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fanaticsnail · 3 days

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Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface.

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust.

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body.

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck.

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against.

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade.

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more.

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting.

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior.

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name.

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release.

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.”

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard.

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses.

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock.

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours.

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure.

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight.

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.”

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown.

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump.

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip.

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion.

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip.

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain.

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours.

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his.

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm.

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you.

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface.

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain.

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words.

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew.

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it.

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him.

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks.

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him.

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully.

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes.

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest.

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion.

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion.

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock.

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response.

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.”

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss.

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in.

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load.

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated.

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock.

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet.

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless.

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room.

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face.

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection.

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully.

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies.

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you.

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming.

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious.

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours.

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer.

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.”

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers.

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness.

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit.

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks.

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze.

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip.

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption.

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature.

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water.

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord.

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild.

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern.

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him.

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins.

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders.

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin.

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated.

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task.

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin.

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface.

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk.

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you.

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.”

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited.

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now.

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality.

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sidekick-hero · 1 day

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On top of the world

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, prompt 'graduation' | 616 words | tags: fix it, Steve is a sweetheart and takes care of Eddie, first kiss

Before March 21st, Eddie would have said not graduating again was the worst thing that could happen to him. Now, Eddie knows better.

Nothing like almost dying to put things into perspective, right?

He misses the days when his biggest worry was convincing old witch O'Donnell to give him a "D" and let him leave Hawkins High. Now that he knows what a real hellhole looks like, he thinks he could survive another year under Higgins' thumb.

Still, he doesn't exactly mind when Nancy comes over to his and Wayne's new house—part of the government deal the kids cut for him while he was in a coma—to tell him that he's going to graduate with his class.

He doesn't question it either, just whoops enthusiastically enough to almost pull his stitches, which hurts but has the added bonus of Steve putting his big hands all over him to check his numerous healing wounds.

A week on the run and fighting interdimensional monsters with the guy has changed Eddie's perspective on what’s the best thing that could happen to him as well.

On graduation day, he walks across the stage with a cane for support, something he hadn’t thought possible. It was Steve who had made that happen, even if he refused to accept Eddie's praise. The moment Eddie had muttered under his breath after Nancy had left, ‘But how am I supposed to walk the fucking stage if I can't even go to the bathroom without taking a break?' Steve was a man on a mission.

They practiced every day, before or after Steve's work helping out at the hospital. They needed every helping hand they could get after the damage Vecna and the Upside Down monsters had caused. Eddie could attest to how wonderful Steve's hands were at helping. In fact, he could write songs about it once his hands stopped shaking whenever he held a pencil (or anything, really) for too long.

Eddie wondered if every one of Steve's patients was as in love with him as he was.

As Eddie snags his diploma from Higgins, who looks like he bit into a particularly bitter lemon, Eddie marvels that flipping him the bird isn’t as exhilarating as expected.

Maybe that’s because of last night and the way Steve’s lips felt on his. Every moment since then simply pales in comparison.

Steve had come over after another shift at the hospital, probably sore and exhausted, but giving Eddie one of his dazzling smiles that always made him weak in the knees. Which was kind of counterproductive, considering what they were trying to accomplish here.

They were both trying so hard but Eddie’s legs just wouldn’t cooperate. No matter what Steve tried, they buckled after a few steps, forcing Eddie to sit down or fall down. He had made progress, the muscles in his legs slowly coming back, but three weeks had been too short.

Or so he thought.

Eddie doesn’t know how or why, but this time, Steve had simply positioned himself as far away from Eddie as possible and spread his arms as wide as his smile. “I got you, Eds. I’ll never let you fall. If you can’t trust in yourself just yet, trust in me.”

He had, believing that those strong arms would wrap around him if he stumbled.

He didn’t stumble, didn’t fall, but wrap around him they did anyway. Steve had picked him up and twirled him around, and then he’d kissed him, grinning mouth to grinning mouth.

Eddie might not have graduated top of his class, but he sure feels like he’s on top of the world when he catches Steve’s eye among the cheering group of his friends.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing

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alastor-x-reader-stories · 21 hours

Text

To Rate a Hug part 2 of ?

Tags: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer Morningstar x Reader, humor, antics, shenanigans, Alastor is a petty bitch, Lucifer is a dork, Reader is also a dork

part 1

Alastor’s ear twitched at the sound of someone shouting your name. He glanced over, seeing Lucifer skip up to you like a lovestruck fool.

“Hey, Luci!” You said with a grin, scooping up the fallen angel in a hug. Lucifer’s eyes briefly took on a heart shape as he hugged you back, a light blush on his cheeks.

Alastor turned his attention back to his reading. A low growl permeated from his chest without his permission which agitated him even more. Wasn’t the thing you said at that silly little activity about wanting his attention? Why now has that shifted to Lucifer?

Was it because he gave you what you wanted?

Alastor gritted his teeth, grin straining. This is a ridiculous waste of thought. If this pettiness is simply because he wouldn’t indulge in your strange desires than it wasn’t worth his time-

“Alastor, you okay?”

Your voice snapped him out of his musings. He quickly composed himself and gave you a bright smile.

“Of course, my dear!” He said “Whatever makes you think otherwise?”

“Um. Probably because you’re hunched over in the corner growling.” Lucifer said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Alastor’s eye twitched. Why was this idiot still here?

“Don’t you have something you need to be doing?” He said with mock interest “I imagine the King of Hell has quite a full schedule.”

Lucifer shrugged “Not really. I’m kind of just here to look pretty.”

You snickered at that, covering your mouth with one hand. Lucifer stood up taller, puffing his chest out.

“Yes, well. I do.” He said, slipping away into the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your ears went down, watching Alastor slip away. Did the conversation from the other day bother him that much? If that’s the case you’d need to apologize. And, well, no time like the present.

“I’m going to go talk to him.” You said, shooting Lucifer a smile. The King jumped a bit at your voice, startled out of the glaring contest he was having with where Alastor just was. He frowned at you.

“Um. Maybe you shouldn’t?”

You picked him up and held him out at arm’s length “Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but I think this is partially my fault, so I need to talk to him.”

“How is it your fault he’s an asshole?” Lucifer said, flailing his arms about.

“Well…Maybe my comment in the Truth or Dare thing made him uncomfortable…”

“That’s his problem, then.” He snorted, crossing his arms.

You sighed, gently placing Lucifer back on the ground. You put his hands on both of his shoulder and leaned down to be eye-level. “Again, I appreciate where you’re coming from. But I feel like I should talk to him about this so I’m going to.”

He bit his lip, brows furrowing. “Uh….Okay.” He ran a hand down his face “Just. Just be careful, all right?”

You grinned “Nah, I’mma run with scissors.”

“That’s like, the opposite of careful.” Lucifer pouted. He took a deep breath and gave you a small smile. “See you later.”

You said your farewell and scuttled off. Alastor would likely be in either his room or his radio tower, you figured. Which were both typically off-limits but you’d be sure to get his permission before barging in. You stopped by his tower first and knocked on the door a couple of times. When that got no response at all you scurried over to his room and knocked a couple times.

“Who’s there?”

Oh boy you could not resist. “Owl says!”

“…Owl says who?”

“That they do!” You said, cackling at your own stupid joke. There was another staticy cackle that quickly joined your own. The door opened and Alastor grinned down at you.

“Very silly joke, my dear. What can I help you with?”

You snorted, wiping a hand under your eyes to brush away the tears. “Well, you’re in a better mood.”

“Difficult not to be when someone surprises you with a horrible knock-knock joke.” He said with the slightest shrug of his shoulders.

“Good point.” You said “Hey, can I talk to you?”

“Fascinatingly enough, you already are.” He said, tilting his head.

“Not what I meant-“

“I know, I know. Come on in.” He said, putting a hand between your shoulders and pushing you inside. He kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his shoe and stood there probably doing something but you weren’t paying attention, staring instead at Alastor’s room.

Half of it was a fancy-looking hunting lodge, while the other half a swamp. Fireflies blinked in and out over the waters and you could hear crickets and frog chattering. It smelled like damp moss and sawdust with just hints of coffee.

“Nice room.” You said dumbly. Alastor chuckled, pushing you over to the soft-looking lounge chairs and sitting you down. He sat across from you, crossing his legs in front of him and folding his hand on his lap.

“Now, what did you need to talk about?”

“Oh! Yeah.” You said and turned your attention away from the giant gator skeleton mounted on the wall. “I wanted to apologize.”

He tilted his head “…For what?”

“Um. I think I made you uncomfortable.” You rubbed the back of your neck “With the ‘who I’d want to hug’ comment? I really should’ve kept that to myself. I mean, I know you like your personal space and don’t really want people thinking of invading it-.” You stopped your rambling and took a steadying breath. “So. Yes. I wanted to apologize.”

Empty static hung in the air. You started rocking in your seat, hunching over yourself. Alastor just stared at you, glowing red eyes a sharp contract to the gentle greens and browns behind him.

“I suppose I didn’t expect you to give up quite that easily.” He said, grin unmoving. He tilted his head to the opposite side, eyes squinting ever-so-slightly “If that’s something you wanted so badly, after all…”

You blinked. “Um.” Then realization hit you with a brick “…Did you want me to try hugging you?”

The audible record scratch gave you an answer. Alastor straightened up, clasped hands tightening into a white-knuckled grip.

What he wanted was your attention back on him, and not that fool of a king. What he wanted was you to pursue him and not Lucifer.

“Perhaps.” Alastor said.

You sighed. “Then you should’ve said so, Alastor. I’m not a mind reader. What I got from our talk after that was you thought I wanted something from you and that made you uncomfortable.”

Alastor’s ear twitched. “…So you’re diverting your attention to Lucifer because….?”

You shrugged “Dude’s touch-starved. You give him a hug and he turns into the happiest person in Hell.”

You jumped when Alastor had appeared right in front you. His grin was wide. “So it’s pity that has your attention on him?”

“Uh. No.” You muttered, pushing him away “Really it’s just… Well he gives pretty good hugs. Once I realized I can pick him up to the hug was pretty much perfect.”

“Oh I’m sure I can be much better.” Alastor said with a huff, waving you off. “You wouldn’t have to break your spine or pick someone up for a embrace of much higher quality.”

You rose your eyebrow, ears flicking. “Okay. Before I continue. Our conversation has lead be to believe you want me to try and hug you. Is this correct?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Not really, saying giving mixed signals and being cryptic are your favorite past times.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

Alastor’s grin stiffened. His ears pinned back as he suddenly found the swamp more interesting. He snapped his fingers and a piece of paper appeared over your face. You jumped, startled, then took the paper and read it.

Yes pursue the hug thing and tell NO ONE.

You snorted, biting your lip not to laugh. But then you laughed anyway.

“Oooooh buddy you have no idea what kind of game you’re playing now.” You said with a sinister grin. “I’mma hug you.”

“I’m sure your attempts will be amusing.” He said casually, checking his claws.

“I warn you, I have many sinister plans at my disposal.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Starting my first plan. A-hem. Can I hug you?”

“Mmm….Nope!”

Well that didn’t work.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #humor #communication for the win

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jackhues · 3 days

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CHILD OF DIVORCE - PADDOCK PASS, BABY [ PART SEVEN ]

in which y/n hamilton is loving how much nico talks about her dad (china 24)

[ prev ] | [ next - coming soon ] | [ notes ] | [ masterlist ]

y/nhamilton

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1 & others

y/nhamilton: for everyone asking, yes my fav part about shanghai was obvs bullying my dad over anything and everything related to nico

tagged: valtteribottas, nicorosberg, zhouguanyu24, georgerussel63, lewishamilton

user: STOP THE WAY SHE MADE THAT HER CAPTION AND NOT A PINNED COMMENT -> user: i love her she's so us

user: everyone forgets y/n witnessed brocedes first hand -> user: not just witnessed, girlie experienced it -> user: y/n 🤝 kimi: children of brocedes divorce liked by kimi.antonelli

user: did lando give the bracelet back? -> landonorris: no. she chased me away with a broom -> y/nhamilton: i chased you because you were trying to steal something else -> landonorris: slander. lies. i will not stand for these accusations. -> y/nhamilton: then sit down boy

oscarpiastri: did you get your food? -> y/nhamilton: yeah no thanks to you. shoutout charlie -> charles_leclerc: you're welcome!

maxverstappen1: no podium pic? againnn?? this is the third time?

maxverstappen1: are you mad at me or something? now i'm getting worried -> y/nhamilton: maxie you need to calm down. the lighting's just shit -> maxverstappen1: okay. that's better -> user: stop i'm dying at how terrified he was

carlossainz55: ✋✋ -> y/nhamilton: 🤞🤞

user: i love the angle of the nico pic -> y/nhamilton: thanks babe

doriane.pin: thanks for not posting that ugly facetime pic! -> y/nhamilton: i'd never embarrass you like that bestie -> olliebearman: but you'd embarrass me like that?? -> y/nhamilton: duh

nicorosberg: i thought you said you're not posting that picture -> y/nhamilton: that was the 0.5 one. i have free reign with this one

---

TAGLIST: @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @somepoplemaybe , @nothaqks , @theforevermorereject , @thatonesblog , @devilstunoda , @xoscar03 , @mess-is-my-aesthetic , @d3kstar , @bwormie , @ietts , @sapphiccloud , @helaenatargaryensfavoritebug , @urfavsgf , @raevyng , @khaylin27 , @champomiel , @nikfigueiredo , @danabom1633 , @sugarvibez , @topgunmav1df1 , @alliwantisadonut , @screamforstark , @lifewasawillow , @woozarts , @e-nonsense , @bruhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh , @stinkyjax , @certifiedlesbianbaddie , @ecsta-ccy , @formulaonebuff <3

send a message/comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

NOTE: sorry for the long wait, i am for sure continuing this series, just might take a while to catch up :( don't forget to like + reblog <3

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jedi-hawkins · 2 days

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Flower Sniping

The Clones all deserve flowers! Or maybe they think you deserve flowers 😉 Either way, love is in bloom this week for the Clone Flowers Fic Event!

Throughout this week, May 20th-25th, certain participants will be posting their own fics of Clones and different flower themes that were selected! The participants as well as the Clones and flowers they will be writing for are listed below and links to each fic will be added as they are posted! 💐 Follow the tag #cloneflowerficevent to see them all as they come!!

Event Masterlist

Written for an event with

@arctrooper69 - Tup, Rex, Gregor

@photogirl894 - Hunter, Wrecker, Fives

@nahoney22 - Fox, Tech

@totallyunidentified - 99, Cody

@dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

@l-lend - Wolffe

Make sure to go check out their entries too, we'll be posting throughout the week!

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Chosen Flower: Lilies, Forever Lily

Word count: 8.1k (don't look at me like that)

Warnings: Brief mentions of war struggles and death, suggestive fluff, some swearing, reader has hair, frienemies (briefly) to friends (idiots) to lovers, mutual pining, a bit of angst, Crosshair is somewhat bad at expressing emotions

Beta-read by @photogirl894

"So, why are you putting me on babysitting duty, Argus?" You grumble, rolling your fingers over a knot in your shoulder.

"You're one of my best agents, Lieutenant, and this is important. I need your eyes on it." Your commandant says plainly, glancing over a few things on the holotable in front of you.

You cock an eyebrow. "Seriously? The war has been going on for a year and a half. What's so important that the Republic is taking an interest in Scarif now?"

Argus rolls his eyes. "Look. I didn't ask. It's some sort of deal that the Prime Minister struck. In exchange for food and medical supplies, he's letting a single squad come and scout Western Sector 14."

"You've got to be kidding me." You scoff. "Sector 14? There's nothing out there, I would know, it's where I spent most my childhood."

"Another reason why you're the perfect person for the job." Argus says with a smirk. "You know as well as I do, Scarif has been struggling. The trade routes rarely reach all the way out here to us. If the Republic wants to send some supplies our way for showing a few tourists around, why not?"

You fold your arms across your chest. "How can I argue with something as logical as that?"

Argus lets out a chuckle. "Then get ready to play nice, they'll be here soon."

"When do I ever not play nice?" You tease back. "How long are they staying?"

"Six weeks."

A laugh escapes your lips. "The Republic better be sending the good stuff, then."

"They're some elite team, Squad 99, I think. I've been told they're one of the best." Argus retorts.

Smiling, you roll your eyes. "That's not what I meant. If they don't have a bottle of Corelian whiskey, this won't be worth it."

Argus just shakes his head at you and exits the command center. "Outside. Ten minutes."

The squad's ship touches down gently and you adjust your rifle on your shoulder slightly, sinking your weight into one hip. As much of a front as you put up for Argus, you really didn't mind this assignment. It was pretty cut and dry; serve as an escort for Squad 99 while they sniff around the western sector for a few weeks. It would give you a break from the frequent relief missions you were usually running.

Scarif hadn't seen any true action from the war so far, but the effects still reached the outer rim. Argus was right, the steady trade that once flowed from the core worlds had weakened to a trickle and now many of Scarif's provinces were riddled with conflict over the little resources the planet had left. That meant you were more often out running supplies, assisting in makeshift medical camps, or dissolving scuffles than anything else.

Your interest in this squad increases as you realize their ship is a heavily-modified Omicron-Class attack shuttle. The ramp lowers and four men stride down, coming to a stop in front of Argus. The man in front removes his helmet, revealing a mess of long dark hair pulled back by a bandana. He holds his hand out to Argus. "Commandant, I presume?"

Argus takes the man's hand. "Yes sir. Welcome to Scarif." Your commander turns and waves his spare hand to you. "This is my First Lieutenant, and the one who will be hosting you on your mission."

"Sir." The soldier acknowledges you with a curt nod. "I'm Sergeant Hunter, Galactic Army of the Republic." He looks to the man on his right, who removes his helmet to reveal striking silver hair. "This is Crosshair, our sharpshooting specialist and my right hand."

The Sergeant turns to his left, "This is Tech, engineering and data analytics." The soldier with goggles barely glances up when his sergeant claps a hand to his shoulder. "And Wrecker, weapons and demolitions." Hunter finishes, jerking a thumb behind him to the soldier towering over his comrades.

"Right. Well, good to meet you all. The command center is right this way" Argus says, turning to lead the group deeper into the yard.

"So, Lieutenant. How are the military operations going here? The Prime Minister easy to work with?" Sergeant Hunter asks you in a husky voice.

"Hm," You have to stifle a chuckle. "I wouldn't really call us a military, Sergeant. We operate as a Coalition dedicated to the service of Scarif's people. The Prime Minister has his own division of special forces for ‘keeping order.’ We work with him, not for him."

The soldier in goggles, Tech, takes a few quick steps forward to get level with your shoulder. "You use military ranks, do you not?"

Argus steps aside to let you lead the group into the Command Center. "Mainly for ease of identifying our hierarchy of command."

You gesture for the soldiers to circle the main holotable. "Argus is our main point of coordination and connection to the Prime Minister-"

"And the Lieutenant here is my first pair of boots on the ground." Argus says proudly. "You boys are in good hands."

A fond smile crosses your face at Argus' praise as you flip the holotable on, but you could swear the silver-haired sniper muttered something under his breath. Straightening up, a red pin highlights the command yard.

"Alright. We're here." You say, pointing before motioning for the map to rotate and zoom. "Western Sector 14, where you all have requested to scout, is here. The base camp will be a few hours’ ride."

"We can't just fly in?" Tech asks pointedly.

"If you want to jump out of the ship and drop in with chutes, sure.” you say, shaking your head. “The jungle is too dense to make a landing with anything bigger than a one-man fighter anywhere near where you want to be."

Sergeant Hunter glances at his men. "Alright then. Thank you, Commandant." He says pointedly at Argus. "The first wave of supply ships will come in tomorrow."

"Fantastic, thank you." Argus replies. He moves to lead the group out the door and back out into the yard, but falters when he notices the squad's sharpshooter, Crosshair, sizing you up. "Is there a problem?" Argus asks, tentatively.

The soldier smirks, swishing a toothpick between his lips. "I just don't want to have to pull a civvy out of danger. We were told this planet was hostile."

Argus' brow furrows. "I already told you, the Lieutenant is my best agent, and you'll respect them as such-"

"No, Argus, it's fine." You cut him off, keeping eye contact with Crosshair. "If the soldier doesn't trust me, he doesn't trust me and nothing you say will change that." You take a few steps around the table to stand in front of the sniper. "By definition, yes, the planet is hostile, but they're bandits, raiders; people that have been driven to desperation. I can assure you, soldier, I've had my fair share of run-ins with them and I'm just fine." A smirk spreads across Crosshair's face and you narrow your eyes. "What?"

"You called me 'soldier,'" he responds.

You tilt your head to the side. "That's not what you are? Soldiers of the Galactic Army of the Republic?"

His comrade with the goggles, Tech steps forward. "Technically, you are correct, but not many refer to us as such."

"Well, what do they call you?" You ask, curiously.

Wrecker, the tallest soldier is the one who answers this time. "Eh... Most people just call us 'clone.'"

You run your eyes back over the squad, each of them so different from the others. "You're- you're clones?"

"You know we're GAR, but you don't know what we are?" Crosshair remarks.

"I didn't want to assume, the GAR does have a few divisions of enlisted nat-borns." You say simply with a shrug. "It’s not like you’re carbon copies of each other. Besides, it doesn’t matter how you came into this galaxy, you’re men, soldiers first before anything else."

With that, you step past the sniper and back out into the yard.

"We're packed and ready to go, Sergeant,'' you say to Hunter, gesturing to the group of gorsets standing tied nearby.

Tech adjusts his goggles. "We're using equine species?"

You shrug again, moving over to yours and stroking its face. "Only the rich can afford speeders out here. Plus, who can say no to a friend. Get your stuff loaded on the spare cart and we can head out."

Hunter leads his brothers back over to their ship and before you know it, they have their supplies all packed up.

Argus grasps your forearm just before you mount up. “Be careful, okay?”

You give him a reassuring smile, “You worry too much, Argus. My job here is easy. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

With that you slip your foot into your saddle’s stirrup and throw your leg over your gorset’s back. With a click of your tongue, it moves to the front, Hunter’s following closely behind.

The first part of the ride goes pretty smoothly. You make small talk with the soldiers, or three of them, at least. Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker regale you with stories of their life and training as soldiers of the Republic and in return, you tell them your story as a nat-born.

About an hour in, you come to a stop at a stream and let your mounts rest. You watch intently as the four brothers, take in their surroundings. You’ve always liked Scarif. You’d certainly seen a few other planets in your line of work, but Scarif and its dense forests always meant home. Crosshair settles on a fallen log while Hunter checks over their gear on the carts and Wrecker begins making friends with the gorsets. Tech, however, is wandering around with his face buried in his datapad.

“Find anything interesting?” You say, approaching him.

He looks up at you, his wide inquisitive brown eyes filled with excitement. “All the flora on this planet is fascinating. So many native species are unique to this biome. Of course, I researched them before our arrival, but to get to document them personally is a wonderful opportunity.”

You smile at his curiosity. The clones’ homeworld, Kamino, probably left much to be desired. “Those ones are my favorite,” you say, motioning your chin towards some striking burgundy-orange blooms nestled in the undergrowth.

“Ah yes,” Tech remarks. “Liliaceae Lilium Asiata. A fairly ordinary species though, not that remarkable.”

You smile. “Their common name here is the ‘forever lily’ and while they’re not a rare species, they are special.”

“What makes them so special?” Wrecker asks loudly.

“Here on Scarif, they’re often given as a sign of admiration or partnership. They bloom in early summer and also represent new beginnings. My father actually gifted my mother one when he asked her to dinner for the first time.”

“That’s…actually quite romantic,” Tech replies.

“And obviously it went well,” Hunter adds.

