#mentions of cancer so be wary

[pathologicalreid]

orange juice | S.R.

you and spencer have an announcement to make, but you're not quite sure how to do it

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: bau!reader, pregnant!reader, nausea and pregnancy symptoms, slightly protective spencer, mentions blood tests and doctors, not proofread word count: 906 a/n: this week has been so atrocious and awful and stressful!!! fuck cancer!! fuck student loans!!! i need spencer reid fluff!!!

“Drink it,” Spencer murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the file on his desk in front of him while noting the way you hadn’t so much as budged in his periphery. You were leaning a bit too far to the left, and the more he observed you, the more he worried that you were going to topple over. “It’ll make you feel better,” he prodded.

Your head jolted as he continued to watch you as if he had woken you from a deep sleep, “What? Sorry,” you mumbled, eyes focusing on the bottle of orange juice that he had placed on your desk upon your arrival at the BAU.

A laugh caught your attention as you slowly turned your office chair around, “Late night, pretty girl?” Derek quipped, winking in your direction before turning back to his own work.

Turning back around, you shared a look with Spencer while rolling your chair closer to your desk, hoping to be able to better prop your head up. The real answer was that you had an early morning, woken up by a roiling stomach courtesy of the first trimester.

Spencer had gotten up with you at five this morning and your queasiness showed no sign of faltering. Your stomach had nothing left to give by the time you went to your doctor’s appointment, but you assured your husband that you were fine when you arrived in Quantico after having your blood drawn.

The issue was that no one knew. Other than Hotch – for obvious personal safety reasons – no members of the BAU were aware that you were pregnant. It started as wariness, wanting to reach a certain milestone before letting your team know, but it quickly turned into a different form of anxiety. You hadn’t let your team know you were even talking about having a baby. Neither of you were entirely sure how to broach the subject or announce your pregnancy, so you didn’t.

Hidden in plain sight, resting on Spencer’s desk was a sonogram, a three-by-five, black-and-white photo of your baby, the two of you were simply waiting for a profiler observant enough to notice. You weren’t showing, yet, as you encroached upon the second trimester, you worried you were running out of time.

His theory was that your nausea was being exacerbated by low blood sugar, which is why he made sure to give you orange juice – you weren’t so convinced, orange juice was brutal coming back out.

You heard the familiar woosh of the glass doors to the bullpen swing as someone entered, the click-clack of Garcia’s heels snapping you back to attention, it was almost time for morning debrief. If you were lucky, you’d remain at your desk for the rest of the day. If your luck ran out, you’d have to pop a Zofran before getting on the jet.

Sighing, you rested your chin in your hand before going back to clicking through your emails, pausing for just a moment when Spencer reached across the short barrier between your desks and opened the bottle for you. To appease him, you took a small sip of the orange juice, pleased when you saw him settle in his desk chair.

“What’s that?” Garcia asked, nearly stumbling to a stop behind Spencer’s desk as her eyes snagged on something on the surface. “No, no I know what that is,” she continued, stammering and flicking her eyes between you and Spencer.

Penelope’s rising voice garnered the attention of other people in the bullpen, bringing them to your and Spencer’s adjacent desks. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” Derek piped up, making his way over and setting a hand on the back of your chair.

Pointing at you, the technical analyst wagged her finger as she made the connections in her brain. The doctor’s appointments and the sudden aversion to girl’s night made sense to her now, and you could see it in the way her gaze softened when she stepped around the desks in order to give you a hug, “Is that real?”

As you reciprocated her hug, you nodded, glancing over at your husband as you knew your secret was now out. “Yeah,” you mumbled into her blonde hair, “It’s real.”

“Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Morgan said, looking around, sharing a confused look with Emily but earning a ‘dude, really?’ look from JJ.

Releasing you from the hug, Penelope reached over the acrylic barrier, plucked the sonogram off Spencer’s desk, and presented it to the rest of the team Vanna White style, “Baby genius is imminent!” She announced, beaming at you and Spencer as you snuck around them to stand at his side.

One by one, Emily, JJ, and Derek embraced both you and Spencer, “Wait, how long has that picture been there?” Emily questioned, arching a dark brow at you and Spencer.

“Two weeks,” Spencer answered quickly, snaking an arm around you and resting a hand on your hip, squeezing it reassuringly.

You leaned into him slightly before nodding in affirmation, “Yeah, some profilers you guys are!”

Rolling his eyes, Morgan came back at you for another hug, holding you so tightly that your feet lifted slightly off the ground. “Woah, hey, be careful,” Spencer said, waiting expectantly for your coworker to let you go.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped back to where Spencer was standing while Emily spoke again, “Oh, he’s going to be insufferable by the end of this.”

[littlemisslomax]

"C" isn't just for Constantine...

Ch. 1 - "Oh yeah, that's a good idea."

John Constantine x nurse!Reader : CW: medical talk, mention of cancer, mention of su¡cide.

The hospital's fluorescent lights flickered overhead as you made your way down the corridor, the rhythmic beeping of machines and the hushed murmurs of nurses filling the air. Your shift had just started, and you were already tired. All of last week, you prayed to be assigned to the ER or to Triage, but here you are in Oncology and Radio. It’s so… depressing. It's so dismal that it drains you just to walk down these hallways, hearing the things you hear from different rooms as you pass them. You glanced at the chart in your hand, the first patient of the shift: John Constantine, Room 314. Preparing for an MRI. You took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The room was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright, sterile hallway. A pallid, lanky man in an expensive suit sat on the edge of the exam table, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling upwards in lazy tendrils. His eyes, dark and haunted, flicked towards you as you entered, small wisps of his black hair drooping over his forehead.

"Mr. Constantine?" you called softly, stepping closer into the room and shutting the door.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, his voice rough and weary. He took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly for a moment before he exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Hello, I’m uh— I’m your nurse for today.” You offer him a weak smile before your eyes trail down to the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. “If I could just ask you to please put out your cigarette…?” The request squeaked out a bit awkwardly. It was always so tough asking patients to do anything, especially considering how much these patients already probably have to worry about.

"I'm here to help you get ready for your MRI," you explained, setting the chart down and moving to gather the necessary supplies. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, mixed with the acrid scent of tobacco. "It won't take long."

He watched you with a mix of curiosity and wariness, his eyes tracking your every movement. You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and probing, as if he were trying to see past the surface to uncover your secrets. It was disconcerting, but you pushed the feeling aside and focused on your task.

"Not many people would want this job," he remarked, a hint of sardonic humor in his tone. His voice was like gravel, roughened by years of hard living.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. They were a striking shade of brown, intense and void-like. "Well, someone has to do it," you replied, offering a small smile. Truth be told, you would much rather be in Pediatrics, handing out stickers and lollipops, but you obviously can’t just tell him that. That would be terrible bedside manner. "And besides, everyone deserves a bit of kindness."

He let out a bitter chuckle, the sound low and mirthless. "Yeah, nothing but sunshine and rainbows for me."

"Well anyways, Mr. Constantine, let’s get you ready." You said, your voice steady. "If you could just undress and get into this gown." The paper of the hospital gown rustled a bit as you lifted it out of the exam table drawer and handed it to him. You turned away, working on something on the counter to give him some privacy. “MRI magnets are some of the strongest in the world. Please be sure you remove any and all metal from your being and leave them with your clothes.” You added as a cautionary warning. John wasn’t loving this. What a waste of time—but the blood in his coughing sure was a sight. He had to get this done. So, with a roll of his eyes, he obliged and took off his watch, and removed all metal on his body. But… he was taking a pretty long time getting that gown on. He was more worried about removing all of his protection. For just a moment you turn around and catch a glimpse of him shirtless, seeing all of those tattoos of different sigils and symbols. Your cheeks get just a little bit hot, and you turn around. Suddenly, that jar of cotton balls on the counter is extremely interesting.

You adjust your scrubs and cough before sitting down at the monitor at the desk in the corner to begin the pre-examination questionnaire. “Well, I know you smoke… How many in a day...?” You ask, pulling up his file. “Oh, I swear, I don’t smoke,” John scoffed, a sarcastic smirk spreading across his somber face as his gaze remained glued on the sterile linoleum floors. “Some guy just came in and strongarmed me into trying a cigarette… Peer pressure is a real problem in our world, y’know?” Unamused, you just look at him with a silent expression that speaks volumes. After a few beats and a couple blinks you speak up. “Mr. Constantine.” “Jeez.” He muttered, “No sense of humor...? Fine. I'd say a pack a day.” John finally gave the answer. “Well… It says here on your file that you have previously struggled with suicidal tendencies. Would you say that this is something you continue to struggle with? Preferably on a scale from one to ten.” Typically, this was a heavy question for you to ask any patient, but it seemed John wasn’t your typical patient anyway. “I wouldn’t say I struggled. I was pretty successful in my endeavors.” John gave another dry joke of an answer and a mirthless chuckle.

And he was met with another blank stare. But this time, you were trying to hold back a laugh. That one was kinda funny, but you gotta keep a straight face, this is serious. With a clearing of his throat, he spoke up another response. “About a two…” The only noise that could be heard in the exam room was the sound of your fingers clicking against the chunky keyboard, the humming of the fluorescent lights, and the crinkling of the sterile parchment under where John was seated. You stood and washed your hands before gloving up and going over to him to administer a few run-of-the-mill tests before transferring him to Radiology. The wheels of the blood pressure monitor creak as you roll the small cart over to the table. Velcro rips apart as you open the cuff and wrap it around his arm.

"So... Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You paused, considering your answer. "Because I believe everyone has a chance at redemption. And sometimes, it starts here, I guess."

He studied you, his gaze intense and searching as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your words. "Redemption, huh? Not sure there's enough bedside manner on earth to redeem some people." John said, his tone low and almost derisive, knowing that by 'some people,' he was really talking about himself.

"Maybe not," you conceded, meeting his eyes once more. "But it's worth a try, isn't it?"

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. It was as if your words had struck a chord, resonating with something deep within him. You pulled the cuff off of his arm and smiled softly.

"Maybe," he said finally, his voice softer than before. "Maybe it is."

The weird tension was broken by the entrance of John’s doctor and a couple of Radiologists, ready to take him over to the MRI. “John? You ready?” John’s dark eyes bolted over to the doctors in the doorway. The dread and worry in the pit of his stomach grew heavier and heavier.

You looked up at him and offered a reassuring smile, your hand gently resting on top of his. "I'll be here when you're done," you said gently. "You're not alone in this. They’re going to take great care of you. I’ll be sure to keep your stuff nice and safe until you come back. Looks expensive."

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something other than cynicism and bitterness. It was fleeting, but it was there—hope, maybe, or the faintest glimmer of trust.

"Thanks," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

As you stepped back, giving him space, you couldn't help but feel a strange connection to this man. Something about him drew you in; a sense of shared understanding and unspoken empathy. You knew this was just the beginning, a first step on a path that could lead to something more.

And as you left the room, you couldn't shake the feeling that your paths were meant to cross, that in the thralls of fate, you had found each other for a reason. A regular kismet.

a/n: eat up y'all, this is gonna be a slooooowww burn. in all seriousness, i really hope you guys like it, i've had writer's block from hell recently, and know i've been super inactive. hoping this makes up for it

[the-ace-with-spades]

I'll never write it because it hits a bit too close home for me to write it without mental strain (I'd read it okay tho...) but I have a very specific scenario in my head so—

Bradley gets the same type of cancer his mom died from.

I imagine it's lung or pancreas cancer because I've seen those and they can be quite aggressive or progressive depending on type. In my head, Carole was in her late thirties/early forties at the latest when she got sick and I imagine it was unexpected and quick, as it often is with young cancer.

The thing is, people deal with cancer diagnosis differently in so many ways — some are in complete denial, some try to stay optimistic for their family, and some just... give up.

Bradley's seen enough cancer and death that he can't deny it but he also can't ever believe he has any luck left in life.

He's in his late 20s. He's just been proposed as his squad's candidate for Top Gun. The DADT just got removed. He has a long-term, serious partner (Jake) who he might not be completely open about everything yet but whom he loves and plans to marry and who loves him back. They're planning on buying a house, Jake talks about having kids. Bradley met Jake's family and his life didn't blow up and they even liked him. The years after he stopped talking to Mav were tough, but he's feeling as settled and as happy with his life as he can be at the time.

He goes to his routine physical as normal, maybe his spirometry comes up short or maybe his bloods are a bit off, or maybe he's just feeling more tired than normal and the doc has a feeling.

Doc informs him about the suspicions, he gets the tests done and it turns from suspicion to reality. At no point Bradley mentions it to Jake. He's taken off flying schedule, sure, but he doesn't tell anyone why, just making something up about his eyesight getting worse or maybe about a recurring ear or sinus infection.

Even if the diagnosis wasn't that bad and the oncologist was optimistic prognosis-wise, Bradley, who has already heard the exact same words about his mom's diagnosis, wouldn't believe it at all. Maybe he wouldn't believe it at all to the point that he'd refuse treatment and just let life run its course.

He'd start planning.

Get everything sorted out while he can. Make it as painless for everyone as much as he can.

And it starts small and escalates quickly. He updates his will, he has a med leave meeting with his superiors, advocates for a transfer to an office role.

He breaks up with Jake, still not telling him a thing. Just so he doesn't have to go through it with Bradley as well — because he knows he'd. And you bet he does the break up in a way that pisses Jake off to the point he doesn't realize how suspicious everything is — the timing, the medical leave, Bradley changing from 'let's buy a house together and have kids' to 'i don't think we can really work out together' on the span of weeks. He's brash in the worst way, and obviously, it also makes their friend group wary and isolates him — which was exactly his plan.

There's one person who he knows will be forever guilty if they don't talk. So, you know, he takes a trip down to China Lake and he and Mav talk. He says all the right things he knows Mav wants to hear — that he forgives him, that he's not mad anymore, that he understands, that he still considers Mav his sort of dad and that he was pissed but he's ready to move on. Maybe Mav does the unexpected and explains to Bradley why he pulled the papers and maybe Bradley actually forgives him.

So, you know, with that Bradley is all ready to take on everything alone, never have anyone find out and just start, well, dying on his own, medical partial leave, all of his stuff sold or written into the will, potential transfer to a paper-pushing position in Point Mugu, far away from everyone who could ever care about him, any people who could ever be affected at all by his illness in the blind.

He was not counting on one thing, though — that Mav, forgiven and missing over ten years of Bradley's life, will try to be part of his life again. Calls, visits — Bradley can't really keep it hidden that he's just rolled over his life in the span of weeks, even if he doesn't not why. Bradley was young when his mom got sick but not that young — he remembers how Mav took it, he's not going to retraumatize him.

But it's really hard not to let Mav know too much when he's asking about everything, and he mentions Jake once and Mav runs wild with the information. First starts to prod Bradley, then tries to do his own investigation and finds out that Jake was stationed at the same base and that they had been together before they broke up abruptly not long ago.

He thinks he's connected the dots — Bradley's weird behavior has to be due to heartbreak, y'know — and tries to play a bit of a wingman by approaching Hangman on his own.

The two people Bradley is trying to keep in the blind meet and realize something is fishy. Jake not only gets hit with the face with Bradley's estranged dad existing but also not being estranged anymore and with that Bradley is acting freaking weird. Mav gets hit in the face because it was Bradley who did the breaking up in the nastiest way possible (and he raised him better than that and also can still see he's got the sad lovesick puppy face whenever Mav tries to bring Jake up) but also with the realization that whatever Bradley is doing, he's got them fooled.

In the end, I think it'd be Ice who figures it out (whether or not he and Mav are together in this scenario). Hears all about it from Mav and Jake and has this moment when it all kind of spins in his head, his own experiences and feelings making a callback, and just tells them, it sounds like he's preparing for a goodbye.

Needless to say, Jake is pissed, Mav is pissed. They stage an intervention and you know that Bradley coughs up (probably in some dramatic way as well... like getting sick to the point they call an ambulance for him...). They definitely freak out when they find out he's been refusing treatment this whole time.

(I don't want to go into actual details of treatment but you can bet Mav and Jake are fucking glued to him from then on and they watch him like hawks. It's not all roses and I don't believe it'd be a quick treatment, probably running long, having better and worse days. Maybe he won't even be able to fly afterwards, once he's in remission. Maybe he never goes into remission. I don't know, I don't like thinking that far...)

[graciegoeskrazy]

she's begging you to stay stay

Matty Healy + preteen!lost!daughter!OFC!r

warnings (buckle up): angst, little fluff, language, absent father, dead mom, cancer, children's home, R IS TWELVE, foster care, insomnia, a lot of these things are mentioned but aren't in graphic detail at all. R HAS A NAME IM TRYING SOEMTHING

a/n: I got this request and was lowk kinds unsure but I just started and couldn't stop typing. im nil a lot of that I post is super short but this like literally like 7 thousand words which Ig is pretty standard but whatevs for me its crazy. I might actually hate this I genuinely haven't decided yet. anon depending on what you think im ether sorry or you're welcome lol <3

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the peeling wallpaper, a million thoughts racing through your mind. You feel a mix of grief and numbness, a strange emptiness you can’t quite shake. The scent of mold and old candles is an odd comfort to the starkness and uncomfort of the room around you. You hear the faint sound of Nora’s voice drifting through the thin walls. You don’t move, just keep staring at your hands in your lap, the same position you’ve held for 3 days now, pretending not to hear the voice on the other side of the wall.

“Is this Matthew Healy?” she says, her voice steady.

“Depends. Who’s this?” The voice on the other end is wary, guarded.

“This is Nora from Wess Hill Children’s Home in London. How are you today?”

She could hear shuffling on the other side. “Fine. What’s this about?”

Nora takes a deep breath, glancing at your continuing. “Mr. Healy, on Tuesday we got a call asking for an emergency placement for a girl. Her mother passed away. She’s 12 years old, name is Matilda Moss - does that ring a bell?”

If you were right next to Nora you would have felt the unamusement in his voice. “‘Fraid not, ma’am.”

Nora’s expression tightens slightly. “Interesting. What I find really interesting is that on her birth certificate, it lists you, Mr. Healy, as her biological father.”

There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nora sighs, her eyes softening as she looks back at your door again. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way, truly. But I have a home that only fits 24 and a long waitlist of children, so I need to know if I need to send this child into foster care or tell her that her father will be coming to see her.”

“W-Wait a minute. How are we even sure it’s my child? There could be thousands of other white blokes in London with the same name. How can I even believe you? How do I know you’re not a scammer or some idiot trying a prank?”

Nora’s voice remains calm, but there’s still an edge. “Does the name Florence Moss mean anything to you, sir? Ring any bells?”

The line went silent.

“I need to know what it’s gonna be, sir. I’m not trying to inconvenience you either way; I just need an answer.”

You hear a long sigh on the other end. “I-I don’t…I don’t know—”

“She was sick, Matthew. Cancer.”

There’s a heavy silence. Then, Nora speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. “Her will clearly states that in the unforeseen circumstance of death, She wanted her daughter to be placed with her father, you.”

Another pause. “What’s her name again?”

“Matilda George Moss-Healy.”

“And she’s 12?”

“12 and 2 months.”

A soft exclamation, almost a whisper. “Wow. I’ll be there at 3.”

It didn’t matter what Nora could do or say or give you to make you feel better, There was nothing that could be done in order to make the past 3 days not feel like a living hell. There was nothing you, yourself, could physically do to make the permanent ache in your heart disappear. The only thing, you thought, that could make this all go away, that could make this nightmare end, was your mother. But she was gone, and there was nothing that could be done. Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that in just a few hours, you’ll meet the man you’ve wondered about your entire life.

—-------

If there was one thought that was evidently clear in Matty’s mind, it was that he needed to call George.

