hadn’t seen in a long time, but there was still a trace of fear. He was afraid of going back to the outside world, of facing himself.

But you were there, holding his hand the whole way.

“It’s going to be okay,” you said, smiling up at him. “We’re going to be okay.”

Together, you found a small apartment to rent, a cozy place where you could start fresh. Danny’s art continued to flourish, and he was able to make a living from selling his paintings. Every time you saw him work, the intensity and passion in his eyes, you felt a sense of pride welling up inside you. He had come so far, and you couldn’t be more proud.

Late at night, in the comfort of your shared apartment, you would lie in bed together, talking about the future. Danny would hold you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as if he still couldn’t believe that you were real, that you were with him despite everything.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Y/n,” he’d whisper into your hair. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

You smiled softly, resting your head against his chest. “You’re stronger than you think, Danny. But I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

With the personalities now integrated, Danny was finally able to live a peaceful life. There were still struggles, moments when he felt overwhelmed or uncertain, but with you by his side, he always found a way to push through. You had created a new life together, built on trust, love, and resilience.

As you sat together on the couch in your small apartment, watching the sun set through the window, you realized that, after everything, you’d finally found peace—with Danny, with yourself, and with the future ahead.

And that was more than enough.

─── ༓･*˚⁺‧ ꕥ ༓･*˚⁺‧ ───

[ashwithane]

happy 5th anniversary, fire emblem three houses!

i didn’t have time to do anything super elaborate, but i’m glad i could at least make some simple drawings of how i looked when the game released vs how i look now. i tried to give them a similar vibe to the in-game portraits haha

rant below about my feelings right now because there’s a Lot to say! content warning for mental illness and childhood trauma 🫠🤙

as you can see in the drawings, i’ve come a long way in the past five years. when three houses first released, i was a deeply insecure high schooler who never dared to speak up or express themself. i struggled with self worth issues and had long since begun developing ocd symptoms as a result of the fear i had that there was something wrong with me, something i couldn’t possibly know or change but that everyone would see if i made a single wrong move.

throughout high school, and my adolescence as a whole, i had a hard time connecting with people. but when i played three houses, i connected with the story, the characters, the ability to replay it again and again and always try something new, change characters’ classes and find new paired endings and discover the little details i hadn’t noticed before. i was playing three houses the weekend after covid lockdown was announced, and i remember talking to one of my friends about this cool game i’d just started my second playthrough of. we laughed and talked about the game, figuring that lockdown would only last a few weeks, and then things would be back to normal.

lockdown was difficult for me, as it was for most people. but at the same time, not going to school in person meant i could afford to let my guard down. i could afford to unmask, and discover who i was when i didn’t spend every moment in fear of what others would think. and so when lockdown ended, i started college still timid, but somewhat more familiar with who i was inside.

and then, one day, a thought hit me out of nowhere.

“am i trans???”

and thus began the journey of self-discovery that was my first summer after college. i started using the name ashe, started using any pronouns and later switched to just they/them. i also finally got up the courage to tell my parents i wanted to get tested for autism, and came back with that diagnosis to explain almost everything i hadn’t had the words to understand before.

recently, my mental health has gotten worse. i got diagnosed with anxiety at the same time i got my autism diagnosis, but nobody told me i have ocd as well until earlier this year. things took a nosedive for me over this past school year—i stopped taking risks, barely left my college campus, barely allowed myself to put effort into social connections out of fear that i’d be forcing people to put up with me. but through therapy and medication, i’ve been working through those feelings, and the fears my brain internalized as a result of the way i grew up: feeling like something was wrong with me, but not knowing what. today, i feel pretty good! i’ve been having more and more good days, so i’m overall optimistic about what my future holds.

to bring this back on topic, fire emblem: three houses has gotten me through countless tough times, and has been immensely helpful in figuring out who i am. so in honor of the anniversary, i’d like to give a special thank you to the characters who have been the most important to me over the past five years.

ashe: i’ll start with the obvious. ashe is the character i stole my name from, so of course he will always hold a special place in my heart. in addition to that though, ashe’s earnest personality and commitment to doing the right thing is immensely inspiring to me. he proves that it’s possible to make mistakes and grow from them, that your life isn’t over after one misstep. ashe has taught me to never give up on doing the right thing, and being the best version of myself i can be.

felix: this list would not be complete without the scrunkly of all time! obviously i find felix to be a very compelling character and fun to write, but his significance to me goes beyond being a writing muse. i’ve often thought that i wish i’d had a friend like felix when i was younger, and even now—someone who would drag me into situations i found stressful and encourage me (in his own rude way) to have confidence in myself. someone who would have stood up for me against the people who treated me like i was lesser. felix inspires me to fight for what i want, his shield symbolizing the ability to make your own choices for what and who you defend. he reminds me that there’s no glory in being a martyr, and so i shouldn’t make my well being a second priority. i love you felix and i’m sorry i put you through the horrors regularly (but not sorry enough to stop).

marianne: it’s probably concerning to say i see a lot of myself in marianne. her journey is incredibly inspiring to me, especially now as i see that the past five years have taken me along a similar path to hers. marianne starts out thinking she’s too different from everyone else to deserve a life like theirs, and condemns herself to crushing loneliness all to avoid the possibility of her hurting the people she loves. and yet she learns to live for herself, realizes that her mere existence doesn’t cause any harm, and learns to embrace her right to enjoy life. i hope to have the same strength she does, so that one day i can reach that point as well.

linhardt: no joke, i realized i was neurodivergent because of linhardt. so many of his lines and support conversations made me go “ha, he’s so autistic/adhd coded!” i made these comments repeatedly, but i also kept noticing all the little ways in which i related to him. linhardt was one of many autistic people who made me go “huh, i do that too! what do you mean that’s not normal???” his character also serves as a reminder that it’s okay to take a break once and a while, and that looking after myself doesn’t mean i don’t care about others.

if there’s one thing left to say, it’s thank you. thank you to ashe, felix, marianne, linhardt, mercedes, sylvain, ignatz, hapi, yuri, hell—my oc rowan, all the characters i’ve connected with and loved so deeply over the past five years. thank you fire emblem three houses, not for being the only reason i am where i am today, but being a major part of it nonetheless. and if anyone’s still reading, thank you for making it this far, and happy timeskip! 🎉