A laugh escapes your lips. “Oh no, the date apparently went horribly wrong. My father made a complete fool of himself and accidentally tripped, knocking my mother into the fountain in the center of the village. There were probably thirty witnesses to the whole thing. My father’s family never let him live it down. When he asked my mother for a second chance, he brought two lilies. For their third date, he brought three. By the time they got married, he decorated the entire gathering hall with them.”

Crosshair hops up off his perch. “So why are you out here and not with them picking flowers, sweetheart?” He jeers.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “They’re dead.”

Crosshair stiffens at your response, but doesn’t retort. His brothers look at you with wide eyes.

“Bandit raid,” you say plainly. “I was seventeen. Took less than a day for our village to be cleared out. Those who tried to hide food or resist were laid out in the street. A number of us survived and we made our way to the capital for refuge. That’s where I met Argus, and he gave me a chance to do more with my life.”

Silence settles among you, the brothers unsure of what to say.

You clear your throat, breaking their stupor. “Ready to move out?”

“Uh, yeah. Let’s go.” Hunter says, jerking his head at his brothers.

As you swing your leg over and settle into your saddle, Hunter catches your eye. “The color. I like it.”

A soft smile crosses your face. “Thanks. I do too.”

Once again, you take the lead, but this time your group travels in silence. The next couple hours are uneventful. Occasionally, Tech or Wrecker would point something out and you’d give a few words on it. A couple times, Hunter called for the group to stop, and you reassured him whatever noise he heard was probably just a kybuck. ‘Bandits haven’t been spotted in this sector for years.’

As you round a bend in the trail, your mount slows out of instinct. You can hear Tech mutter under his breath when the old buildings make their appearance.

“Fascinating… Did you know this was here?” he asks.

You glance around at the familiar ruins of your past life. “This used to be my home.”

You pull your mount to a halt outside the largest building. “And it will be our base camp for the duration of your stay here.”

“Do you come back often?” Wrecker asks hesitantly.

“Mm-hmm,” you answer as you dismount. “Once every few moons. It’s quite peaceful out here.”

Crosshair’s brow furrows. According to your story, you all are currently standing at the center of the greatest tragedy of your life. He’s drawn to ask about your response, but his twin beats him to it.

“You said raiders destroyed your village, yet you continue to return. That’s very brave.”

You smile at Tech’s words, pulling your bags off your gorset. “I wouldn’t say brave. It took me a while to be able to come back, but look at this place,” you say, gesturing to the buildings overgrown with flora. “You can’t even see the scars of the raid any more. No people, no conflict, no pain. With a little bit of time, nature came back and healed, same as I did.”

Your response hits Crosshair in a peculiar way, but if you had asked him to describe it, he wouldn’t have had the words. Instead, he moves over beside you and gently takes a few bags from your shoulders before moving inside.

The next few weeks pass with little fuss. The boys tend to leave at 0700 to go about their scouting missions and return around 1800 for dinner. Every few days, you’ll go along to lead them to a new part of the sector or provide information on the area. Most days you’re left to your own devices. You spent your first few free days setting a trap line along you r well-known foraging routes. Hunter had protested your hunting and gathering. He tried to explain they had brought enough GAR rations for everyone, but you were happy enough to prepare warm meals for the team.

It didn’t take them long to crumble to your mouth-watering camp cooking, leaving the rations to be quick dinner solutions after long days. Hunter offered his talents once or twice to help you get a nice score, or Wrecker would help haul firewood back to camp. Tech even provided you with some new recipes you fused with Scarif-style dishes.

Hunter took quickly to you, as did Tech and Wrecker, but the fourth member of the team always kept his distance. Any words exchanged between the two of you were more often than not snarky comments. Hunter would chastise him for it, tell him to stow the attitude, but you knew Crosshair didn’t mean it. And it’s not like you didn’t dish it back.

On this particular day, you were on your own. Crosshair had been particularly grouchy the last couple rotations, so Hunter had benched him for the day. Crosshair’s excuse had been a migraine, so you left him sleeping at base camp with a blanket gently draped over him and a canteen of water within reach when you started out on your own hike.

It doesn’t take long to reach your shooting range. Your sniper’s roost is up on the crest of a hill that looks over a small hollow. Wooden targets are scattered from the undergrowth up into the branches of the dense forest around you.

After taking a few practice shots in a crouched position, you lower yourself down onto your stomach. Just as you shift your weight onto your side to pull an extra mag out of your belt pocket, something catches your ear. A twig snapping, and it was from something much bigger than a kybuck.

You freeze, waiting. After a couple seconds, you start creeping your hand down your thigh and gently grasp one of the throwing knives strapped there. The wind changes and something hits your nose, a scent - the camp soap. Smirking, you roll back onto your stomach like normal, keeping the knife tucked underneath you. You act like you're checking over your rifle, still intently listening. A couple seconds more and another twig snaps. Fast as lightning you roll over and send the knife flying. It buries itself into a tree - right next to his head.

“Are you karking crazy?!”

You sit up, a cheeky smile on your face. “That’s what you get, trying to sneak up on me, soldier.”

He rolls his eyes. “You did pretty good, sweetheart, but Hunter would’ve noticed sooner.”

“Hunter has been engineered with enhanced senses, that’s cheating,” you say, standing up and brushing the dirt off yourself. “Good to see you’re feeling better.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “I would’ve noticed sooner.”

You smirk. “You are also enhanced, that’s still cheating. When do you think I noticed?”

“Right before you threw the knife, when I snapped that twig on purpose,” he says, crossing his arms. “They’re stashed in your chestplate, you acted on instinct.”

“Wrong. I heard you when you stepped on that first twig, but I knew it was you when I smelled the camp soap. Very distinct,” you say with a wink.

Crosshair gives you a look, maybe one of awe, but he glosses over the moment, looking out onto the shooting range. “What is this place?”

“A shooting range. Never seen one of those, Crosshair?” You tease back, bending down to pick up your rifle..

He scoffs.

“My father built it and taught me to shoot here,” you explain. “Part of the reason why I come back every so often. Here the rest of the world just melts away.”

Crosshair steps closer to the crest of the hill. “Where are the targets?”

Gently, you heft your rifle up off the ground and hold it out to him. “Have a look.”

He hesitates. “Oh no, I-” Crosshair knows a sniper’s rifle is sacred. In the similar way as the Jedi and their lightsabers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I trust you.”

Crosshair’s eyes stay latched to yours as he gingerly lets you place your rifle in his waiting hands. “Not as fancy as your firepuncher, but I've made a few modifications,” you say proudly.

Crosshair turns your weapon over in his hands with a sense of reverence before taking his stance. His form is perfect, though that’s no surprise. Hunter and the others had told you all about their enhancements. You watch as Crosshair sweeps the scope over the range, taking inventory of the targets camouflaged in the greenery. One particular mark catches his eye.

“That one down there, how do you get to it?” He asks, pointing to one suspended in a tree and swaying gently in the wind.

You smile, that target in particular is placed at an odd angle relative to the sniper’s nest. “Take the shot and you’ll see.”

The sniper braces in his standing position and lets a blaster bolt fly. He nearly growls in frustration when the bolt barely hits the edge of the target. “What the-”

“Good shot,” you say, impressed.

“That’s not the center.” Crosshair sneers, lowering your rifle.

“You still hit it. I don’t think anyone else could have made it at that angle,” you reply.

“You show me then if you’re so good, sweetheart.”

Paying no mind to his snappy remark, you take your weapon back from him and lower into your crouched position. You center your sights on the target in question and wait a moment for it to stop bouncing as much. Once you’ve got its steady bouncing rhythm down, you move to focus on a shiny chunk of quartz sticking out of the hillside. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Your shot flies perfectly, hitting the quartz and ricochetting up into the dead center of the target. You look up at the Crosshair, making no effort to try to hide the smug look on your face.

“Tricky girl,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

“Got to consider all the angles,” you tease as you straighten back up.

Crosshair reaches to his belt and holds up a couple shiny discs. “I prefer these.”

“Smart,” you respond, shifting your weight into one hip. “And yet you still took the straight-on approach.”

He smirks at you as you stand up. “Thought it’d be best to be direct with you.”

“Oh yeah, what about?”

“I don’t get you,” he says plainly.

Your brow scrunches as you lean your rifle against a nearby tree. “What’s there to get?”

“Everything about you.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his silver hair. “I saw you when those scavengers came up on us scouting last week. You stared down the barrel of their weapons and tried to negotiate our way out. Then when they turned, you didn’t even flinch. You’re a good hunter, you’ve been feeding us this entire trip; yet you cleaned the wound on that kybuck’s flank and let it go instead of taking the easy score. Even with me, I- I can’t figure you out, nothing gets to you.”

It takes you a second to realize that’s the most words Crosshair has ever spoken to you, and they didn’t even come with a childish jab. You just shrug. “I learned it's best to make the most you can with what you’ve got. I try to give everyone a chance, no matter how we meet and I don’t take more than what I need. I don’t have time to let things get to me; there are much more important, more worthwhile things to be taken care of. And if I can’t let something go, I bring it here,” you finish, glancing out at your shooting range.

Crosshair looks you up and down a couple times, then turns his back to you to face the range. Then he speaks, so softly you barely catch it, “Do you mind if I let some things go here?”

A soft smile crosses your face. “Of course. Here.” You reach back over and hold your rifle out to him, which he takes without looking at you.

You can see his muscles shift as he lowers himself to the ground. Not wanting to intrude, you take a few steps back up the trail.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, uh I was just going to go get some water from the stream, check my snares,” you respond, covering your true intentions.

“You won’t have your rifle,” Crosshair mutters.

“I have my side arm, I’ll be fine,” you reassure him.

A soft sigh drifts from his figure laying on the forest floor. “Please… stay. I can check the snares with you later.”

You try to hide your smile as you gently lower yourself to the ground, resting your back against a tree as Crosshair brings the scope of your rifle into position. And there you stay.

At first, Crosshair doesn’t say much. He just takes his shots at your range, adjusting things here and there. After a while, you lean your head against the tree trunk behind you and let your eyes close. The sun is filtering through the trees as it rises higher in the sky, and birds are softly chirping. It’s peaceful, like always, and the rhythmic pattern of Crosshair’s shots roll through the forest like a heartbeat.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear him shift.

“Here.”

Straightening up, you open your eyes and see he’s sitting cross legged, holding your rifle out.

You take it back from him and move to stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, still sitting on the ground.

You tilt your head at him, for him saying he couldn’t figure you out, he seems to be the odd one. “The snares?”

“It’s your turn to shoot.”

“Oh it’s fine,” you say, waving your hand.

You shift your weight again to stand, but this time Crosshair reaches out and grasps your bracer. “That’s what you were coming out here to do anyway, right? I interrupted you.”

His words are so different from the ones that normally pass between the two of you. Not gentle, necessarily, but less defensive. You take a breath before nodding your head, just barely. Crosshair scoots out of your way. If you weren’t so focused on making the space between you a place where he could be open, you might have giggled at the way he moved, still in his cross-legged position.

You slowly lower yourself onto your belly and bring your scope to your eye. Crosshair had adjusted things slightly, but strangely you didn’t mind. Usually it would irk you if someone had moved things on your rifle, but you had handed him your weapon of your own volition. It was nice to know that he felt so comfortable with you and had handled your rifle with such care and reverence. You take a few shots, aiming at various targets over the range.

As you sit up to replace the mag, you notice Crosshair is studying you intently. You smile. “What?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re a skilled sharpshooter. You even pace with your breath, impressive.”

You rock back on your heels. “Took me some time to get it, but practice makes perfect.”

Crosshair smirks at you, but not unkindly. “And that you are, nearly. Perfect- I mean…” He trails off. Again, You might have giggled at this newfound temperament, but you simply dust off your rifle a bit.

“Oh yeah? Got any pointers for me?” you reply.

The sniper moves closer to you. “If you’ll actually listen,” he jabs.

You chuckle. “I’m always listening.”

He gestures for you to take your prone position again and makes a few adjustments to your limbs. The time flies away from you as the two of you pass your rifle back and forth along with small conversation and stories. Crosshair doesn’t exactly soften, but he does open up to you a bit more.

In giving you some pointers, he’s the most comfortable you’ve seen him the whole mission. Instruction and leadership are clearly his elements. You’re surprised at how attentive he is, continuously checking in that the adjustments he makes feel correct for your body.

‘Every marksman is different.’ He had said. ‘Even if it’s the ‘correct’ way, if it doesn’t feel natural for you, then you’ll be tense or unstable and then it’s all pointless.’

You learn more than just that. Before you know it, Crosshair is telling you about his brothers, more than even Tech had told you. ‘Hunter’s helmet is specially modified to dampen his senses when needed.’ - ‘Although Tech is the smartest at basically everything, Wrecker beats him with weapons and explosives.’ - ‘Tech and I came from the same tube.’ - ‘Wrecker can tell you every ingredient in a ration pack just by tasting it.’

Some facts surprise you, like the fact that while Hunter has enhanced eyesight across the whole spectrum, Crosshair is actually farsighted and he has his holopad on the biggest text size to avoid wearing the reading glasses Tech made him. Other facts aren’t as much of a surprise, like the scar on Hunter’s chin was a gift from Crosshair when they were roughhousing as cadets.

Crosshair even tells you what it was like growing up as ‘special’ clones on Kamino. ‘Clones are outsiders among the nat-borns of the galaxy. We were outsiders even among the clones.’ - ‘The advanced growth rate meant that for a few years from bio age 7-18 our joints always hurt. The bumps and bruises from training just blended it all together.’

You had no idea Crosshair could be so much of a talker, and he even chuckles a few times at his own stories or your side remarks. The conversation was far from annoying, though. You sat and listened intently, basking in his sudden willingness to share. Without warning, your chrono beeps, cutting one of his sentences short. You glance down and gasp at the time.

“Everything okay?” Crosshair asks, his brow furrowing.

“We’ve been here all day.” You say. “We have to hurry if we’re going to walk the traps and get back to camp to meet the others.”

Crosshair shoots to his feet, his jaw tense.

Guilt settles in your stomach. “I’m sorry.” You look up at him, but he refuses to meet your eyes. “I was enjoying it here, but-”

“We have to go.” He says in a gruff voice. The walls are back up.

You solemnly gather your gear and the two of you walk your snare lines in silence. You’re tempted to respark the conversation you two had been sharing, but you can tell the moment is lost, and pushing would be futile.

When you arrive back at base camp, the others are already milling about preparing the dinner rations. Hunter glances between you and Crosshair as you enter the camp, but says nothing. Not even when he notices Crosshair is the one carrying the score from your traps.

Dinner is served as normal, but Crosshair takes his into the building serving as your bunk house rather than eating around the fire with the rest of you. You try to keep that sinking feeling out of your stomach to no avail. Had you pushed him? He was opening up to you, being receptive. Why did your chrono have to bring you crashing back to reality?

Your thoughts continue to swirl in your head as you wash up after dinner and you barely notice when Hunter appears beside you at the basin.

“You okay?” He mutters, picking up a dish and swirling it in the water.

“Mm, yeah,” you mutter.

A chuckle rumbles deep in Hunter’s chest. “I saw you two today.”

You can feel the Sergeant’s implication pressing in on you. “Oh yeah, he just got bored and wanted something to do.”

Hunter shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. He likes you.”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” you jab back, shoving the memory of your day at the range deep into the back of your mind.

“He’s just...” Hunter sighs. “Figuring it out on his own terms. He takes patience. You’ve been doing well so far, just hold out a little longer and he’ll open up to you.”

‘He was…’ You think to yourself. Instead you finish wiping the last dish and flick the water off your hands. “Well I don’t have forever,” you say shortly, turning to walk into the bunks.

Grumbling nonsense to yourself, you turn the corner to your room and your breath catches in your throat. On your bed lies a single item.

A bright orange and maroon lily.

After that day at your shooting range, little changes in your interactions with Crosshair. His snarky comments return, but his demeanor towards you does begin to shift. His morning jab was now accompanied by a cup of caf complete with a splash of milk, just the way you liked it. His hand was now the first to reach out when unloading gear to lighten your load, though it still came with some iteration of a sly ‘sweetheart’. There was even a time you had fallen asleep by the campfire and you woke with a blanket draped over you. Hunter swore up and down that Crosshair had been the last one to bed that night.

With two weeks left in the squad’s mission, you make your way to the range alone, lost in thought. At 0400, your comm had beeped with a message from Argus: you would be immediately moving on to your next assignment upon your return to the Coalition Command Base. A scuffle on Scarif’s opposite pole needed your attention, and reportedly the territory was still severely hostile.

Though you didn’t want to admit it, your time hosting Squad 99 had been little short of a vacation. Just last night, Hunter had pulled you aside and offered you a spot on the team as a ‘Civilian Consultant.’

‘Even though we’re supposed to be a clone squad, it’s a way of skirting the rules.’ He had said with a wink. ‘It wouldn’t pay much, but you’d be taken care of.’

You had told him you’d think about it, but you couldn’t imagine leaving Scarif. Your people need you. As your thoughts tumble in your head, you nearly step on something as you break the treeline into your sniper’s nest. Not something - someone.

“You’re very observant today,” Crosshair groans as he stands up.

“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head trying to clear it.

Crosshair looks down at you, his brow furrowed. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “What is it?”

The moment your eyes meet his, the words start tumbling from your mouth. You tell him everything. The comm from Argus that arrived before the boys rose that morning. The stress that’s been on your shoulders as the First Lieutenant of the Coalition.

You tell him about the pit in your stomach that grows every time you see a starving child, or a family ripped apart by raiders. Even about the pity you feel for the dying light in the eyes of bandits you arrest. How your homeworld was dying and there was little you could do about it.

You find yourself telling him about Hunter’s offer, and your temptation to take it. How the allure of staying with the squad you’d grown fond of was near irresistible, but the guilt at your eagerness to leave your homeworld behind was clawing at your chest.

Before you know it your breath is rising in your throat, your pulse quickening, your head beginning to spin, when suddenly your world becomes dark. It takes you a second to realize that you didn’t pass out, but your face is pressed to something… warm. Something solid and stable.

The scent of the camp soap surrounds you as Crosshair presses you to his chest, one arm curling around you, the other cradling the back of your head. Your breathing begins to steady and your heartbeat slows to match the steady beating of his heart under your cheek.

After a while you find it in yourself to mutter “Cross-”

“Shh.” He cuts you off, ruffling your hair slightly. “Don’t speak, just breathe for a second.”

Another couple minutes like that and you feel your body begin to relax. Crosshair releases you from his grip and you feel your weight on your own two feet again. Again you try to speak. “I’m so-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” He cuts you off again. “You have a lot going on and a lot to think about. Let the rest of the galaxy melt away for a bit. That’s why you’re here, right?” He says with a smirk.

You let out a breath. “I suppose.” Then you realize. “Hey, speaking of - what are you doing here?”

Crosshair rubs the back of his neck. “Ehh. Needed some time to think?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

He just shrugs. “I’ve never been… good with talking.”

You smile but take a step back from him. “You don’t have to be. We don’t have to talk at all.” You say, your words gentle.

Crosshair’s deep honey eyes look down at you. “The thing is… I want to. I just don’t…” He sighs, then leans over to pull something from his pack laying nearby. “Here.”

You look down at what he’s trying to hand you. It’s two maroon and orange lilies. Their bright colors stand out against his dark gear. You take them from him, delicately and look back up. His eyes are searching your face for any sign of caution.

His shoulders relax with relief when you take one of the flowers and tuck it behind your ear. “How’s the practice going?” you ask with a smile.

Crosshair’s face brightens a bit at the mention of sharpshooting. “Good. I was hoping you would be here today. I wanted to show you something new.”

Gingerly, he takes one of your hands in his and eases your rifle off your shoulder. Rather than handing you your weapon, however, he leans it up against a nearby tree.

“Cross, what-”

“Shh” He hushes you gently, taking the second lily from your other hand and dropping the stem into the barrel of your rifle. He guides you over to the sniper’s ridge and picks his own weapon up off the ground. “Here.”

Your eyes widen when you realize what his intentions are. He’s giving you his firepuncher.

Ever so carefully, you let him release his prized rifle into your grip. “Hmm,” you hum as your hands dip with its weight. “I assumed it would be heavy but… wow.”

“Start on the ground, then we’ll work you up to standing.” Crosshair says, his voice steady. “Adjust the scope how you need it.”

You get settled and with him crouched beside you, you bring the scope up to your view. The sounds of the forest start to melt away as you zone in on a target.

A little puff of air hits your ear as Crosshair leans close. "Be prepared for the recoil," he mutters in a low voice. "It’s strong, but don’t fight it. Whenever you’re ready."

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

The blaster bolt is nearly silent as it flies home to the center of the target.

There your day melts away again as you and Crosshair pass a weapon back and forth. Fewer words accompany his rifle, but it feels as though more is said.

The last two weeks of Squad 99’s mission pass uneventfully, but there is another shift. There’s a shift in how Crosshair treats you. After your first day at the range, he had warmed more to you, but now he’s like a tooka always at your heels. He’s not overbearing, just always present.

You’re catching yourself smiling at his little quirks more and more. The way he can fall asleep almost anywhere, curled up in a tight ball. The way he claims he drinks his caf black, but you spot him sneaking sugar into it out of the corner of your eye. The way he’s always watching, even if his back is to you.

He also seems more physically drawn to you. Of course, he never crosses a line, but in subtle ways. He tends to brush against you more when moving about your daily routines. His hands seem to linger on your body when adjusting your sniping form, and you could feel the heat of his palm on your lower back when he steadied you after you stumbled on a trail. His voice seems to drop and soften when he speaks to you, he nearly sounds like Hunter - it’s definitely genetic.

Of course Hunter noticed too. After your second day with Crosshair at the shooting range, Hunter had pulled you aside again. You expected an ‘older brother talking to’ where he either would grill you about your intentions or warn you to stay away, but the first words out of Hunter’s mouth had shocked you.

“You’re good for him, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?” You had instinctively said back.

Hunter placed his hand on your shoulder, you knew it was a gesture of his affection. “You’re good for him. With you, he can just exist.”

“You’re imagining things, Hunter.”

“I promise you I’m not. I know he can be difficult, but it’s not because he’s apathetic. It’s just a challenge for him to put words to what’s going on in that head of his.”

“There are more ways to understand someone than with words.”

Hunter laughed at your remark. “Like I said, you’re a good match for him. In more ways than one.”

Hunter left the conversation at that. He didn’t push, but he would tease you under his breath about it. You hated to admit it, but Hunter was right, you had grown soft on the sniper and you would come to see the effect you had on him. His shoulders were less tense, his brow furrowed less, he turned his face to the sun more. Maybe there was something growing between you and him, maybe it was something worth exploring.

‘Karking Siths Hells. Collect yourself, woman.’ You scold yourself. You shake your head to clear your thoughts as your gorset moves around a group of trees.

Here you are. The day had finally come for Clone Force 99 to ship back out. You didn’t want to admit it but it was hitting you harder than you thought it would. You were trying to keep that armor up, but you were sadly failing.

When you reach the Coalition’s Command Base, the brothers immediately start moving their things back to their ship. Sadly, Argus had been called to the Capital so he wasn’t there to welcome you back. As you helped the brothers repack, each made sure to say their goodbyes.

Tech held his hand out, and you moved to return the handshake. Instead you found him grasping your forearm in a much more meaningful gesture. “It’s a physical form of farewell from our mother culture of Mandalore. It’s a symbol of respect and honor. You have been a wonderful host, and I will miss your company. You do not know how much it means that you not only answered my questions but returned them with some of your own.”

Wrecker was next. Your hands seemed to dance in the intricate handshake you two had created. “I’ll miss having ya around!” He boomed. “I think you ruined the ration packs for me forever with your camp cooking. And Lieutenant? Thank you, for seeing us as more than clones, it’s been refreshing.”

Hunter pulled you into a tight hug like many times before. “I know I don’t need to say it, but take care of yourself. Keep in touch, I need someone to chat with that hasn’t thrown up on me.”