His hands trembled slightly as he fumbled for his phone, the sleek device feeling unusually heavy in his grasp. He pressed it to his ear, each ring seeming slower and slower as it rung. He paced the small, cluttered room, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Finally, George’s voice crackled through the line, casual and unbothered. “Sup, dipshit.”

“I just got the strangest call,” Matty said, his voice strong, skipping over the usual pleasantries.

“‘Kay?” George’s tone was wary.

“From a woman working in a children’s home?” Matty continued, his mind still reeling from the conversation.

“What charity they want you to perform now?” George asked, his voice light but curious.

“No, it’s not that.” Matty paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s about Flo? Florence Moss?” Matty’s voice wavered slightly, the name stirring up a flood of memories.

There was a noticeable pause, the air thick with anticipation. “Woah! That’s a name I never thought I’d hear again!” George finally replied, his tone shifting to something lighter, a huge comparison to Matty’s frantic state.

“So that’s a yes?” Matty pressed.

“You kidding? I LOVED Flo. She was like a sister to me! Shame though, innit?” He said, refurrging to the breakup Matty and Florence went through. “Anyways, what about her?” His voice softened.

“She died, George. Couple days ago. Cancer.” Matty’s words were blunt, but they carried a heavy weight.

Another long pause followed, the silence almost deafening. “You doin’ a bit? ‘Cause it’s not funny, mate-”

“It’s not a bit. And she had a child.” Matty’s voice broke slightly, the reality of the situation hitting him.

“What?” George’s shock was palpable, even through the phone.

“Who has my name on the birth certificate?” Matty continued, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Not shittin’ you.”

George was in pure disbelief. “How can you be sure?”

Matty ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “Um, ‘cause Flo and I were together for like two fucking years and we broke up like 12 years ago and the girl’s age is 12?”

“It’s a GIRL? Oh mate, you’re fucked.” His bluntness would usually make him light, but this time it made him nearly question his entire life.

“Not the sentiment I need right now.” Matty snapped, his patience wearing thin.

“What are you gonna do?” George’s voice was calmer now, but still tinged with concern.

“I-I feel like I have to go get her? Right? Otherwise, she’s off to foster care? I mean, she’s my child. Right? I don’t know. Maybe not.” Matty’s words tumbled out in a rush, his uncertainty evident.

George sighed, a long, weary sound. “I think you’re fucked either way.”

“Oh, thanks sooooo much, Uncle George,”

“No. I mean, if you bring this girl with you, raise her, be a dad, do whatever the fuck, your life is gonna change, right? If you call that woman back, tell her to send her into foster care, although that woman might legally have to tell you ‘Okay. Thank you,’ we both know you would never forget her and maybe even end up regretting that choice.”

Matty stood in silence. He knew his friend was right. No matter what he chose, his life was about to be irrevocably changed. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders, pressing down with a relentless force.

—-------

“Hi, um, I’m looking for Nora?” His voice echoed slightly in the wide, institutional hallway.

“Ah, you must be Matthew. Nice to meet you.” Nora’s voice, though warm, had an undertone of weariness, like someone who had spent years navigating the complicated emotions of others. She shifted uneasily. “I informed Matilda of your…arrival today…and she’s not the happiest about it.”

“Meaning?”

“She won’t come out of her room.”

“Oh. Great.” Matty ran a hand through his hair, worry clear on his face.

“Just…keep in mind she’s still mourning.” Nora’s sing-song voice couldn’t hide the gravity of the situation. She led him down a narrow hallway, the walls adorned with children’s drawings and faded motivational posters. The scent of old wood, cleaning supplies, and the faintest hint of sadness hung in the air.

“Tilly! Someone’s here to see you.” Nora’s voice called out cheerfully, a futile attempt to coax you out.

“Matilda! Come on out, darling, it's alright.” She paused, listening for any sound of movement. “You know I have the key right here; I can just open it if I wanted to.” Nora said, voice comedic for the times. “Tilly, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

After a silent few seconds, she took her ring of keys and picked one to unlock your door.

Inside your room, you sat curled up on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. The peeling wallpaper, once probably a cheerful pattern, now seemed to close in around you, a suffocating reminder of the world outside your door. The scent of mildew and the faint smell of your mother’s perfume clung to your clothes, creating a strange, bittersweet comfort. Nora’s voice penetrated the cocoon of silence you’d wrapped yourself in.

“Tilly, this is Matthew.” Nora’s voice softened, a hint of sympathy in her words. “He’s here to take you home, my love.”

You visibly winced at the word ‘home.’ Home was a concept that had shattered the day your mother died.

Nora took a step towards your bed, slowly rubbing your back in order to coax you to come out. “Why don’t you sit up, my love?” Nora said gently. You didn’t move.

She sighed. “C’mon, Tills.”

With a heavy sigh, you slowly uncurled yourself and sat up.

Matty felt out of place, a stranger in a place that was the closest thing you had to refuge.

“I’ll just leave you two alone for a moment. I’ll be right outside.” Nora closed the door softly, leaving you and Matty in an awkward silence.

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and uncertainty. The room seemed to shrink around him as he struggled to find the right words. “I know you’ve gone through a lot in the past 48 hours,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his own emotions was evident, and he hesitated, unsure of how to bridge the gap between you.

You looked up at him, your eyes red from crying. The raw pain and vulnerability in your gaze made his heart ache. “You don’t have to take me with you out of…guilt,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here now just because you didn’t want to be here before.” The accusation hung in the air, a heavy reminder of his absence in your life.

He winced, the truth of your words cutting deep. “It’s not guilt, Matilda,” he replied, taking another step closer. “I genuinely didn’t know. If I had, things would have been different. I would have been there for you and your mother.” His voice broke slightly, the regret palpable. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m here now because I want to be. Because you deserve better than what you’ve been given.”

You studied his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty. His eyes were earnest, the sorrow in them mirroring your own grief. “Why didn’t she tell you?” you asked, the question that had been gnawing at you since you learned the truth.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the unknown. “Maybe she thought it was for the best. Maybe she was scared. I wish I had the answers, but all I can do now is be here for you.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken questions and the ghosts of what might have been. “I’ve spent my whole life wondering about you,” you finally said, your voice barely audible. “And now you’re here, and I don’t know what to think.”

He nodded, understanding the turmoil within you. “I can’t change the past, Matilda. But I can promise you this: I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe and cared for. I’ve got a house, with a nice room, food, and I think staying there would be better than the rotting twin mattress you’re sitting on in the smallest room I have ever seen that’s probably infested with black mold.”

“Everywhere in London has black mold,” you muttered, a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Mine might have less?” He offered a tentative smile. “Come home, Matilda.”

“I don’t have a home. Not anymore.” Your voice was barely a whisper, the pain of loss weighing heavily on your words.

“I’m not saying this has to be forever. If you want to leave and go live with someone else, then that’s fine by me, but if you don’t come with me tonight, they’re gonna put you in foster care with a family who more than likely won’t give a shit about you.” He paused, gauging your reaction. “She didn’t tell you that, did she?”

You shook your head, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I don’t want you to go somewhere without knowing that you’ll be safe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He looked surprised, almost disbelieving.

You paused once more, “...Okay.”

—-------

Matty let you be for a moment as he told Nora about the news. She was overjoyed and surprised as well. They let you know that Matty would be taking you home. As they talked, your mind wandered, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within you. You glanced around the room, noticing every detail—the worn carpet, the sagging ceiling, the chipped paint on the window sill. Everything felt surreal, as if you were trapped in a dream you couldn't wake up from.

You tried to grab his attention, your thoughts racing. You almost called out saying ‘Dad’ but stopped yourself just in time, the word feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue. The idea of calling him that seemed too intimate, too close for someone who had been a stranger just hours ago. Your mother had always been careful with her words when you asked about your father. She painted vague pictures of him, always avoiding specifics. Now that he was here, standing just a few feet away, the reality of his presence was overwhelming.

Would ‘Matty’ be awkward? He was indeed your father, but calling him that didn’t feel right either. You had no shared history, no foundation of familiarity. The name felt too casual, too friendly for someone who had suddenly appeared in your life amid the chaos and grief. You felt a pang of frustration, unsure of how to bridge the gap between you.

As you struggled with your thoughts, you offered a simple “Hey,” to get his attention instead. Your voice was soft, almost tentative, as if testing the waters of this new, uncertain relationship. He turned to you, his expression a mixture of relief and anxiety, mirroring the storm of emotions within you.

He responded with a gentle smile, his eyes searching yours for a connection. "Hey," he replied, his voice warm but cautious. In that moment, you both stood on the precipice of an unknown future, bound together by circumstance and the fragile hope that perhaps, in time, you could find your way to each other.

“I’m all ready to go, I think.”

“Awesome. I’ll get your things in the car.” He moved to gather your suitcases, his movements quick and efficient.

Nora hugged you tightly, her smile warm and genuine. “I’m happy for you, Matilda. You’ve been through a lot these past few days, and you’re doing so good.”

“Thank you for your help, Nora.” Your voice was soft, but there was a hint of gratitude in your words.

Her smile deepened as she led you from the desk to the front door. “I hope you know it comes from a good place when I say, I hope I never see you again.” The words made you laugh for the first time in three days, just a little, but it was a victory Nora cherished.

Matty muttered a few words when joining you in the car after bidding farewell to Nora. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at him.

“You allergic to dogs? I’ve got one. His name is Mayhem. Weird name for a dog, I know, but it suits him—not that he’ll be a problem or anything. He’s a good boy.” He tried to fill the silence, his voice almost nervous.

“Do you usually not talk this much?” You shrugged, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery.

“Only when my mom dies.” Your words were blunt, a stark reminder of the grief still fresh in your heart.

Oh, so she definitely has my humor. Matty thought to himself, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. The drive was filled with awkward silences and hesitant attempts at conversation, but beneath it all was a shared sense of loss and a fragile hope for something better.

—-------

The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow over the cluttered room. You continue to scroll on your phone as you pull the worn, thin blanket back over your shoulders. A yawn crosses your features. It wasn't your plan to be up at 3 a.m., but insomnia has become a close friend since your mother passed away. It's been three weeks and four days since you moved in with Matty. He made it very clear from the beginning: if you didn’t want to live with him, that was fine. He was in full support of whatever you wanted, as long as you were safe. He was ready and willing to have the conversation with you as soon as possible. Having your mother die of cancer, meeting your father for the first time, burying your mother, adjusting to a new life you had no clue you would be living just a month ago, and so on and so forth took its toll. You started to worry that the waiting game of seeing how long this quiet could last was starting to run out.

The footsteps walking down the steps and into the kitchen pulled you out of your drowset state. It was matty, dress in blue lounge pants and shit, complete with a random flannel that you would bet he just picked up off the floor and threw on before he come downstairs,

"Good morning," he says with a yawn, his voice low but still awake, a stark comparison to your drowsiness.

"It's 3 a.m.," you reply, your voice tinged with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"Yeah, it's the morning," he says, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He holds out a steaming mug, the rich aroma of coffee wafting towards you. "Want some?"

"Sure," you say, accepting the mug and wrapping your hands around it, savoring the warmth that seeps into your skin.

You take a sip, the bitter taste jolting you awake. You look anywhere except his direction."You a musician?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," he nods, taking a seat across from you. "You?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head. You watch him, trying to piece together the fragments of your mother’s stories with the reality in front of you.

“Do you know why my mom used to tell me I was named after my father and an ‘old friend.’"

"‘Old friend’?" he echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my middle name. Matilda came from ‘Matty’,you knew that, but where did my middle name come from?” you continue, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability.

"What's that again?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. Also trying to not secretly swell with love as he was reminded of your similarities.

"George. Matilda George."

"George. Your middle name is George?" He looks at you with an expression you can't quite read.

"Jeez, I know it’s a guy's name but you don’t have to be a dick about it—" you snap, feeling defensive.

"No! No! It’s not that I just…" he trails off, shaking his head. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and walks towards you. "This is George." He shows you a photo, and judging by the state of Matty’s facial hair, it’s a semi recent one. The pair are on what looks like a stage, together. Drum sticks in George’s hand, and a Guitar in your father’s.

"You know him?" you ask, your confusion deepening.

He smirked. "We’ve been best friends since we were 13. Him and your mother were friends since practically birth. He introduced us to each other." He pauses, seeing the confusion etched on your face. "She never mentioned him?"

"She never mentioned you, so," you retort, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you.

You stare into your coffee, the steam rising and swirling in the dim light. You decide to speak up, trying to change the mood hanging in the air. "She also said my father traveled the world a lot, loved his friends, and loved me, but couldn’t take care of me," you say softly, repeating the words your mother had told you countless times. "You travel a lot?"

"Something like that," he replies, his eyes distant as if he's seeing a different time and place.

—-------

Matty didn’t like leaving you for too long, so he kept to working from home as much as possible.​​ Today, he said he needed to help George with something and then he would be back with dinner from your favorite restaurant. He’s done this a few times before and each time, again and again, the urge to play the stunning grand piano situated in the corner of his office grew more. 

You kept away from it. There were even spots or rooms in the house that you kept away from. Even though you and Matty were so much more comfortable, it still felt like there were boundaries, unspoken lines you weren’t sure you could cross. His office was one of those places, a domain you didn’t feel entirely comfortable invading. The grand piano, with its polished ebony surface and ivory keys, seemed like an artifact from another world, a world that you weren’t quite a part of yet.

Today, though, was different. The house was unusually quiet, the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway amplifying the stillness. You wandered through the rooms, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors. You paused by the door to Matty’s office, your hand resting on the doorknob. You glanced around, as if expecting someone to stop you, but the house remained silent.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the room. The grand piano sat in the corner, almost beckoning you. You walked over to it, your fingers grazing the smooth surface. You hesitated for a moment, then gently lifted the lid.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the bench. The familiar scent of polished wood filled your senses, bringing back memories of when you used to play. Your fingers hovered above the keys, and then, almost instinctively, they began to move. The first notes were tentative, but as you continued, they grew more confident, filling the room with music.

You closed your eyes, letting the music take over. The melody was a blend of old memories and new emotions, a testament to the changes in your life. The piano seemed to respond to your touch, the sound resonating deep within you. You lost track of time, immersed in the music, the outside world fading away.

You didn’t notice the front door opening or the soft footsteps approaching the office. Matty stood in the doorway, watching you with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He had come home earlier than expected, and the sight of you playing the piano was both unexpected and heartwarming. He leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment.

Once the last notes sounded, he spoke, startling you as you took your hands off the keys. “Sounds beautiful,” he said softly.

You jumped slightly, your fingers slipping off the keys. You turned to see him standing there, a gentle smile on his face.

“When did you get home?” you asked, a bit flustered.

“Just now,” he replied casually, stepping into the room.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity.

“Long enough to realize you lied to me,” he said, his smile turning into a teasing grin.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“You’re a musician! You play piano.”

You paused, thinking, then continued. “Well, you lied to me too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“You never mentioned you were in a band. A really famous one!”

His expression changed. “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “Well, what do you say when you're meeting your 12-year-old daughter for the first time? I don’t know, but I do know it’s definitely not ‘Nice to meet you, I’m famous,’ I’ll tell you that.” You couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “How’d you find out?” He asked.

You adjusted your posture and spoke. “I finally told my friends, and we did an internet deep dive in English class.”

He chuckled. “And I wonder why that’s the only class with a B.” He said, leaving the room as he did so.

You followed behind him, the both of you now making your way to the kitchen. “Is that why she said you traveled a lot? Because you were on those tours?” you asked, the pieces starting to fit together.

“I can only guess,” he replied, shrugging. You sat on one of the bar stools, across from where he was unpacking the groceries and starting to prepare dinner.

“Have you ever met Beyoncé?” you asked, your eyes wide with excitement.

“Only in passing,” he said nonchalantly, keeping his focus down.

You sat up in shock. “Really?!” You asked, mouth agape.

“I mean, yeah. It’s hard not to go to the Grammys and not walk past her and Jay-Z’s table.”

“You’ve been to the Grammys?” you asked, amazed.

“Yeah, we were nominated.”

You honestly couldn;t believe it. While spending that time on the internet earlier, a lot of the pieces were starting to come together. It’s just that you didn’t expect your own father - I guess I should start calling him that now - to be this huge ‘star’. “Shut up! Did you win?”

He laughed and looked you in the eyes. “Do you see a shiny gold trophy in our home? Should’ve though.” You shook your head in amazement. “How long have you been playing?” he asked, after a moment.

You became a bit quiet again, not impressed by the fact the conversation was heading this direction. “I don’t know,”

“What was it that Miss Julia said? About being open and honest with each other or something like that-”

“Ten years,” you interrupted, shooting him an unimmpressed look. He just smiled.

“Wow. How the hell did your mother get a two-year-old to stand still?” He asked.

“Well, I was an angel,” you said, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Really? What happened then?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a slightly dramatic sigh. “Those dad jokes kicked in real fast, didn’t they?”

The room seemed to grow warmer as the two of you shared this moment. The room grew quieter, but it felt different than before. It felt, comfortable. The kind of comfortable silence you only felt with your mother. Even if it wasn’t exact - even knowing you might not ever feel that exact comfortable silence ever again - this one felt nice. It felt…right.

“You know, you’re really good,” He said.

Your eyes followed back to him after his voice took you out of your own thoughts.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks after deciding to not turn the compliment into something cheeky.

“I mean it,” he continued. “You have a natural talent.”

You just hummed. And he was glad to see you smile a true smile for the first time.

The lines that once seemed so rigid began to blur. The house, with its many rooms and hidden corners, started to feel less like a maze and more like a place where you could both find and create new memories together. Life started to feel hopeful. And even if it was for just that moment, it would be nice while it lasted.

—-------

Matty paced back and forth in his living room, phone clutched tightly in his hand. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the room, but the day had already brought an unsettling sense of dread.

“She’s gone,” Matty said into the phone, his voice trembling with panic.

George’s voice crackled on the other end. “Who’s gone?”

“Matilda.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s left,” Matty said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I got an alert from her school that she didn’t show up today. I looked in her room, her duffle bag was gone and some clothes were off their hangers in her closet. I think she ran away.”

“What? Okay, don’t panic. Are you sure?” George’s tone was urgent but tried to stay calm.

“Yes!” Matty’s voice rose, frustration and fear mingling. “I don’t know where she could’ve gone!”

“Okay- it’s okay. Calm down. We’ll find her.” His voice was firm, trying to ground Matty’s spiraling thoughts.

Your father heard Adam’s voice from the back. “How are we supposed to know what we’re looking for? We’ve never met the kid.”

“It’s my face, with my hair but longer, on the face of a pre-teen girl,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to scramble to find his keys. Just then, his phone rang. “I’m getting another call, hold on.”

He hung up George’s line and answered, hopeful it was an answer to getting you back on the other end.

“Hi, I’m calling from the London Police Department. I’m calling for a Matthew Healy?” a calm voice said.

“Yes, this is he.”

“Hello, sir. We’ve got a report for a runaway juvenile by the name of Matilda Moss-Healy,” the officer said, his tone professional and steady.

Matty’s stomach dropped, a cold fear gripping him. “Yes, that’s my daughter. Is she okay?”

The officer’s voice remained calm. “She’s safe. A concerned citizen noticed her alone. She’s here at the station.”

Relief flooded through Matty, making his knees weak. He let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, thank you so much. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, immediately calling George back. “She’s at the police station. She’s safe.”

“Thank God,” George muttered. Not that Matty could see it but his face showing visible relief.

“Let’s go get her,” Ross said, already heading for the door, determination in his stride.

Adam leaned into the phone for Matty to hear him. “We’re with you, mate. We’ll come pick you up and then we can head there.”