This made you laugh for the first time today. “That could be arranged,” you tease back.

Before Hunter replies he looks at something behind you. Turning around you see it’s Crosshair walking towards you. You meet him halfway, searching his face for any sign of what mood he’s in.

“Where did you disappear off to?” You ask trying to ease into a goodbye.

“Nowhere important.” He curtly replies, shoving his helmet on his head.

You bite your lip. “Okay… Best of luck, Crosshair. Stay safe out there.”

“You too.” He holds his hand out, but unlike Tech he just gives you a simple, firm handshake. Only he doesn’t let go.

You want to say something, but what would be the right thing? The two of you always seemed to communicate through actions more than words. There you two stand for a moment, awkwardly holding your handshake, and your eyes drift for a moment.

When you look back at Crosshair he’s moving. Before you can register what’s happening his helmet is smacking you on the forehead, causing you to cry out and clap a hand to the sore spot.

Did he just headbutt you? Or was he trying to kiss you and forgot his helmet was on?

He lets go of your hand like he was shocked, standing straight as a pole. “I uh… I’ve got to go. Keep practicing, stay alive.”

Without another word he walks, more like runs, away from you and up the Marauder’s ramp.

Hunter appears at your side obviously trying to contain his laughter. “That was interesting.”

“What exactly just happened?” You grumble, rubbing your forehead.

“A very Crosshair farewell.” Hunter sighs. “Look, I know that we aren’t exactly built for relationships or even plain friendships outside of the GAR, but… don’t be a stranger. We’ve all come to like you and Crosshair, he won’t say it anytime soon, but he needs you.”

Hunter squeezes your shoulder and jogs up the Marauder’s ramp, leaving you standing alone in the ship yard.

Sighing and shaking your head, you turn and walk to the Command Center to gather the intel for your new deployment. After sitting through a painfully redundant briefing meeting with a couple squadron leaders with sticks up their asses, you stop by the cantina for dinner. The food weighs heavy on your tongue like glue. It doesn’t taste nearly as good as beans and rice Scarif stir fry around a campfire with a choice four troopers.

The supply depot is your next stop to restock your personal supplies and check that your shuttle was loaded correctly. You still have a half hour before your crew is due for deployment, so you head over to the base stables to see a friend.

Your gorset has his nose on the ground of his stall, snuffling around for remnants of his evening grain, but he raises his head at the sound of your footsteps.

“Hey there, boy.” You coo softly at him. “What are we gonna do, huh?”

As you scratch behind his ear, your gorset turns his head for you to get to the other side and a gasp leaves your lips when you see his mane.

Woven into your gorset’s thick locks are three bright orange lilies.

Your back aches as you make the hike from the ruins to your range. Your last assignment had been far from comfortable. The relief mission was supposed to be non combative, just transport of supplies and giving aid to the rebuilding effort in Northern Sector 7, but of course you weren’t that lucky. A band of storms blew through while you were there, sending refugees into the town you were based in.

Your forces were already spread thin and the influx of people hadn’t helped. Then of course the raiders came. You were able to deescalate the situation the first time they showed up, but the second time they stormed the town with ballistics. The stockpile was pretty depleted at that point so at the very least the Coalition didn’t lose much.

Argus had taken pity on you and said you had a week before he’d even think about shipping you out again, so you decided to go home for a few days. You hadn’t been back in months, much longer than usual, not since them.

The peaceful ruins of your village had felt emptier that morning when you’d arrived. You half-expected Wrecker to come barreling through the brush asking about dinner, or for Tech to appear beside you with some obscure question about your home world.

You had to admit you did miss Hunter, he had his way of knowing what was going on with you without even asking. Though the temptation was there to take his offer and join the squad, you just couldn’t leave Scarif and her people. Hunter didn’t blame you though, he knew the pressure you were under as the Coalition’s First Lieutenant. Who would’ve done the job if you left?

You had exchanged comm frequencies with Hunter, but hadn’t heard anything from them, about anything. Not that you were expecting to. The fourth member of Squad 99 lingered on your mind more than the others, but it’s not like you were pining after him.

Crosshair had made you no promises, nor had you him. You just wondered where he was, what his missions were. You wondered if he was okay, not just physically, but under the armor he put up around himself.

The sun is already high in the sky when you reach your range. You take a couple minutes to go over your rifle, then take your standing position.

Your sore muscles shift as you bring your rifle up to your view and set the barrel on the rest you added to your shoulder plate. You sweep the range, checking the status of your targets, but stutter when you notice something nestled in the foliage.

A bright orange lily.

Shaking your head, you keep sweeping the range, then you spot another lily. Then another, and another. Your mouth drops open as you lower your weapon. It couldn't be, could it?

The undergrowth behind you rustles and you know it’s him before he speaks. "Good to see you're practicing. We need you again. I need you again."

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ofstarsandvibranium · 1 day

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Precious Truths: Part 5

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

Series Masterlist

Benedict's eyes scan the words across the page. After your confession, he proceeded to buy one of Talbot's your poetry books.

'Tis in your eyes I seek comfort.

Your arms I find solace.

In your lips I find love.

'Tis in you that I find the whole world

Standing before in great beauty

But at an arm's length is where I stay.

The second eldest Bridgerton is in awe. Your words carry such deep meaning, a sense of longing. Is this how you feel? Had someone captured your heart and he was none the wiser?

So many questions have risen since he's learned of your secret identity. Your poetry carries a deep sense of love, desire, passion. He never expected such feelings to come from you. This is a completely different side of you he is now seeing.

In the past, when you shared your poetry with him, they had a light, romantic touch. A sense of naivety and fairy tale outlook on love and life. But as Talbot, it was different.

"Helloooo?" Eloise waves her hand in front of Benedict, breaking his concentration.

He slaps her hand away, "What?"

Eloise snorts, "I have never seen you so deep in a book before, brother."

"A few ladies mentioned Arthur Talbot's work and I figured I see what the fuss was all about."

His sister rolls her eyes, "Women fawning over men waxing romantic poetics. Typical."

"I cannot wait for the day you fall in love, sister, and make an absolute fool of yourself." Benedict stands from his place at the table in the drawing room. He steps out to see Anthony and Kate escorting you to the door. His eyes brighten, "Y/N, I wasn't aware you were here."

You nod to him, "Apologies, Mister Bridgerton. I was simply here to discuss...business with Lord Bridgerton," you gesture to Anthony.

Benedict frowns, "Why such formality with us? We've been friends for years."

"Aunt Eliza advises me that I should be formal with you. She said that there may be men who envy the idea that I am close with you. So it is best we remain more...formal."

Benedict's shoulders sag, "Very well. We mustn't deter any...future prospects."

You nod, "Thank you for understanding," you face Anthony again and curtsey, "My Lord, thank you again for the list." You then face Kate, "I shall see you later, my Lady."

"Of course. I look forward to spending more time with you."

You proceed to take your leave, Benedict's eyes following you as you exit the Bridgertons' home.

"Excuse me," Benedict murmurs, heading straight to the study and pouring himself a drink.

Anthony clears his throat as he enters the room, "Will you be okay, brother? Truly."

"I have to be. There are much better men out there that will be able to provide the life and freedom she deserves. I need to accept that." Anthony, approaches his brother and gives him a reassuring pat on his shoulders, "I commend you for doing this. It won't be easy, but with time, I'm sure you'll be alright."

"Yes...time."

_____________________________

"Tell me about yourself, Miss L/N," Lord Belmont says as he turns you about the ballroom among the other couples.

You have to admit that the man is handsome, "Well I love poetry and to read. I am a fair player of the pianoforte as well as the harp. I know Latin and Greek. I adore animals."

Lord Belmont hums, "How do you fare in the outdoors?"

"I enjoy my time riding and walking amongst nature."

The lord scrunches up his face and distaste, "Oh no. If you are to be my wife, you shall be inside at all times being lady of the house."

You look at him in disbelief, "Am I not allowed to step outside at all, my Lord?"

"Of course, but only when we need to attend balls or important festivities."

Thankfully, the dance ends and you quickly and politely excuse yourself. You head straight to the refreshment table. You grab a lemonade and gulp half the glass down.

"Are you well? You practically ran from Lord Belmont," Kate asks as she approaches you at the drinks table.

You hum, "While Lord Belmont is a handsome man, I do not think he would allow the...freedom, that I desire."

Kate nods in understanding, "I see. Well, onto the next then?" She hooks her arm around yours and guides you to the the corner of the room where Anthony, Benedict, Daphne, and a man you haven't seen before stands with them.

"Apologies, I bumped into Miss L/N at the refreshment table. She needed a break from dancing."

Daphne's eyes light up, "Wonderful! Miss L/N, this is the Duke's friend, Lord Montclair, a marquess" she gestures to the dark skinned man dressed in a navy blue velvet suit.

You curtsy, "Good evening, Lord Montclair."

He nods to you, "A pleasure, Miss L/N," he gives you a kind smile.

"Montclair, you have French heritage?"

His smile grows wider, "I do. My father is French. Have you been?"

You nod, "My family and I would travel there for the summer," your smile weakens, "Unfortunately, I have not visited for years now."

"I understand. It has been some time since I have visited as well."

You and the Marquess continue to look each other with kind eyes. Benedict hides his clenched fists behind his back. Kate watches her brother-in-law with careful eyes.

Daphne is beaming as she speaks, "Lord Montclair, Miss Y/N is well-versed in poetry."

"Really?"

You shy from his gaze, "Yes, um, my mother would read poetry all the time. I fell in love with it. I love how much emotion one can convey through few lines."

"She writes poetry, as well," Benedict speaks and you look at him in surprise, "The way her words can make you feel so much in small amounts of verses...it's a beautiful feeling."

You give him a grateful smile and turn back to Lord Montclair, "Mister Bridgerton flatters me, but I am a novice when it comes to poetry writing."

"I do hope I get to read some of your writing in the future, Miss L/N."

You giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as Lord Montclair gives his attention to you, "Perhaps sooner than expected, my Lord."

Lord Montclair steps closer to you, "I know you are taking a moment from dancing, but perhaps you have space on your dance card for me?"

"Of course, my Lord," you offer him your dance card and watch as he scribbles his neck in the next space, which happens to be for the next dance coming up.

"Oh, it seems our dance is here," he holds out his hand, waiting for you with a smile.

You place your gloved hand in his and follow him as he escorts you to the floor. You glance back at the Bridgertons, who all watch you with eager, careful eyes.

As they all watch you waltz with the Marquess, Benedict asks his sister, "Do you vouch for the Marcquess?"

She nods, "Yes. He is very kind. He enjoys reading and archery-"

"Brother, Y/N excels in archery, correct?"

Benedict clenches his jaw, "She does." His eyes never waver from you as you smile while dancing with the marquess.

"Looks like there may be some things they have in common," Kate says, eyeing her brother-in-law.

"How wonderful for them," Benedict murmurs as he walks away from his siblings.

________________________

You spend a large portion of your night conversing with Lord Montclair. The man was intelligent, charming, funny, and kind. He was the perfect man you see yourself marrying and yet...your eyes still wander towards Benedict. He spoke with some lords, danced with a few women. You knew you initiated the distance between you and Benedict, but that didn't mean it doesn't hurt you.

That man has held your heart for several years and it seems he will never reciprocate the feelings you have for him. So it's best to start the process of moving on, hopefully, with Lord Montclair.

And Lord Montclair did not disappoint when he called upon you the next morning.

He sat across from you in the sitting room, Aunt Eliza nearby going over some paperwork.

You look down at the bouquet of flowers, your favorite, the very ones you mentioned last night during your dance with Lord Montclair.

"Have you read any new poems today?" You shake your head and Montclair pulls out a book you are very familiar with, "Have you read Arthur Talbot's work? He's fairly new yet quite popular already."

You bite your lip to prevent you from bursting into a fit of giggles, "I adore his work. He has an impressive way of words."

He opens the book to a dog-eared page. He clears his throat and begins to recite,

To love you is to bathe in your light

To sway to your laughter,

With its melody and rhythm

To swell with pride when your eyes gaze on mine.

For that, I am whole

And you are forever my muse.

You felt a little...odd. Considering that not only is Lord Montclair reciting a poem that you wrote, but it's also about a man you are trying to get over. Not what you expected when you received your first caller.

"I believe that was one of Talbot's earlier works, yes?"

Montclair nods, "Yes, but I still believe the feeling of what he was trying to convey is very much still there, don't you agree?"

"Very much so, my Lord."

After some lengthy discussion about Talbot's work, you two move to the piano so you can teach him how to play.

"I never did have much of an ear for music. My mother was quite disappointed in me when I was unable to play any instrument she placed in my hands."

You chuckle, "We shall start with something easy." You show him how to place his fingers on the keys, giggling as you move each finger to the right location.

You continue to laugh with each other as you teach him the simplest of songs, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

As you laugh when he gets the wrong note, a footman enters the room, "Miss L/N, you have another caller."

Daphne enters the room and you immediately stand, "Your Grace!"

The duchess' smile grows at the sight of you and Lord Montclair, "I do hope I haven't upset you with my intrusion, but it is nearing lunch and Lord Montclair hadn't return. But I see why now." she gives you a teasing look.

"I apologize for keeping Lord Montclair for so long, your Grace."

"Nonsense, Y/N. I was just checking that our dear marquess is alright."

Lord Montclair chuckles as he, too, stands from the piano bench, "As you can see, I am quite alright, but I suppose I have overstayed my welcome."

You shake your head, "Of course not, my Lord. It was a pleasure seeing you. I hope to see you again soon."

He faces you, "I hope to see you as well," he gently grabs your gloved hand and places a kiss atop it.

He then bows to your aunt, "Miss Y/N, good day."

"You as well, my Lord," your aunt responds with a wave.

You curtsy to Daphne, and she and the marquess both leave your home.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader

113 notes · View notes

discordantwritings · 3 days

Text

Feeling Better

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, we out here monsterfucking, Jinbe has two dicks, oral sex, fingering, double penetration, PiV sex, anal, belly bulge, use lube guys don’t listen to me

WC: 4.2k

Summary: You’re feeling down, but thankfully Jinbe finds you and gives you all the comfort you need.

Notes: sorry I’ve been ✨depressed✨ so I haven’t written too much but then the cure for being ✨depressed✨ was writing Jinbe comfort so. It all works out.

Tagging: @keiva1000

The aquarium bar was lit only by the lights in the tanks at this time of night, slowly shifting shades of blue thrown about the space as you curled up into yourself in one of the crooks of the long bench. You came here to calm yourself down but it seems the melancholy colors only drag you further into your own sadness, tears streaming down your face despite yourself.

You couldn’t pinpoint one good reason why you felt so painfully empty. Every day you were surrounded by people you were lucky to call your friends, going on adventures across the world, helping people. And yet still sadness crept up on you some nights, clenching your chest and refusing to let go despite all logic. The swimming of the fish around you, that normally fascinates you, feels almost fake as you stare at them for far too long.

You’re about to pull a blanket over your head and try and sleep through the tears when you hear heavy footsteps walk by the entrance and then stop. You do your best to stifle your crying but when a voice calls your name you can’t manage to call back.

It’s Jinbe, probably just getting off of his watch. You try and keep your face hidden but there’s only so much you can do as he slowly walks over.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is soft and laced with concern and all the effort you’ve put forth to stop your crying crumbles immediately.

You can barely see his face through your tears but he’s at your side immediately, kneeling on the ground to be more level with you. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

You shake your head no and bury your face in your hands. A large hand gently rubs your shoulder as you sob. You’re not sure how long you’re crying before you can pull yourself together, rubbing the tears from your face.

“‘m sorry…” You mumble as you dot the remaining tears from your eyes.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Jinbe gets up and sits next to you, strong hand never leaving your shoulder.

“No this is- it’s so stupid.” Your voice cracks as you feel emotions creeping up your throat again.

“I can assure you it’s not stupid.” He squeezes your shoulder gently. “Would it feel better if I gave you space?”

You furiously shake your head, suddenly hating the idea of being left alone as you feel tears welling up in your eyes again.

“Do you want me to sit next to you? I could hold you if that would make you feel better.” From anyone else you might have thought the offer was hollow but with Jinbe you know he’s sincere.

“If it’s not too much-“ You don’t even need to finish your sentence before strong arms are lifting you up and sliding you into his lap.

You’re sideways on his lap, legs hanging over his large thigh and your side tucked into his chest. There’s a few moments where you’re stunned out of your thoughts by how easily you were maneuvered and how muscular his thighs feel beneath you. But the second your brain catches up and you realize how tightly you’re being held it all comes crashing back.

You dig your face into his shoulder as tears come out again- you try to tell him that you’re sorry and it’s nothing serious but your words are all lost against his firm heartbeat near your head. It’s not long before he starts to hum, a tune you distantly remember from Brook’s playing, and the low reverberations from his chest to yours help your breathing slow. Eventually you’re able to steady out your breaths- partially from how exhausted you are but more so from the constant presence of your crew mate.

There was something about Jinbe that was always so steadying, even before this moment. An immovable and fierce presence that was somehow still endlessly kind and patient. You’re not sure how that was all wrapped up into one fishman but you were always grateful for it. And now, leaning into his chest, you appreciate him more than ever.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is soft and you feel his thumb rubbing circles on your back as he keeps you against his chest.

“I don’t know…” You answer honestly. “It’s just- I know it’s not logical. And I know once morning comes all these stupid emotions will be gone. Sometimes they just sneak up on me.”

“Emotions are like the tides like that. Controlled by forces we can’t see, ebbing and flowing endlessly. Do not feel silly for not being able to control the tides.”

“That’s…” You huff out a small laugh. “How do you always have just the right thing to say?”

“Years and years of experience.” You aren’t looking at his face but you can hear that wide smile. “And my experience is always available whenever you need it.”

“This is too much to ask of you already.” You say, referring to the fact you’re still being held and comforted despite the worst of your emotions having been spent already.

“It is not. Actually…” He trails off and you look up at him after a few moments of silence. “Never mind.”

Your brows knit together as a traitorous thought that you’ve done something wrong creeps into the back of your mind. “What?”

“No it’s-“ His eyes meet yours and to your surprise you can make out a small dusting of darker blue on his cheeks. “It’s selfish of me.”

“Now you’re just confusing me.” Worries have dissipated but his words still leave you with too many questions.

“I enjoy having you in my arms.” He confesses, movement stilling as he watches your reaction.

It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in but when it does you find a heated blush creeping up your neck. You never considered that Jinbe would like you like that, given the species difference, but you realize it’s not weirder than the way you feel in this moment. How much his presence has always made you feel better, how you felt so protected and cared for whenever he was around.

It was more than just the momentary emotional comfort that had kept you seated in his lap past your crying session.

“I… enjoy being in your arms.” You finally respond, eyes darting down to your lap.

Silence hangs in the room as his hand slides up and down your back again in a comforting motion. You find yourself curling up slightly, heels on his thigh as you angle yourself inwards towards his body. Your fingers play with the collar edge of his kimono absently. The blue hue of the room is no longer somber but instead calming as it glows against Jinbe’s similarly colored skin.

“How do you feel?” He asks after some time, gently breaking the silence.

“Better.” You respond honestly, the weight of sadness having long left your chest.

“Is there anything more I could do for you?” His fingers creep up your back and eventually come to play with the ends of your hair.

“Oh- I’m keeping you up aren’t I?” You sit up straight but Jinbe makes no movement to remove you from his lap.

“You are not. I was- forgive me I’m rather out of practice with this sort of thing.” He shifts slightly under you and you look up to see his face almost a whole shade darker.

Everything clicks and heat races through your body. Suddenly all of the contact you have with him feels electric and you fight not to shrink away.

“There is- I mean-“ You fumble over your words but quickly pull yourself together. “It would be nice to completely forget about earlier.”

“Would you like my help with that?” He asks as the hand playing with your hair sneaks around to your collarbone

“Please, Jinbe.” Your words come out nearly breathless and Jinbe does not waste a second.

His hand tilts your jaw up to give him just the right angle to capture your mouth in a kiss. The kiss is gentle but firm and you find yourself melting into his strong arms. His large tusks pressed into your cheeks but you didn’t mind their presence at all. When he pulls away you’re left breathless and before you can go in for another kiss he’s placed a quick one to your forehead before pulling away further.

Before you know it you’re sitting on the bench and Jinbe is knelt on the ground before you, surprisingly dexterous fingers unfastening your pants. He looks up at you as his hands hesitate, checking one last time. When you nod your pants and underwear are slipped off of you in one fell swoop. Before you can hide yourself Jinbe pushes your thighs open, guiding them to rest over his broad shoulders.

“Forgive me for moving fast but-“ He places kisses up you inner thigh between his words. “I need to taste you.”

Before you can say anything his tongue is at your folds, wet muscle pushing through them and playing at your entrance. You whine as you feel his tongue press into you, slowly working its way inside you. You don’t stop yourself from threading your fingers in his hair and pushing your hips further into his face, grinding your clit against his nose. This only seems to encourage him, his large tongue filling you more than your fingers ever had.

“Jinbe- Please-“ You’re not sure what you’re crying out for exactly but Jinbe is ready to give you what you need.

Sharp fingernails dig into the plush of your thighs just short of pain as his tongue slides out of you to dance along your clit. You have to bite back a shout when he presses and sucks against your bud, sensations suddenly overwhelming you as you see white.

Jinbe gently licks at your folds as you come back from your orgasm, eagerly taking as you run your fingers along his scalp. Once he’s throughly cleaned you up he presses kisses up your hip until he’s standing over you.

“Better?” He asks, face shiny with your slick.

“So, so much better.” You respond with a dazed smile, hand cupping his face.

“Good, we can get you back to bed now.”

His response confuses you, and you sit up a bit straighter. “But what about you?”

“This isn’t about me love, this was about making you feel better.” He turns his head slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “I’m sure I can manage.”

“But what if-“ You shift in your seat, embarrassed despite everything. “What if I want you. More of you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Jinbe speaks again. “Trust me there is nothing more I want right now but I don’t want to… overwhelm you.”

It takes a second for your pleasure riddled brain to fully comprehend what his words are implying but oh yeah- he’s a good few feet taller than you which would mean…

The idea only filled your head with more lust.

“Can I see?” You ask, hands already playing with the tie on his kimono.

He nods and you feel his gaze lock onto your face as you undo the knot holding his clothing together. Whatever you thought you were prepared for was quickly blown out of the water. Not one but two cocks stood flushed and erect under the drapes of his kimono. Different from the human anatomy you knew his started off thinner but tapered to incredibly thick at the base. Both looked like two halves of a whole almost, but you knew just one would be an impossible fit. The challenge sent a new wave of heat through your body.

“Like I said, I don’t want to-“

“I need you inside me.” You cut him off, looking up to lock eyes with him.

He looks at you, stunned for a second before a large toothy grin takes over his face. He surges down to meet you in a kiss, more heated and charged than the one you shared before. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue and you don’t pull away until you’re dizzy from lack of air.

“Stay here for just a moment.” He says before pulling away.

You watch as her gathers up some of the pillows and a blanket, setting them up on one of the nearby tables. You nearly giggle at how carefully he places every pillow and how he takes his time to make sure you’ll be comfortable. Obviously you’d both prefer a bed but there’s no crossover of beds and private space aboard the ship.

At least Franky always reenforces all furniture and bolts every table to the ground. You’ll have to thank him for that later.

When Jinbe is done with his makeshift bed he rushes back over to you and easily scoops you up into his arms. You yelp and wrap your arms around his neck and Jinbe laughs at your reaction. It’s only a few seconds before you’re sat on the table, the blanket and pillows softening the hard wood under you. You keep your arms around Jinbe’s shoulders and while he has to lean down a bit to keep his face close to yours it doesn’t seem to bother him. You try to wiggle your hips closer to grind against him but a firm hand holds you in place.

“I’m going to have to open you up a bit first.” He says as a hand creeps between your legs and his breath ghosts over your neck.

“But you just-“

His teeth scrape gently against your neck and you whine. “Patience. I’ll make it worth your while.”

One of his thick fingers presses into you easily and your head falls back. With more of your neck available to him Jinbe lightly bites and sucks your neck, never breaking the skin or causing you pain but using just enough pressure to make you feel him. There’s something about knowing he could very easily rip your throat out that made your brain fog with lust almost just as much as the finger slowly working in and out of you.

He slowly adds a second finger, whispering praises in your ear as he works you open. “Just like that. You’re taking my fingers so well, letting me stretch you out…”

“I can-“ You moan as his fingers curl inside you and one of your hands flies up to grip onto his shoulder. “I can take more.”

“I know you can love.” He places a gentle kiss to your jaw as a third finger begins to join the first two and your body is finally showing some resistance.

It was a stretch before, certainly, but there’s the sting of being forced open as Jinbe presses that third thick finger into you. He feels your body’s resistance and his thumb quickly finds your clit, rubbing slow soothing circles into it.

“Just relax for me, I know you can do that.” You nod as you take a deep breath, trying to release the tension in your body.

“‘s a lot.” You breathe out, almost jokingly.

“I know baby.” The three fingers are fully inside you by now but they aren’t sliding in and out easily. “How about you tell me how you feel.”

“Full.” You respond automatically, earning a huff of laughter from Jinbe.

“You’re going to get much more full than this.”

“That’s- fuck I need that-“ Remembering what you’re working towards and the deliberate movements of Jinbe finally have him moving without any resistance.

“You’re just about ready, do you feel okay?” Jinbe locks eyes with you, concern and care still prominent on his face despite the clear lust.

“I- um-“ You weren’t hesitating because you didn’t want him inside you- quite the opposite really.

Eyes glancing down for a second at his cocks, flushed and leaking, you can’t help the perverted places your mind goes. Of course you would take whatever he would give you however he would give it to you but…

“Use you words love.” He’s hesitant but firm as his movements still.

“Is there- and if you don’t want this please don’t feel bad but- do you think it’s possible that you could be in there-“ You roll your hips to push his fingers just a little bit further inside you. “And my other hole?”

There’s a painfully long pause after you ask that question- so much that you’re about to backpedal and call off the whole night but the Jinbe drops his head into your shoulder and lets out a loud moan. To your side where Jinbe’s hand helped him lean against the table you hear the sound of wood cracking and you look over to see the table has given in slightly under his grip.

“Fuck you’re so-“ He moves up again so his forehead is pressing against yours. “You’re so perfect. Wanting me to fill you up all the way? Just one of your holes wasn’t going to be enough?”

“No- need all of you.” You move your hips to grind into his hand, the idea that a fantasy you didn’t even know you had was about to come true sending you close to the edge.

“Are you going to cum just thinking about it? Need that from you- give me all that slick so I can get your ass ready for me. You want that don’t you? Want these fingers stretching you out again?” Jinbe might be just as far gone as you are, words almost slurred as he matches the rhythm you’ve set.

His encouragement is all you need, crying out as your walls clench around his fingers as you cum.

“That’s it baby just like that-“ He nuzzled against your cheek as the last of the tremors worked through your body. “Can you lay down for me now?”

You ease yourself backwards and Jinbe makes sure there’s a pillow ready for your head. With one hand he lifts your hips up and slides another pillow underneath them, giving him better access to you. He easily but gently manipulates your body, pushing your thighs up and apart.

“You can put your legs on me if you need to but I’m going to need you to help me keep you open, okay?” His hands knead your thighs, some of your juices from his hands smearing into your skin.

You shift and reach down, using your hands to pull apart your asscheeks for him. He groans as you hold yourself open, his hands digging into your thighs for a second before he remembers himself. One of his hands releases its grip so a finger can dip between your folds, gathering your slick before trailing down. His fingertip circles the right ring of muscle as he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee.

“Just relax, I’ll take care of you.” You do your best to listen as his finger presses in.

It’s a strangle feeling at first and you have to fight not to tense up as he slowly pushes his finger in further. Once your body is used to the feeling though you can feel the heat seeping into your stomach again as Jinbe works you open, whispering praises to you the whole time.

“You’re taking me so well baby. You’re going to feel so good around me, squeezing me so tight. You can take more, can’t you?” The press of another finger has you tighten up reflexively before you force yourself to relax. “That’s it-“

The stretch of two of his thick fingers stings initially but his actions as slow and careful and the stretch soon becomes almost natural. His other hand leaves your thigh and while it’s getting a bit tiring to hold your legs up and open his skilled fingers working against your clit easily make up for it. You groan as his fingers scissor you open and grow impatient.

“Jinbe please just- I’m ready I need you inside of me.” You whine, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“I don’t want to go too fast-“ He starts but you cut him off.

“You would never hurt me. Please.”

You watch his hesitance fade away as he leans over you for a surprisingly soft kiss. “Alright love.”

He straightens back out and slides his fingers out of you. You whine at the loss but are easily distracted watching him take his cocks in his hands, fingers covered in your slick pumping each of them a few times to get them coated. He carefully lines them both up, dragging the tip of one over your clit before pressing it slightly into your entrance. Once his tip is seated in you then he pushes his other one in and you are already overwhelmed.

He slowly pushes into you and only gets a few inches before you’re tapping his shoulder, needing him to pause. The stretch in both of your holes at once overloads you and you know you need a bit more time to adjust. He understands you immediately, stopping and running his hands over your skin.

“Take your time, you’re alright, I’m right here with you.” He praises, words and hands soothing you as you take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long it takes before you’re ready again, but the strange feeling of being stretched out bleeds into something far more pleasurable quickly enough. All it takes is for you to nod before he starts slowly pushing in again.

There’s a few more times you have to stop him but he’s just as patient with you every time, non stop praises flowing from him. Soon enough you feel one of his heads press into your cervix and he stops, holding himself in you. When you look down you see that his whole length isn’t in you- that just wasn’t possible- but you had taken most of him. His hand runs over your stomach and you can see and feel his cocks bulging through your midsection. There’s something so maddening to see your body contort in such an unnatural way to accommodate him that makes your head fuzzy with desire.

“Look at that- fuck- you take me so well-“ One of his hands lightly pushes down and you both moan at the feeling. “You feel that?”

You don’t have any words left anymore, so you just nod and whine as his hips lightly grind into you. One of his hands drifts slightly to hold onto your hip while his other finds one of your hands, interlacing your fingers together. He gives you a reassuring squeeze as he slowly starts to move, dragging his cocks out of you.

“You’re so tight and- fuck- warm- baby I’m sorry I’m not going to last long you just- you feel so good.” The hand on your hip holds you still as he pushes back into you, pace slow but deliberate as both of you fight to hold on for just a bit longer.

Your brain couldn’t hold any more thoughts, everything pushed out by the overwhelming sensation of being stuffed full. You’re sure you’re going to rip in half at any point in time but honestly you feel way too damn good to care. Both of his cocks drag against every spot you know and didn’t know about, pleasure in every small movement you’re given. After this you’re not sure how anything will ever compare.

“Are you- I can feel it baby- you’re close too? Getting tighter around me-“ His hips move a bit faster now, unable to stop himself from indulging just a bit more in the way you grip him. “You can let go- I want feel it come on-“

His hand leaves your hip so his fingers can press tight circles against your clit and like that you’re gone. You scream- probably, you can’t really hear yourself but something is ripped out of your throat as you cum harder than you ever have before.

“So good- I’m gonna-“

Jinbe goes to pull out of you but you manage a needy- “Inside” and he quickly shoved himself back inside you as much as he can.

You feel as he releases inside you, his cocks pulsing almost in unison as warm cum fills both your holes. You look at him as he looks down at where you are still connected, his cum spilling out around his cocks. Slowly he pulls himself out of you, mesmerized as he watches his cum slowly seep out of both of your holes. He shakes his head quickly, snapping himself out of his trance and immediately gathers you up in his arms. One arm is behind your back and the other is underneath your knees as he holds you to his chest. He kisses your forehead gently, nuzzling into you slightly.

“Do you feel better now?” He asks, a dazed grin on his face.

“Much better.” You respond, knowing confidently any bad thoughts had been shoved far away.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up and to bed.”

You think you could get used to being taken care of like this.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #x reader #jinbe x reader #jinbei x reader #Jinbe x you #discordantwritings

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tomuras · 2 days

Text

| Angel |

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Selfship Coded, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Reader has asthma, Asthma Attack, Angst, Gender Neutral Reader, No pronouns for reader, He/Him for Sunday, 600 ish words.

A/n: Just a little something I wrote for myself <3

Summary: Sunday wakes up and finds out you’re having an asthma attack.

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @themovingcastlez @tighnarly

It had been a bad, long morning. Thankfully, Sunday was there to make everything better, or at least try to. He’d woken up to find you upright on the couch, hugging your body as you tried to soothe yourself into a more relaxing state. When your eyes locked onto his slowly approaching form you tried your best attempt at a smile, and opened your mouth to greet him, but instead of words there were fits of coughs.

“Feeling unwell?” He asked, taking a seat beside you.

You nodded and smiled weakly.

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. “What’s wrong?” He questioned.

You took a deep breath and tapped the center of your chest as you tried to explain, wheezing out your words in between coughs. Quickly you took notice of how Sunday’s eyes went from relaxed to a widened expression.

“Stay there and stop talking.”

You looked at him confused as he moved to grab something from the room. It wasn’t until he came back with your emergency inhaler that the realization hit you. Oh, right.. that. He brought the inhaler to your mouth and waited until you pressed your lips to the opening before pressing down on it and activating the medicine.

“You’re having an asthma attack.” He explained, watching as you held your breath for a few moments before exhaling.

He waited at least ten minutes before he opened up his arms to welcome you onto his lap, looking at you with a concerned expression and a small, yet sad smile. You took a moment to take a few deep breaths before climbing onto his lap, steadying yourself as you did so as to get into the most comfortable position. Once you’d gotten comfy you curled up against his chest, clinging to his pajama top as he started petting your hair. For the first few minutes it was silent except for Sunday’s and your breathing.

“Why didn’t you come get me? I would’ve wanted to help.” He spoke calmly for someone who was admittedly scared by what had just happened.

You thought about your next words carefully. “I didn’t know what was happening an’ didn’t wanna bother you.”

Sunday was not pleased with your answer, no matter how honest and good natured it was. No, in fact it deeply disturbed him. What would you have done if he hadn’t been there to save you? What would he have done if he failed to protect you? Oh god. Sunday didn’t want to even entertain that thought, it upset him far too much. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself had the worst happened.

“You need to be more careful. Something could’ve happened, you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse.” His voice slightly rose as his words trembled from his lips.

Immediately you felt ashamed. You knew how Sunday was and still you insisted on doing it your way. You were so reckless sometimes, so much so that you worried about the responsibility it put on Sunday.

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.” You confessed quietly, playing with the fabric of his shirt by pressing it in between the pads of your fingers.

Sunday sighed and gave your body a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright. Just be careful. Please? For me?“

You nuzzled your head against his chest and smiled. “Thank you, Sunday.”

He pulled back his head far enough so that he could get a better look at you. “What’s the sudden praise for?”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, giving him a tight hug. “For everything.”

He hummed and stroked your cheek. “You really are something special.”

Regardless of everything, he was truly at home with you. There was no better company than yours.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n

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empressdede · 3 days

Text

Me, U & Jealousy - Chapter 3

Previous chapter

This story is written in both present and past. Italics is the past and regular font is written in the present.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"So, you’ll be able to go?" Jada asked, excitement seeping through her voice.

Sorai rolled her eyes. She was kind of regretting the terms and conditions that came with her going to this party. Especially since Sefa kept trying to tease her about her ‘schoolgirl crush’ as he would call it.

“Yeah. I can go but Joseph’s going to be there.” She explained and Jada’s excitement dimmed just a bit.

“How do you know he’s going to be there?” She asked and Sorai let out a sigh.

“He heard us talking a couple days ago about me wanting to sleepover at yours. I’ve been trying to get him to change for the past three days but he’s not budging.”

“Well…. At least he’s not as bad as his older brothers. Like, that could be way worse. Plus, if he goes that means Monica will be there and Monica is going to distract him for majority of the night.”

Sorai rolled her eyes again. Monica. She couldn’t fuckin’ stand her. But Jada was right, if Monica was there, Joseph would keep his attention on his girlfriend instead of her.

“You’re right; She’ll probably do what she does best and open her legs and keep him preoccupied for majority of the night.” Sorai agreed with a nod of her head but that caused Jada to burst out laughing.

“Girl, no way you just called Joseph’s girlfriend a hoe.”

“Only thing that ever comes out of her damn mouth is ‘He beat my shit up. Girl, when I tell you he sat me down and tore my shit up. Who knew Joseph could eat pussy like that.‘

Sorai mocked in a high pitched tone to mimic the girl she didn’t like, letting out a huff of annoyance when she was done. “I wish she would shut the fuck up sometimes, don’t nobody wanna hear that.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.” A teasing voice came from behind her. Sorai let out a sigh before she turned around to face the person. Joseph.

There he was with a smirk on his face as he stared at her. She wanted to smack it off of his face.

“Jealous of what?”

“All the experience she gets to have, that you’re dying to gain yourself.” He easily replied.

“Joseph don’t do that. Cause who knows, maybe Cameron will finally put the moves on her -“ Jada started but Sorai slapped her shoulder to shut her up.

But it was too late, the playfulness got wiped off his face as he stared at both girls.

“If I find out that he puts his hands on you, it’s over for the both of you.” Joseph stated, warning tone in his voice.

“Joseph, you can’t keep te-“

“I can.” He interrupted, the glare in his eyes showing he wasn’t playing with her. “The twins don’t got no plans as far as I know, so Cameron better be on his Ps and Qs if he knows what’s good for ‘em.” And with that he walked away.

She turned to glare at Jada. She knew how much those boys were overprotective over her, and here she go pushing that imagine in his head.

He was already skeptical about letting her go is and she didn’t need another to give him another reason to change his mind.

“Don’t worry about it sis. You know Joseph is the only one who takes it easier on you. He won’t ruin this night for you, he just wants you to be careful.” Jade assured and all Sorai could do is hope she was right.

————————

Joseph had convinced his older brother to let him borrow his car to go out, and since he had already promised to pick Sorai up at Jada’s house that’s exactly what he did.

The two girls sat in the backseat of Joshua’s car doing last minute check ups on each other’s outfits that was all planned by Jada. She wanted to make sure that Sorai looked good tonight. She knows how much her best friend liked Cameron and she was going to make sure this was a good night for her…even with Joseph tagging along with them.

The ride to Aaliyah’s house wasn’t eventful; in fact Sorai kinda wished she rode with anybody else because no matter Joseph promised her, Monica always seemed to be stuck to his side at every event.

“Babe we’ll be able to enjoy ourselves right? I don’t feel like watching kids tonight.” Monica pouted and Sorai rolled her eyes.

She hated being around her, but she had to play nice tonight. Especially if she wanted Joseph to take it easy on Cameron.

“Don’t worry babe, you’ll still be able to enjoy yourself.”

Jada’s eyes locked with Sorai’s and they both fought to keep a straight face. Sorai decided to keep her comments to herself because she wanted to be on Joseph’s good side tonight.

She really wanted to get away and be with Cameron tonight.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Aye man, I can’t believe you’re here. Its been forever. How you been?” Josh asked once Sorai got settled in a little corner as far as she could be away from these guys.

She shrugged at the question, “Graduated College and I’ve been dabbling in journalism for a couple years now. The only reason why I’m here is cause of Jada.”

Jon nods his head at her, “Yeah, we don’t really see her much since she’s with the NXT roster majority of the time, helping out with talent creation. Any time we ask her about you, she act like she too busy to talk."

"I’m sure if it was that important to you, you would’ve found a way to reach out." Sorai stated simply with a shrug. At that, all the boys smacked their teeth.

"That’s not true, we’ve tried to reach out but it was never successful. We only knew how you been through our parents." Jonathan states.

"And even then, you blocked us… or me anyway - so it made reaching out to you that much harder." Sefa finally speaks up. The sound of his voice made Sorai inwardly roll her eyes. Damn, hearing him irritated her the most.

"I changed my number like a month after you guys left, but it’s okay. I know how much you guys wanted this, especially since the beginning years of college. Following in your dad’s footsteps must mean so much to you guys. Plus, being a superstar means you’re busy so I understand. I’m happy for you guys." Sorai spoke from the heart, even though their departure hurt her, she was happy they were getting to live out their dreams.

Joe sat on the opposite side of the room of Sorai and was analyzing her body language. Something was off with her, he’s noticed it the first time in the hallway with Kayla. He was getting the feeling that not hearing from them probably hurt her feelings. "We appreciate that Rai, thank you. Just remember, if you need anything you can let us know and we gotchu’ you know that right?"

She nodded at him; "Thank you Joe. So…. What’s it like running the locker room?"

"Nah, let’s get into something else." Jonathan stated, walking towards her. "Earlier, when we said you didn’t have time for heartbreak and you said it was a lil too late for that… you let some bum break yo heart?" He asked, tilting his head at her. How ironic, one of the people who helped break her heart was asking who was responsible for the damage.

Sorai let out a tired sigh, she didn’t want to get into this, especially right now. "Guys, we haven’t seen each other in five years. A lot has happened within that time."

"We know that, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care. A couple years may have gone by but that doesn’t change anything, you still our lil sis, and I hope you know that a couple years didn’t mean you stopped being our family." Josh spoke up this time.

Sorai’s heart felt heavy at the statement because at a point and time she really called these boys her family. Her brothers. Damn, she remembers when she didn’t like calling them that, she loathed it. But now, her heart crumbles at the memories. Fuck she missed them - just when she thought she was over the situation. Being around them did nothing to stop the hurt she still feels even five years later.

"Rai?" Joshua questioned after a pregnant pause took over the room. Sorai’s head snapped up to face Josh, but her eyes scanned the room quickly. All of them were staring at her with concern. "You okay?" Josh tries again.

Sorai hopped out of her seat, sending her most convincing smile towards the group. "Perfect. And I still care too so hopefully during my time here we could rebuild that relationship." She states.

Rebuild?

But before any of the guys could reply, Sorai continues. "I actually have to get going. Maybe we can catch up when we have some free time okay?"

Without giving them a chance to respond, she bolted out of the locker room. The boys looked around at each other in confusion. Each and every one of them having one thought running through their minds: what the hell just happened?

Sorai couldn’t do it, all these years and she thought she had healed from this but seeing them… seeing him made her realize that she’s not over what happened.

Back in the locker room, he wanted to know exactly what happened to Sorai since they’ve left. Did she meet someone who took her time, is that why she didn’t reach out? Did this person hurt her to the point where she was embarrassed and didn’t want to bring it up to them, to him in specific.

He needed to find Jada because something happened to Sorai and he was hell bent on figuring out what it was.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

How we feeling, be honest? 😭😭 The next chapter is where everything falls into place 😭 I hope I’ve done a good job otherwise. Btw Idk if I made it Known but I made the twins 2-3 years older than Sefa instead of a whole 8 soo the story could make sense😂😂

Tagging the lovelies: @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @skyesthebomb @christinabae @leighla3 @whatdoeseverybodywant @harmshake @yana3sworld @angiedawn02 @theninthwonder

#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #sefa fatu x oc #sefa fatu x black reader #solo sikoa x black reader #solo sikoa x oc #solo sikoa #sefa fatu #MEYOUANDJEALOUSY

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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 days

Text

Chapter Four - Discordant

Summary: Morpheus seems to take a turn for the better, but a person cannot change overnight. How does it feel to finally give him a taste of his own medicine? How does it feel to go back to square one, once again?

Notes: ~6.1k words, Please don't stare at the eclipse with your blind eyes, I just didn't know how to write protective solar glasses into this AU ok

Warnings/Tags: Morpheus is trying, it's not working, two deaths of side characters, miscommunication/misinterpretation (?), reader gets their feelings hurt again cause I can't stop writing angst

Tag list is open! Just let me know :)

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Discordant (adj.) - not in agreement or harmony, to be at variance

How do you face Morpheus again after that? The simple answer is you don’t, well you try not to. However, when you go to breakfast the next morning, it’s a surprise to you that Morpheus is there waiting for you. Breakfast is less formal than dinner, yet here you were, sharing a meal with him right by your side.

Tension is thick in the air, the only sounds are that of cutlery on plates. You chew your fruit slowly while consciously trying not to look at Morpheus. This was horrible; you need wine, or something to dull your mental ability so you didn’t have to be fully here.

Your throat was still raw from the day before, and the food only seems to make it worse, scraping itself down your throat as you swallow.

“I’m finished,” You rasp and go to stand from your spot.

“Wait,” He stands abruptly, the glass on the table rattling with the sudden movement. You’re determined to leave but his fingers grab onto your wrist.

“What?” You frown at him, the warmth of his fingers spreading across your arm.

“There is a gala coming up. The Summer Eclipse Gala, please will you attend with me?”

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, not meeting his eyes. Instead you stare at how he gently holds onto you. His thumb smooths across the tender part of your wrist when he answers.

“Not really,” He says in a low voice. There was some regret laced in his answer, but you didn’t want to pay attention to that.

“Then that is my answer.” You sigh as you turn away. Morpheus’ hand is still around your wrist and even with a slight tug, he doesn’t release you. “Let go.”

“Should we… talk about yesterday?” He says hesitantly. “What is there to say?” You reply back, your voice losing itself again at the very end. When your husband doesn’t answer, you pull your arm away more forcefully. This time, he lets you go. “Precisely.” You leave, your heart pounding as you so easily defy him.

The rest of the week was spent doing exactly what he had been doing to you for the past couple of months. Which is to say, avoiding him at all points possible. You try to hide in the library, but that proves futile as he easily seeks you out there. The studio and many bookshelves do little to hide you, ironically.

The only place he doesn’t dare find you is your garden. Even he could understand the importance of that sanctuary to you. And though the flowers certainly seem to enjoy the summer sun, you couldn’t say the same. The heat had started to become unbearable and it had been days since your last visit there.

When he asks for you to dine with him, you decline and lock yourself in your room. Your stomach rumbles until Matthew sneaks you a leftover biscuit, but it was better than confronting him. At a certain point, embarrassment of letting your true feelings show turn to resentment once more.

Why did he suddenly feel entitled to your time?

“The King brought you this, Your Majesty,” Agnes says one morning as she enters your room. One of the maids holds a large box, decorated with a beautiful red bow.

You take a hold of it, albeit a bit hesitant, and unravel the gift. When you lift the lid, you’re greeted with something you have never seen before. The dress was a beautiful golden yellow, with gems that represented the sun inlaid amongst the sweetheart bodice. Lacey loops come off the bodice in a delicate design that would wrap around your upper arms. The bottom skirting was decorated with glittering swirls and the fabric soft to the touch.

“Oh! It looks lovely,” Agnes compliments with a soft gasp. She’s looking over your shoulder as you continue to stare at the dress.

“Hmm, I can’t deny it either. It looks beautiful,” You sigh as you run your fingers through the soft fabric. Your fingers come across a piece of paper with a note.

Please do me the honor and wear this tonight. Written in Morpheus’ handwriting.

“And so shall you, your grace, when you wear it today,” Your lady’s maid hums.

Right… the gala is today. It seems your plan of avoiding Morpheus would have to come to an end. But, you still have the rest of the day to yourself, best to start savoring it. You start with a bath, with extra Natterhorn milk per your request, and something else to calm your nerves. After which, Agnes starts pampering you to get you ready for the event.

Hands are grabbing at you at every angle, tugging, brushing, wiping. You felt like a marionette puppet as they direct you on where to step, where to hold your hands so that they may dress you accordingly.