—-------

There was a group of officers in uniform huddled near the front desk. Matty ran straight for them, his friends not far behind. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Hi, I'm looking for my daughter, Matilda. I got a call saying she was here,” he said, the urgency in his tone barely masking the anxiety coursing through him.

One of the sergeants, a tall man with a stern but kind face, nodded and spoke. “Right this way.” His voice was steady, a professional calm that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside Matty.

As they walked, the sergeant began to explain. “A biker a few miles away noticed a young girl using an ATM and riding the metro alone. Thought it was suspicious for a 12-year-old.” The sergeant's words were clear, but they blurred together in Matty’s mind, his focus elsewhere. He kept nodding, mumbling a simple ‘mhm’ at intervals. His mind raced with thoughts of you—how you must be feeling, what you must be thinking. All he could do was silently hope you were okay. However, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish anyone who would even try to lay a finger on you.

He unconsciously quickened his pace, causing the officer to lengthen his strides to keep up. The hallway seemed endless, the sterile scent of the station mingling with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Finally, the sergeant’s voice broke through his thoughts. “She’s right in there. Take all the time you need, or no time at all.”

Matty nodded, his throat tight, and the sergeant walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a moment. Ross, Adam, and George appeared from behind, having finally caught up with their friend. They all stood before a large glass screen, its dark tint revealing it to be a one-way mirror. You couldn’t see them, but they could see you.

“That’s your face alright,” Adam said softly, causing Matty’s lips to twitch into a short, bittersweet smile. His eyes never left the glass, never left you.

He turned around to face his friends, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “Just give us a minute, yeah?” The three nodded in understanding, sharing a look of solidarity and concern, and walked back to the front reception desk.

Matty took a deep breath, steeling himself before he entered the room. His heart ached with a mixture of hope and fear. He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes landing on you immediately. You sat there, looking small and lost in the large, sterile room, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

You didn’t notice the metal door creak open. Too lost in your own anxious state of mind. “Matilda,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. As your eyes met his, he felt a wave of emotion crash over him, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

You bolted toward him, your shaky legs propelling you forward as fast as they could. The moment you collided with him, it rocked him back on impact. You clung to him, your small frame trembling as you buried your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your dirt-streaked hair.

He took in your state, his heart breaking at the sight. Your hair was matted slightly with grime, and you smelled of cigarettes and the harsh streets of London. But despite your disheveled appearance, you were safe. Not a scratch or mark on you. Relief washed over him, mingling with the overwhelming urge to protect you from ever feeling this kind of fear again.

“Tilly-” he began, his voice choking with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, your voice muffled against his chest.

“It’s okay-” he started to say, but you cut him off again.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Your sobs intensified, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

“Tilly, it’s okay, just calm down-” His voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

“I was just so scared.” Your voice was small, filled with a vulnerability that shattered his heart.

“It’s okay, baby. Breathe,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing your back in a comforting rhythm.

“I won’t do it again! I swear! I just—”

“Matilda. Look at me.” His voice was firm yet gentle, his hands cupping your face as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face but your breathing began to steady under his calming influence.

“Let’s go home, yeah? We’ll talk about it later, just let me take you home.” His voice was soft, filled with a promise of safety and comfort.

You nodded again, a small, broken “okay” escaping your lips. He hugged you tightly once more, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He guided you to the front where the boys were waiting anxiously. Your head remained bowed, avoiding their concerned gazes. He gently sat you on the opposite end of the row of chairs, his touch soft and reassuring. “I’m gonna talk to my friends real quick, alright? They came with me, they wanted to help find you.” Your gaze drifted to the three men on the other side of the room. More specifically, to George, remembering the things Matty had told you about him and your mom and remembering his photo. “I also need to thank the policeman before we leave. I need you to stay here for a minute, can you do that for me?” You nodded silently. He gave you a short smile, and kissed your cheek before standing to find his friends.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, he turned to his friends. You were well prepared to space out again, but not before your eyes drifted to George one more time. His eyes met yours and gave them a smile. You smiled back.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Matty said, his voice low but filled with gratitude. “I’ll get us home, we can catch the tube or grab an Uber or something.”

Ross, ever the practical one, nodded. “No problem, mate. We’re here for you. Just glad she’s okay.”

Adam’s eyes were filled with empathy as he glanced at you, then back to Matty. “Yeah, anything you need. Don’t hesitate to call.”

George, however, wasn’t ready to leave so easily. “Matty, let us at least make sure you guys get home safe. You shouldn’t have to handle this alone.”

Matty shook his head, though he appreciated the sentiment. “I know, George, but It’s fine. I swear.”

George sighed, his concern evident. “Alright, but if you need anything, call us. Anytime.”

Matty nodded. “I will.”

With that, the three men exchanged solemn glances, their concern for Matty and you clear in their eyes. They began to walk out of the police station, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space.

As they left, Matty turned back to you, his heart aching at the sight of your small frame hunched over, your head still hung low, anxious of what was to happen next. He walked over and sat down beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

[stoneagedevil]

If you are still taking requests, I have one for you 🥺 how would Hannibal and Anton react to the reader having cardiomyopathy (aka a weak heart). Because of her condition reader faints a lot and is danger of going into cardiac arrest if she gets scared or frightened. If you don’t feel comfortable taking this request, please feel free to ignore it. Thanks, love your work! :)

IMAGINES/HEADCANONS: Anton Chigurh x Reader | Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Reader with a weak heart/fainting condition.

TW/CW: Fainting, death, guns, cannibalism, reader being described as pretty, medication, break in.

——————

HANNIBAL:

Because you’re so heavily affected when frightened, both would tread extremely lightly around you. Of course, there’s only so much one can do when you lead the lives Hannibal and Anton do.

Hannibal would do everything in his power to keep you from finding out who he truly is. His worst nightmare had turned from his inner circle becoming wary of him, to you finding out, leaving him, fainting, or even going into cardiac arrest. He’d kill anyone for you as to not actually kill you because of your condition.

If the chance comes where you do faint around him, he’s incredibly quick in noticing the signs. If he can smell cancer, he can definitely sense days when your condition is a little worse than usual. He immediately wraps a cautious arm around your waist when you mention you’re feeling lightheaded.

There was an incident where you fainted, nearly clipping your head on the sharp edge of his dining room table. If not your Hannibal practically diving to cup your head, there surely would’ve been a trip to the ER.

As a doctor, he reminds you of your medication, keeping an extra bottle on his person at all times as well. He picks up your prescriptions, always ensuring they’re the right ones, if there is a change in medication, he monitors you in order to make sure you have no adverse reactions to the medicine.

Hannibal takes great care in ensuring that there is no cross contamination when cooking his special cuts, and your dinner. Hannibal already has to be on his toes when seeing a doctor, as tests could reveal his prion disease, induced by his taste for human flesh. But Hannibal also has to be careful with how he feeds you. Hannibal already understands the risks of cannibalism, not particularly concerned about brain damage and the like, but with your condition, a prion disease could make your weak heart that much weaker.

Despite the fact that he enjoys feeding his victims to his inner circle of investigators, he’d sooner cut off his right hand than feed you people. After all, despite being animals in his eyes, no person could ever be good enough for you to eat….

lest it was him being served.

ANTON:

Anton shows his concern for you in a different manner. Under no circumstances are you allowed on his trips. Besides the chance of stray bullets catching in your flesh sending you into a panic that’s sure to affect your heart, you must be kept at a perfect temperature keep your heart healthy. Anton doesn’t let you leave in the cold. He doesn’t let you leave in the sweltering heat. If you need something, he’ll get it himself and probably get it done quicker too.

Anton keeps your medication stocked, checking over the expiration dates, questioning on whether or not you’ve taken your dose for the day.

Before tracking down a target, he makes sure you’ll be well taken care of while he’s away.

There was an incident where a target had managed to track down where you live. In a phone call, Anton felt the tables had been turned on him when his target said that he’d kill his partner. Llewelyn Moss might have failed in saving himself and his wife, but Anton would certainly not.

Your heart leaped at the sound of gunfire shooting out your lock, and you scrambled for the bedroom, quickly locking the door, opening the window, and diving under the bed. You sure as hell weren’t jumping out your window, as you were on the second floor. Your hyperventilating and rising blood pressure led you to feel light headed, your vision fading to black.

At the sight of the lock being shot into pieces, Anton’s chest tightened uncomfortably, and his brow scrunched almost imperceptibly. He kicked open the door quickly checking the corners of the house with his pistol. Of course, he’d navigated your home a billion times over, could even do so with his eyes closed. The man who’d promised to kill you didn’t stand a chance against him, but he wasn’t concerned about that. The concern was whether you stood a chance against the intruder. Checking the pulse of the man he’d shot, he quickly set off to find you.

He came to your bedroom door first, swallowing thickly when he saw the lock shot out as well. He drew his pistol, entering the room swiftly. He took notice of the window, rushing to it and looking down. Nothing. He closed his eyes, trying to listen for a sign of you - and wouldn’t you know it, he heard soft breathing from under the bed. He kneeled, peeking under the bedskirt, his eyes being met with your pretty face.

Of course. You’re smart, while you may not be able to fight very well due to your condition, you were incredibly sly and an excellent trickster. His lips quirked up slightly at the thought of the target looking out the window and deciding to turn back to the living room to find you outside, only to be met with the barrel of Anton’s pistol and a swift shot to the face.

He would drag your unconscious body out from under the bed, lay you softly down onto it, and time your pulse. After making sure you were truly safe, he’d shut the window, and turn the temperature dial to the right level for you and your heart.

He’d then take a seat next to your bed, watching your chest rise and fall until you woke.

——————-

Thank you so much for saying you love my work! I very much appreciate it. I hope I met/exceeded your expectations with this.

[witchthewriter]

𝐎𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: violence, nsfw section, mentions of blood and battles

a/n: okay so i did a bit of research and in this time, it's only monks who were not allowed to marry and i think remain celebate? nsfw included...it will all be explained

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISFP

Hufflepuff

Lawful Good turned Neutral Good

Pisces Sun, Libra Moon, Cancer Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・When Osferth first met you, he was incredibly frightened of you...but did his best to hide it.

・Well, even Uhtred was wary of you at first. You had come off the battlefield, covered in blood, a sword in both hands, and a fucking grin on your face

・Out of three of the four men were practically having heart palpatations when you looked their way and your smile grew.

"Oh fuck-" Finan said, practically frozen.

"Shit shit shit, in coming, Uhtred-" Osferth was by his Lord's side, not ... hiding behind him, only merely standing beside him.

・It wasn't until Sihtric stood up, opening his arms wide that the men let out a joint sigh.

・Even though both of you were covered in blood and had considerate wounds (although none too serious), you hugged each other as hard as you could.

"Um, not to ... break up this beautiful picture," Finan started, "but who exactly is this Sihtric?"

"This is my cousin!"

・Osferth's attention never left you. His eyes constantly seeking you, he needed to know where you were at all times.

・His crush on you, which took a few weeks for him to realise, made him obsessed with you.

・Osferth yearned for you.

・But little did he know, you felt the exact same way.

・You travelled with Uhtred and his crew for months, and you fought in many battles (saving the lives of each men around twice; but whose counting?)

・Finan was the easiest to talk to - with Uhtred always galloping off to do Lord things, Sihtric usually spying for him, which left Finan, Osferth and yourself.

・The monk took a while to speak to you, and the first few times he stuttered.

・The black khol around your eyes, Viking markings and tattoos were enough to make any Saxon quiver.

・But he'd seen you in battle, and his heart fluttered every time.

・So Finan was the only person to talk to. And talk he did.

・You listened to the Irishman, but your eyes often wandered to the monk, whose gaze would quickly avert from your own

・Everytime he did this, you smiled. And of course, Finan caught on.

・So one night he decided to meddle.

"Argh! I've hurt me ankle - Osferth and y/n, can ye get the firewood for me. God this hurts!" He near shouted as the two of you walked off together.

・Was Finan an idiot at times? Yes. But a brilliant idiot. Because the asshole actually got Osferth to talk to you. And once you got talking, you both opened up. As if you had known each other all your lives.

・When Uhtred and Sihtric returned, they were stunned to see the two of you so close. Emotionally as well as physically.

・Sihtric especially, since he felt rather protective of you. Even if you could beat him in a fight.

・Osferth had never known love, not romantic love, and he knew he would never feel it to this extent again.

・He has your eye colour memorised, as well as your smile, the way you like to do your hair, your favourite colour etc.

・He's tentative and sweet, emotionally mature - although he can be a bit naive at times.

・Osferth never thought someone like you; someone as intimidating and strong and fierce as you, could ever look twice at him. Let alone love him.

・And he swore to himself that he would do everything he could to make you happy.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Sun (Osferth) x Moon (You)

Love language is physical touch (You) x Is touch starved (Osferth)

 Confident & Flirty (You) x Has Never Been Flirted With Before, Thinks They're Just Being Nice (Osferth)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Opposites Attract

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

A New Beginning by Alexandre Desplat

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point.

・We know that Osferth isn't a virgin, as he had two GROWN WOMEN physically fighting over him!

・He has the same dedication to his partner's pleasure as he has faith in God

・The first few weeks of your relationship, Osferth was always shocked that you kissed him.

・Often you asked him if he was okay, if he wanted to stop and then this fire would overtake him

・The kisses turned heated, passionate, almost overwhelming

・His large hands like to wander from your face, to your back, then down to your backside.

・There never goes a day when Osferth hasn't squeezed your ass, or at least pinched it

・You can get Osferth to agree to anything if you suck and nibble on his nipples. They're very sensitive, (and a lot of men do like this).

・There was a growing guilt whenever you two fucked, (no I am not using their word for it. I will not use 'hump' - I cringe every time.) He felt as if he was going against god somehow.

・But you had had enough of it after 4 months of being together.

"If this is causing you anguish, then we will stop."

"It's complicated love, I - what I want and what's expected of me is two different things."

"Then you will have to choose."

・Osferth told you a needed a week to make up his mind. Because if he chose you, then he would no longer be a monk.

・You agreed.

・And when those 7 days were over, he came into your tent, fell to his knees and begged for your forgiveness.

"I believe in God. And you believe in your gods. It is difficult, but I have made up my mind."

・When his eyes met your own, your breath was taken. Almost stolen from you.

"I am yours y/n. I cannot see God, nor touch him. But when I am with you... it feels like I am in the presence of the Divine."

・And that night he fucked you like he never had before.

・Orgasm after orgasm, he made love to you until the sun came up.

・He loves leaving love bites and teeth marks on your thighs and chest. There's something so primal about that action. As if he's marking his territory. Although he knows no one could be your master.

[ingek73]

Dealing with disquiet over Kate’s cancer video

Readers comment on an article taking a different view of life after treatment from that presented by the Princess of Wales

Sun 15 Sep 2024 17.56 BST

I’m grateful to Hilary Osborne for helping me understand why the Princess of Wales’s video left me so disquieted (Kate’s recovery is great news – but be wary of a soft-focus view of life after chemo, 11 September). I had stage 2, grade 2 invasive breast cancer last Christmas, with talk of chemotherapy after the tumour biopsy – until genomic testing gave me a reprieve. So I “got off lightly”, and need to “look on the bright side”, as some friends unhelpfully remind me.

There are some silver linings, but all cancer is crap. And even without chemotherapy, I still feel greyed-out. My heart aches for Kate, and broadly speaking I’m a royalist. But did her PR team really have to add so much saccharine? And now I feel just a bit more rubbish about myself and my failure to fully thrive after my own tough, but less tough, year.

Ali Hutchison

Dorchester, Dorset

I completely agree with Hilary Osborne’s article and also felt that while being pleased that Kate has completed her treatment, the jarring and somewhat smug video was inappropriate, and perhaps even a little insulting to those who have experienced this journey in the real world.

My memories of this journey are of fear and terror of how the mortgage and bills were to be paid, how my deeply distressed daughters would cope if I died, and how on earth I would pick up the pieces of my life if I were fortunate enough to complete this gruelling treatment.

The privilege that oozes from this video made it unrelatable for those ordinary mortals like myself who had to navigate the same (but very different in so many ways) path. I am certainly no royalist, but I also felt that if such a soft-focus cinematic video had been released by Harry and Meghan, the media reaction would have been very different indeed.

Jane Dove

Isleworth, London

“There is … a childish outspokenness in illness,” wrote Virginia Woolf in her essay On Being Ill. Things are said, truths blurted out, which the cautious respectability of health conceals. Was the short video in which the Princess of Wales wanted to share her illness no more than someone diagnosed with cancer who wanted to tell a wider circle than her family and her close friends? Perhaps she felt a need to share her feelings with the rest of the world.

Many of us have been in similar situations, although without the restraints of royal life. We want to share with others who are happy to listen about the burden of illness. Perhaps later, Kate, as many others, will look back on this video as a mistake. Many of us have been there and spoken more than we normally would. Let us hope that she will one day look back on this video and ask herself why she felt the need to make it.

Juliet Clibborn

London

Hilary Osborne’s article resonated with me. The year after finishing chemotherapy and radiation was not a good one, despite the knowledge that I was cancer-free. Also, being more or less hair-free for several months while it started growing again was difficult. There was that greyness that Hilary mentions, and there was feeling angry, and invisible, and there were despairing tears at work.

Afterwards, it took nearly a year for me to feel (which means “look”) normal again. Good for Kate that she’s better. She’s lucky that the treatment she had didn’t make her lose her hair. But she must know that many others undergoing chemotherapy aren’t so lucky. Since she’s chosen not to share the details of the type of cancer she had, or the type of drugs she was given to treat it (which spared her hair), in my opinion she probably shouldn’t share the artificial, golden-filtered view of life post-cancer in her video either.

Nadia Lawrence

Munich, Germany

[fandomstuff67]

New Beginnings

Calling all SPN and Heartstopper fans! I wrote a little crossover! Dean was dreading his eight a.m. Psychology class on the first day back after Christmas break, but when a study abroad student sits down next to him and they bond about their respective boyfriends, an early class suddenly doesn't seem so bad. Or Dean Winchester meets Nick Nelson and then Dean, Cas, Nick, and Charlie become fast friends. Read below or on ao3 wc: 3k

Dean sat down in Psychology 201, rubbing at his eyes and wishing it wasn’t eight a.m. Who even allowed classes to begin at eight in the morning? It should be illegal. He slumped in his seat, yawning and tried to will his eyes not to fall shut. Class was gonna begin soon and he really needed to actually try to pay attention, if he wanted a psychology degree by the end of his four years in Hell adjacent. 

He was jolted out of his near-sleep when someone sat down next to him, which was kinda odd because the lecture hall wasn’t full yet, and he didn’t really have any friends in his major, so why the hell was someone choosing to sit next to him? He looked over at the guy, but he just gave Dean a half smile. It was warm, the kind of smile that makes you forget your problems for a few seconds. The boy had ginger hair and a freckled face and Dean noticed that he was kinda built like a linebacker. 

“Uh, hey,” Dean said, tentatively, pushing himself up more in his seat. 

The guy’s smile touched his eyes in a way that seemed to light up his whole face. “Hi.”

Dean was surprised to find that he was British. “Are you a freshman?” 

The guy shook his head. “No, I’m not a first year. I’m just studying abroad for the semester.” 

“Oh, cool,” Dean replied. “I’m a Sophomore.” 

“I suppose you’d call me that, too.” 

“I’m Dean.” 

The guy smiled again and held out his hand. Dean took it. “Nick.” 

“So, Nick, are you studying Psychology?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. My boyfriend kinda inspired me, actually.” 

Dean felt his body react to the word boyfriend, and Nick must’ve noticed his shift because his friendly expression seemed to drop into one of wariness. Come on, why did everyone think he was homophobic? Apparently, he was bad at expressing excitement when finding out someone was queer. He quickly threw on a smile. “That’s awesome, dude. I was just lucky that I managed to convince my boyfriend to come to the same college as me.” 