“Agnes,” You gasp as she gives you another sharp tug. “I request you loosen this horrid corset for my sake.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” She says, giving one last tug and tying the knot, more than less ignoring your request.

In the end, both you and Agnes are huffing and puffing when you’re finally done. You watch as Agnes puts on a pair of white cotton gloves and reaches into a wooden box you didn’t have the liberty of noticing before. From it, she produces an ornate crown.

It pairs with your dress nicely, a warm gold with white gems. The points of the head piece were a bit excessive, but your inner judgment was cut short when you realized it was supposed to represent the sun. When Agnes places it on your head, you grimace at the weight of it.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it is part of the uniform,” Agnes apologizes once again as she notices your contorted face.

“It is not your fault, do not fret. You did well,” You grunt as you step away from the mirror. Agnes is positively gushing as she looks you over. Her beaming increases as you give your compliments to her hard work.

Despite the heavy crown, the dress itself was light and made for easy movement. Agnes opens the door and you follow the entourage of silver knights as they lead you from the comforts of your bedroom. Matthew’s presence settles your nerves a bit as you feel his protective presence three paces behind.

“Are you excited, boss lady?” You hear him ask with a smile hidden behind his helmet. He had recently polished his black armor and you’re sure if you turn around now, you could see your reflection.

“In all honesty, Matthew? For the event, yes. For seeing my husband again, no.” You pause as the unified metal footsteps descend to the first floor of the castle. “What of you?”

“If I get to see Jessamy again…” He says beneath his breath, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it.

You can see the sunlight from the entrance and you’re about to ask Matthew to repeat himself. However, the silver knights stop on the final set of stairs, leaving you standing at the intersection that leads to Morpheus’ wing. He comes down in time with your steps and meets you in the middle.

Morpheus is dressed in his typical black, simply more detailed than usual. He switches his flowing robe for an off shoulder cape that only reaches his mid thighs. His black tunic and pants were dusted with silver and dark blue, giving the illusion of the night sky at certain angles. Sitting comfortably on his head was a crown: silver with curving onyx gems that resembled the moon.

He’s close enough now to take you in your full glory. The dress he bought for you was the correct choice. It hugs your figure in all the right places; the dress was, after all, altered to your size. When the fleeting rays of sunlight come through the large window, it reflects off your dress and illuminates you. The Sun only shares a portion of His light, but you’ve managed to take it and make it your own.

“You look radiant,” He breathes the truth as he comes closer to you. You notice his finger twitch as he resists the urge to touch you.

“Save your falsities for someone else,” You snap, surprising yourself even. The crown was way too heavy on your head for pretenses.

“Very well… but we should at least pretend to like each other for the guests tonight.” Morpheus offers his arm to you and turns, the breeze from the entrance coming through the hallway.

“Then let us begin,” You reply as you hook your hand to his arm.

Crossing the castle threshold, the eclipse was already beginning to start. The trees rustle in the gentle late spring wind, its shades creating crescent shadows on the ground. You’re able to enjoy it from afar as the two of you walk the distance to the grand ballroom.

Slowly, daylight surrenders to night and the nocturnal critters emerge from their slumber. Crickets chirp, fireflies float around you, and moths fan their wings in the moonlight. The smell of petrichor turns heavy once more as you reenter the castle, the doors opening wide with an announcement of your and Morpheus’ arrival. The silver knights part, Matthew leaves your side, as does Jessamy, as Morpheus leads you to the center of the ballroom.

“Welcome, esteemed guests of the Dreaming. Tonight, we shall once again celebrate the astral lovers of Sun and Moon,” An announcer bellows into a horn. Cheers and unified clapping follow. “During Totality of the eclipse, we welcome you to witness the first dance of the night, to be shared with King Morpheus and Queen Consort Y/N.”

A fanfare plays and the crowd turns to the open ceiling, watching with shielded eyes as the moon slowly clips into place. Night dominates the sky, the moon blocking the sun except for the defining ring around it. Footmen scurry around as they quickly light the abundance of candles and chandeliers they could reach.

The grand ballroom gleams with the light of a thousand crystal chandeliers as you and Morpheus turn towards each other. The light fractures and creates halos across the marble flooring and stone pillars. Morpheus bows and you curtsy low, and the action reminds you of your wedding night. Slowly, he clasps his hand over yours gently and a firm arm wraps around your waist.

The string ensemble starts and you try to fight the smile that creeps on your lips as you’re easily pulled in time with his steps. Morpheus smiles as he studies your face closely. You're dancing once again.

The candle light seems to be absorbed into your figure as you glow under its warm light. Spinning hand in hand with your husband, you’ve long since given up holding back your smile. You’re grinning, radiant and warm like the sun.

You and Morpheus glide across the ballroom floor, floating like stars amongst the clouds. He is fluid in his movements and leads the dance easily. You hold on tight as the lights begin to blur together, all together have you forgotten how heavy your crown was. To onlookers, the two of you were beacons of elegance and the definition of harmony.

The music stops and you’re face to face with Morpheus, breathing hard. The sound of applause is muffled in the background of your mind. Morpheus looks pristine as well, perfectly composed as he softly gazes at you through starry eyes. You’re the first to break eye contact, the raw emotions he tries to show you too much for now. You can see that he is trying to be better, but after months of neglect, one dance is hardly enough to make up for it.

Morpheus doesn’t try to hide his emotions, and with deflated shoulders, leads you quietly to the matching thrones at the front of the ballroom. There, they stand high and mighty, dark, and carved with intricate designs of stars and ravens. You see Jessamy and Matthew waiting for the two of you there and some relief returns to you knowing that Matthew would be there to watch over you.

The roofless ballroom makes it hard to believe that it is only noon. Save for the ring of sun, the sky was casted in perpetual night. The stars make their appearance, as they always do, and accompany their moon, twinkling with admiration at viewing the people of the Dreaming early today. Even the critters of the night came out from their slumber, and if you listened carefully enough, you could hear their chirps and songs of night past the orchestra.

The throne is stiff and uncomfortable to sit in. When you glance over at Morpheus, he takes to it easily, spreading across the throne like a lounging cat. His presence fills the space and it’s easy to see how he is so perfectly fit for this role.

An emissary comes before you and bows, the lady on his arm following suit. He wears his best for the ceremony and when he speaks, it smells of rich alcohol and fruits.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Majesties. As emissary of the Kingdom of Kreya, we wish you a wonderful Solar Eclipse celebration,” The man smiles at the two of you and you smile back.

You take another glance at Morpheus and see his jaw ticking in the low candlelight. A second passes and he still doesn’t respond.

“Thank you, we hope to visit Kreya soon,” You reply instead. It has been long since you’ve heard a rumor of your failing marriage. At the very least it’s good to know that to people looking in, there was nothing wrong between you and Morpheus.

This is what he wanted, was it not?

From his perspective, your urge to take control basked you in a new light that he’s never seen before. Your response seems to snap him out of whatever deep thoughts he had and a cough brings him back to the present. Or, if he wanted to be honest with himself; your presence brings him back to the present.

Others follow in his footsteps, giving their congratulations, their salutations from their kingdoms, and other comments they wished to address to you. Morpheus and you take turns responding, each one vague and surface level.

The last emissary was a face you knew all too well. Soft brown curls wrap around a kind face. She dawns on flowy fabric of white and gold and a cape made of olive leaves. Calliope smiles when she sets her eyes on you, and you hear Matthew’s armor clink as he attempts to move from his post. The promise he made early into your relationship is evident in his mind.

A subtle hand rise from you was enough to stop him and the black knight settles back. The tension remains thick as she ascends the steps. She bows and speaks.

“I congratulate the King and Queen of the Dreaming on their union. From Boeotia, my sisters and I give out blessings for a bountiful year.” Calliope speaks to you specifically, and even when there is no ill intention written on her face, something ugly deep within you dares not to look at her.

The pain and suffering you had to endure, half of the reason is because of her. Your anger and despair leave you and instead reveal itself as its true form. Is it jealousy? Perhaps. You’ve long since stopped fighting it. Your bracelet tightens around your wrist once more, as it’s always done when it doesn’t agree with your thoughts.

“Thank you…” Morpheus responds to her. It was your turn to respond, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to speak to her.

Calliope opens her mouth again, as if to add something else, but stops herself after some hesitancy. It’s not before long that Calliope accepts the short answer and leaves you. An even shorter amount of time for a footman to come to you and Morpheus with goblets of wine that you all too eagerly grab at.

If it weren’t for your position, you’re sure you would be drunk beyond comprehension. It is a tradition of the celebration: to relieve oneself from their physical bodies and dance amongst the Eclipse. And you can only do that by drinking until your body can’t understand the physical world anymore.

The dark wine glitters as you swirl it around in the silver goblet, and you feel the tingling sensation as it goes down your throat. Other nobles mingle with each other, the occasional ping of glasses touching echos in the large room.

Squinting, you notice a certain blond standing alone in the corner, his dark glasses still covering his eyes. He is talking to some other man, his charismatic smile never disappearing, even when he takes another sip from his glass. As if sensing your gaze, he turns to you and raises his glass in your direction. You were the first to break eye contact, taking another sip of your own drink. You see Lucienne and Hob enjoying themselves at the snack table, watching as Lucienne looks away when Hob stuffs several cookies into his coat pocket.

The alcohol was potent, leaving you feeling light and dizzy, but a sudden commotion on the other side of the room leaves me sober. Yelling and clashing of metal against metal piques your interest as the ballroom doors slam open.

“I apologize, we-we tried to stop him!” A silver knight huffs out, chasing after the man who barged in.

A calm hand from Morpheus quiets him and the knight stops. The elderly man is still charging towards the two of you, dancers parting quickly from the marble floor as they watch.

“Where is she?” The man asks—or demands, more accurately, standing strong in the center of the dancefloor. He wears red, unblemished armor that stands out like a sore thumb against the Dreaming’s more subtle colors.

“Whoever you seek is not here, stranger,” Morpheus’ voice booms across the room.

“You, Teleute, will bring back my dead son. I will kill you if it means I will get him back…” He bravely points at your husband, completely ignoring his statement.

You and Morpheus share a quick glance at each other. Yours is riddled in confusion, what could this random man possibly want with his sister? Morpheus shares with you a more concerned look as he finally pieces together the information.

He recalls the conversation he had with the Corinthian under old moonlight about a madman named Rodrick Burgess. Briefly, his eyes meet with Corinthian on the far end of the room, who seems all the more pleased that his target has waltzed right into his grasp. The Corinthian had taken a small break in his chase so he could attend the festival. In the end, it seemingly works out for him anyways.

“Are you challenging the throne?” Morpheus accuses, looking down at him. You hear the shifting of feet as Jessamy and Matthew squirm with anticipation.

Morpheus remembers once more of his nightmare regarding this specific man and you. How you laid cold in his arms, blood blemishing each portion of your body. That no matter how much he wipes away at it, the blood continues to seep and stain into your clothes. His hand slowly ghosts over yours and covers your fingers. He feels the quickening pulse underneath his fingers and allows himself a moment of peace for your still beating pulse.

“I am challenging Teleute,” Rodrick repeats.

“Death of the Endless is not here. I will accept your challenge in her stead.” You’re not sure where the courage was coming from. Perhaps it is how Morpheus is gently holding onto you. Or, more likely, how the alcohol is coursing through your system. That seems to be the more logical reason… right? “Who do you wish to be your champion?”

“I am my own champion, the Great Magus Rodrick Burgess.” He brings forth his sword, covered in elaborate jewels.

“Sir Matthew?” You call, head held high. The weight of the crown is no longer an issue for you.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Matthew responds immediately.

“You will be my champion.” You declare. “You will not disappoint.” It is your first order as queen.

You watch with fixed eyes as Matthew crosses to the dance floor. The white marble is a stark contrast against his black armor. Your hand turns and interlaces with Morpheus’ as Matthew draws his sword.

It’s longer and broader than Rodrick’s and even before the fight begins, you know Matthew would be slower than his opponent. But your belief in him is strong and unyielding.

The two knights face each other, their stances ready. Murmurs from onlookers hush around the room, the tension as thick as the wine they drink.

Rodrick moves first, his impatience showing easily as he lunges for Matthew’s heart. Your champion gracefully steps to the side, bringing up his broadsword in a low arch to parry the attack.

Blade against blade, the metals gleam in the low candlelight. The symphony changes from a string quartet to that of steel. The two knights dance around each other in the intense duel as both display their mastery of the blade.

An unhonorable heavy strike to the head from Rodrick leaves Matthew dazed. It’s enough for the blunt of his blade to strike at the young knight’s helmet. You watch with an agape mouth as the force is enough to knock off Matthew’s helmet, the helm flying across the floor. Your grip in Morpheus’ hand tightens as the anticipation grows.

Matthew is quick to be back on his feet, his black hair tousled from the fight. You catch glimpses of his determined face as he returns to the duel. Each block that Matthew predicts, each strike that he parries leaves Rodrick flustered.

Matthew notices, and when Rodrick was starting to lose strength, he advances with a series of long arching and forceful blows. You and Morpheus watch as Rodrick meekly holds his denting blade up in defense.

With a powerful kick to the chest, the Great Magus crashes to the ground, his sword falling from his hand as the last of his energy leaves him. Matthew advances still, dragging his broadsword on the ground. The teeth-grating sound of metal on marble igniting sparks.

Your knight points the sword at Rodrick’s throat, panting from exertion. “Yield,” Matthew commands.

“I will not!” Rodrick spits at him, pushing the imposing blade away from his throat.

“Yield!” Matthew shouts, bringing the blade back and pushing pressure onto the side of his neck. A thin string of warm blood follows the cut.

Rodrick looks around the room, conscious of how the people around him start to whisper about his loss. He makes eye contact with you and glares at his defeat.

“I yield,” He says hesitantly as his eyes remain on yours.

You swallow thickly as silver knights drag him out of the ballroom, your eyes following him. Rodrick was glaring at you until he could no longer see you, his cheeks still flushed from the duel and from the embarrassment of losing.

You let go of Morpheus’ hand, wiping your palm against the softness of your dress to get rid of the excessive sweat that started to accumulate. You go to grab at your wine again, finishing the rest with large gulps to calm your nerves. The alcohol is quick to work its magic as it seeps into your system.

“Congratulations on your victory, champion,” You grin when Matthew comes back to your side. “Where’s your helmet?”

“I, uh, can’t find it…” He mutters, embarrassed. He scratches at his hair as his cheeks flush red.

You smile once more as Matthew’s true personality shows itself again. He was quite young to be a knight, and his face had left the battle without any scars; a testament to his effectiveness. A server comes by and tops off the goblet with more glittering wine.

Morpheus hovers a hand over his own cup as a silent decline for more alcohol. Meanwhile you were more than inclined to continue drinking. The excitement of the day is already taking its effect on you. When you set your drink back down, you notice that no one is enjoying the gala anymore.

They stand to the side, muttering to themselves behind open feather fans. No one is drinking, or feasting, and they share unsure glances with each other. The duel was a mood killer for the festivities.

You take another slow sip from your wine, what should you do? You watch through slightly lidded eyes as Morpheus stands from his seat. His hand falls before yours in a silent invitation of another dance. Baffled, you silently stare at the upright hand. Morpheus wants another dance?

Should you? When a bird has been locked in a cage for so long, even when presented with the opportunity of flight, it often finds itself staying. It takes comfort in what the bird knows. The outside world is dangerous, after all.

“Please,” He whispers when he notices you hesitating. You see his other fingers twitch against his leg, a tic that you’ve long since noticed he does whenever he is nervous. You place the goblet down and grab onto his hand lightly. One more dance wouldn’t hurt.

Before you leave, you turn to Matthew with a smile. “You should go dance, too. You’ve done well to deserve it tonight.”

Matthew all but perks up at your invitation, his eyes darting to Morpheus, who simply nods in approval of his request.

The two of you take to the floor and amidst the onlookers and mutterers, for once, you only notice Morpheus. “I trust you,” You say slowly.

Morpheus nods before he places a gentle hand on your waist and leads the dance once more. The music is romantic somber as the two of you glide across the floor.

Nobles and invitees around you stop whispering amongst themselves and enjoy the spectacle. Soon enough, more and more couples return to the dance floor.

The orchestra is quick to change its tune and an upbeat swell of strings has everyone clapping and jumping around in a country dance. Your smile brightens your face once more as you witness how your small dance was enough to bring people together.

You part from Morpheus as a new dance partner whisks you away for the next portion of the song. You grab onto your dance partner as you watch Morpheus spin with a new partner of his own, a soft smile gracing his lips as he witnesses your lingering gaze.

“Enjoying the ball, Your Majesty?” The new voice interrupts your thoughts. Your head turns to your new dance partner and you feel yourself jump in the middle of a spin.

“Corinthian,” You greet curtly, smile dropping.

“Hello again, Your Majesty.” He grins down at you, sunglasses still on. A silence follows and you’re desperate to change partners again.

“It seems you and His Majesty have started to become amiable with each other. I heard rumors that your marriage was in rocky waters.” He whispers into your ear as he spins you again.

“They’re just rumors,” You lie again.

The Corinthian hums, easily reading between the lines of your statement. “Well, well, would you look at that?”

Corinthian focuses his attention behind you and you turn to match his gaze. Couples waltz around you, but your eyes immediately seek out Morpheus. Your newly healed heart shatters as you watch Morpheus and Calliope spin across the dance floor. The two of them look beautiful together, her light colors clashing with his darker ones is a sight out of the romances you’ve read in your books.

Were dance partners always supposed to be that close to each other? Their gazes lock with each other as they share private words amongst themselves. Morpheus says something that causes Calliope to smile, something that lights up her entire figure in delight.

“Perhaps the rumors are quite true,” Corinthian chuckles.

You let go of him as if he suddenly caught on fire. “I need some air… Please excuse me.”

The Corinthian doesn’t try to stop you as you weave your way through the dancing couples. Before you leave the ballroom, you briefly overhear a conversation between Mervyn and Matthew.

“Huh, I thought you were some beast with how you were swinging that piece of crap around. But you’re just some normal kid,” Mervyn scoffs as he lights another cigarette.

Matthew scratches his head in confusion, the refound helmet rests between his arm and torso. It is liberating to not have to wear it for a while, and he can smell the food more clearly like this.

“Actually, I’m 1/16 pure Ravenfolk on my mother's side. Not so normal now, huh, Mervyn?” Matthew brags with a high head.

“Pah!” The pumpkin man scoffs again, a cloud of smoke following him. “And Jessamy is pure Ravenfolk so what you got to say about that!”

You’re sure you see smoke steaming out of your knight’s ears and his face turns bright red. It’s a conversation you would have loved to entertain, but in your emotions, you don’t linger long. The door is right there and you escape from all the distracted gazes.

By muscle memory, your feet take you to your garden sanctuary. The summer sun is no longer an issue for you as the night wind calms your fraying nerves. You run your fingers along the petals of night flowers and watch as they sway in tandem with the tides.

You take a seat on a nearby stone bench, watching the eclipse reflection in the small pond of your garden. An uncomfortable feeling like stone settles in your throat as you push down a hiccup. Silent tears still make it past your eyes.

You wipe away your tears with the back of your hand as you silently berate yourself for always crying. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to relax your over eccentric heart. The rustling of leaves and citrus smell of flowers calm your nerves quite well.

You hear a rustle that feels out of place and a presence behind you and you sigh deeply.

“Not now, Matthew. I really just want to be alone,” You indirectly ask your knight for solitude.

“Not Matthew,” The presence spits out the name and you gasp as you feel the cold metal of his blade against your throat.

Rodrick.

How could you forget his voice? You don’t move as you watch him circle in front of you. The point of the dagger in his hands remains pointed at your throat. You swallow your nerves, the slight movement enough to scratch your skin against the sharp blade.

“You embarrassed me. In front of all of your citizens,” Rodrick begins to monologue. It’s hard to make out his face in the dark light and the angle at which you sat, but the glare he emitted was easy to feel.

“No, you embarrassed yourself. Who told you killing someone else would bring back your dead son?” You ask to distract him. Your eyes dart around your space as you try to find a path to run away from him, or something that can hinder him while you find help.

“The ruler I serve said so. And I believe in their word.” He continues.

“Who? Desire of the Endless?” You scoff as you look at his red armor. The lustful color and crest he bore on his chest plate was easy enough to piece together. “Have you ever considered your ruler is merely using you as bait?”

“They would never,” Rodrick says back in disbelief. The blade dips slightly for a moment as he backs away.

You take that slight moment as your chance, grabbing at the layers of your dress and sprinting back towards the castle.

“Matthew!” You scream at the top of your lungs and you pray that it's heard past the music.

Hedges and thorned flowers scrape at you and get caught in your dress. The sound of pounding feet catches up to you and a yelp leaves your lips as Rodricks tackles you to the ground. Your crown dislodges itself from your head at the impact and you’re screaming as you fight back as best as you can.

His hands come around your throat and you grab at his wrist in panic. Rasping breaths leave you in huffs as he squeezes harder and harder. The edges of your vision start to go black as the lack of oxygen leaves your body wanting.

“M-Morpheus,” You call out weakly.

“No one can hear you now, you pathetic queen. No one can help you—”

The weight is lifted off of you abruptly and you turn on hands and knees as you intake as much air as you possibly could. You turn back around and stand on wobbly legs and watch as two silhouettes fight each other. One, you knew to be Rodrick but the other was new. The person was armor clad in silver, so it was neither Morpheus nor Matthew. One moment, Rodrick was standing, and the next he fell to the ground in a slump.

“Come, let’s get you back to the palace, Your Majesty,” Your savior comes closer to you. The dagger that Rodrick had threatened you with is still in her hands.

“Who are you?” You ask as she takes your hand and begins a fast walk away from the dead body.

“You may call me Gault, Your Majesty.” Her pace is faster than yours and in your still shocked state, you fall to the ground. Gault turns around quickly and bends to help you up from the elbow.

“Jessamy, subdue her,” You hear Morpheus' voice nearby. The sound of armor accompanying him.

“What?” You question as you fall back to the ground. Matthew is by your side in no time, holding you up steadily.

You watch with confusion as Jessamy holds both of Gault’s hands behind her back and kicks her knee in so that she kneels to the ground.

“Forgive me, for not coming sooner,” Morpheus whispers to you. He unclips the half cape he wore and drapes it over your shoulders. Your abrasive run through the gardens leaves you more exposed than what would have been considered appropriate.

“Wait, no, stop,” You interject as he returns his attention to Gault.

Morpheus ignores you, insisting to himself that your ramblings were from shock. It’s obvious to him that Gault was going to hurt you. As soon as he noticed that you weren’t in the ballroom anymore, he was quick to leave the dance and come looking for you.

To find you being hovered by one of his own soldiers with the weapon in her hand was evident enough in his eyes of treason. You looked horrible, your dress in shambles and thin cuts scattered across your body.

“I was protecting the queen,” Gault states the truth slowly. “I had no intention of hurting her. I merely wish to keep her from harm.”

“Listen to her, my lord. Please, I beg you, she is speaking the truth,” You plead once more. The hold that Matthew has on you shifts from protection to restriction as you try to fight against him.

Morpheus ignores you once more, and while your cries hurt him, bringing you justice will satiate the pain. “You do not get to decide what I saw with my own eyes. How do you think you should be punished for the attempt on my queen’s life?”

Gault pushes her head up higher even as the realization dawns on her. “I am not afraid.”

“You should be.” Morpheus stalks closer to her.

“I will rather die afraid than knowing I lived without truth, my lord.” You hear Gault whisper.

Morpheus doesn’t bother with a response. The shadows of the eclipse seem to elongate his shadow as he paths closer to her. Your pleas once again fall on deaf ears and tears sting your face red. Your screams have turned raw in your throat as you helplessly watch.