Nick instantly relaxed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, the nerd wanted to go to an Ivy League or something– not that he wouldn’t have gotten in, he’s like crazy smart– but I started waxing poetic about how we wouldn’t see each other and got him to settle for the slightly prestigious state school that you see before you.” 

A sad expression came over Nick’s face, but he quickly shoved it aside. Dean knew that trick, he used it all the damn time. “You really are lucky.” 

He felt the need to explain a little more, he didn’t actually want to come across as a dick who forced his boyfriend to attend the same school. “I mean, hey, he didn’t give up a dream or anything for me. I’d never have made him come to the same school as me. It just worked out. He’s studying Biology; he’ll probably cure cancer by the end of his time here.”

“What’s his name?” Nick asked. 

Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Cas. What about yours?”

Nick seemed to match Dean’s smile. “Charlie.” 

“Hey, that’s my best friend's name. Except she’s a girl, and a raging lesbian.”

Nick laughed. “Sounds like she’d fit in with some of my mates back home.” 

The professor finally entered the hall and Dean opened up his notebook, digging for a pencil in his backpack. “So, what made you wanna study abroad?” he asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. 

“Well, Charlie wanted to come here and I thought it might be fun to go with him.”

“Dude, your boyfriend is here?” 

Nick nodded, his mouth in that half-smile again. “Yeah. Sorry, did I not mention that?”

Dean shoved at him. “No, you didn’t. You’ve just roped yourself into lunch with me and Cas, now that I have this new information.”  

“Alright then,” Nick agreed. “I’ll tell Charlie.”

Nick pulled out his phone, shot off a quick text, and Dean watched his entire face light up when his phone buzzed not a second later with what must’ve been Charlie’s response. A moment later, the professor called the class together and Dean forced himself to try to actively take notes.

🍂🍂🍂🍂

Dean met up with Cas right outside the Hampshire Dining hall, easily sliding his hand into Cas’. “Hey,” he said, grinning.

“Hello,” Cas replied. “You’re in a good mood.” 

Dean held open the door for him. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“Well, I’m going to assume this new friend of yours is responsible for this. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I think you’ll like him,” Dean said as he tugged Cas into the line for the grill. He really wanted a burger and fries. 

Cas dropped his hand, though, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m going to get sushi.” 

“Lame,” Dean muttered. Cas just glared at him through narrowed eyes, shaking his head, and then walked away. 

Once he had his burger, he found a table and kept an eye out for Nick. Cas joined a minute later and then Dean spotted Nick, hand in hand with a boy a little shorter than him. He had dark curly hair and he was laughing at something Nick said. Dean waved, trying to catch his attention; Nick saw him and waved back. 

“That’s them,” Dean nodded in their direction.

Cas followed his gaze and offered a wave of his own. Nick pulled Charlie towards them and then stopped in front of the table. “Hi,” Nick said. 

“Hey,” Dean replied. “Uh, Cas, this is Nick, and I’m gonna guess you’re Charlie.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Charlie said.

“Nice to meet you, both,” Cas said. 

“You too,” Nick replied. “We’re gonna go get some food, then be right back. Right, Char?” 

Charlie picked at his fingers, fidgeting. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Nick caught Charlie’s eye, ducking his head into his boyfriend’s space. “Charlie-” 

“It’s fine,” Charlie said, and then he walked away. 

Nick gave Dean and Cas a pinched smile. “I’ll just- we’ll be right back.”

“Wonder what that was about,” Dean said as he picked up his burger. 

“Not our business,” Cas replied evenly, popping a sushi roll in his mouth. 

Dean shrugged, chewing as he watched Nick catch up to Charlie. Nick said something that had Charlie pushing his way into Nick’s arms. Nick kissed the top of his head and then took his hand and led him off to one of the food stations. 

When they returned, Dean was already almost done with his burger. Nick had some chicken dish and Charlie had a small bowl of salad. Cas began the conversation, his curiosity clearly piqued in the way he’d tilted his head to the side to scrutinize the poor guys. “So, what do you think about the college so far?”

“It’s pretty cool,” Nick replied, cutting into his chicken. 

“Yeah, I mean we haven’t gotten to explore much yet but it seems really nice,” Charlie added. 

“Well, me and Cas can totally give you a tour later if you want,” Dean offered.

“That would be great!” Charlie replied. “I was wondering about the Literature buildings.” 

“Char’s majoring in Classic Literature,” Nick explained. “I think meeting Jack Maddox really had an impact.”

“Shut up,” Charlie said, playfully shoving at Nick. 

“You’ve met Jack Maddox!?” Cas burst out, shocked. 

“Yeah, are you a fan?” Charlie asked. 

“Cas never shuts up about the guy,” Dean replied. 

“Charlie’s the same,” Nick said. “Honestly, after meeting him I sort of got why.” Nick blushed just slightly while Charlie and Cas began an in depth conversation about classical literature that Dean couldn’t be bothered to listen in on. 

Cas was minoring in Classic Lit, not that it would really help him in his biology degree, but the guy was taking so many courses anyway just for fun, that he was already compiling multiple subjects he could minor in. “So, Nick,” Dean said, “what kind of things are you into?”

“Well, I play rugby back home.” 

“Awesome. I’ve never played it, but we do have teams here,” Dean replied, shoving a fry in his mouth. “I’m not really a sports guy; I could never do all that running.”

“Yeah, I’m going to be playing on the school team. But I’m really not that fast, not like Charlie,” Nick said. “You know, I roped him into joining the rugby team back home ‘cause he was a fast runner.” 

Charlie jumped in, cutting off his conversation with Cas, “That’s why he said he wanted me on the team, but he really just had a crush on me.”

“Oh, like you didn’t have a crush on me, too?” Nick fired back. 

“You guys are adorable,” Dean said. 

Nick and Charlie blushed, but they wore matching smiles. “How did you two meet?” Charlie asked. 

“High school,” Dean replied. “We were lab partners in chemistry, which sounds really cliche but… yeah. I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was feeling for Cas for a while, but I got there in the end.” He smiled at Cas, tugging him in to kiss the top of his head. 

“Yes, Dean went through quite a bit of gay panic-”

“Bi panic,” Dean corrected. 

“Yes, apologies,” Cas huffed fondly.

“I know that feeling,” Nick said. “I had a proper crisis about it. But Charlie really helped me through it and I was finally comfortable enough to come out as bi.” 

“That’s awesome. Cas and I had a lot of fights about being a couple at school,” Dean admitted. “It wasn’t exactly smooth sailing until maybe sophomore year. I had to leave my house; my Dad wasn’t exactly supportive, but Cas’ family let me stay with them.” 

Charlie and Nick looked like someone had gutted them open. “I’m so sorry,” Nick said. 

Charlie nodded in agreement. “We both got lucky that our parents were supportive.”

“Well, my Dad was more confused than he was supportive but I don’t have to see him more than twice a year,” Nick said. “And my brother was a right prick about it.”

“My Mom eventually kicked my Dad out,” Dean explained. “She wasn’t all that thrilled with my Dad’s attitude, and my younger brother threatened to leave the house too.” 

Cas reached for Dean’s hand, squeezing gently. “But we’re here now.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and my Dad is trying to be less of a dick. He’s not very good at it, though.” 

“Being out is hard,” Charlie sympathized. “I was forced out at school and it was really bad for a while.”

Dean winced. “That sucks.” 

“Yeah, no one should be forced out before they’re ready,” Cas said. 

Nick smiled at Charlie. “I don’t think I’d have had the courage to do it without Charlie.” 

“Yeah, me too, with Cas,” Dean agreed. “I dunno, I think I just lucked out with my extremely awesome boyfriend.” 

Nick leaned across the table, conspiratorially. “Did you also cry at an am i gay quiz?” 

Dean laughed. “Dude, so many times. I took that test like twenty times ‘cause I hoped the results would change, but they never did.” 

Nick and Charlie were very easy to talk to, it was like they’d known each other for years. But Dean noticed that Nick also kept shooting glances at Charlie’s salad bowl every few minutes. Charlie was eating it slowly and Dean saw Nick’s hand tighten around Charlie’s in a silent encouragement. 

“What do you guys think of the food?” Dean asked. “UMass Amherst is actually one of the best colleges in the country for food.” 

“It’s really good,” Nick said. 

“Yeah,” Charlie echoed, still poking at his salad. 

Nick changed the subject, his posture turning a bit defensive. “What other classes are you guys taking?”

“I have a behavioral analysis class after lunch,” Dean replied. 

“And I have a Lit class,” Cas answered. 

“I have Lit after this too,” Charlie said, seeming to come back to the conversation. 

“With Professor Russel?” Cas asked.

“Yeah!” 

“Great, we can walk there together,” Cas offered. 

“It’ll be nice to know someone in class,” Charlie beamed. 

“I’m glad you’ll have Cas,” Nick said. 

Cas glanced at the time on his phone. “We should actually get going.” 

“Okay,” Charlie replied. He turned to give Nick a kiss. “I’ll see you after class.”

“Yeah, bye,” Nick said, smiling. 

Dean pulled Cas in for a kiss of their own. “See you at the library later?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Charlie and Cas walked off and Dean leaned back in his chair. “I guess it’s just you and me. You know, I think our boyfriends are about to become best friends.” 

“I think you’re right.” 

Dean gathered up his plate and stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Nick did the same a little slower. “So, uh, sorry if I’m like stepping over a line here or anything, but is Charlie okay? He seemed a little down, ‘course I don’t know him or anything so maybe that’s just how he is.” Nick froze and Dean quickly tried for damage control, “Sorry, I wasn’t- forget I said anything.”

“No, uh, it’s fine,” Nick said. “He’s just a little anxious about being in a new country.” 

Dean could see the lie, but he didn’t call Nick out on it. “Yeah, I get that. It’s gotta be stressful.” 

“Would you and Cas want to come hang out tonight?” Nick asked as they moved away from their table. 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

“Great. Charlie and I are in Brooks Hall, room 217.” 

“We’ll come by after dinner,” Dean promised. 

🍂🍂🍂🍂

Dean only realized that he didn’t actually have Nick’s phone number when he and Cas were standing outside the residence hall. Luckily, someone was just leaving and they managed to slip inside. When they came upon room 217, Dean heard mild shouting coming from inside. 

“I’m fine, Nick!” 

“No, you’re not! We talked about this, you have to tell me when things are bad. I don’t want you to relapse again.” 

There was silence and Dean heard Charlie sigh heavily. “I’m sorry.” 

“Char,” Nick’s voice was a warning. 

Charlie laughed, it sounded a little watery. “I can say the S word when it’s about something like this.”

“No, actually, you can’t. I make the rules about the S word. Come here… I’m just worried about you. If it’s too much we can go home.”

“No, no, I want to be here. I’m glad we’re here. Together. I promise I’ll try to be better about eating.” 

“Good.” 

Dean exchanged a glance with Cas, not sure if they should leave or not. Cas made the decision for him by knocking on the door. A moment later, Nick opened the door. His eyes were a bit red rimmed, but he still smiled. “Hi.” 

“Hey, you guys okay?” Dean asked. 

Charlie came up behind Nick, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. “Yeah, we’re good.” 

“Sorry, we kinda overheard you arguing a bit,” Dean said as they stepped aside to let them in. 

Charlie’s face dropped a bit. “Oh.” 

“It’s not our business,” Cas added. “But it did sound serious.”

“We’re okay,” Nick replied. “We don’t really argue all that often, but when we do it doesn’t last long.”

“Wow, you guys sound healthy,” Dean commented. “Me and Cas stay mad at each other for weeks before we actually talk.” 

Nick stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why wouldn’t you want to address a problem immediately? How else would you fix it?” 

“Because Dean’s allergic to emotions,” Cas replied, deadpan. 

“Hey!” Dean protested. “You once ignored me for three days because I didn’t say I love you back when I was drunk !” 

“I wasn’t mad at you for that,” Cas replied. “You’d also told people we were ‘just friends’ at that party.”

Dean ducked his head, guilty. “I said sorry for that.”

“I know,” Cas pulled Dean into his side, kissing his temple. “And I guess I forgive you, but only because you announced our relationship to the whole school over the loudspeaker.”

“I couldn’t imagine not being honest about what I’m feeling,” Nick said.

“I’m not that great at it,” Charlie admitted. “But Nick helps me.”

“Yeah, we really should work on our communication, shouldn’t we?” Dean replied.

“It is a fairly important part of any relationship,” Cas agreed. 

“I’m working on it,” Dean muttered. It wasn’t his fault that his father passed on his emotionally stunted personality to Dean. 

“Do you guys like Mario Kart?” Charlie asked, moving over to turn on the TV, effectively ending their conversation. 

“Hell yeah,” Dean said. “Not to brag, but I’m pretty good.” 

“Charlie beats everyone ,” Nick said as he grabbed the controllers. “He won’t even let me win!” 

“If I let you win, how would you learn how to beat me on your own?” Charlie quipped. 

“Shut up,” Nick laughed. 

The four of them settled on the floor and the game started up. Nick had been right, Charlie was good. Dean managed to squeak by in second place, leaving Nick to get third and Cas last. 

“I’ve never been good at these things,” Cas sighed. 

“It’s the one thing he’s not good at, actually,” Dean said playfully. 

“Nick’s good at everything, it’s kind of annoying,” Charlie pouted. 

“Clearly not, ‘cause you still beat me at Mario Kart!” Nick replied, shoving at him. 

The night passed in friendly conversation and a lot of Mario Kart (of which Charlie won every game). Dean found himself relaxing into the little moments, leaning up against Cas as they talked about dealing with homophobia and bullying. It was nice to finally have a pair of friends whose experiences were similar to his own, Cas’ too. Nick and Charlie seemed to think so too, and Dean was certain they were going to be good friends throughout their stay in the states. 

When they said goodnight, Dean leaned into Cas as they walked back to their own dorm. “So, if we’re gonna try communication, then I’ve got a few things to bring up,” he said tentatively. 

Cas blinked at him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, but we can talk about it tomorrow.” 

Cas chuckled, wrapping his arm around Dean. “Okay, Dean.”

Dean smiled, content. He was pretty sure this was going to be his best semester at college yet.

Tag list (ask to be added or removed)

@hellerstiel @tearsofgrace @quxxnxfhxll @rebelangel67 @professorerudite @adsdragonlover @wantstoflyafraidtofall @sunshinecorvid @casgetoutofmyass0907 @nguyenxtrang @destielskygalaxypalace @ivydean @cantsleepanything @casthyelle

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

Chapter 14: Umami

An update!!! 🥳🥳🥳 Sorry for the long wait y'all. I am back! So hopefully the updates will get back to normal now. Thank you all for being patient 🥰 I hope you enjoy the chapter!

TW: More Jennifer horribleness, mentions of cancer and minor suicidal thoughts/implications, spicy dreams and very inappropriate thoughts, some wholesome Harrow fam content, Jake boxing 🥵, Lena being a bit of a tease, as always language, mentions of alcohol and drugs, the idiots are idioting, phone sex? Lena vs. Jennifer, Ozzy vs. Jennifer aka protective dad Oz, memories of blood and violence, Lena receives some unwanted attention, straight-up violence (mentions of knives & lots of punching) My editing site is on the fritz and I sped edited this so please take any mistakes with a grain of salt!

Moments of true freedom - from life and even from one's own thoughts - were rare, especially in this city. The noise and the strong smells and the bright lights all demanded immediate attention and, at times, made settling impossible. That was why walking through the old gym, surrounded by the steady sounds of fists striking the sandbags and Patrick's loud voice practically shouting encouragement at those he worked with, was peaceful. That, above all familial ties, was why The Ring was special.

Boxing had always been a passion for Peter. There was a time when he'd practically lived and breathed it. He'd been so strong then, so agile in and out of the ring. So how was it he now stood, panting in front of the lightest punching bag they had? Cancer. Right, he thought, forcing his thin, sore body to take a stance in front of the bag and punch. Just one more. He'd tell himself, though one often turned into ten which then turned into too many.

Patrick watched him; no matter what part of the gym he was in or what task he was doing, Peter could feel his brother's eyes. It both made him feel comfortable and irritated. He was the big brother. It was his job to be watching them, but he couldn't even do that. The image of Lena's worn down, fearful expression she'd shown him a few days ago after her encounter with Jennifer flashed in his mind. He ground his teeth together, punching as hard as he could. She didn't deserve to feel that way, not after what she lived through, and he'd sworn… He'd promised to protect her. Peter believed himself in many things, but now chief among those was one word. One damning title he knew he'd never be rid of. Liar.

Anger had never fueled him before, he'd never needed it to, but now that seemed to be the only thing he had left. The only thing the damn leukemia hadn't stripped him of. Peter missed his hair and his muscle and the way he could eat and drink whatever he wanted without worrying about throwing it all up immediately after. He missed the days when he'd dance with his father in the ring and get to listen to the older man's stories. He missed the peace that boxing had once brought him.

"The Harrow's got their demons, boy," his father always said. "Demons you ain't been touched by. It's bout the only thing I'll give the Glovers credit for."

Lena had always been haunted by Dad's fabled Harrow Demons. She'd been brash and angry and hurt for years after she'd come to live with them permanently. Peter remembered those days so clearly. Patrick and Lena fought until they were both bloody and bruised - Pat, the wary stray dog that saw Lena's trauma and anger as a threat to the life he'd somehow stumbled into, and Lena, the stray cat that saw Patrick's size and temper and was incapable of separating him from the others that had abused her - Ozzy and Dad arguing over what to do about the fighting and drugs and discontent. Boxing was the one thing that took all their noise and chaos and demons and turned it into something better.

Better was when his sister didn't flinch at his every move, and Patrick stopped sneaking food from the table to hoard in that hideous old backpack full of essentials he kept under his bed for years. Better was Dad and Ozzy sharing long looks as they all sat around the table at Nana's eating dinner together. It was watching his siblings playfully bicker as they turned on Ghostbusters - Dad's favorite movie - before they passed out on the floor of their tiny living room. He closed his eyes, clinging to the faint feeling of warmth the memories brought him as he imagined his Dad's warm embrace as he and Ozzy smashed him between them on the old couch.

Passion, love, warmth. That's what he should have felt as his fists hit their target, but it wasn't. The comforting warmth turned cold as a bitter, frustrated, and angry shout escaped his throat, and he nearly fell to the floor. Patrick was at his side in an instant, his brother's coarse hands settling onto his shoulder, discreetly holding him steady. "Easy there, hot shot. Don't wanna break the bag or any bones."

Peter knew his words were teasing, but the tight cold anger that squeezed his throat didn't seem to care. He shrugged off Patrick's hands and glared at him. "I'm fine."

"Pete," his brother started.

"Fuck off, Patrick." He didn't sound like himself but rather some hollow shell of what he used to be. 

Thank god Patrick knew when to leave well enough alone. "Holler if you need me, big brother," he patted his shoulder with no look of pity or anger at Peter's harshness but rather a soft smile. "I'll be here."

He'd never admit it to those closest to him, but Peter was afraid. Leukemia wasn't a simple thing. It was a death sentence for so many, and part of him couldn't help but scoff at the idea that he would be any different. Nestled comfortably beside that dark thought was another, equally ugly. Maybe death would be better. 

Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, he felt the disconnect cut through him like he was made of butter. The face staring back wasn't him. It was too old, too thin, and too… Dead to be him. He remembered what his face was supposed to look like - full cheeks and a wide smile, shaggy brown hair, and life inside his eyes. Peter didn't know the person that stared back at him. Had the cancer taken that too? Had it taken all he was as well as all he could have been?

Behind him, someone cleared their throat, and Peter bit the inside of his cheek. "I said I'm fine, Pat. Just leave it."

"That's hardly a tone a son should have with his mother." Everything inside him stilled. He didn't want to look, didn't want to face the woman that had hurt him more than the cancer ever could. After the initial shock, his father's stubbornness and Ozzy's pride filled his lungs, forcing him to turn and glare at the old wrinkled face of Jennifer Glover.

She looked different than he remembered, though his memory of her was limited to his early childhood, where her skin had been smooth, and her blonde hair hadn't been speckled with strands of gray. It was the smile that made him angry again. Soft and smug, condescending even when coming to grovel. "It's a good thing I'm not your son then, isn't it?"

"Come now, darling." She dared a step forward and extended her hand to his cheek. For a moment, it almost looked like she was hurt, seeing him so sickly. For a moment, Peter could have fooled himself into believing she cared. "You look so-"

He brushed her hand off him. "I don't need you to tell me how sick I look."

"Older. I was going to say you looked so much older than I imagined." Jennifer chuckled, shaking her head. "I was sorry to hear about your diagnosis."

"Sorry?" He spat. "Spare me the pity and just tell me what you want."

She recoiled slightly with a disappointed hum. "I want to spend time with my son."

Peter laughed then, bitter and cold. "Ahh, of course. I'm only worth your time when I'm dying, right?"

"There's no need to be cruel, Peter." Jennifer sighed. "I'm trying to show you I care."

"Too little too late." He sucked in a hot breath, putting a fire in his lungs. "You could have reached out years ago… You could have never left, but you did. What was it you said that day?" The look on her face told him she remembered, but the way she pulled her lips tightly together told him she wasn't going to admit it.

She knelt down and took his hands in hers, smiling at him while Dad held onto Lena as if his life depended on it. "Your sister and I are going away."

"Will you be back soon?" He asked the child-like innocence in his voice hopeful.

"No." His mother fixed his hair with a look of disinterest.

His brows knit together. "Can I come to visit you?"

She sighed. "Lena and I will be very busy, and we likely won't be in one place long enough for visits."

"I'm not going to see you again?" He asked. "But… You're my mom." His eyes drifted to Lena. "She's my sister. We're a family."

"You have too much of your father in you," was her bitter reply. "He is your family. Lena is mine."

Peter felt his heart shatter at her words. "I don't understand."

Jennifer squeezed his hands and stood. "Goodbye, Peter."

He could only stand in shock and watch her glare at Dad as he whispered to Lena. "I promise I'll see you again, slugger."

She practically ripped Lena away and shoved the small child into the back of the cab, turning over her shoulder. "Remember my promise, Jack."

Dad shook his head and spit on the sidewalk. "Remember mine too, Jen."

"I had too much of my father in me." Peter laughed. "That was your reasoning for leaving me behind and never even bothering to visit or call."

She pursed her lips to cover up her disdain. "I made mistakes-"

"Abusing my sister wasn't a mistake." He ground his teeth together. "And abandoning me sure as hell wasn't one either."

Jennifer opened her mouth to speak again but was overshadowed by the booming voice of his brother as he returned from the back room. "Oi! We don't have a sign or nothing but no neglectful wannabe mothers allowed in the gym!"

Disgust filled her features instantly as she looked at the copper head of hair that shoved beside her. "And here I thought Jack showed some sense and got rid of you before dying."

"The old man was sensible enough." Patrick grinned. "He died with everything you ever wanted."

"Leave me and my son to our conversation, you worthless stray."

"I'm not your son." Peter straightened his back and stepped between the two of them. "Get out, Jennifer. My brother and I have a gym to run."

To his surprise, she didn't argue as she turned and made her way to the door, pausing to look back at him. "I was wrong, you know. Lena turned out to be just like your father, but you…" She smiled. "You're mine, Peter."

Patrick was quick to scoff and flip her off as she left the building. "What a bitch." He looked at Peter with a sigh. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he replied, shaking off the question. "I'm fine."

"What's it we always tell Lena?" Patrick asked. "It's okay not to be okay."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't."

"Lena has lived through some of the worst things in this world-"

Pat nodded along for a moment before interrupting. "So have you. Leukemia isn't a walk in the park, Pete. It's taken a toll on ya and I… We all want you to know it's okay if you're not fine."

Peter could feel the sting of tears building in his eyes as Jennifer's words burrowed into his mind and Patrick's genuine heartfelt concern swirled around him. All of it was warring. Anger and peace. Jennifer's calculus manipulation and Patrick's warm support. He didn't know what to feel, so he settled, exhaling a long breath. "I know. I'm… Sorry, I've been so short with you lately."

"Don't apologize," Pat insisted. "God knows I've been a real dick to you sometimes."

Laughing at the truth of his words, Peter set a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Thanks for putting up with me."

Patrick smiled. "That's what family does. Now stop worrying, big brother, and give me ten more solid punches."

For the first time in weeks, he felt the anger shift, turning into the passion he once held in abundance. With each new punch, Peter slowly accepted the fact that things had changed, he had changed, and that was okay. Sure, he didn't look or feel like himself, but with time that wouldn't last forever. He was angry and bitter, but he'd earned that right, and emotions like that didn't last long when smothered by the love and support of a family. And Peter had one hell of a family.

*

Sweat glistened on her skin as the warm morning light poured in through his window. Her red hair clung to her as she moved on top of him, face soft and twisted in pleasure. Jake couldn’t stop touching her, his palms taking hold of her thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and helping her bounce on his dick. His scalp burned at the pressure of her long fingers digging into his hair, pulling at him until their lips touched.

Kissing her was like kissing an open flame. It consumed him entirely, making his face burn with heat and desire and everything in between. Lena made him feel alive, a thing he’d never really thought he lacked until her. The sensations of her hips rising and falling atop him were hazy and undefined, he didn’t really feel it if he focused on it, but he hardly needed to feel anything when he could hear the lewd noises she made.

“Jake,” she breathed his name, desperate and wanton, a sound that sent shivers down his spine and made his hands grab her harder.

“Don’t stop,” he urged her, forcing her back down onto his aching cock. Beneath his palms, he could feel her shaking, and it only made him want to ruin her more. 

A whine echoed from her throat as she threw her head back. “I can’t…”

“Come on, princess,” he replied, kissing her neck. “Just one more. Just give me one more.”

“Jake.”

His teeth wrapped around her throat, sucking an angry mark there as she dragged her nails down his back and arched into him. Lathering the red area with his tongue for a moment, he smiled against her. “Scream my name as loud as you need to. It’s just you and me.”

She laughed, a sound that, while not even remotely sexual, made his dick pulse and his control over his own orgasm waver. “God, your ego is unbelievable.”

“Stop acting like you don’t love it.” Jake moved a hand from her thigh to pull her chin down. “You like my ego.”

With a soft hum, she pulled her fingers up his neck, stroking his cheeks before she settled on cupping his jaw. Her hips slowed against his into long and languid strokes that made him shudder and her breath hitch. “I just like you.”

Flashes of that night walking to her apartment after the movie flooded his mind. Her eyes were darker as he looked into them, mirroring the night she’d spoken the words to him. “I don’t want to lose this.” The admission was one he wanted to say then… one he’d wanted to promise wasn’t even a possibility but just couldn’t bring himself to. Jake had a habit of fucking up every good thing he found, and this… Lena was something special. He couldn’t live with himself if he fucked this up.

Her soft, genuine smile made his heart stutter. “You won’t.” Goosebumps flared along his skin, and her smile turned smug. “Now, fuck me. If you think can handle it, pretty boy.”

With a smirk, his hand slid down her back, pushing her down even further on him, earning a sharp gasp and a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I’m the one that needs to worry about handling it.”

“I…” she gasped as he began to move his hips up into her. “I… Can… fuck-” Her eyes closed tightly, brows knitting together as he quickened the pace. “Do… this… all… day…”

His eyes glued to her chest as her breasts bounced with the quick movements. “That’s good 'cause I’ve got no intentions of stopping. Not when you look this good while I’m fucking you.”

Jake could feel her tighten around him. He could feel her body grow stiff as she reached her peak. “Jake!”

“JAKE!” Another voice practically shouted in his ear as pressure slammed atop his chest and shook him until his eyes shot open. Simone shook her head at him and sighed. “It’s a wonder you manage to show up to work at all.”

“Simone…” he shook his head, wiping the sleep from his eyes and quickly trying to rid himself of the disappointment of Lena’s absence. "What are you doing here?"

The blonde moved around his small apartment, picking clothes up off the ground and throwing away any stray garbage she found. "I thought I'd surprise you with breakfast, but your place is a disaster. Guess we'll have to just go out."

"What time is it?" He asked, vision still blurry.

"Eight-thirty." 

That made him jump out of bed. "Fuck!"

Simone gave him a curious look as he began throwing clothes on. With a laugh, she asked, "Are you late for something?"

"I'm about to be," Jake offered freely.

Her face fell into disbelief. "What would you have to do this early? You never get up before ten."

He froze, throat going dry as he weighed his options. Lying wasn't a habit Jake ever really had when it came to Simone, but telling her the truth would practically be inviting a fight. Was there a safe middle ground to telling her that he'd been spending every morning at The Ring, boxing with Lena's brothers? Both brothers often spoke about running the business; that could be enough. 

Moving once again, he shrugged. "I've been taking a few morning business classes."

"Business classes?" She questioned with narrow eyes. "When did this start?"

Practically two months ago. "Only a few weeks ago."

Simone didn't bother hiding her displeased look as she crossed her arms. "This isn't another of your hair-brained bar plans with Scott, is it?"

Jake knew what Simone thought about his desire to open his own place. She'd told him more times than he could count once she found out his plans with Scott. But, despite all the times he'd heard her call his dream stupid, it still stung. "No. That's…" He was going to tell her it was dead, done, over, but then he remembered the meeting he agreed to think about attending. Was it really over? "That's behind me."

"Good." She sighed. "Now, I suppose, what I don't understand is why you're wasting time with business classes."

"You're the one always telling me I need to apply myself more."

"I meant applying yourself at the job you already have, Jake. Not some… Random useless class."

With another nod, he shrugged on his jacket. "Yeah, well, I'll probably drop it. I'm not exactly good at all that business stuff."

If Simone had bothered to look at his bookshelf, she'd see through his lie. Multiple books on business sat on his shelves, another thing to remind him of his supposed forgotten venture with Scott. Instead, she just smiled. "So, breakfast?"

"Not today," he answered, heading toward the door. "I'm gonna give it one last shot. Maybe today I'll finally start getting it."

"Unlikely," she replied, following him out with a flat tone of mild annoyance and disappointment. "We both know you have a hard time paying attention while you're hung over."

Jake didn't bother telling her he wasn't hung over. Simone wouldn't have believed him anyway. On the sidewalk, she pulled him into a tight hug, an intimate gesture that once filled him with elation but now just felt… less. He smiled at her. “I won’t be late today, I promise.”

Simone pursed her lips. “We’ll see.”

He hurried to The Ring, where Dom stood outside smoking next to his bike. The drug dealer nodded to Jake, a simple gesture that was somehow filled with more respect than he’d expected. Patrick turned and sent him a glare the second he walked in the doors. “You’re late.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Pat,” Jake replied sarcastically, shrugging his jacket off and heading toward the locker room with Patrick following close behind. “I…” Had an intense sex dream about your little sister. “I slept through my alarm.”

The redhead scoffed, standing in the doorway of the locker room, reaching up to tap the set of old gloves, his father's gloves, that hung over the door. “Well, sleepy, meet me in the ring if you think you can handle it.” If you think can handle it, pretty boy. Jake swallowed hard. “If not, we can reschedule for tomorrow.”

“I'm wide awake,” he replied hoarsely, pulling the gym tank top over his head and shoving everything else into the locker he’d been frequenting for the past two months. Jake sat on a small bench, quietly greeting the other gym goers that frequented the morning hours. Usually, he'd spend his time clearing his mind as he wrapped his hands, but today that proved difficult. He just couldn't shake that dream. Couldn't shake how real it felt or how badly he wanted it.

Loud purring at his feet pulled him from those thoughts as the hairless cat from the alley, the one he'd been seeing almost every morning, pounced on the bench beside him. The thin slits of its rich brown eyes widened as it stared up at him, gently kneading the side of his leg as it purred. Jake smiled, lifting a hand to scratch behind its large ears just where the little thing seemed to enjoy it. "Hey there," he greeted, chuckling as the cat sprained across his lap. "Can't sit around today, little guy. I've got to get in some practice before work."

The cat looked displeased by his answer and let out an angry hiss when he stood up, placing the cat back on the ground. "Relax, Hemingway. I'll let you sit on the couch with me while I smoke later."

Hemingway, a name Jake gave to the fickle creature because of the proud way it stood, as well as its rich brown eyes that reminded him of the old book that sat on Lena's bookshelf by the well-known author, rubbed against his leg and walked out through the locker room door as another person entered. Jake followed him out, watching as the cat stalked the gym, head high and chest puffed out as if he towered over everything and everyone. The attitude was another contributor to his famous namesake.

Patrick was waiting for him in the larger ring while Peter appeared to be occupying the small one with a sandbag in one of the corners. With an impatient wave, the larger man ushered him into the ring with a smile as he looked over Jake’s wraps. “You’re getting better at that. Which is good, considering I’m gonna beat your ass today.”

“You know, I’m starting to question your teaching methods,” Jake replied with a smirk.

A bellowing laugh echoed through the whole gym as Patrick laughed, tossing him a pair of gloves. “Get your gloves on, Jerky Jake, and say it to me again.”

He groaned at how quickly the stupid name Lena had given him spread through the gym. Everyone was calling him Jerky Jake, even people he’d never sparred with before. It was like the restaurant. No, Jake thought admiring the close community of people helping one another out with wrappings or sharing their music and equipment. It’s better than the restaurant.

People actually gave a shit here. They put their all into the sport and they were damn nice when newcomers joined without any clue what they were doing. Jake couldn’t count the number of times Patrick had stepped away and some stranger had offered advice on his footing or position. The Ring was like a giant family one that wasn’t riddled with toxic gossip and pay gaps and a manager like Howard. The Ring was Lena, her stubborn determination and her strategic mind, and her powerful body. It was alive and, just like she did, it made him feel alive too. Getting to punch people helped too.

Jake danced around the ring with Patrick for a while before the back door swung open and Lena’s soft voice sent a chill up his spine. He turned to look, earning a swift punch to the gut as Patrick exploited the distraction. “Ow,” Jake complained, glaring at his instructor.

“Never take your eyes off your opponent,” Patrick chastised with a smile. “Even for pretty girls.”

Rolling his eyes he turned back to watch Lena bend over and adorn Hemingway with attention. She scratched beneath his chin and whispered to him with a wide smile. Fucking beautiful. Too beautiful. Everyone greeted her as she walked deeper into the space, but she didn’t notice him until Patrick yelled for her to grab him water. When she turned back, water bottle in hand, their eyes locked and his dream came rushing back like a dam bursting. Fuck.

Her head tilted to the side as she smirked at him, smug and sexy and distracting. She tossed Patrick his bottle and stepped up on the side of the ring, resting her arms along the ropes. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early let alone in a ring with my brother.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he countered. “What are you doin’ here so early?”

“I decided to get in a good workout before work.”

Patrick chuckled. “Lord knows you’ve got some anger to burn off.”

Lena flipped him off, never once taking her eyes off him. “Well, how’s Jerky Jake doing?”

“He’s got some power in him, a bit slow and clumsy with his footing still.”

She clicked her tongue. “Sounds like you’ve got some work to do.”

“Maybe you can help me later.”

“Oh you’re not ready to go toe to toe with Leanin’ Lena,” Patrick replied laughing harder. “She’d kill you.”

Her wink sent his heart into pathetic stutters and he watched her leave, eyes instantly focusing on her hips and her thighs, remembering how they’d felt to hold in his dream. Patrick’s fist collided with his shoulder. “OW!”

“Focus!” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You can stare at my sister later.”

For a few minutes, Jake was able to focus and land a few solid hits on the more experienced boxer, but then Lena emerged from the locker room in a skin-tight crop top and shorts that made her thighs look even more amazing than they already did. As she worked out at a personal punching bag he found his eyes wandering to her, taking hits every time they did because Patrick refused to allow him even one minute of distraction. Eventually, they switched to some workout machine to help him work on his stamina while Lena moved into the ring with one of the other regulars. 

It’d been a while since he saw her fight, and while this wasn’t nearly as brutal it was just as distracting. Her skin was glossed with sweat, her whole body was alive and flexed and her eyes were focused on her opponent. It was in moments like this that made Jake fully realize just how powerful and strong she physically was. A goddess of fire and passion encased in mortal flesh. Her emerald eyes flashed to his, those lips quirking up into a smile as she easily dodged a hit from her opponent. God fucking damn it. 

*

After my workout was over and Jake had been released from Patrick’s teachings we met up at the front counter, both grabbing a bottle of water before we opened our mouths to speak. Whisky jumped in between us, nearly spilling my water all over the counter to hop into Jake’s arms. “Chill out Hemingway.”

"Hemingway?" I asked with a laugh, reaching over to scratch beneath his chin. "This is Whisky."

"Whisky?" Jake chuckled, lifting the cat to examine it. "Nah, Hemingway fits better."

I tilted my head and arched my brow. "Since when did you become the authority on stray cat names?"

"Since you think this clearly distinguished cat's name should be Whisky."

Rolling my eyes, I asked, "Why Hemingway?"

Jake shrugged, readjusting the cat. "It's a classic."

I pulled one of the cat treats out from behind the counter and smirked when Whisky leaped out of Jake's arms to try and snatch it from me. "He's too feisty to be some old author. He's clearly a Whisky."

We both watched the cat devour the small treat, purring between us. “You wanna walk with me to work today?”

“No biker escort?” Jake asked, looking out the front windows.

“No,” I replied. “Things have calmed down since the whole rock incident so hopefully that will be over soon.”

He nodded. “I’ll make sure to keep the walk entertaining for you, princess.”

I rolled my eyes and headed toward the stairs to the apartment. “See you in a minute Jerky Jake.”

*

Work was oddly normal. Simone and Olive kept to themselves, keeping whatever hushed whispers about how amazing my mother was quiet as I worked beside them. Jake’s gaze, however, seemed more heated than usual. He watched me as I waited on the tables with this look of pure lust smoldering in his blue eyes. His watching me had become a normal thing, but this… this made me blush on the spot.

After the shift had ended and everyone was out of the locker room I tried to return Jake’s jacket by quickly shoving it in his locker while he was standing there. With a chuckle, he pulled it out. “Seriously?”

I shoved it back in, pressing my chest further into his back. “Oh come on just let this one be easy!”

“Fine,” he replied. “Just this once because you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you!” I replied pressing a kiss to his neck. “See you tomorrow?”

He turned, looking disappointed and surprised that I wasn’t planning on heading to the bar. “Not going out tonight?”

I shrugged. “I kind of promised Ryker and the bikers that have been standing outside my house dinner. Raincheck though?”

“Raincheck,” he said quietly with a shake of his head. “See you tomorrow.”

*

The city lights cast a thin ray, a halo of bright colors, through my new window. I kept my distance, opting to keep the darker curtains drawn as Dom had told me, but the little I could see of the city outside made me want to forego caution. Leaning against the counter, I watched the lights silently, trying to keep the feelings of being trapped at bay. I wasn't trapped here. Here was home, one of the places I specifically kept to keep from ever feeling that way again.

My phone buzzing against the counter made me jump with a far too startled sound. Jake's now familiar number flashed along my screen as I flipped it open with a smile. "It's a bit late for friendly conversation." I over-exaggerated a gasp. "Is this a booty call?"