In the darkness of the eclipse, you barely register the sound of Morpheus unsheathing Jessamy’s blade from her scabbard. You don’t see it, but you feel it—the sticky warmth of blood splattering across your face. The iron taste rests heavy on your tongue as your mouth falls open in a gasp. It mixes with the wine and creates a concoction that makes you dry heave in the grass.

You hear it, too. As Gault doesn’t die from the first strike and her blood effectively drowns her as she tries to breathe. Morpheus swings again and the head thuds to the ground, her body following quickly after as Jessamy lets her go.

Your scream echoes across the vastness of the night.

Ah, Morpheus you walking red flag you. Also, I'm not going to lie, idk how to redeem Dream boy over here after this chapter cause wtf is this bitch on (I know I wrote him but what the fuck?)

Someone tell me I did good, it's summer and I no longer get academic validation

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14 @boo8008 @dragon-kazansky @i-voluntears @deniixlovezelda

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #destined dreams of love

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talialovesmiw · 3 days

Text

You make everything better. (Ricky “Horror” Olson x Reader)

A/N: Felt like writing some fluff for Ricky today. Enjoy <3

Warnings: Language, light angst and fluff

Taglist: Tag List: @skulliecadaver-blog @witchyweeb34 @cookiesupplier @raydenrrobertson @sakuracyberhex @beaker1636 @lyschko666 @black-damask1999 @synthetic-wasp-570 @jilliemiw86 @tearfallpixie @vinyardmauro @thatchickwiththecamera @bloody-delusion-expert @th0ughts-pr4yers @zuberweirrd @bxrnthyfears @yournecessaryevil @arkiliastuff @abiomens

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It was another long day at work. Customers were jerks and I didn’t even get to go on my lunch break today. I was exhausted and hungry.

I trudge my way out of the mall and into the parking lot. I find my car and get in. I let my head rest on the steering wheel as I let out a groan mixed with frustration and exhaustion. I run a hand through my hair with a sigh and start the car.

The drive home wasn’t easy. People drove like morons and some idiot almost side swiped me. It seemed my bad day was only getting worse.

Finally, I arrive home and pull into the driveway. Ricky was still at the studio with the guys and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. I turn off the car and grab my purse and get out of my car. I walk up to the door and dig in my purse for my keys.

“Damn it, where are they?” I grumble, getting more annoyed as I can’t find my keys. “Fuck, come on!”

Eventually after some digging, I find my keys and unlock the door. I get in and throw my bag to the side. I go to the couch and sit, soon to slump against it.

I was tired.

Mentally, and physically tired.

I could feel tears prick my eyes as I hugged one of the pillows. Today was a rough day, and all I wanted to do was cry.

So, that’s what I did. I let the tears run down my face as I hugged the pillow closer, shoving my face into it. I wished it was Ricky. Ricky always made everything better.

But he wasn’t here. He was working. All I wanted was for him to comfort me, and I couldn’t have that. Not for a couple of hours. Now I was sobbing.

I don’t know how long I was crying, but I heard the front door open. I didn’t bother to acknowledge whoever it was, I really didn’t give a damn. I just hug the pillow and keep my head down as I hear the sound of footsteps. I had cried so much that my voice was tired.

“Sweetheart? You home?” Ricky’s voice calls as he gets closer. I don’t answer.

Ricky finally approaches me, and frowns when he finds me like this. He crouches down to my level and gently takes my face.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks softly, his voice filled with worry.

“Bad day…really bad day..” I mutter, my voice on the verge of cracking.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head in response. Ricky nods. “That’s perfectly okay. Have you eaten yet?”

Shit. Ricky hated whenever I didn’t get the chance to eat. I gulp and look away. Ricky frowns again.

“I’m going to take that as a no.” He says with a sigh, then places his hand on my leg. “You need to eat, sweetheart.”

“Not hungry..” I mumble. That was a lie. I was starving, but I didn’t want to get up and eat.

“Uh uh. We’re not doing that. You need to eat.” Ricky stands. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go take a nice shower while I make food, change into comfy clothes and then we’re gonna have a movie marathon on the couch. I’m not letting you be sad.”

That actually sounded pretty nice. I nod and sit up, rubbing my eyes. Ricky extends his hand and I take it as he helps me up. He walks with me to the bathroom and places his hands on my shoulders.

“Just relax, okay? Take your time while I cook pasta. I know it’s your favorite.”

My eyes light up a little. “Thanks Rick..”

Ricky smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Of course baby, you deserve the best. Now go shower, okay?”

“Mhm..”

Ricky pulls away and leaves the bathroom so I can shower. I undress and turn on the shower. I end up taking a nice, long everything shower using all of my favorite smelling products. It made me feel a bit better.

I step out of the shower in my towel and walk into the bedroom. I put on my favorite body lotion and put my hair in a jaw clip. I change into comfy clothes and leave the bedroom.

When I walk into the kitchen, the smell of cooked pasta greets me. Ricky was almost done. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his torso, nuzzling my face into his back. Ricky turns his head and looks down at me with a smile.

“Hey beautiful. Have a nice shower?”

“Mhm…”

“Good. Dinner’s ready, go sit.”

I nod and let go of Ricky, a little sad to let go due to him being so warm, and smelling good too. I go to sit at the table.

Ricky plates the pasta and walks over, setting a plate down in front of me. I pick up my fork and waste no time devouring my pasta.

Ricky smiles as he watches me eat. “So much for not being hungry, huh?” I hum in response as I finish my first plate. I happily get up to grab another.

“You always make it just the way I like it, thank you.” I say as I sit back down, picking my fork up again and eating.

“It’s no trouble, really. I knew it would make you happy. It’s easy to make as well.”

We finish eating and Ricky sets the dishes aside in the sink, saving them for later. He grabs my hand and leads me over to the couch. He pulls me with him to cuddle. He sits me in his lap and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Rick..” I say softly as he turns on the tv.

“I wanted to, baby. I never want to see you sad.” Ricky says as he settles on a movie, sets the remote down, and pets my hair. “It makes me sad seeing you upset.”

I nestle into him, nuzzling my face into his tattooed neck. “You always know what to say, and how to make me feel better. I love you..”

Ricky presses a kiss into my hair and pulls me closer. “I love you too, sweetheart. I’m always here for you.”

“You’re the best.”

We spend the rest of the night cuddling on the couch and watching movies until I end up falling asleep. Ricky carries me into our shared bedroom and lays me down on the bed. He pulls the covers over me and kisses my forehead. He lays on his side and wraps an arm over me. It isn’t long until he’s asleep as well.

He always made everything better.

#miw band #motionless in white #miw #ricky horror x reader #ricky olson x reader #rickyolson #rickyhorror #Ricky Olson #Ricky horror #Ricky Olson fluff #Ricky horror fluff #MIW x reader #ricky miw #x reader #fluff #light angst

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coloursflyaway · 20 hours

Text

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 18.000

Read on AO3

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there are more important matters at hand.

“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”

He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.

“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.” ____________ Edwin takes the Cat King up on his initial offer, so instead of a few hours, he is gone for six weeks. Charles isn't good at coping with it.

Tags for everyone who wanted one ♥: @that-ineffable-devil @mentally-unstable-fangirl @tipsyscone @butternutsquashthesenutz @makemeimmortalwithahug @mylu @imineffible @fabledshadow @asherxme @twopercentboy

„Now, I think this concludes our business“, Edwin says and fixes his bow-tie, the collar of his shirt. His lips feel strange, now that they have tasted their first kiss (and their second, and third, and fourth, and…, his treacherous mind corrects him), but this was a small price to pay for safe passage out of this godforsaken town. “So, could you please transport me back to my friend?”

The creature in question unfurls his body from the sofa they were lounging on for the transaction, and even if Edwin cannot find much that is good about this situation, the Cat King at least has been rather civil about it all, no matter his unconventional request for payment.

Even now, he walks closer and there is a smirk on his lips.

Lips, Edwin does not want to look at, because he knows how they feel and knows that they felt right in one, and terrifyingly wrong in all other ways.

“If you insist”, the Cat King drawls, and brushes two fingers across Edwin’s shoulders. “I can take you back to your little friend. But you’re also more than welcome to stay a little longer…”

“No, thank you”, Edwin cuts him off before he can continue, because he needs to get back to Charles, and as soon as possible, too. “As far as I can tell, you have been made quite happy, so I consider my debt repaid and would very much like to return where I belong.”

And the Cat King looks at him like he knows something he won’t tell Edwin yet, and snaps his fingers, and the world changes.

Edwin disappears in front of their eyes, and Charles forces down the spark of panic that comes with that.

The Cat King wanted to talk and Edwin can handle it, of course he can. Even if Charles would have liked it much better if he could have done it within his sight.

The warehouse looks different when it reappears.

Edwin needs a moment to make sense of it, but then his gaze gets stuck on the scratches on the walls, the splintered wood and bent metal, the wrecked throne and the hole in the floor that looks like someone dug it with their bare hands, blood streaked across the grey concrete.

It looks like a crime scene, like a war had been waged inside of it, and then Edwin’s eyes find Charles’ form in the middle of the broken up ground.

He’s sunken on the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his coat torn to shreds, his white socks stained, and his hair a matted mess of curls. Bits of concrete are stuck in there, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice, like he doesn’t seem to notice anything else around him, and it scares Edwin more than anything ever has before.

Before he knows it, he is moving, gasping out Charles’ name, and for a terrible, terrifying second, Charles does not react. He just sits there, motionless, like he is stuck in limbo; then he looks up, slowly, like he is moving through molasses, and somehow, it’s worse.

There is no life left in his eyes.

Usually, they shine brighter than the sun itself, sparkling with every emotion Charles is feeling, but now their light is dimmed until it has all but gone out, their brown not warm and inviting anymore, but flat.

A sound tumbles from Edwin’s lips, although he cannot quite make out what kind, something between a sob and a plea and a prayer, and Edwin is about to drop to his knees in front of him, when Charles propels himself upwards and flings himself into Edwin with a force that knocks them both to the ground.

If he was still breathing, the impact would force the air out of Edwin’s lungs, but he is certain that even then, he wouldn’t realise it, because Charles is holding him so tightly it compresses his non-existent ribs, like he has been hurt, like he had thought Edwin was.

And he’s crying.

It’s the kind of crying Edwin hasn’t experienced before, but something which he understands anyway; it’s the kind of crying he would hear in hell, seeping through the cracks of his doll house, the kind he would see much later when he was escaping.

It’s crying without any kind of restraint because there is no strength left to fight it, the kind of crying that comes from desperation so deep it captures your entire soul, and forces anything else into meaninglessness.

Edwin has never cried like this before, and he swears right then and there that he will find and butcher whoever did this to Charles.

Three hours have passed and Edwin isn’t yet back.

Charles is doing his very best to keep calm, but it is so, so difficult when the only thing those damned cats are willing to say is, sometimes the King likes to keep them for a while.

What is a while?, Charles had asked, but there had been nothing but a self-satisfied meow, which most likely just means that the cats know about as much as Charles does.

Which is not reassuring, but in the end, it will be fine.

Edwin might not know how to fight, but he’s clever and he’s brave and he would never leave Charles alone.

“Shh, it’s alright”, he is whispering into Charles’ curls, trying to soothe him even though it doesn’t seem to be working at all.

Charles is crying like the world has ended, his sobs so violent they make Edwin’s chest seize up, his fingers grabbing and pulling at Edwin’s clothes like he wants to sink into him and fuse their bodies together.

And Edwin might not know how to fix this, but he’ll damn himself to Hell if he lets go.

He’s about to try and change their position in hopes of making Charles more comfortable, when there is a thud and the sound of splashing liquid behind them.

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there’s more important matters at hand.

He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.

“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.”

Edwin has been gone for a day and a half and Charles is going insane.

He knows he’s going insane, but that doesn’t change anything, because Edwin has been gone for a day and a half, and they have never been apart for this long since they met.

“I swear to God, if you don’t bring him back, like, this instant, I’m going to start breaking things”, he tells one of the cats that have come to watch them; it’s not an effective threat because Charles has been saying this for at least six hours, but he cannot stop himself, because he feels like breaking things.

He feels like he needs to break things, and that scares him, but what scares him much, much more is that Edwin isn’t here, and he has been gone for a day and a half, and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.

“Sure thing, lover boy”, one of the cats replies, and Charles shouldn’t, but he screams.

Silence stretches between them, only interrupted by Charles’ sobs, his heaving breaths.

“What do you mean, I have been gone for six weeks?”, Edwin finally asks, dread of a previously unknown type and magnitude filling him with every tear Charles is crying into his suit.

“What do you think I mean? I mean, six weeks, you have been gone for six weeks, and we have been looking all over for you and this one”, she gestures to Charles, “has taken the entire town apart because he was so convinced that he would have to dig you out of Hell with his own bare hands. That’s what I mean with you have been gone for six weeks.”

And she looks down at Charles who is shaking in Edwin’s arms, and there is tenderness and true affection in her eyes, which vanishes as soon as her gaze returns to Edwin.

“So, like. Good to have you back, but also, what the fuck, how could you do this to him?”

It’s been two days since Edwin was whisked away by that absolute prick of a Cat King and Charles is losing his mind. Whatever he thought before about going insane was nothing, nothing at all, because this is so much worse.

Crystal, bless her, has been trying to calm him down, but there is only so much she can do, which is nothing at all, because Edwin is gone and no one will fucking talk to Charles and tell him what is going on.

So, he is pacing, because he cannot start smashing things up, even if he wants to.

Not because of any consideration Charles has for the Cat King or his kingdom or his subjects, but because Edwin will come back and he will have solved everything, and he will be so cross with him if Charles starts smashing things up.

So, instead, he paces, and thinks about how he’ll hug Edwin once he’s back, no matter if Edwin wants him to or not, and how he won’t let him out of his sight for the rest of eternity.

Six weeks.

The words shatter something within Edwin that he didn’t know existed, tear him down until he’s not sure if he’s still the same person as he was before.

Because Charles is crying in his arms like he watched the world end, and suddenly Edwin doesn’t just understand the emotion there, but feels it deeply, viscerally.

If Charles had been gone for six weeks, he would be tearing the world apart with his bare hands to get him back.

And suddenly, every one of Charles’ sobs is an open wound, every trembling grasping of his fingers a broken bone, every time he breathes in, wet and desperate and painful, is a death he dies, because Edwin is the one who caused this.

Edwin, who was gone for six weeks without knowing, who has left the most important person in his life to suffer without him; Edwin, who can’t do anything but hug Charles tighter, and pray to whatever god will hear him that Charles will be able to forgive him.

It’s been three days and Charles doesn’t care anymore.

He has told Crystal as much, after she had dragged him out on a coffee run, insisting that he cannot spend his entire time in that godforsaken warehouse. Which she is wrong about, he realises as soon as he has stepped outside, because Edwin could come back any second and Charles would not be there to take care of him after whatever this Cat King has been putting him through.

At first, the Cat King hadn’t seemed too bad, not dangerous, more annoying, but apparently Charles had been wrong because Edwin isn’t here, and there is no way Edwin would leave Charles alone for this long, especially because he must know how worried Charles is by now.

So, the only explanation is that the Cat King must be keeping Edwin from leaving somehow and Charles will not allow it.

He should have gone with him right away, shouldn’t have let Edwin out of his sight, will never do so again.

So, he lets Crystal get the coffee she wants, but ignores her looks when he brandishes his cricket bat even before they walk into the warehouse. Maybe he is overreacting, because it has only been three days, but at the same moment, Charles knows he isn’t, because maybe for other people, spending three days away from their best friend is just part of everyday life, but it isn’t for them.

Charles is used to looking up at any given time and finding Edwin within his sight and the fact that he isn’t terrifies Charles to the point where it is hard to think.

That’s why it doesn’t matter that Crystal is obviously uncomfortable when Charles twirls the bat around as he enters the warehouse, just like it doesn’t matter that the cats scatter, not even that Edwin would tut and tell Charles to use his head to solve this, not his muscles.

Because Edwin isn’t here, is he?

“Oi!”, he calls into the vast room and sends more cats running. “One of you little fuckers is going to tell me where your King has taken my friend or I’ll start smashing shit up around here, alright?”

Just to make sure they know he means business, Charles brings down his bat on the closest barrel and feels the metal dent under the impact.

It’s satisfying in a way that scares him, but everything scares him right now, so this doesn’t matter, either.

“Do you hear me?”, he shouts and knows that he doesn’t sound commanding, just desperate, because that’s what he is, desperate and scared and not even good enough to keep the most important person in the world safe. But maybe desperate is enough for this, because desperate people do desperate things and Charles is about to rip this place into bits and pieces until he finds Edwin again.

There is no answer, and Crystal reaches out to tug on his jacket, like she thinks he doesn’t mean it, but oh, that’s where she is wrong.

They have only spent a week and a half together so Charles doesn’t hold it against her, but he’ll show her, just like he’ll show the cats, how much he means it.

Edwin isn’t certain how long they stay like this, but it’s not like he cares either. His mind is still reeling from the revelation that he has been gone for six weeks, his heart caught in a cycle of ripping itself apart for leaving Charles alone and patching itself up once more because he cannot let Charles see how much he is hurting, not when Charles needs him to be strong now.

Despite having existed for over a hundred years, Edwin has never become comfortable with another person’s touch – Charles’ being the exception – but he knows that Charles needs it, so his hands have started running over Charles’ back, combing through his lovely curls, anything that will let Charles know that he is here and he is safe and he isn’t leaving ever again.

“For me, it was only a few hours”, Edwin whispers, a response that comes far too late, feels like far too little, because who cares what it was like for him if it has left Charles in such a state? “If I had known that time passed different there, I would have come back immediately. I wouldn’t have spent a second with that blasted man.”

His hand is cupping Charles’ head, trying to support him through sobs that seem to wreck through his body with the intensity of an earthquake, the tears they bring soaking through Edwin’s jacket and shirt. Even if his spectral skin cannot feel them, Edwin knows it anyway, just like he knows the desperate grip Charles has on his back, the shaking of his slender body in Edwin’s arms.

“Time passed differently-”, Crystal starts but then stops herself, almost like a decision Edwin can see her make, before she crouches down and puts a hand on Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s. Part of Edwin wants to push it away, because it should be him who touches Charles, no on else. “You know what, we can talk about that later. We have to get him out of here first, then we can figure the rest out.”

Metal bends and wood breaks and concrete doesn’t do much at all apart from sending shocks up Charles’ arms, especially if he does it again and again and again.

If he was still alive, his muscles would be screaming, he’d be covered in cuts and bruises, splinters embedded in his flesh and being driven deeper with every motion; like this, there is nothing, just Charles and the cricket bat and the violence he is unleashing.

The first hit had felt good, like a release, but by now it feels like nothing at all anymore, but in the end, he does not do it to feel better, but to get these goddamned cats to finally tell him where Edwin is.

It’s the only thing that matters, that has mattered, will matter, and Charles will take the whole fucking warehouse apart if that is what it takes.

His bat slams into the side of a barrel, denting it, and a cat flees; his bat hits a post and another one does.

“Just give him back!”, he screams and he sounds crazed, but that doesn’t matter either. “Tell me where he is!”

There is carnage around him, there’s bits of wood flying where Charles’ swing has toppled a palette over, and it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all.

It’s nearly impossible to get Charles to stand up and it breaks Edwin’s heart, because Charles should be light on his feet, a flurry of motion even if he is trying to stand still, but instead he stumbles when Crystal helps lift him up. His hands are still clutching to Edwin’s clothes, cramped to the point where Crystal can’t dislodge them, although she is whispering soft nothings, coaxing with even softer touches.

In the end, they shift his arms so that they are around Edwin’s neck, clinging to him when Edwin picks him up like one would a child.

Were they still alive, Edwin wouldn’t be able to carry him a step, but Charles’ astral body has no weight to it, so Charles’ head comes to rest somewhere between Edwin’s neck and shoulder, fresh tears spilling down to wet his collar.

His sobs have quieted somehow, but he is still crying, still mute to Crystal’s questions and Edwin’s attempts of encouragement.

In all the three decades Edwin has known him, he has never seen Charles like this, never this closed off or devastated; it hurts in ways Edwin didn’t know he could hurt.

Crystal doesn’t talk much to him, but for once, Edwin doesn’t blame her: if he had been here in her stead, watching Charles spiral from his usual self to this state, he also wouldn’t want to talk to the person responsible for it.

So, he just follows her to the room she is still renting, holding onto Charles’ trembling form and swearing to never let him go again.

Eventually it’s Crystal who stops him.

She screams his name over the sounds of destruction, an expression on her pretty face that Charles has no energy left to decipher.

“Charles, they are not telling you anything”, she says, and yes, that’s the problem. “Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Edwin is somewhere else entirely, maybe the Cat King has taken him somewhere else in town.”

It makes little sense, and Charles wants to go back and smash another barrel into pieces, just in case it’s this one that will make those fucking cats tell him where Edwin is, when Crystal puts a hand on his shoulder and adds, “Maybe he needs our help there.”

Suddenly, a barrage of images: Edwin kept prisoner, forced into iron shackles; Edwin, being tortured; Edwin, waiting for Charles to come free him.

Charles, who has sworn to protect him and failed once already.

Edwin puts Charles down on Crystal’s bed, but even then Charles doesn’t let go of him and Edwin is touched, Edwin is terrified.

He seems so small like this, curled up on Edwin’s lap, and Edwin’s heart aches with love and with devotion and with an unbearable amount of guilt.

Without thinking, he pushes a hand through Charles’ hair again, but this time, Charles shivers against him, either because of the touch or by chance, Edwin isn’t sure.

“What happened?”, he asks Crystal softly, as not to disturb Charles.

“What do you think?”, she asks instead of answering, “He thought you were gone. He thought you might be gone forever, or trapped in Hell, or another thousand things his poor brain came up with. Would have gotten himself wiped out of existence if I hadn’t stopped him. Or dragged down to hell. He was willing to do absolutely anything to find you.”

She looks down at Charles and Edwin watches her eyes soften, like she is watching something precious; she is right, of course, but part of his heart still screams for her to stop.

“I’m not sure you know how much he loves you”, she tells him, her expression still soft, and it’s preposterous, it’s uncalled for, and Edwin desperately wishes it not to be true.

They search the harbour and the lighthouse, the library and the abandoned houses scattered around town, the high school and the cemetery; Edwin is nowhere and Charles curses Port Townsend and its people, curses the two of them for ever setting foot in it and curses Crystal for bringing them here.

In the woods, they find something akin to a shrine, complete with ancient writing that Charles cannot read, but there is no sign of Edwin anywhere. Around it, skeletons are scattered across the grass, and Charles should care about it, should make this a case, but the thought of it feels so far removed he’s almost surprised when Crystal picks it up to bring with them.

That summons the skeletons and they run, and Charles forgets about it almost immediately afterwards because it doesn’t matter, nothing does.

As Crystal outlines the events in the past six weeks in broad strokes, Charles hardly stirs, even if his tears dry at some point.

He’s not asleep, because that is not a luxury granted to them, but Edwin notices this kind of exhaustion anyway; he’s felt it before, after he had crawled out of Hell, covered in soot and bile and blood, and had collapsed right there on the floor, finally safe, but unable to move for what felt like an eternity.

And he understands it, too: he’d rather go to Hell again than lose Charles.

“He just sat there?”, he asks when Crystal is nearing the end of her tale, because it seems impossible, should be that. Charles is movement, is a constant dance, and yet Crystal is telling him that prior to Edwin’s return, he hadn’t moved in a fortnight. And it should be inconceivable, but Edwin thinks of how he found Charles, sunken into himself like he had become part of the ground itself, and suddenly it is difficult to doubt her words.

Crystal nods, and again her gaze softens when it touches Charles; again something within Edwin twists and hisses.

“He said he wasn’t leaving until you came back”, she explains, and her voice is a caress not meant for him, but Charles, who cannot hear it. “And he said he would wait forever if he had to… and I believed him.”

“Oh, Charles.”