I could practically feel him roll his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you know, just sitting around in lingerie thinking about you," I teased.

He chuckled. "That's quite a pretty picture. But seriously, what are you doing?"

"I just finished cleaning up after my hungry biker guests." I glanced back at the now clean dishes stacked away on my shelves. "You just get home?"

"No," he replied with a deep sigh. "I've been home for a while."

Making my way to my bedroom, I tossed the unfolded laundry into an open chair and plopped down onto my clean poofy blanket. "You sound so thrilled about it."

He scoffed. "I'd much rather be anywhere else right now."

My brows furrowed. "Not a fan of your apartment?"

"Not a fan of an empty bed," he replied with that signature flirtatious tone.

"Mmm," I hummed with a grin. "Well, I'm sure you know plenty of women that'd be willing to come entertain you."

"Yet I called the singular one that won't." Jake scoffed. "Kind of pathetic, right?"

Warmth blazed in my chest at the admission I knew held more depth than Jake would ever admit. "I think it's sweet."

He made a gagging noise. "Sweet is a word people use to describe Will."

"And you can't share a description word with Will?"

"Fuck no."

"Whatever you say, sweetie."

"I'll hang up on you."

"You called me," I reminded.

With another sigh, I could make out vague sounds on his end as he seemingly tried to settle into one spot. "I did."

There was a quiet pause between us as I enthusiastically asked, "You okay, tough guy?"

The sound of his laugh was almost bitter as he replied, "It's nothing I can't handle."

"What's up?"

"Lena-”

"Oh, come on, don't make me get annoying."

Jake contemplated his response. "I'm just going through a bit of a… Sensitive phase."

"Did something happen?" I asked, suddenly worried he'd been going through some kind of emotional turmoil and I'd not noticed.

"No… It's… It's more of a physical problem." He sighed, deep and almost pained. "If you catch my meaning."

"Ahh," I bit back a chuckle. "I really did a number on you, didn't I?"

"You did," he admitted. "What are you wearing?"

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously?"

"Oh, come on. You're the one making things so hard for me with those fuckin eyes and that pretty smile and…" He groaned. "That body."

Heat rose to my cheeks, a chill rushing through my body at the sound of his voice cracking. "Should I give you some privacy?"

He laughed, a sound that shouldn't have made me want more but did. "I was thinking you could lend me a hand, actually. You know, help a friend out?"

"Most friends don't help each other get off."

"Come on," he whispered. "Please?"

My eyes fluttered shut, and I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. Fuck… "Fine, but only because you sound so sweet when you ask nicely."

Jake ignored my response almost completely. "What are you wearing?"

"How do you want to play this?" I pondered, toying with my simple T-shirt. "You want the truth, or should I just bullshit you til you come?"

"The truth," he replied.

"It's nothing as scandalous as you're hoping for," I warned him.

"Everything's scandalous when it comes to you." Jake let out a long breath before he added, “Come on, paint me a picture, princess.”

I laid back, head resting in a cradle of pillows. “I’m wearing a T-shirt probably a few sizes too big and the ugliest underwear I own.”

Jake chuckled. “How ugly?”

“Beige with a hole on the left asscheek.” When he didn’t answer, I kept talking. “The T-shirt isn’t anything special either, just black with some abstract orange logo for a sports team, I think.”

“How low does it hang on you?”

“Mid-thigh,” I answered with a smirk. “Quinn cut a pretty deep V into the neckline, though. So now my tits fall out every time I bend over or lay down.” There was that groan I wanted. His breath sounded like static over the phone as he practically panted. “You alright, Sweetie?” I teased.

Jake moaned and answered with a breathless, absolutely wrecked voice, “Just keep talking.”

This was too much fun. “And what would you like me to talk about, Jake?”

“Anything.”

“Taxes?” I asked, voice silky and sultry. “Or I could talk about how to make one of Scott's favorite dishes.”

He sighed. “Do you have to be so annoying about this?”

Giggling I nodded to myself. “Absolutely.”

“God,” he groaned again, the faint sound of him desperately working his, assumingly, aching cock echoed through the phone, sending a wave of heated pleasure down my spine.

“You sound pretty,” I whispered.

“Come over then,” he taunted, sounding far more wrecked than I think he thought he would.

With a hum, I actually considered it. I wanted nothing more than to grab my coat and take a cab to his apartment so he could rip my stupid shirt in half and fuck me. Eventually, I sighed. “Raincheck?”

Jake sounded far more frustrated than he should have as he replied, “You’re worse than Sasha.”

“Goodnight, Jake,” I said with a smirk. “Try not to dream of me too much.”

“Wait!” Click.

He was going to be pissed about that tomorrow.

*

As expected Jake was even more moody than usual when I arrived at work. It was a more lighthearted kind of moody, with little looks and discrete middle fingers throughout family meal, but it was worth it when I restocked the bar and asked, “So, how’d it feel jerking off to the thought of my voice?”

He stumbled over his words as he spoke to the guest in front of him, turned to grab a bottle of whatever they’d ordered, and whispered, “Why don’t you come over and watch? Find out for yourself just how it was.”

The night descended into Hell from there when my mother and Olive came into the restaurant and demanded a table. Howard, the loyal lapdog, bumped the guests at table ten and found them a seat. Lucky for me I was able to hide in the kitchen, but even then my mother found ways to let me know she wasn’t going anywhere. Like sending back food, five times.

Heather set the plate down with a sigh. "I've got a refire on ten."

"Again?" Scott tossed his utensils down and examined the dish with curious eyes. "What'd she say was wrong with it?"

"Nothing," Heather replied tentatively. "She just said she wanted it redone."

I threw down my own cooking tools and grabbed the plate. "Fuck this."

The kitchen door swung open as I charged through, holding the plate of food she'd sent back. My mother sat at table ten with a smile as she lazily swirled the wine in her glass, watching me approach. I didn’t care about the other guests or about anything but finally teaching her a lesson as I threw the plate onto the table. “Eat it or fucking starve.”

“That’s hardly the way an employee should talk to a customer.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not just a customer then, isn’t it?”

Mother smiled wider as Howard approached. “Oh, how far the quality of this establishment has fallen.”

His hands came to grasp my shoulders. “My apologies, Ms. Glover. Lena ple-”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” I shook his hands off, turning to glare at him as I walked away.

Jake nodded to me from the bar, a smile on his face as he proudly regarded my actions. For a moment, the anger burned softer, more manageable as everyone else, Nicky, Sasha and Ari, and Heather, quietly cheered me on as I slipped back into the kitchen. Service went well after that. No more plates being sent back or requests for eight different wines to taste, just normal everyday service. While it felt nice being able to breathe again, I knew it wasn’t over.

The locker room was rowdy as everyone complained about my mother's behavior, each in their own way trying to show me it didn’t matter to them that they wouldn’t hold it against me. Jake was the only one that was quiet as he stood next to his locker and waited for me. Sasha eyed the two of us. “Do I need to stay as well? Or are you two going to keep your filthy hands to yourselves?”

He smirked at the Russian. “Hard to tell.”

“Go ahead, Sasha,” I replied with a laugh. “I’m not really in a handsy mood tonight.”

With narrow eyes, he pointed at both of us. “I’m watching you two.”

Once he was gone, Jake shook his head. “He’s more determined than I expected.”

“Oh?” I teased. “Was him literally butting into our little makeout session not enough proof for you?”

“He’s always like that.”

“Fair point.”

Once I was fully dressed to go, he nodded to the stairs. “You hanging out for a bit, or are we sneaking out the back?”

With a deep sigh, I started for the stairs. “Sadly, I think I’ll have to stay so my mother will actually leave everyone else alone.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I’ll make your drink extra strong.”

“My hero,” I replied with a smile.

As expected, my mother sat at the bar waiting for me with a blank expression. Once I took the seat next to her, it was quiet, horrifyingly so. Jake kept his promise and slid me my usual drink with an extra shot, and as I drank, my mother sighed. "This isn't you.”

"What would you know about me?" I asked coldly.

“I raised you to be better than some… drunk,” she replied. "And above that, I am your mother."

I chuckled. "That means less than you think it does, and it certainly doesn't mean you know me."

She sighed. "How many times do we have to do this, Lena?"

"What was the book I always read when we spent our summers in Cape Cod?" I asked. "What's my favorite book?"

Mother's face drained of the thin mask, shifting into annoyance at my question, and further beneath that, hidden so deep inside her that even she wouldn't see it was a hint of realization. The reality that she was wrong. "This is ridiculous."

"You think you know me? Then answer me," I demanded. "What book did I read over and over and over again until the pages started falling out?" My mother rolled her eyes. "Too hard? I'll ask something easier then. What's my favorite color?"

"This hardly proves any-"

"When's my birthday?" I continued. She didn't answer, couldn't answer. "You can't answer a single question about me, and yet you have the fucking audacity to stand here and pretend that you know me at all." I shook my head and scoffed. "You're not my mother."

Clapping echoed from the front door as Ozzy entered. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, darling.”

“Oswald,” Mother sneered, turning to look at him as he made his way to my side. “How lovely to see you.”

“Jen. It’s always so unfortunate when we cross paths.”

Her smile was tense. “I see you haven’t lost your juvenile sense of humor.”

"Never. Now, my daughter and I will be going," Ozzy replied, gently pulling me away from my mother.

"She is my daughter Oswald." Her hand snapped out and took hold of my wrist. "I am the one that birthed her and gave her every advantage!"

Ozzy placed himself between us, staring my mother down with rage swimming in his eyes. "You were the one that almost let that monster kill her. Hell, you almost killed her yourself a few times. You will never be anything more than an old, sad, washed-up ballerina Jen."

"How dare-"

"Jack might not be here to fulfill his promise, but I sure as hell am. Now, take your hands off my daughter and fuck off."

They stared each other down for a long moment before she finally loosened her grip on me. When my arm was free, her eyes met mine. "When you finally come to your senses, you know where to find me."

I shook my head, forcing the hurt down beneath my anger. "I don't think that's something I'm capable of. After all, I am my father's daughter."

Ozzy wrapped an arm around my shoulder, carefully leading me away toward the door. He raised his hand, waving back at the crowd of my coworkers. "Goodbye, Jen. We look forward to reading your name in the obituary!"

We walked in the cool city air, arm in arm, for a long time before I spoke. “Thanks for coming.”

“I would never leave you to suffer that woman alone,” Oz replied, bumping my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Surprisingly, yeah, I am.” I sighed. “It felt kind of good to confront her.”

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Just like your father would be.”

The thought was one that brought me some comfort, that my dad would have stood over my shoulder and encouraged me to lay into her deeper. Maybe he was… “How did he ever deal with her?”

Ozzy’s wide smile changed then, suddenly sad and in pain. “She wasn’t always a shrew, you know. When your dad brought her into the bar for the first time, she was actually quite lovely.”

“She was?”

“Of course. How’d you think we ended up with you two?”

“What changed?”

He considered the question before he shook his head. “She got tired of keeping up the act. By that time, the damage had been done.”

I held onto him tighter. “It all worked out in the end. I mean, as well as it could have.”

“That it did, my girl,” Ozzy said softly. “That it did.”

*

Back at the bar and significantly more drunk the group unwound from the long night, and everyone slowly began to shed the weight of my mother’s visit. Everyone but Peter. He drank his water, staring off into empty space until Patrick or I would grab his attention again, but I knew the weight of whatever words she’d managed to have with him carried. He left early, heading upstairs with the simple excuse of being tired. I was worried about him, after everything he had going on my mother should have been the least of it.

Quinn and Prue were determined to help me unwind with drinks and an abundance of shitty jokes and games. It helped, in a way only they could pull off. The night was slowly turning around as I hopped in to help get drinks to the tables and my friends carried on having fun together. I leaned over a table, grabbing the now empty glasses, when an unfamiliar body slid behind me. “How’s it goin, baby girl?”

The nickname made my blood run cold. It wasn’t him. I told myself over and over again that it wasn’t Tony, but there was always that lingering doubt that plagued me until I turned around. The rich asshole that had dined at the restaurant and that had tried to force himself on me in Tony’s penthouse stood too close to me, smiling down at me with leering eyes. I shook my head and tried to shove past him. “Fuck off.”

His hand grabbed my arm. “Not this time. I want that kiss you robbed me of.”

“Let go.” My voice carried, and in my peripheral, I saw Dom rise to his feet.

With a frustrated sigh, the man pulled something from his pocket. A metallic sound echoed in my ears as I pulled on my arm, stilling only when the familiar chill of steel on my neck made me freeze. "I said, not this time bitch."

I had no idea what came over me as I tore my arm from his grasp and moved quickly, the blade just barely cutting the side of my neck as he reached trying to regain his hold on me. As I stumbled to the floor Dom's solid body moved, punching the man in the face once. Twice.

Everything around me slowed as I pressed my fingers to the blood that now trailed down my neck. The sting of the cut had faded, but memories of the all too familiar sensation replayed in my mind longer as I watched Dom’s fists beat down on the face of my attacker. The sound of bones breaking brought a wave of nausea to my gut, and for a moment, reality seemed to shift. For a moment, I wasn’t on the floor of Ozzy’s but back in the penthouse, watching Tony beat down anyone foolish enough to question him.

My ears started to ring, filling with static. I knew, realistically, that only a minute or two had passed, but it felt longer. My eyes focused on the blood that now flew off Dom’s fists as I brought my hands up to cover my ears, attempting to drown out the voice Dom never used anymore… The voice that reminded me too much of Tony. Jake pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered and dropped down to the ground beside me so quickly that I couldn’t control the way I flinched.

His mouth moved with words I couldn’t hear as his eyes fixed on my neck, on the blood that now soaked into my top. He quickly reached up and grabbed a rag from the table and pressed it to the cut, only then turning his eyes to the bloody sight in front of us. The static began to fade from my ears, slowly bringing the noise back. Ozzy’s voice bellowed from behind the bar. “Dominic! That’s enough!”

Patrick shoved through the crowd, followed by a few of the bikers. “Oi! Come on, Dom. Not here, man.”

Dom couldn’t hear them, or he simply chose not to, as his fists kept bearing down through multiple hands, trying to pull him back. With a shaking voice, I called out, weak and half-spoken, “Dom…” His movements stopped, and his head turned dark… violent consumed eyes met mine. The hardened mask he wore, the mask of some brutal drug dealer, fell as he saw how scared I was… how scared I was of him. “Please.”

He stood then, towering over me with shaking, bloody hands. Jake shifted, putting himself between me and the drug dealer, an action I didn't think even he realized he'd done. Dom regarded him with a far-off look before he turned, brushing past Patrick and Ozzy and heading toward the door. The bikes followed, two of them picking up the now unconscious asshole and carrying him out. Ozzy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry for the mess. The bars closing now."

"You heard the man!" Patrick reinforced. "Get the fuck out!"

Ozzy turned and carefully reached toward Jake and me. “Keep pressure on the cut, son. Pat and I will get her up.”

Patrick appeared on the opposite side of me, making himself look as small as he could as he reached toward me with a grin. “Just breathe. We’ve got ya, little sister.”

With the help of the two older men, Jake was able to keep a steady hold on the rag pressed to my neck as they helped me to my feet and led me to the back office in Ozzy’s comfortable chair. Jake knelt in front of me, eyes glued to the side of my neck where the blood had begun soaking through the rag. Ozzy’s large hand settled on his shoulder, and with the kind smile he was known for, he said, “Breathe, lad.”

“Ya did good,” Patrick complimented. “Any other idiot woulda freaked out.”

Ozzy placed a hand over Jake’s. “I’ve gotta see how deep the cut is.” Without a word, Jake slowly let go, but his eyes never left me as Ozzy pulled the rag back and breathed out a sigh of relief. “It’s just a little knick. Nothin' a bit of gauze and a bandage won’t fix.”

Patrick held his fingers to my pulse point and held my hand. “She seems to have calmed down a bit. Can ya hear me, sis?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“That’s good,” Ozzy replied, cupping my cheek. “How's the pain?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Not compared to the other one.

Sensing the unspoken words, Patrick sighed. “I’ll go get Pete. He’ll wanna know what’s goin' on.”

“Keep him as calm as you can.”

After Patrick was gone, Jake settled into the spot he vacated, hands trembling at his sides as he scanned the new area, unsure of where to look or what to do. I carefully brushed my fingers against his and smiled up at him. “You don’t have to stay. Ozzy’s good at patching me up.”

He considered my words for a minute, finally focusing on my eyes before he shook his head. “I’ll stay. Somebody’s gotta hold your hand.”

As his fingers wrapped around mine, I laughed, soft and weak and entirely too vulnerable. “I appreciate it, tough guy.”

Ozzy quietly bandaged the cut on my neck, though I caught his smirking glances at Jake as he held my hand and made small talk. It was only once Peter came rushing into the bar that Jake said goodnight and excused himself to make way for my very worried older brother. It took some convincing, but eventually, my little family had calmed down. Ozzy closed the bar down while Prue and Quinn fussed over me for a while before they, too, filtered out. Patrick and Peter led me out of the alleyway, pausing tensely as they came face to face with Dom. 

They both waited for me to tell them how to react. “You two head upstairs.”

“You sure?” Peter asked, glancing back at me.

I nodded. “I’ll be right up.”

We both stood, waiting until my brothers were out of earshot before Dom cleared his throat and sighed. “I ain’t gonna apologize for beatin' the fucker. But I’m sorry about making you relive that shit. I… I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It… It’s okay.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad this time.”

Dom knew what I was referring to, an old incident in a drug den I used to frequent. I could hardly look at him after that, and it took months to get back to where we were. “I don’t ever want you to be scared of me again.” I could see tears building in his eyes. “I would never hurt you, Lena.”

I stepped forward, carefully reaching out to grab his hands. “I know. Will you stay tonight? Just in case?”

“Of course,” he replied, slowly pulling me into a hug.

Upstairs my brothers had gotten everything ready for a sleepover in my room. Dom settled on the couch, insisting on being in the main area by the door while my brothers and I cuddled together in my bed. Any other instance of an attack like that would have shaken me to my core… would have made it impossible for me to even talk for days after. Tonight had been scary, too familiar, but ultimately different. I wasn’t afraid like I had been in the past. I wasn’t panicked and flighty. I knew I was safe. And with that knowledge nestled in my mind, I easily drifted off to sleep.

Maybe I was getting better. And maybe I liked the idea of no longer living my life in fear.

[kimium]

Earlier I asked @m34gs if there was a Starbucks in Twisted Wonderland, what would the Housewarden's go-to order be? She answered in this ask, but also prompted me to give my thoughts. As a tea only drinker this will be challenging for me, but online menus are the best!

Riddle - London Fog (Earl Grey Latte) with milk foam

Without a doubt in my mind Riddle has to have a tea order. Tea is an important part of Heartslaybul and if Riddle doesn't drink a certain quota of tea then he's breaking at least ten-fifteen rules and he CANNOT let that happen.

This order is also very simple in both saying and ingredients. There isn't a lot of variety with this one, which helps Riddle ease into the drink order. I'm certain he grew up believing anything his mother deemed "fancy" was unnecessary and horrible. This drink helps meet a balance for Riddle: tea and simple. I'm certain once he becomes comfortable with drinks he'll branch into Refreshers or Frappaccinos.

Leona - Iced Peach Green Tea

Like you said, Leona doesn't like complicated drinks nor does he want something hot or caffeinated. He wants his precious naps! This drink meets Leona's requirements: simple (so no one can screw it up if they're doing a run for him), cold, and a little sweet.

Azul - Brown Sugar Oat Americano with 4-5 shots of espresso

I agree with you: Azul, like Idia, is living on caffeine and sugar. Only while Idia is unapologetic in his caffeine/sugar order, Azul tries to disguise his with fancy additives (the brown sugar syrup pumps, cinnamon topping, and oat beverage). This way he can tell people what he's drinking without mentioning the word "espresso" in his order. No one is fooled though. They all know exactly what Azul's habits are.