It’s a declaration of love, of sorrow, of everything in between, and for a second, Charles stirs in Edwin’s lap, before he settles back down; it’s for the best, even if Edwin craves to see Charles’ eyes with some semblance of life in them like a starving man might crave a meal.

He strokes his knuckles down Charles’ spine, wishing he could feel the bumps of every vertebra, and Charles presses closer, almost imperceptibly so.

“Thank you for taking care of him”, he tells Crystal and means it, even if the words feel like pulling barbed wire through his airways, because taking care of Charles isn’t Crystal’s duty, it’s Edwin’s. But she was there when Edwin wasn’t, and it comforts him at least a little to know that Charles hadn’t been alone.

“Of course”, Crystal says, and her eyes stay soft, stay on Charles, “but don’t you fucking do that again.”

The vase helps nothing at all, because Charles cannot read the words that were transcribed on it or the table, because he’s useless without Edwin at his side.

Edwin would be able to solve this, there is a reason why he’s the brains of the operation after all, but Charles? The best he can do is put the vase down on Crystal’s table and all but forget about it.

Until he comes back that night from another trip to the harbour, the magic shop, the warehouse, without Edwin, whose absence feels more like a gaping, oozing wound with every passing second, and there is a stranger in Crystal’s bed.

She’s petite and looks peaceful, but Charles doesn’t even get to ask what she is doing there before Crystal starts talking.

“I put some flowers into the weird vase we found”, she says, and it doesn’t explain anything at all, “Dandelions that I found when I went back to check if we had missed anything in the woods, you know, because of the skeletons. And I heard a thud from the hallway and Niko here had passed out right in the middle of it. Which, in itself, would have been concerning, but then...God, there is no way to say this without sounding insane, but there were little people? Crawling out of her mouth? Which are now asleep in the dandelions I put into the vase.”

She looks at Charles like she expects a response, but it’s really difficult to give one, when it’s… well. When it’s not about Edwin.

“That’s good?”, he tries and Crystal rolls her eyes, looking annoyed for a second.

“Charles, I know this isn’t-”, she starts, but then stops herself, her expression softening. “I know you are worried about Edwin, but I need your help with this, okay? It won’t take long, we just have to take those little creatures back to their little altar thing so they won’t crawl back into Niko once they wake up. Can you do that for me?”

It seems reasonable and Charles still wants to say no, because nothing matters as long as Edwin isn’t back where he should be, but then he remembers, dimly, through the pain and the confusion and the gaping hole that is Edwin’s absence, that this is what they set out to do.

Help people.

So, he nods, and Crystal smiles, and that might matter at least a little bit.

“I’ll take him back to London tomorrow”, Edwin says into the silence that has settled around them. “Through the mirror. Not because I don’t want you to come, just…”

He doesn’t quite know how to say it, but Crystal seems to understand it anyway.

“That’s a good idea”, she agrees easily, and reaches out to touch a hand to Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s hand once more. “I think he should be back home and you two… I think it might be good if you had some time to sort through things. I’ll join you later.”

In any other situation, Edwin would ask what she means by that, but right now, it really doesn’t seem to matter, so he just nods, settles back against the headboard, and lets his eyes slip shut.

Charles takes the vase back where they found it, and there should be some kind of satisfaction in it, something about the job being jobbed and the day being saved and the stranger, Niko, being out of danger, but there is nothing but the gaping hole in his chest where his heart is supposed to be, because Edwin isn’t there with him.

When the sun is rising, the first rays of light coming through the windows, Edwin tries to rouse Charles once more.

“Charles?”, he asks as softly as he possibly can, not yet pulling away. “I was thinking, we should go back to London.”

For a few moments, there is no answer, but then Charles slowly, ever so slowly, sits up, his arms still around Edwin’s neck, as if he couldn’t bear to lose their closeness.

And Edwin expects a reaction, but none as violent as he gets when he finally sees Charles’ face again.

It’s not like he has forgotten it; for him, not even a day has passed, and yet it feels like seeing him for the first time.

His eyes are the same brown Edwin has become so familiar with, but they are dull still, even if a hint of life has returned to them; they are rimmed with red, eyelashes clumped together as if Charles had just been crying. And he might have been, even if the thought that he didn’t notice hurts Edwin in completely new, unexpected ways.

“You’re really back”, Charles whispers and the words are a sob and a prayer and an exaltation, and Edwin’s heart breaks because he should never have been back, he should have just been there. “You’re really here.”

There are tears spilling down his face, making his gaze a little brighter and yet not worth it; Edwin reaches out to wipe them away without thinking and Charles trembles under his touch like he never has before.

“I never meant to be away that long”, he tells Charles, although he’s not sure it matters, because he was, and there is nothing he can say or do to make it better. “I never wanted to worry you.”

I never want to be away from you for more than a few seconds, he thinks, but doesn’t say, doesn’t recognise the thought but knows it to be true nonetheless.

“I know”, Charles says, and it’s still half a sob, more tears spilling down his cheeks for Edwin to wipe away. “I always knew that. And you came back and you’re safe and that’s all that matters and I just. I missed you so much.”

And it’s not all that matters, not by a long shot, but for now, Edwin just nods and wipes another tear from Charles’ skin.

Niko wakes up again and she’s lovely in a way Charles knows Edwin would have enjoyed, but if anything, that just makes the need to get Edwin back worse.

It’s been a week and Charles desperately wishes he could sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to feel this all the time.

At least Niko seems to be willing to help, which would be a relief if Charles had any hope left that looking through town would bring Edwin back. But they have been everywhere thrice, have looked at every single thing Tragic Mick has on sale, and Edwin is just gone, like the Cat King has made him vanish from existence.

The thought cuts into Charles’ flesh like iron would, burning hot and torturous and it’s been a week and maybe there’s no other way. Edwin must be hurt or captured or a thousand other things Charles won’t allow himself to think of, and Charles will bring him back, no matter what it takes.

“Could you girls go and check the lighthouse again? Maybe the beach?”, he asks and maybe Crystal is getting suspicious, but he cannot find it in himself to care. “I just, I don’t want him to get back and there not being anyone there to take care of him. Please?”

It’s enough to convince them; they won’t find anything, he knows it deep in his bones, but it gives him the time and the space to go back to the warehouse and do what is necessary.

It takes some convincing to get Charles to let go of Edwin enough to stand up, his hands sliding down Edwin’s arms like he doesn’t want to lose contact, and it’s then when Edwin’s gaze gets caught by something that should be impossible.

There’s red on Charles’ fingers.

Not the red Edwin associates with him, but the red of dried blood and fresh wounds and overwhelming pain; Charles’ fingers are stained with blood, his nails torn to the flesh, some missing ,his knuckles scraped and bruised.

A gasp escapes him, because they cannot get hurt, they are already dead. Wounds, even those from iron, are fleeting, fade within minutes. And yet, Charles’ hands are battered, bloodied, like he had just been punching a wall.

Without thinking, Edwin takes them in his, fingers delicately gripping Charles’ wrists as not to hurt his poor, wounded hands any further, as he raises them up for inspection.

“What happened?”, he asks and hears his voice breaking, feels his heart do the same.

Charles’ eyes flicker downwards and there’s a fleeting look of recognition there, but nothing more. No surprise, no confusion, not even pain.

“Oh, yeah”, he says distractedly, turning his hands within Edwin’s grasp. “It happened a few weeks ago, when I was trying to dig through the concrete. Started out with just a scrapes that healed again, no problem, but then at some point they just stayed. Don’t really know what they’re about.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Yeah”, Charles says easily, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send Edwin’s mind spiralling. “But you get used to it, don’t you?”

It’s the warehouse again because it’s always the warehouse because Edwin has gotten lost there, and Charles has to get him back, no matter what.

So he marches into there, cricket bat brandished, and sends the cats scattering. Their King has not yet returned, his throne empty and Charles’s non-existent, aching heart seizes in his chest, like it does every time he looks at that horrible pile of palettes.

For a moment, he wants to beat it into splinters even more than he already has, wants to reduce it to dust, but then he stops himself.

It’s not what he is there to do.

One of the cats is too slow; Charles catches it easily, even if it is scratching and screaming and twisting its little body in a futile attempt to break free.

Charles doesn’t want to hurt it, but if that is what is necessary, he will.

“Tell me where he took my friend”, he hisses at the creature, ignoring that the scratches sting like fire, ignoring that the cat is most likely terrified of him. “If you don’t I’m going to crush every bone in your body and I won’t even regret it.”

There is a moment of silence, and Charles sees his hands covered in blood, feels thin bones splinter in his grip, imagines a life going out because of him, and he doesn’t want to do it, but he will if he has to.

Its little legs kick out again, before they go still and then, with the most contempt Charles has ever heard in another being’s voice, it says, “There is a cave south of here where the King sometimes goes when he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Is Edwin there?”, Charles asks, a hint of hope blooming in his chest, because it’s a direction at least, a possibility. Yet, he tightens his fingers just so, just enough to let the cat know he means it.

“If you will find him, it will be there”, the cat replies and Charles breathes a sigh of relief, and lets go.

Edwin tries not to watch Charles say goodbye to Crystal, but it’s impossible not to, because Charles won’t let go of his hand. And Edwin cannot feel it, but he knows that Charles’ knuckles are still raw and his nails torn down to the flesh, and it is impossible to think of anything else.

“You’ll take care of yourself, okay?”, Crystal says, and reaches out to hug Charles, who goes willingly, their joined hands dragging Edwin closer, too. Their joined hands, Charles’ bruised and bleeding because of Edwin.

“’Course I will”, Charles answers and buries his face in Crystal’s hair; Edwin wants to tear him away from her and keep him to himself for the rest of forever. “You, too, though. And take care of Niko.”

“I will. Maybe she wants to come with me to London. See the sights. The agency. The haunted vending machine.”

The words give Edwin a start; that case, the vending machine that used to be haunted until Charles and he convinced the ghost stuck in there to move on in 2002, is nothing Crystal should know about. It’s one of the cases Charles and he still refer to sometimes when they pass that particular machine, a little inside joke.

That Crystal knows about it, that this Niko does as well, is an almost physical blow to Edwin’s chest, and for a moment, he does not know why.

But then Charles pulls back, his bloodied hand in Edwin’s still, and says, “That’d be brills. And we can make a few new memories, too. Good ones, this time.”

And suddenly, it is so clear: in the last three decades and some, there have been almost no memories they haven’t shared, and suddenly, there are six weeks of Charles’ existence that Edwin hasn’t been part of and the realisation of it feels like it’s ripping him to shreds.

“We should go”, he says, before he thinks of it, and it is unkind and cruel and selfish to ask Charles to cut his goodbyes short; yet Edwin cannot help but feel relief when Charles looks at him for a second and nods. “I’ll see you in two days, okay, Crys?”

And Crystal, who has a nickname too, nods, and Edwin breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Charles drags the girls with him to the woods to the south, unsure where to find the cave and yet determined to do so.

Chances are that Crystal is just humouring him, but Charles doesn’t care. And it doesn’t matter, does it, because it’s her who finds it in the end.

“This doesn’t look very nice for a kitty”, Niko comments as they come closer; Charles still isn’t certain if she knows what and who they are looking for, but he doesn’t have the time stop and explain it, not if Edwin might be here, might be hurt, might be being tortured.

“I’m not sure if the Cat King would describe himself as a kitty”, Crystal replies as they get close enough to see into the cave, “But in general, I agree. I don’t think this looks nice for anyone in particular.”

She’s right; it looks damp and overgrown with weed, not a place fit for a king, but maybe for a prisoner.

“You wait outside”, Charles tells them, because he can’t die anymore, and because he isn’t sure if he wants his new friends to see what he’ll become if faced with the Cat King now. “If I need help, I’ll shout for you.”

Maybe Crystal answers, maybe she doesn’t; Charles doesn’t wait to hear it, just pulls out his bat and barges into the cave, ready to knock the whiskers off the damned creature that has taken his best friend, the best person in the world.

Inside, the cave is cosy, carpeted, a large bed and a bar crammed into a corner; it’s magic, quite obviously.

And it’s empty.

Being back in London feels right, even if the hand in Edwin’s still feels wrong.

Not because Edwin doesn’t want to hold Charles hand – he finds, although he never would have considered it before, that the weight of Charles’ hand in his is comforting, the pressure of his fingers grounding, that the occasional tug makes his heart skip a metaphorical beat – but because even without feeling, he is constantly reminded of the state of them, the blood caked under Charles’ fingernails.

Almost, he raises their joined hands again to see if maybe, some of the bruises have healed, but when Edwin turns around, Charles is looking at him with such wonder, such care, such lingering pain, that it takes his breath away.

That look alone is like a stab, a full-body blow, and Edwin hates himself for having caused it, for thinking about his petty jealousies when Charles has been through six weeks of what must have been Hell.

“Charles”, he says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say, but he doesn’t even get to finish saying his name; before he does, Charles pulls him closer, into another hug, that feels almost as desperate as the one they shared back at the warehouse, kneeling on the ruined concrete floor.

“I thought I lost you”, Charles sobs into his shoulder, and the only thing Edwin can do is hold him. “I didn’t want to believe it for a second, but you were gone for so long and I thought- I didn’t think I’d ever be here again, I didn’t think I’d be here again with you, I didn’t-”

It makes Edwin think of what Crystal said an ocean away, that Charles didn’t want to leave the warehouse, not without Edwin, and there are tears in his eyes now, spilling over and impossible to stop, because Charles there on the warehouse floor, unmoving as the world changes around him, is the worst thing he has ever imagined.

He hugs him closer, and Charles buries his face in the crook of Edwin’s neck, hot tears spilling against Edwin’s skin and soaking into his blazer, changing the fabric in the most fundamental of fashions.

The girls find him eventually.

Charles isn’t certain how long he has been sitting there, but he isn’t sure he cares anymore, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know where he is, so he can’t save him, which means Edwin is somewhere out there, alone and lost and most likely hurt. And he must be waiting for Charles to come, because Charles has always come, Charles has promised him, again and again, that he would always come.

And now, Charles doesn’t know where to go.

He doesn’t know he’s crying until Crystal is crouching before him, dabbing at his cheeks with a crumpled tissue, and it’s like everything falls apart around him, beneath him, inside him, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.

They eventually part, although Edwin isn’t sure he likes it; he’s not used to this kind of closeness, and yet it feels good to hold Charles, to comfort him.

It’s not like Charles goes far either, he keeps one of his poor, battered hands on Edwin’s wrist and drags him to their sofa, pulls him down until Charles can rest his feet on Edwin’s lap, their fingers still intertwined.

At first, it’s difficult to find somewhere to put his other hand, the one that is so used to holding books when he sits here, but Charles looks at him hopefully as he fidgets, until Edwin puts it down on top of Charles’ thin ankle, fingers snaking around to hold it.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened?”, Edwin asks after a few moments of silence – not uncomfortable, but heavy still – but Charles shakes his head almost immediately, dark curls bouncing.

“I’d rather not”, he says, and it sounds prim, almost rehearsed; it hurts in a new, novel way to think that Charles feels like he has to prepare answers when talking to him. “It wasn’t… pleasant. Do you wanna tell me how the Cat King kept you there for so long?”

His immediate response is no, he doesn’t want to tell Charles just what he had to do to appease the Cat King. There is an explanation ready on his lips, one he has rehearsed, back when there were lips on his throat, leaving imperceptible marks, but then he thinks of Charles’ hands, of his eyelashes clumped together with tears, and Charles deserves the truth, especially because there is so little else Edwin can give him.

“He asked for a kiss. Or rather, several”, he explains, then, because he isn’t certain how much Charles understood back then, on the warehouse floor, “For me, it was only a few hours, but wherever he took me, time must have been stretched there. It is the only explanation I can come up with.”

And he expects a chuckle, a smile, anything at all, but Charles’ eyes go dim again, go dull, and Edwin hates himself with renewed passion for causing it.

Charles isn’t sure how they end up in Niko’s room; he cannot remember walking, cannot remember teleporting either. But they do, and he is still crying, surrounded by pink and purple and bright yellow, and there are two sets of arms around him and they still don’t make him feel better.

He can’t remember the last time he cried, and he doesn’t think he ever cried like this before, not even with his father’s belt raining pain down on him. This is worse, because this is Edwin, and this is forever, and this is all his fault.

“Maybe the cat just didn’t know”, Crystal says softly, rubbing a hand along his back; for a brief moment, Charles wishes he could at least feel this. “Maybe their King doesn’t tell them much, I don’t think kings usually do. We’ll just keep looking. We’ll find someone who does.”

It’s meant to soothe, but it doesn’t; if anything it makes Charles cry harder, because who is left? He could go through the cats, one by one, and he will if necessary,, but if this one didn’t know, why should the next one be any better?

He doesn’t know how to answer, because any sound that comes from his lips is coated and drowned and swallowed by sobs, but he doesn’t have to, because Niko kisses the top of his head, and says, “You did mention a witch, maybe she knows? Maybe she has one of those crystal balls to look inside and find your friend!”

And she’s wrong, because Esther would never help them; and she’s right, because Charles has questions for her anyway.

A bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes quickly, thank God. Edwin isn’t sure what snuffed it out in the first place, but he swears not to make the same mistake a second time; his soul would not be able to take it.

He tries to keep the conversation light, only that so much of it seems to be caught up in everything that has happened.

It’s unusual, having to tread lightly around Charles, and Edwin hates it with a passion that surprises even himself. But it just feels so wrong, even more so than watching Crystal’s hand on Charles’ back, hearing her mention anecdotes from a life she wasn’t part of.

So, when he again almost asks Charles just how Crystal could have known about the cursed vending machine, he instead picks up the book lying on their side table and holds it up without even looking at the title.

“Do you want me to read you something?”, he asks, because back when they first met they occasionally did this, especially on winter nights whose cold they couldn’t feel, when Charles still remembered dying.

For a second, there is silence, Charles’ thumb brushing warm across the back of Edwin’s hand, and Edwin could live in this moment for the rest of his existence.

“The Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids?”, Charles asks, and there is a hint of his usual smile curling around his lips, a ghost of his normal teasing.

“I could get another book”, Edwin counters, and gives Charles a smile in hopes of getting a real one in return, “but I would have to get up to get it.”

And Charles is shaking his head immediately, and the smile on his lips grows into something Edwin almost recognises.

He reads the Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids to Charles for hours.

They get to E.

“Don’t do this”, Crystal repeats for the dozenth time, but Charles doesn’t slow down his steps, doesn’t even think about it. “Charles! Don’t do this. You remember the last time, she’s dangerous.”

“I know”, he answers, and he does. It’s just that it doesn’t matter. “That’s why she might have Edwin. Because she’s dangerous. Or she might at least know where he is. I can’t, Crystal.”

And he does stop, just for a second, turns around to see her and Niko trailing after him, Crystal obviously distressed, Niko most likely just confused. And he wants to care so much, but he just can’t.

Not when it’s Edwin.

“You stay out of this, Crys, please. But I can’t, not when it’s him. If there is any chance that Esther knows what that goddamned Cat King has done to Edwin, then I have to try. I have to.” He doesn’t expect Crystal to understand; they don’t know each other for long, it’s a miracle she’s even here still. “He’s my best friend. He would do the same for me.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then Crystal’s expression softens, like she might understand after all, and she nods.

“Alright”, she says, “Niko and I will stay around the corner and I’ll try to read her mind. But be careful, Charles. You won’t be much help to Edwin if you join him wherever he is.”

Night falls and they are still wrapped up into their cocoon of warmth on the couch, Charles’ hand by now a familiar weight in Edwin’s.

“I know you want to ask”, Charles says into the comfortable silence, and Edwin rejoices just for the pleasure of hearing his voice. “And I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, just… not now, okay? I want to enjoy having you back before I have to think about all that again.”

“Of course”, Edwin answers and he means it, understands it, too. He looks down at Charles’ hand in his and that is enough for now. “Whenever you are ready. There is no rush, we have the rest of forever to figure it out.”

Charles’ fingers twitch in his and it must be the light, but the knuckles look slightly less raw, less torn. Without thinking, Edwin lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss on the wounds, hoping that it won’t cause more pain.

It gets a response, at least, a sharp intake of breath, Charles’ fingers clenching around his, but when Edwin looks up at Charles, allowing their hands to drop once more, his eyes are wide and warm and a little alive.

“Doesn’t hurt”, Charles answers the question Edwin has yet to ask, but his voice sounds a little strangled still. “It’s just that you don’t usually do… any of this. I thought the hand holding would be almost too much, I just couldn’t let go.”

Because I need to make sure you’re really back, he doesn’t say, but Edwin hears it anyway. And the sentiment hurts, the thought that Charles thinks physical touch is a burden to him to the point of trying to let go of Edwin’s hand for his sake.

“I do not mind it in the slightest”, he declares, making sure to tighten the grip he has on Charles’ hand. “Not if it’s you.”

And Charles’ eyes widen once more, a spark in them igniting, and Edwin kisses his knuckles, one by one, vowing that he won’t let go until Charles can look at him without fear in his eyes.

“Esther!”, he yells before he has even reached the door, ready to barge in without knocking, even if Crystal has implored him to at least stay outside of Esther’s house. “If you don’t come out, I swear to God, I will come and find you and-”

“What?”, the door swings open and Esther is standing there, pipe at her lips as she regards Charles with a put upon kind of disinterest. “I heard you boys were still in town, but oh my God, can’t you let a woman cook up her revenge in peace? You boys are so annoying.”

If he was still alive, his teeth would splinter from how hard Charles is clenching them; his fingers are itching to grab the bat and just try and mash her face in.

“Do you know where Edwin is?”, he asks instead, because that’s more important than feeling her skull split apart again.

“Who’s Edwin?”, she drawls, taking a drag from her pipe and blowing the smoke into Charles’ face. “Is that the other one? I can’t keep up with you kids and your stupid little names.”

“That’s him, yeah”, Charles answers and God, he wants to smash her kneecaps in, he wants to beg her to help, he wants to storm past her and tear her house apart until he finds Edwin. “Do you know where he is?”

“You seem desperate”, Esther says, smirking, taking another drag from her pipe. “I like it. What’s it worth to ya?”

“Everything”, he replies, although he shouldn’t, because in the end, it’s the only answer he can give.

“Love that. Not for you, but for me.” Esther is sizing him up, obviously considering something Charles won’t like the least, and yet he knows that he will do it, no matter what it is she asks, if she can only tell him where to find Edwin. “It’s gonna cost you, and I mean, like, a lot.”

“I’ll pay it”, Charles answers without a second of hesitation, and Esther smirks in a way that should make him regret his words; it doesn’t. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

Sometimes, Edwin forgets how different they get to experience time; sometimes he's forcibly reminded of the fact. Because Crystal and Niko find them like this, wrapped up in each other.

Part of Edwin wants to tear himself away from Charles, although there is nothing untoward they are doing, but another, one he understands even less, wants to press closer, wants to kiss Charles' knuckles again and let the girls see.

"You made it!", Charles exclaims when he sees Crystal, voice sounding at least a fraction alive, and Edwin loves it, despises it at the same time. "How was the trip?"

They are dripping rain water on the floor, Edwin belatedly realises, but he decides against mentioning it anyway, less for their sake and more for Charles’.

“It was alright. Long, mostly”, Crystal answers, pushing a hand through her thick curls and sending a spray of water down onto their wooden floor. Edwin does his best not to notice it. “How are you? Is everything alright?”

The concern is palpable in her voice, almost a physical entity in the room, and Charles seems touched by it, his eyes softening and another sliver of a smile playing across his lips.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Edwin’s here”, he replies, like it explains everything, and Crystal nods, as if she agrees that it does.

Her gaze flickers over to Edwin for a second, then back to Charles, whose fingers clench around Edwin’s almost imperceptibly before he shakes his head, the motion so small Edwin almost misses it.