Kalim - Strawberry Creme Frappuccino with extra whip

Scarabia is hot and Frappuccinos aren't. Strawberries are delicious and sweet. Combining these elements makes for a delicious drink that I think Kalim would love. I agree he has a sweet tooth and thus he wants extra whip. In truth, I think Kalim would like all kinds of frappuccinos, but he also strikes me as someone who likes fruit. Hence, I think this is a good pick for him.

Vil - Matcha Latte, two extra scoops of matcha, with non-fat milk

Look, I know this is basically my order, except without the non-fat milk, but hear me out. Matcha has many health benefits. It is high in anti-oxidants, can help protect your liver, boosts brain function, may help prevent cancer and boost heart health, and helps regulate weight. With so many fantastic benefits, I think this is something Vil would go for as he strikes me as someone who values healthy foods.

Idia - Espresso Macchiato with milk foam and with whatever unholy amount of espresso shots he's feeling like adding

I agree 100% with you: Idia lives on two things: caffeine and sugar. With this, he's basically drinking milky espresso/sugar. Just typing this is making my head hurt. He's also ordering this late into the night and consuming it as he plays games. Again, as you said, the only reason why he doesn't add more shots (which I checked and the counter wasn't stopping me from adding them) is because Ortho threatened his computer with perma-death.

Malleus - Chai Latte with milk foam

While I also think it's super cute for Malleus to go for the Dragon Fruit drink, I also think he likes tea. He's also wary of coffee shops as he's very unfamiliar and uncomfortable in there. However, thanks to Yuu and Lilia he visits for the first time and nearly panics when he sees all the options and customization. So, he orders one of the most simple items on the menu. Besides, drinking Chai is like receiving a warm hug and I think Diasomnia can be a bit on the chilly side.

(I also think Leona wants to make fun of him for having a "basic bitch order" but his order is also rather basic in nature.)

There you go! Here are my options! I hope you like them, friend!

[simulamortem]

REBORN

detailing how Revenant's latest lore and abilities will be translated into my writing here.

》 SHINY AND NEW

somebody's been messing around in his programming - making upgrades under the hood, culminating in his being forced into a shiny new model. the new model is POWERFUL, far better suited to handle Revenant's newly enhanced abilities than his other models.

but he's still acclimating to using it, and the changes in his programming may not even be complete yet. when he doesn't choose his model upon respawn, he's just as likely to upload into one of the new shells as one of his original shells... meaning somebody is trying to change over his default model altogether.

somebody built this model, somebody is making these changes, trying to put him under their CONTROL - so it's no wonder that the new model left a sour taste in his mouth, to say the least, and Revenant is extremely wary of getting too comfortable in it.

the reborn model I'll be writing features this version of the face !

》 THE ART OF CONTROL

one distinction here from canon in regards to Revenant's upgrade is that my iteration is keeping his old abilities. even the new model still has the Silence dispenser on his arm for fuck's sake.

Totem, for awhile though, is going to be less reliable, as the new programming is still a little messy. having basically been reformatted means Totem doesn't come as naturally to Revenant as it did before, and he'll need to relearn how to use it.

and the "new" abilities are pretty much enhancements of things he was already able to do before, namely a significant upgrade to his SHADOW POWERS:

this boost in power is what lets him move and LEAP so much farther and faster now, and gives his shadow form far more endurance and durability.

he doesn't have a literal shield like he does in-game, his shadow form just LASTS LONGER and can take way more damage before the power is spent.

Totem's shadow form is quite frail by comparison; its biggest benefit obviously is that others besides just Rev can use it.

notably, canon details that his passive for highlighting weak targets can detect such things as cancer. this is going to be a pretty big change in his perception until he gets used to it, as in a close enough range, he'll be picking up a lot more info about people's health around him. it'll be very distracting until he gets in the habit of tuning it out and figuring out how to dismiss any visual clutter, as I hc he does for much of his HUD.

getting used to all of this is gonna be MESSY:

as mentioned, Revenant's newer model is the best equipped to make use of his new power. older models won't have the energy reserves or processing power to handle it nearly as well, and it'll take some adjusting for him to figure out how to be comfortable in them again and what they are & aren't capable of.

some of the models I hc as newer, like unholy beast, revelations, and former glory, will have an easier time handling the upgrades.

but even in the newer model, acclimating is going to be a process for him. there's a lot of changes in his programming he's not used to yet, and some things that used to be automatic for him are going to feel/act a lil differently now... liiiike where he'd normally rely on programming to subconsciously calculate an accurate leap through a window, he might crash into a wall instead. a totally made-up example not based on any personal in-game experience whatsoever.

[bunnyanqel]

A Pleasure Doing You—I Mean Business (1)

[1] [2] [3]

Summary: Maria's never met anyone who's snagged her attention—and made her libido rage—quite like Eddie Munson. When she meets him after class for a weed deal, she gives him an offer that she hopes he can't refuse: herself.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, dirty talk, 18+, MDNI, clothed sex, outdoor sex, mentions of cancer (brief), mentions of chemo (brief), come as lube, inexperienced but not virgin eddie munson, creampie, discussions of condoms, unsafe sex, frottage, coming in pants, enthusiastic consent, bisexual eddie munson

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 also on AO3 ! 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

Eddie had come to one conclusion: cheerleaders were bratty, stuck-up, prissy girls that only wanted one thing from him. He’d grown used to the way they used him for sex and for drugs until something better—someone they could show off to Mommy and Daddy—came along.

So when Maria, one of the Black cheerleaders, approached him during lunch, he’d already steeled himself. His cock did too, filling the fly of his jeans even though he tried to tell it she was the root of all evil. But, as per usual, his cock didn’t agree and, with the way it throbbed behind his fly, thought she was a sex goddess.

Against her silken brown skin and halo of perfectly coifed curly black hair, the almost gold shade of her eyes was unsettling. Like a jungle cat’s. Even without the eyes, the way she moved—with grace, with feline fluidity—reminded him of a puma, except the microscopic cheer skirt ruined it. One wrong move, or a particularly sharp wind, would reveal whatever she was wearing underneath, which of course made him think about her panties. That did fuck all for subduing his errant dick.

“Eddie Munson, right?” She had a soft voice that was hard to hear over the din of cafeteria mayhem, but he heard her loud and clear. When Maria spoke, you listened; that was just one of the Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery, and thou shall listen to Maria.

“Yup, sweet cheeks. What can I do for you?” He looked her up and down, taking in that tiny scrap of a skirt that bore so much well-defined thigh and leg and the sleeveless vest that left her equally defined biceps on display.

“Don’t call me sweet cheeks or I’ll be forced to cause bodily harm,” she said dryly as she leaned a hip against the table. The boys at the table watched her with a mix of wariness and awe. Gareth was staring at her breasts because he, like Eddie, knew a fine woman when he saw one. Still Eddie was tempted to smack him. “And I need a favor.”

Eddie dragged his gaze away from her chest and looked up into her golden eyes. Christ, they were so pretty…and his mind was in the gutter, imagining them gleaming up at him as she sucked his cock. Of how she’d looked rubbing her undoubtedly pretty, puffy cunt all over his thigh.

He cleared his throat. “What type of favor, sweet” —he caught sight of her murderous expression— “…ness?” It came out stilted like he’d choked mid-sentence.

Her impassive expression flickered for a second before it was replaced by a deep, twisted scowl. “No nicknames.” She examined him in a quick, intense once-over that he felt in his balls. Fuck. “You sell weed and shit, right?”

Like a bucket of ice water being overturned, he was shocked back into reality, his mind firmly booted out of the gutter. He drummed his fingers on the table top and warily eyed her. Tried hard not think about flipping her skirt up like some pervert. “What’re you looking for hypothetically?”

“Weed,” she replied calmly, like it was a normal conversation to be had in a crowded cafeteria.

Like it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for a girl, let alone a cheerleader, to approach him and be seen talking to him. In broad daylight. Where anyone could see them. But he had the feeling she didn’t really care about rumors and high school hierarchy, and he found her that much hotter for her devil may care attitude.

“Not for me,” she clarified. “My cousin.”

Curiosity piqued. “What’s stopping your cousin from asking me herself?”

“Chemotherapy.”

She said it so casually, so blasé, that it took a second to register, and when it did, his gaze flicked up to her cold face. There wasn’t an ounce of humor in those eyes. She wasn’t joking.

“So I’ll meet you,” she went on before he could apologize for sounding like a complete tool, “after school at four P.M. at your spot. Goodbye.” She turned on her heel, her skirt flaring, and he saw the glorious curve of her ass cheek. Booty shorts—she was wearing booty shorts. And there wasn’t a panty line.

He watched her march away, that gorgeous ass twitching with the swish of her hips, and wiggled his eyebrows at the stunned boys at the Hellfire table when he turned back to them.

“And that’s just business,” he said roughly even though his mind was elsewhere. Like how her tits would feel in his palms or the smell of her went cunt.

The rest of the day passed like molasses or quicksand, slow and mind-melting, and he kept replaying the interaction in his head. The shape of her thick lips, the timbre of her voice, that icy attitude that made him all the hornier. The urge to see her lose her cool, to see her unravel, had wormed into his stupid horny brain and made a home there.

Which made him wonder very, very naughty things.

Sexual things.

What was she like outside of these corridors? What did she sound like when she came on a dick if she was into men? Would she be as demanding and brusque as she’d been in the cafeteria, all no-nonsense? Or would she melt, turning pliant and creamy?

His cock refused to soften the entire time so every time he was able, he would adjust himself. Fuck, if this kept up, he’d be raw by three o’clock. Raw like he hadn’t been since he first discovered jerking off and rubbed himself raw.

By the time classes officially ended, he’d ripped off the belt to ease the pressure on the head of his erection. It wasn’t the same relief as wearing lose pajama bottoms but it was a million times better.

Show time, Munson. He grabbed his lunch pail, locked his van, and headed into the woods.

[ferel6]

This gets INCREDIBLY LONG, so a little tl;dr here for you: I decided to become a healthy volunteer for clinical research studies in order to fill a hole I thought I had in my fetish dreams, but got addicted to being a test subject. Because it was SO MUCH FUN.

I'm not on here much because this is a secretive place for me (much like a lot of you) and I don't have a lot of alone time.

I just got back from a trip recently and haven't been able to parse my feelings about it. I need to share my fun experiences with SOMEONE because not many people in my life appreciate the feelings I have for them like a lot of you will.

Clearly, by the reposts and likes, I have a medical fetish. Strongest for EKGs, blood pressure cuffs, catheters, oxygen masks. But also for most things medical related. I have ton of equipment that I've used on myself and others.

My wife is a wonderful supporter of anything that turns me on more and has been a fantastic patient for me. But she doesnt have the appreciation for medical equipment, she doesn't love the feeling of a mask over her nose and mouth, the light touch of wires across her chest, like I do.

As I've gotten older, I've needed to figure out more about myself and why I have these feelings. I've always liked being the patient, always wanted to be the experiment.

An idea came to me while I was involved in biometrics screening at work and I wondered why I had never thought of it before: why not volunteer as a healthy subject for clinical research?

I dove head first into it, checking out all the available research programs in my area (there were a lot), but what I began to realize is I didn't just want to be pumped full of experimental drugs and to find out what they do (even though most of those studies would involve the equipment I enjoyed). I wanted something more...basic. Something less experimental, but more intimate.

I found the perfect study, one that still required vitals monitoring (my reason for interest), but also helped further science in a way that interested me personally. A venous occlusion and distension study that looked at the effect NSAIDs have on veins to potentially help patients with Periferal Arterial Disease (PAD). I was nervous to tell my wife about it (just as nervous in fact as when I told her about my fetish initially). But she was perfectly OK with it, mentioning that clinical volunteers are a needed commodity.

With that, I sent off a message to the clinical research coordinator. And I waited. And waited. And waited.

It took about a week of nervous anticipation before she responded with a phone call. She explained the procedure, how they would measure the volume of my arm, hook up an IV retrograde into the forearm, wrap blood pressure-like cuffs around my wrist, forearm, and bicep to force the blood out of my arm for the occlusion portion. Heartrate would be monitored via a 3-lead EKG, BP would be taken periodically on my other arm, as well as continual BP measured via a device wrapped around my wrist and finger called a finometer. She asked if all that sounded ok.

Yes. 1000% yes.

We set up an appointment for a few weeks later and my sex drive went into overdrive at the prospect. My wife was a bit wary of this at first, but eventually warmed up to the idea and reaped the benefits of my overactive imagination.

The day of the experiment, I drove to the medical center, walking briskly past all the patients milling about the general hospital area, past the cancer center, and on toward the cardiac and vascular institute. God, it was such a rush feeling like I belonged there, but for a fun reason, not because I was sick. That sterile hospital smell, the sounds, the lights, the doctors and nurses passing me in their scrubs, going about their business.

I arrived outside of the clinical research floor and was immediately met by the clinical coordinator, no time to get my bearings, no more sitting and waiting. It was finally go time.

She whisked me past receptionists, then past equipment strewn in the hallways, doors leading to open rooms with beds in the middle, until we arrived at "my" room.

I tried not to stare as we entered. It was REALLY HARD. My quick glance took in the table in the middle of the room, the racks of monitoring equipment on the left wall, baskets with wires and tubes hanging out the tops, a large ultrasound machine to the right of the table, a roller tray with what I knew was an IV kit as well as several other syringes in sterile packaging.

I followed the coordinators instruction to sit and fill out my pre-procedure paperwork while she went over all the things that would happen to me (like I needed to hear it again, I'd read the paperwork at least 20 times throughout the prior weeks). Then she took my height and weight, and listened to my lungs and heart. I was a nervous wreck, so my heartrate was a bit high. She chocked it up to dehydration and got me a cup of ice water. Next we measured my arm volume by dunking it in a long tube of water and noting the displacement. Then I was sent to the bathroom before the start of the procedure while she retrieved the other members of the clinical team.

I had a few precious moments to myself in the cramped room once I got back to take everything else in. The computers by the back right corner. The windows out to look over a helipad, as we were on the fourth floor. Just how much juicy equipment lay on the racks on the far wall. None of this was helping my heartrate to slow down.

The coordinator came back in with a tech in tow and told me to hop up on the table in the center so she could get baseline BP, and get me hooked up to the EKG and get my IV placed.

I padded over after taking my shoes and socks off and used the stool to sit down on the table. The tech began wrapping the oh so familiar dark blue cuff around my right arm, while the coordinator pulled over the tray with the syringes and IV kit. At the coordinators request the BP cuff inflated as I sat there trying to calm my thumping heart. She remarked a mostly normal BP, much to my surprise, 125/85, only slightly on the high side for me. She had me lay down and we took it again two more times! God it felt amazing to just have someone so interested in my blood pressure.

The fun was just beginning, though. The coordinator took my left arm in her hands and pulled it over to the tray. Getting gloves on and cracking open the IV kit, she set about cleaning my arm and wrapping a band around my bicep, a steady stream of questions about my family, my job, and answers to my questions back. General banter while she looked down at my arm with such scrutiny, poking the inside of my elbow to confirm a good vein, then a quick jab as the IV entered and was dressed in a flash. I've had flu shots that hurt more, she was such a pro.

The banter continued as she dug around in a bag for three sticky electrodes, tenting my loose tshirt to reach just below my left side ribs, and my left and right shoulders. The tech helped her get the wires attached and I soon turned to see the delicious green line on the screen spiking up and down to a fair 110 bpm. The coordinator remarked again about my higher heartrate, but I informed her it was probably just nerves from my first visit and that I had a naturally high heartrate (I usually sit in the high 80s).

We continued onward, another male tech coming in, as well as the lead clinical physician who would be doing the ultrasound on my arm during the occlusion and infusion. They all busied themselves with various tasks, noting my HR, my BP, or prepping the occlusion cuffs.

The primary clinical physician asked if he could bring in a student intern, as a petite asian girl, probably half my age in her first few years of college shuffled in from the hall. "Of course" was my only response, the more the merrier. Good GOD was I trying so hard not to be turned on by all the extra staff and the entire situation.

Things moved quickly from here. The techs wrapped a cuff around my wrist, my forearm underneath the IV, and around my bicep.

The coordinator lifted my arm up and gave me a roll of gauze to squeeze. After squeezing for a few seconds she said "Five, four, three, two, one, cuff one up" and with the signature puff of air, the cuff around my wrist inflated, incredibly tight. "Five, four, three, two, one, cuff two up", and the second cuff on my forearm tightened, pushing the pooled blood in my forearm away even further (the pressure felt so odd on the retrograde IV at my elbow). "Five, four, three, two, one, cuff three up", and with that the last cuff around my bicep inflated, tighter than I'd ever pumped up a BP cuff during my own play, cutting off circulation to my entire left arm.

The tingling started in earnest as the coordinator told me I could relax my arm and the primary physician set about my forearm with cold gel and the ultrasound probe. I thought perhaps I'd lose more feeling in that arm, but I could feel the lightest touch from the physician, the push and pull of the probe as he clicked keys to zero in on the veins he was looking to image. He talked quietly with his intern, pointing to the screen, to my arm. She would nod and note things as well, also motioning to whatever they saw on the monitor.

The rest of the techs also milled about, the coordinator asking for time to be marked and noting my heartrate. I'd forgotten the monitor, as I was so focused on my left arm. Turning my neck I saw my HR had shot up to 144 bpm! My BP was also much higher as well topping at 155/100. Guess having an extra arms worth of blood rushing around my body sure changed my biometrics.

We waited for some time, taking new baseline statistics of my body's functions. 10 minutes passed, me simply lying there with my arm going numb, the continual squeeze of the finometer on my finger giving me an indication of my pulse.

Next up the coordinator sidled up next to my head, dragged the tray back over and set about getting the first syringe ready. She informed me there were 50ml, separated into 5 different syringes. "They may have doses of Ketorelac, or it may simply be saline, based on randomized trial".

As she began the first infusion, the primary physician and his intern were back on the ultrasound, probing and watching the spot where the IV entered my arm. I could feel the gentle caress of the probe as cold liquid filled my veins, again surprised at how much I could still feel despite 15 full minutes of cut off circulation.

The coordinator hooked up the next syringe and asked how I was feeling.

"I'm great!" I replied promptly.

"Alright, there's four more of these, so just let me know if the pressure gets to be too much in your arm."

She hooked up the next and pushed the plunger slowly down. My arm felt cold now, the liquid going in fluctuating between warm and cool, an odd sensation. The physician continued talking to his intern. The techs and the coordinator would talk amongst themselves as well.

"See this here as it's infused"

"Which one is that, the second?"

"We're on 17 minutes"

"Heartrates up, BP is a little higher as well"

"Still doing OK? I'm going to start the next, just let me know if it begins to be too much."

It was...so much. All of it. A pleasant buzzing whir in my mind, like ASMR but stronger, dominated my brain. All I could do was feel the sensations of my body and listen to the researchers as they talked about my body's functions and what they were doing to me like I wasn't a person to them. Like I was this enigma, this puzzle that needed solving. Just a subject, an experiment for them to run.

Once the infusions were all in place, and another 5 minutes had passed, the cuff was released and warmth and stabbing pins and needles filled my veins and arteries again.

More vitals were taken to confirm changes in my blood pressure, but after the release it was simply a matter of cleaning up. And just like that it was over.

I was cleaned up, given a meal card to use at the cafeteria, told how much my help was appreciated and sent on my way.

I've just come back from my fifth time (first time back since the pandemic), some of the studies have taken place in the MRI center (MRIs are relaxing and I love the idea of my brain being scanned).

And now i just feel the looming emptiness inside. There is so much anticipation and excitement each time I set up dates to go be a research subject. So much feeling. And when I'm there, when I'm being worked on and monitored, when I'm being watched over and dolled upon, I feel so good and right.

It's addictive, like a drug. I want more. I want to go back every week so they can poke me with more needles, watch my heartrate take off at the inflation of a cuff.

Anyway. If you've read this far, congrats on seeing a bit of my not so normal psyche. Glad there are plenty of people out there to volunteer who, like me, don't mind the uncomfortable and invasive parts of medical advancement.

If you think you can control yourself (I actually did a pretty good job in the end of keeping my lust under control), you may want to consider being a healthy volunteer as well. It's definitely an experience you'll never forget.

Feel free to ask questions and such, I'll answer them when I can.

[words-are-fireproof]

Summary: Dieter doesn't care much for candles. You set out to change his mind.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: My second Dilfcember entry! I love how this one turned out! I hope you guys enjoy it too! Thank you, @obiknights, again, for doing this challenge!

[Masterlist] || [Series Masterlist] || Part One || Part Three

-----

“What do you mean you don’t like candles?” 

“You say that like it’s some bad thing!” 

“If you’re telling me you don’t like candles it is a bad thing!” 

“Why is it a bad thing?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was a quiet day in New York, which seemed like a bit of an oxymoron, but you figured the mountains of snow had something to do with it. It had been a particularly snowy winter so far in the city. Snow banks gathered up on curbs, dirty with road grime, melting into puddles which refroze every single night when the temperatures plunged into single digits. You couldn’t remember the last time winter had gotten this cold. You weren’t complaining. Dieter, on the other hand, complained all the damn time. You were about to kick him to the curb. Not really, but he knew you were teasing. 

Now this whole candle thing threatened to push you over the edge. Not really, but he appeared less certain that you were teasing this time. 

“Because I love candles and if I can’t burn candles while we’re together, we’re going to have a problem.” 

He huffed, the space between his eyebrows creasing with a cute little pout that you just wanted to kiss away. 

“They always smell so damn artificial.”

“That’s the beauty of candles.” 

“No, that’s how you get cancer.” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re absolutely no fun.”

“You think I’m plenty fun,” he said through a smirk. 

You could’ve killed him. Again, not really, but the way his lips curve into that devilish smirk makes you weak in the knees. You wanted to push him into an alley or darkened doorway somewhere and kiss him senseless. Kiss him until that smirk turned into a pleasure drunk dopey smile that always made him–and you–giggle. He might’ve been a suave, James Bond-esque man about town when he hosted parties and attended them–and did other things at them as well–but when he was with you, he never failed to be…accessible, warm, lovely. And he knew exactly how to drive you wild no matter where you were. 

“Okay, well, yeah, we know that. But you won’t let me burn candles.” 

“I never said you couldn’t burn them.” 

“That’s basically what you said.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You can burn them in your room.” 

You bat the back of your hand against his chest. “We share a room, dummy.” 

Another huff of his breath. “So you’ve found the flaw in my logic.” 

“You see, I don’t even think you thought of that when you mentioned it.” 

He rolled his eyes again. “Alright. Alright. We’ll compromise. But only if you can find a candle I might like.” 

“I thought they all smelled artificial,” you tease. 

“They do.” 

“Oh, so this is a challenge, isn’t it?” 

He smirked, and once again you wanted to kiss it from his face. 

“Yes. Of course, it is.” 

“You like challenges too much.” 

That smirk melted into a smile, his dimple deepening on his right cheek. “You know me too well.” 

Not well enough, you thought perhaps a bit too bitterly, but you didn’t say anything out loud. You didn’t want to start a fight, and if you kept giving yourself into those intrusive thoughts that kept cropping up, then the two of you would be doomed before you even gave the relationship a proper chance to grow. You thought about that for a moment. You weren’t sure what the two of you were, even though you’d slept together and gone on a few dates. But, again, you tried not to think about that. Those were too intrusive to entertain. 

“You’re damn right, I do.” He winked at you as you passed a maker’s market and you tugged on his arm to get him to stop. “Hey, let’s go in here.” 

He peered into the shop window, lit with warm Christmas lights that shone amber against the bright white snow. He wrinkled his nose, shooting you a wary look, but you saw the way his mahogany eyes sparkled in the dim light. He couldn’t hide that brief excitement that came from exploring somewhere new. You liked that about him. 

“You think we’ll find candles in here?” 

“If not, maybe I can find you a Christmas present.” 

“You’ve given me all I want for Christmas already.” 

You stood there staring at him for a long moment. You didn’t know what to say to that. What could you say that didn’t sound trite or insincere? You were bad at words in the face of compliments like that. You swallow thickly, a long slow smile spreading over your lips. You suddenly felt lighter than air, like if a strong breeze came along it’d knock you over and cause you to float away. You’ve never felt like that before. 

“Shut up,” is the first thing you think to say, nudging him in the side with your elbow before you open the door and tug him inside. 

Immediately, you are both ensconced in warmth and the overwhelming smell of spice and clean scents that remind you of pine trees out in the forest back home. Your smile widens, your cheeks beginning to hurt at the force of it. The entire store felt like home. You’d never been there before, but you’re glad the window looked inviting and you tugged him inside. 

“Okay,” you begin with a grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, “let’s divide and conquer and meet right here in…how about an hour?” 

“And what should I be looking for?” 

“Anything.”

“And what are you going to be looking for?”

You smirk. “Candles, of course.” 

His eyes narrow playfully as he steals a kiss, pulling back to nibble at her lower lip. “Perfect. You know I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”

“I know.” You peck a kiss to his lips. “See you in an hour.” 

“Are you going to time us?”

“Damn right I will.”

You pull back from him and disappear down a little aisle, leaving him alone to his own devices. You could only guess what he was going to do or where he was going to end up, but you tried not to think about it too much. You just let your feet take you where they wanted to go. The little shop was full of handmade everything. Knit hats, crocheted blankets, hand painted pictures and hand carved figures made from wood sat everywhere on different shelves. Hand sewn quilts and other hand sewn things joined the organized chaos, but you were on the lookout for one particular thing. You hoped they had it. Judging by the nice smell in the shop, you were sure the candles had to be somewhere. 

You turned a corner and there they were, nestled into a little room and lit with more Christmas lights. You took a deep breath in and savored all the different smells. You were sure you could find something that he’d like among all the hand poured decadence. You lingered in the room for a brief moment before you started unscrewing lids, taking long deep whiffs of candles called Christmas Cookie and Splendid Spice and Fir of Possibilities. The candles smelled good but the names left you laughing. 

You kept the Fir of Possibilities tucked delicately under your arm. You smelled a few more–Winterland, Frosty Frappe, Sweet Sweater Weather, Mythical Mulled Wine–keeping the spicy scents and soon running out of the number of places to comfortably hold them. He would have a number of scents to choose from. The problem was, you kept finding more and more candles you were absolutely sure he would enjoy, but if you shoved any into your pockets you’d be labeled a thief. Hmm. 

“Dieter!”

You don’t expect him to come find you. At least you don’t as quickly as he shows up. He comes bursting into the room, a tote bag hanging from his plaid jacketed arm, eyes wild. He nearly knocks over a whole row of candles, one particular jar teetering close to the edge. You reach out to stop it from falling over. 

“Jesus, Dieter. I didn’t think you’d come running in here.” 

“You yelled my name.” 

“Because I needed help, not because I’m dying.” You’re unaware of the way that stings him, but you think you see a hint of something flash across those scared eyes, the fear deepening in the dark browns. Your chest tightens and you frown. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” 

He shakes his head, shaking it off. “What do you need?”

You hold up your over burdened arms for him to look at. “Can you take a couple of them? Please?” 

He lifts an eyebrow, peering at the multitude of candles curiously. “You think you’ve found one in that mess that I’ll like?” 

“I think I’ve found at least two.” Dieter can’t help but chuckle and you feel yourself beginning to smile. “What have you found?” 

He just smirks. “You’ll see.” 

You happily accept ignorance…for now. So, you laugh softly and he begins to put the thick glass jars into his tote with your help. You murmur your thanks and the two of you peruse more candles until he tugs you out of the room to show you something he found. Before the two of you know it, you’re standing at the front desk, the cashier ringing up your spoils as she looks between the two of you curiously. There are so many candles, you’re positive you’ll run out of places to put them, but you don’t care one little bit. He didn’t even smell them, which you figure will bode well for the future, but maybe it won’t be so bad. 

The two of you split your spoils, then head out onto the snowy New York sidewalk. It had gotten colder since the two of you had walked into the maker’s market and you slid your arm into his, tugging him closer to steal some of his body heat. He was your own little personal space heater and you were glad of it. The snow whipped around you as you walked head down back to his Brownstone. 

As soon as you stepped inside, you made a beeline for his kitchen, warming up slowly now that you’d parted from his embrace. 

You laid out all the candles with a grin. “Dieter. You have to smell these.” 

He shrugged off his jacket before joining you in the kitchen. “Do I have to now?”

You shot him a withering look. “Yes, now.”

He huffed but it was all in good fun. You started unscrewing the lids one at a time, letting him smell each one. The ones he wrinkled his nose at you immediately resealed to take home, not that you remained at home a lot anymore, but at least you had them for those rare times you were there. At the end of the two rows deep assortment of smells, you looked at him expectantly, fully prepared for him to make some sort of excuse about the ones that you hadn’t put aside for your own collection. But to your surprise, he reached into a nearby drawer and grabbed a lighter, immediately lighting the Mystical Mulled Wine, the scent slowly filling the expanse of the kitchen. 

“I told you I’d find something I like.” 

You gasp. “You did not say that, and you know it.”

“I did too!”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to nudge him gently in the shoulder. “Whatever.” 

He takes your hand and gently tugs you into the living room, leaving a candle burning in the kitchen as you sink into the couch and each other, the smell of Christmasy mulled wine mingling in the air around you.

[witchthewriter]

hello friend! hope you're having a good day today. it's been a while since i've asked for a matchup or anything so i thought i'd send over a refresher along w my ask, hope it helps.

ASK . level 6 ship for Merlin please (any maybe purely a platonic match for Stranger Things since you already gave me a romantic one??? if I can do that, no worries if not)

BASIC FAQ . he/they. panromantic. 18 still. pisces sun, aquarius moon, taurus rising. if you really want to know me, my saturn is in cancer, my uranus in pisces and my pluto in sagittarius.

PERSONALITY . by now, i think you know i don't actually shut up as soon as you get me talking, and for that i am at least kind of sorry. at least i'm academically smart? a menace by all means tho. may come off as a bit weird or cagey to strangers. escapist. middle child syndrome. stubborn. kinda clumsy. rlly empathetic. diplomatic and persuasive, but i know i have a temper at times. i am completely goofy, need to joke around and enjoy things. very curious.

HOBBIES + LIKES . really into cryptidcore. baking and cooking. writing. music. languages. cultures. trivia. history. mythology. fire. art. collecting objects, value or no value. games. animals. shiny things.

EXTRA . good news is that my knee injury was not permanent. bad news is that the mental illness was. my love language is mostly quality time but i also enjoy acts of service and physical touch. i love reading myths and legends and actually memorized quite a few. i totally didn't mention but i have a dog and a bunny! (both very cute)

i hope that's an adequate amount, i'm p sure at least half of it is new information. do with all that what you will.

Want one? Here be the rules 🦋🌈 

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇! He’s such a sweet guy. He cares for everyone, and has such passion for justice. He would always be on your side and never make you feel like you’re on your own. 

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

・Is suspicious that you may be a druid or sorcerer as well. Because you just have that aura about you, where you seem so mysterious and otherwordly

・Merlin loves your style, and is a bit intimidated by it at first. But that mysterious aspect of your personality is what attracts him

・Gives you protection amulets, even though Gaius is against it. It’s too risky, he would say. But Merlin feels so deeply about you, that he wants you to be safe at all times

・Guinevere would definitely see Merlin’s love first. She would push Merlin to ask you out, to get to know you. Because she would definitely see the potentional. 

・Calls you ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ for pet names

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

O Children by the Midnite String Quartet

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

・Opposites Attract

・Falls In Love Easily (Merlin) x Wary Of Love (You)

・Black Cat (You) x Golden Retriever (Merlin)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Secret Admirer

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Loves how quirky/weird you are. You aren’t like anyone he had ever met before. He loves how your mind works, how you perceive things and what your opinions are. He wants to listen to you tlak for hours. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Gwaine and Percival! They would be like your brothers. Where Gwaine makes you laugh, Percival is a shoulder for you to cry on or tell your problems to. They’re both very loyal and you would be known as a trio. 

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

Guinevere, Lancelot and Morgana. I think you have the qualities of all three. Not one person is exactly like a character, so I think the mixture of all three can mirror your traits, or at least, some of them. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜)

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒚! You guys are on the same wavelength, the same page. You would start talking and like a puzzle piece, realise that this is your person. You would get along because your minds are open, they’re unique and imaginative. You don’t have a small-town mind. Neither does she. 

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

・Likes painting your nails. She doesn’t do a great job though, however you don’t really care

・You guys are allllwwwaayyysssss laughing!!! At Robin falling over, if you accidentally snort, if she farts or you knock something over. Like you’ve both been given laughing gas

・Secret sleepovers. Her parents don’t know she’s a lesbian and you guys are definitely not attracted to each other, but you’ll sneak into her bedroom or maybe even her parents let you sleep downstairs in the den, and she sneaks down to sleep near you

・Movie marathons! You guys spend hours watching movies together; popcorn, everything has to be dark, absolutely no light at all. 

・Steve loves hanging out with you two, but often feels like a third wheel. I think over time he would find his flow and purpose with you two

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Chiquitita by ABBA

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

・Chaotic Dumbass Duo

・Similar Personalities

・”If Robin Jumped Off A Cliff, Would You Jump Off A Cliff?” x “Yes”

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Just Because I’m Different Doesn’t Mean I’m Bad

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Your open mind, the fact that you like being different and weird. She thought there was something wrong with her for so long, but there was nothing wrong. Tradition wasn’t for her. 

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

Robin mixed with Max and Jonathan Byers. You have a sensitivity and inner working that not many others have. It’s distinct, and you leave a mark on whoever you interact with. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

I think you would have such a great bond with a cat. You both like to be independent and don’t like people up in your face. So I think a kitty would work so well for you! 

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒓! I think he has the sensitivity to understand you and why you feel certain emotions. I don’t think you would be able to withstand someone who didn’t understand you. 

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

・Will defend you against anyone who speaks ill of you. No matter their standing, if they are talking sh*t, he’s going to break their jaw

・Teaches you how to defend yourself, because even though he would lay down his life for you, he wouldn’t want you to be unprotected

・His pet names for you are ‘my darling,’ and ‘my world.’ 

・Likes to telling you about his day, and you love hearing him talk. It’s so soothing. 

・Loves slow dancing with you, your head on his chest and him humming lightly

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

The Less I Know The Better by the Midnite String Quartet

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

・Mutual Yearning

・You Confessed Your Love Thinking He Was Unconscious 

・They Probably Hate Me (You) x Deeply, Passionately In Love ... Is Terrible At Showing It (Faramir)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Fantasy Soulmates

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

How diplomatic and well spoken/well thought you are. You don’t say things without thinking first. You’re like the opposite of someone who stirs the pot. You have a good heart, and that’s what he loves the most. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Legolas and Gimli! God you three would be such a whirwind of sh*ttalking. Imagine having a beer with them, in a tavern, laughing and jesting about life and what you’ve endured together. 

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mixture of Aragorn, Merry and Samwise. I think you have this grungey darkness, I actually thought you would have Scorpio in your Big 3. You have this mysteriousness about you, like there’s something that you know about the world and everyone will find out with time. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

You made friends with a crow. He kept coming back to you, and you would give him food and water. You were gentle with him and would talk to him. He grew very fond of you. And somehow ... became somewhat domesticated. Although you would never take away his freedom

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑵𝒆𝒘𝒕! As an introverted person, I see Newt as the perfect Hufflepuff. He’s loyal, and caring, loves plants and would be a perfect match for you. Yin to your Yang. He would bring a lot of light and happiness to your life. 

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

・Boops your nose when you’re particularly upset. At first you were like “Newt wtf” but now you like them. It’s almost like a kiss on the cheek, or some intimate moment that shows he cares

・I kinda feel like one of the other characters would have a crush on you and the boys would tease them for it, but you handle it with gentleness. Newt is a tiny bit jealous, but knows that you’re a very likeable person

・Always make sure that Newt’s leg is okay. Some days it plays up, and it hurts really bad. It means a lot to him when you help him out, and get things to help with the pain

・You guys have a lot of inside jokes. But one thing that’s so true to your relationship is this ... look  ... you give each other. It’s a knowing look that says ‘be safe, I love you.’ 

・Newt would love to be domesticated. He would make the perfect House Husband. LITERALLY. I reckon he’d be pretty good at baking too

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Hope For The Future by Joseph Trapanese

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

・Sun x Moon

・Forever In Their Honeymoon Stage

・Shy ‘n’ Awkward (You) x LOOK HOW CUTE MY PARTNER IS (Newt)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Love During The End Of The World

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Your honesty. You’re truthful and that’s not actually as common as you’d think. People can be awful, and lie until they’re blue in the face if that meant their reputation was upheld. But I think you would rather the truth over any falsehood. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Minho. You two would have so many little arguments, that aren’t really arguments. Just pretend fights, and a lot of banter. There’s never a dull moment with you two. 

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mix of Minho, Teresa and Newt. Sassy, fierce and caring. You have a big heart but don’t show it to just anyone. You’re kind but can stand up for what you believe in. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

There would most definitely be stray animals in the world during this time. Some have survived and have no owners. I can see you two adopting as many as you can, taking in strays and making sure they have enough food and water. But one particularly stole your heart, with her light brown fur and big nose. 

[ariayyyyas]

Depression is a mental health issue that needs attention and treatment, and sadgirl culture provides a unique space for expression and communication for those who are experiencing emotional distress. However, we should also be wary of the possible negative effects of sadgirl culture and actively seek healthy ways to cope with depression and other psychological issues.Sadness girl seems to be growing into a culture, but I don't agree with it, though I understand her existence and that not everyone is happy.It provides a platform for women's emotional catharsis. And I mentioned Bena and coco, which I think could be used as grieving characters. Bena passed away at the young age of 33, while coco died of family depression. They both loved music… and even life.

Having grown up without a father, Coco Lee always wanted to find a man who was both a father and a husband. This also made her marriage different, and she eventually married a foreigner who was 16 years older than her and had children. Perhaps cultural differences, accompanied by domestic violence and the pain of not being able to have children, made Coco Lee unhappy after marriage. But for the sake of her fans and to preserve her reputation, Coco Lee endured it all silently.

The name of the monument is "Bena Forever," and on the base of the statue are the words, "A girl who loved to sing, a girl who sang with her life."She was unfortunate enough to suffer from breast cancer at the age of 30, and after being cured by chemotherapy, she suffered a recurrence of the cancer just three years later.She refused to undergo chemotherapy again, but in the end, she did not resist the attack of the disease, and at the age of 33, she regretfully left this world.

Everyone grieves and has difficulties, but women seem to be treated as if they are not treated fairly in this perspective. It's like they're labeled as vulnerable, so most girls are trying harder to live their lives, trying harder not to be defeated, but the reality of what they're facing hits them harder.

Depression is a mental health issue that needs attention and treatment, and sadgirl culture provides a unique space for expression and communication for those who are experiencing emotional distress. However, we should also be aware of the possible negative effects of sadgirl culture and actively seek healthy ways to cope with depression and other psychological issues.