He’s about to ask what he is going on, but then Niko steps forward, spreading even more water on their floors, and Edwin is distracted by the bright teal of her coat, the white of her hair that wasn’t there before he was taken.

“You must be Edwin”, she says and holds out a hand that Edwin cannot take without letting go of Charles’. “Charles has told us so much about you.”

“That would be me, yes. I apologise, my hand is currently quite occupied”, Edwin answers, then raises their joined hands to help explain why he cannot shake Niko’s; an expression flits across Crystal’s face, too quick for Edwin to make sense of it, yet Charles seems to understand it easily.

It shouldn’t bother Edwin as much as it does.

“Ooh, that’s okay”, Niko says, and she sounds like she means it. Her eyes are wide and happy and suddenly, even without knowing much about her, Edwin is glad that she was with Charles when he was gone. “You should be holding Charles’ hand, that’s much more important. I completely understand.”

And silently, Edwin agrees.

Esther is grinning at him in a way that reminds Charles of the snake Edwin had found in her house, cold and dangerous and like he should be running from that smile.

Instead, he takes a step forward, and he would take another if Crystal wasn’t suddenly next to him, yanking him back.

“She doesn’t know a thing”, she half hisses, half shouts, her voice as deadly as Esther’s smile. “I read her thoughts and there is nothing in there. She just wants you to promise her that you’ll do what she asks, and then use you.”

Her grip is so strong Charles feels it through his clothes, through the barrier to physical touch that is death, and as she yanks him back, Charles feels the heart he doesn’t have break in his chest once more, because for a moment, he had had hope.

Esther cackles and Charles knows there are tears spilling down his cheeks, even if he cannot feel them.

“Well, it was worth a try”, she says, sounding like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter at all, and something in Charles just snaps.

Crystal’s hand on his shoulder still feels solid, but the cricket bat in his hand does even more so, especially when it connects with Esther’s still-smirking face.

While the girls go and dry off, Charles sinks back into the cushions, his eyes fluttering close. Almost, he could look relaxed, but Edwin can still see the tension in his body, like a spring curled tight and waiting for the lightest touch to set it off.

Edwin wants to soothe him, but he doesn’t know how to, especially not when there is still so much he doesn’t know about those six weeks.

He is trying to figure out a way how to ask, or at least hint at it, but then Charles opens his eyes again, and they are softer than they should be when Charles has been through so much.

“I think you’ll really like Niko”, he says, and he sounds wistful somehow; Edwin desperately wishes he knew why. “She’s pretty brills. Might have saved me once or twice.”

“Saved you? What from?”

Edwin imagines Esther and her giant snake and Hell and everything in between, but Charles’ eyes don’t change, neither does his voice.

“Myself, really.”

In the end, it takes both of the girls to pull him off Esther.

His whole body is aching from her iron cane in ways he had forgotten he could hurt, but the pain is distant, far away; the only thing that matters is that she had said she knew how to get Edwin back and she had given him a sliver of hope and then she had snuffed it out again.

Another thing that is far away: he is screaming, or crying, or both; two sets of hands drag him down the steps, and Charles knows he’s fighting them, because… because he doesn’t know what else to do.

And then he’s just crying.

Arms pull him close against a solid chest, fingers card through his hair, and there is nothing stopping the sobs wrecking through his body, so violently Charles feels them almost like he had felt the hits from Esther’s cane.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, crouched on the ground, but it is a long, long time.

When they come back, Niko hops onto the sofa’s backrest and Charles looks up at her with obvious affection.

“Do you need some band-aids for your hands?”, she asks, placing a little box on her knee. “I brought the Hello Kitty ones.”

The words make no sense to Edwin, but Charles nods, and Edwin hates how much he doesn’t know, hates that they ever had to spend time apart.

Charles twists and turns until he can put one of his bruised hands into Niko’s lap, who inspects it, before a bright, bright smile spreads across her face, like a sunflower opening to greet the morning.

“It looks better!”, Niko tells him, and she’s right; the knuckles are still red, but have scabbed over, the cuts are a little less prominent against Charles’ warm skin.

“Does it?”, Charles asks, and sits up straighter to see for himself. “I guess your dad was right, then.”

“I told you.” Niko is pulling a pastel pink band-aid from her box, unwrapping it before placing it gently across one of the deeper scratches on the back of Charles’ hand. It covers only half of it, if even.

“Charles”, Edwin starts before he can stop himself, “what is the purpose of this? Those patches won’t make your wounds heal any faster.”

It takes a moment, but then Charles turns to look at him; it’s a silly thought, but it almost feels like Edwin has missed his eyes on him.

“They won’t”, Charles agrees, and his lips are curved into an almost-smile. “But it will make them heal better.”

Charles cannot remember how they get back to the butcher shop, but they do, because Charles ends up sitting on Niko’s bed, while she rummages through her night stand.

He isn’t certain what she is looking for, but she finds it with a little ah!, and returns to the bed with a box in her hand. It’s metal, dented and scratched in a way that shows it has been loved; she opens it and there are dozens of colourful band-aids inside, waiting to patch someone up again.

“Now, I don’t know Edwin”, she says in a strange cadence, like she is trying to figure out what to say while speaking.”But if you love him so much, then I don’t think he would like you to be hurt. And since he isn’t here to make it better, I will try.”

The words make Charles’ eyes sting with tears once more, because Niko is right, Edwin wouldn’t want him to hurt; because she is right, Edwin isn’t here.

“Ghosts don’t-”, he starts, because if he doesn’t talk, he’ll start crying again, “Our wounds heal differently. Those band-aids won’t make them heal faster.”

Niko stills for a moment, then takes one of his hands in hers, which is scratched from Esther’s cane. The wounds won’t last more than a day, Charles knows it, but Niko still touches his hand with so much care, as if she thinks she could hurt him.

“My dad used to put band-aids on my knees when I fell from my bike”, she tells him as if it’s an answer to a question Charles hasn’t asked; maybe it is. “And he always said that even if that wouldn’t make the scrapes heal faster, it would make them heal better.”

And Niko looks up at him, her fingers cradling his hand like she thinks he can still feel it.

“Do you want a pink or a green one?”

“Pink”, Charles says, and doesn’t bother to blink the tears away this time.

Niko covers Charles’ hands in band-aids until she runs out of them, Charles’ wounds too numerous for what her little chest holds. They feel strange against Edwin’s palm when Charles switches the hand he is holding Edwin’s with halfway through, the plastic so different to Charles’ skin.

He watches the exchange and it tugs at his heart in ways he doesn’t understand; it hurts and it heals, because at least Charles had someone to put little plastic patches over his wounds, even if how familiar both of them are with the process means that there must have been far more wounds than Edwin was aware of.

At the very end of it, Niko places a kiss on Charles’ knuckles and Edwin’s lips ache in jealousy.

“Thank you”, Charles tells her, and she nods, bright and happy, before she starts sliding off the backrest.

She stops, though, and cocks her head as she looks at Edwin.

“The kiss makes the wounds heal even better”, she says, like imparting a secret, and then, she’s gone.

“You can’t keep doing this”, Crystal tells him the second they are alone, in a voice that allows no objections; Charles knows he will object anyway. “Charles, I know you cannot die a second time, but you cannot keep doing this. Esther hurt you and we had to watch and I just. I can’t do that again. I know he’s your best friend, but you’re running yourself into the ground with this and I don’t know if I can watch it happen.”

She looks like she means it and Charles wants to help, but if there is one thing he cannot give her, it’s this.

“I can’t”, he answers, and looks down onto his hands, peppered with brightly-coloured band-aids someone who cares about him put there, up at Crystal who saved him from being bound to a witch’s whim, and yet it all pales in comparison to the gaping hole in his chest where Edwin’s presence usually lingers. “I’m so sorry, but I just can’t stop, not as long as he’s still gone.”

He wants to tell her about how Edwin would do the same for him, about how he has saved Edwin from a hundred monsters and will save him from a thousand more, about how he isn’t sure if he can continue existing without Edwin at his side.

But he doesn’t get to, because Crystal takes a deep breath, and asks, “What if he’s not trying to come back?”

The question shocks Charles into silence, but Crystal continues talking anyway, words blurring into each other with how fast she is speaking.

“I didn’t want to say anything, because I know how much you care for him, but maybe he just left. Maybe that is why we can’t find him anywhere, why the cats couldn’t tell you anything either. Because he doesn’t want to be found.”

And it’s-

It’s the most ludicrous thing Charles has ever heard in the fifty-odd years he has spent on this Earth.

“No”, he tells Crystal, “No, you’re wrong. And not because I couldn’t bear it although I really, really couldn’t, but… that’s not how we are, Crystal. He wouldn’t leave. Never. If there is anything in the world I know for certain, it’s that Edwin wouldn’t leave. And that means he’s out there somewhere and he is hurt or captured, and he is waiting for me to come and get him. And I will, Crystal, no matter what happens, I will.”

There’s nowhere in the agency for the girls to sleep, so they set out to find a hotel, and Edwin breathes a sigh of relief, even if he hates himself for it only moments later.

He shouldn’t be so jealous of Charles’ attention, his affection, especially not when Crystal and Niko have stuck with him for six horrifying weeks, and Edwin should be nothing but grateful to them for taking care of the best, the most important person in existence instead of him.

But the door closes behind them, and it’s just Charles and him once more, and Edwin is weak, is possessive and greedy and looks down at Charles’s hand in his, and thinks that at least one thing is right in the world.

“Alright”, Charles says and turns to look at Edwin. “You can ask me. Not about everything all at once, maybe, but you can ask me.”

It should take him at least a second to understand what Charles is talking about, but it doesn’t; Charles says you can ask me, and there’s a thousand questions swarming through his head immediately, begging to be spoken aloud.

He nods, but before he can decide on any one thing to ask, he takes Charles back to the sofa and makes him sit down, their hands still loosely joined between them.

Touch is something Charles has always needed, but now, with Charles so hurt, so vulnerable, Edwin realises that he needs it almost as much.

There are so many things he wants to know that it feels impossible to settle on one thing, at least to start with, until suddenly, there’s a question that blazes through his mind so painfully that Edwin speaks it out-loud before he has a moment to reconsider.

“Did you ever doubt I would come back?”, he asks, then corrects himself, “No, did you ever doubt that I wanted to come back?”

He tells himself that he’ll accept any answer Charles will give him and it’s the truth; another truth: if Charles ever doubted that the only place Edwin wants to be is at his side, it will shatter his heart to pieces.

“Of course not”, Charles says, not missing a beat, and Edwin gets to keep his heart after all. His voice is soft and his eyes are, too, even if their light is still dimmed. “I’d never doubt that. It’s you and me against the world, isn’t it?”

Edwin nods, and there are tears in his eyes he does not deserve to cry.

“Thank you”, he says, unsure what he is thanking Charles for: for still being here, for believing in Edwin, in the strength of their friendship, for enduring all of it. “I know it must have been Hell, because that’s what it would have been had the roles been reversed, but something must have happened, because your hands…”

Without wanting to, he looks down at Charles’ fingers, wrapped in bright plastic, his own woven between them, pristine because he allowed the most important person in existence to go through this alone.

“I’m not really sure”, Charles replies, and when Edwin looks up again, it’s Charles who is staring at their joined hands. “To be honest, I didn’t really stop to think about it. We found out about this other dimension the Cat King uses to escape, and I just went mental, didn’t I? Started trashing the warehouse completely, and when my bat broke, well. I just used my hands. I guess they’re not as sturdy.”

He tries for a smile, and it rips Edwin’s heart to pieces.

“You-”, he starts, but doesn’t get the words out, because the thought is too much to bear, the images of Charles ripping his fingers to shreds to find him too vivid.

“Had to get you back somehow, didn’t I?”, Charles asks, answers, still smiling, and Edwin cannot take a second more, so instead, he pulls Charles against his chest and hugs him so tightly he knows that, if he had any bones left, he’d feel them creak.

Maybe he should be discouraged, maybe it should be difficult to go back out and start looking for Edwin all over again, but it isn’t.

What would be difficult is sitting down and waiting; what would be impossible is to let Edwin stay wherever he is being kept.

So, he walks.

Past meadows and across streams, up hillsides and then looks down into the valleys and still finds nothing, nothing at all. It’s maddening, it’s the worst thing he has ever felt, because the scenery is beautiful, the days long and the sun bright, and Charles feels like he is dragging himself through barbed wire and broken glass.

When he gets Edwin back, he’ll never let him out of his sight again, he swears when he walks up to the lighthouse once more, for the fifteenth or five hundredth time, sparing a look at the ghosts sitting there, watching the water. He’ll keep him close, keep him in his sight, keep one hand in Edwin’s, no matter if he likes it or not, for the rest of eternity, just to make sure he won’t stray too far.

It becomes a thing between them when they are alone.

Charles will look at him and say, one question, or three questions, and Edwin will go through his mental catalogue of them, realising how much he hates that there is anything about Charles he does not know all over again, every single time.

How long did you wait in the warehouse at first?, he asks, and Charles says, days. Crystal had to force me to leave it for the first time.

Why is Niko’s hair white now?, he asks another time when they sitting on the roof, the sounds of the city dulled down to a gentle buzz. Oh, that was mental, actually, Charles answers, and launches into a story about gnomes crawling from her mouth, and Edwin sits there and watches him, and wishes Charles would tell the story like he would have two months ago, animated and excited about it, instead of matter-of-factly.

How long would you have stayed on that floor?, he asks, and doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer this time, only knows he has to. And Charles looks at him strangely, fondly, sadly, and says, forever, mate.

Crystal catches up with him at the warehouse again, where he is pacing on the horrible, hated concrete floor, thinking about battering it open and seeing if he can find Edwin between the pieces. She’s been looking at him more often now, so openly worried Charles sometimes finds it difficult to hold her gaze, but there is nothing to be done about it, is there?

It’s the same way she is looking at him now, forehead furrowed and her dark eyes on him feeling like they are taking Charles apart, piece for piece, thought for thought.

“What are you looking for?”, she asks like she doesn’t know it, like the answer has ever changed.

He doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how to say Edwin’s name without breaking into tears, because if he says his name, he might not stop anytime soon.

“Charles”, she tries again and it stops his feet mid-step, “Charles, what if you don’t find him? What if he never comes back?”

It’s words that never should be spoken, because they cannot be allowed to be true, and Charles closes his eyes, just to save himself from the look in Crystal’s eyes.

“I’ve been to Tragic Mick’s shop and I asked him about ghosts and their wandering, because you are scaring me”, she continues, “and he told me that the only ghosts who wander are those that killed themselves. And that scared me even more.”

And Charles wants to shake his head and tell her she’s wrong, but it feels like that somehow; like half of him died and he is doing everything he can to follow.

Niko comes to change Charles’ band-aids and Edwin doesn’t think about it much, just watches her take out the box and tell Charles about the characters depicted on them. The wounds themselves have healed slightly, and even if no one knows why, Edwin breathes a sigh of relief at the discovery.

He expects Niko to let Charles choose a colour again, like she has done before, but instead she turns to him, who is just there because Charles is still holding his hand like it’s a lifeline.

“I think you should choose the colour this time”, Niko tells him, holding out a hand with three different band-aids in it, three different colours, three different patterns.

“It’s not my hands, though”, Edwin protests, but Niko just shoves her hand closer.

“No”, she agrees, “but they’re your wounds, too.”

And Edwin glances at Charles, who, for once, isn’t looking back, takes in the sharp cut of his jaw and the dullness of his eyes, thinks of his bleeding knuckles and broken nails, and knows she is right.

“This one, then”, he says, and leaves the green one, covered with leaves, the yellow one, covered with stars, and picks up the red one, covered in hearts.

The thought doesn’t appear gradually, it rips through him one day when he is walking through the library, forgetting to avoid the bookcases and just phasing through them instead.

Two days before, Niko, in a futile hope to console him, had put a hand on his shoulder and given it a squeeze.

“If he has come back from Hell, then I’m sure he’ll come back from where he is now. Especially if he knows you are waiting for him”, she had said, and back then, Charles had just tried giving her a smile, not thinking anything of the comment.

But now, it’s like a bolt from the heavens, a thought so devastating it leaves him gasping in the middle of the room, clutching at his chest like he still had a heart to calm.

He knows little to nothing about the Cat King, because in the end, Edwin had always been the brains of their operation, the one with the encyclopedic knowledge of anything supernatural, but something he knows intimately are Edwin’s stories about Hell.

Most of them, he has heard at least a dozen times, and even if that is not enough to imagine the horrors there, it’s enough to know that the entities there use souls like bargaining chips.

Edwin had told him before that he had been traded from demon to demon, and back then, in the comfort of their agency, Charles had shivered and put a hand on Edwin’s shoulder in lieu of pulling him against his chest, tucking Edwin’s head under his chin and never letting him go again.

Now, a picture forms in his mind that is so terrifying Charles feels like screaming, and Edwin is not here, so Charles will claw him from the mouth of Hell itself this time.

“Charles, could I borrow Edwin for a second?”, Crystal asks one evening, and Charles’ fingers tense around his own.

It’s a strange phenomenon that has only increased with time; occasionally, Edwin thinks he can almost feel Charles’ touch, not as just resistance, but like he used to when he was still alive.

“It won’t be long and I’ll bring him back, I promise”, she adds, not even bothering to ask Edwin, just assuming he will follow her.

“Yeah, sure”, Charles eventually answers, even if a second too late, and slowly, ever so slowly, untangles their fingers from where their hands had been resting between them. It’s the first time since Edwin has come back that they are not touching, and Edwin feels the loss of it immediately, his fingers itching to find Charles’ once more.

For now, though, he only gives Charles a smile before he follows Crystal outside, where she stops immediately.

Her expression is one Edwin cannot decipher, anger lingering behind her eyes, but almost concealed by something much greater, much more important.

“Do you have any idea how much Charles loves you?”, she asks, and the anger is there in her voice, the other thing is, too. “I know I asked you before and you said yes, but I don’t think you do. And I think you need to.”

“I am perfectly aware-”, Edwin starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“You are not”, Crystal interrupts him and she sounds so certain that Edwin feels helpless hearing it, because even if he doesn’t believe her, there are things now that she knows about Charles and he doesn’t. “I watched that boy beat up a witch that almost took out all three of us, because she had lied about knowing where you were, and the only reason he didn’t bash her immortal head in was because Niko and I pulled him off of her. He was willing to sell his soul to her just to get you back. To a demon, too. He nearly ripped off his own fingers trying to reach you, because he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

She pauses for a moment and Edwin can’t speak, can hardly think, his brain trying to sort through the information and failing, because it hurts too much.

“I thought he was going to die, Edwin. Cease existing. Whatever”, she continues, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and the anger is still there, and Edwin understands it now, deserves it. “I went to see him every day at that warehouse after he had just sat down and accepted his fate and every day I expected him to just not be there anymore. That’s how much he loves you, I thought he was going to disappear just because you had, too. He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone.”

“Crystal…”

“If you hurt him, I’m going to make you regret you were ever born”, she finishes, and Edwin believes her without reservations, “and the only reason I won’t kill you a second time is because I know it would kill Charles, too.”

It’s not easy to get Crystal to tell him where David is, but Charles manages anyway.

The roller-skating rink is dark and dirty, the concrete floor too close to the one in the warehouse for Charles not to shiver when seeing it for the first time. But it doesn’t matter, isn’t allowed to matter, because crouched in the corner is a human figure with shaggy hair and a too-large fur coat, and Charles wants to rip him apart for Crystal, wants to beg him to help for Edwin.

“Oi!”, he yells out and David scatters in a way that reminds Charles of a bug of some kind. “You remember me, yeah?”

“What do you want?”, David spits back, pressed against the wall and trying to look like he wouldn’t flee if Charles gave him an opportunity to do so. “Haven’t you ruined enough?”

“Didn’t ruin a thing”, Charles replies, but there’s no fire to it, because in the end, as much as he hates it, he needs the bastard’s help. “I need you to send me to Hell.”

If he wasn’t so desperate, if there wasn’t a constant loop of torture behind his eyes whenever he blinked, showing him thousands of ways that Edwin could be torn apart this second, he would try to find a better, a more subtle way of putting it, but there is, and Charles has long since stopped caring.

He hasn’t seen Edwin in more than three weeks and if his best friend in the world, the one person who never deserved to go to Hell, spent three weeks there because Charles was too stupid to put the pieces together, he will never forgive himself for it.

“What?”, David asks, and Charles has no time for this, for any of it.

“Hell. I need you to send me to Hell, because my friend might be there and I need to find him”, he repeats, and it takes a moment, but then David laughs, an ugly, rough sound.

“You want to go to Hell”, he repeats, like Charles hasn’t said so twice already. “Voluntarily.”

“Yes.” Charles closes his eyes for a second, wishing that the deep breaths he used to ask Edwin to take would still have the same effects on him as they did when he was still alive. “You don’t need to understand it, you just have to send me there. I’ll sell you my soul or whatever it is you do, I don’t care. I just need to get to Hell as quickly as possible.”

David still looks like he wants to laugh, but this time, he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step forward, raising his hands as if he was trying to placate Charles, a smile on his lips that Charles wants to knock off.

“Alright, alright”, he says, and Charles hates him and hates the Cat King and hates himself for letting it come to this. But it will be worth it, anything would be worth it if it brought Edwin back. He’ll figure out what to do about his own soul later. “I’ll get you to Hell, absolutely. But it sounds like you’re desperate, so I might need a bit more than just your soul to make it happen.”

“No.” He thinks of Crystal and Niko and Jenny, all safe, all oblivious, hopes they’ll forgive him. “You’ll get my soul, and that’s it.”

David pretends to think about it, but Charles has dealt with enough demons to know he will accept; they are greedy creatures after all, and a soul is a soul is a soul.

“Okay”, he says at last, and still, Charles feels relief wash through him. Just hold on a little bit longer, Edwin. I’m coming. “I’ll take your soul. And I’ll send you to Hell. But I’ll choose the Circle.”

“Sure, whatever”, Charles replies and the smirk that David gives him should scare him, but he’s far past scaring. “I’ll find him no matter what.”

Crystal’s words echo in Edwin’s head when they return to the agency and Edwin slots back into the spot next to Charles, their fingers intertwining naturally.

He knows Charles loves him, of course he does. Has known it for thirty years and has it carved so deeply, so prominently into his heart that he’ll never forget it, yet something about Crystal’s words makes that knowledge scream in his chest when Charles looks at him, a little bit of his usual brightness returning to his eyes as soon as they touch.

It’s not frightening, that knowledge, but it’s not comforting either.

It’s just there, beating in his chest like a heart might, asking if Edwin feels the same.

And without a moment’s hesitation, Edwin answers.

Yes.

“Oh, you fucking won’t”, rings out Crystal’s voice just before Charles’ hand touches David’s, and for a moment, Charles hates her.

Then someone grips his shoulder and flings him backwards, and Crystal is standing there, breathing heavily, a cleaver in her hand, and for another moment, Charles loves her.

“You won’t fucking touch him”, she hisses, and David laughs, the sound just as rough, just as ugly.

“He came here by himself”, he tells her, grinning still. “He asked me to take his soul. He begged me to do it.”

“Well, the offer has been rescinded. And you better go wherever the fuck you came from, before I send you back there myself.”

“Crystal, I need him to-”, Charles starts, desperate, but he never gets to finish the sentence, because Crystal turns her head to look at him, and her eyes are blazing like fire, before they go white.

“No one needs him for anything”, she tells him and her voice is distant and emotionless and powerful, echoing in the empty space like it is made of a hundred women speaking.

And Crystal reaches out and puts a hand on the centre of David’s chest.

For a moment, nothing happens, then he is being flung back against the wall with an invisible force, kept there suspended.

“You won’t touch him again”, Crystal says and the other voices still echo within hers, leaving Charles breathless and awed and despondent. “And you won’t touch me either. Otherwise I’ll bury you so deep you’ll be begging me to send you back to Hell instead.”

And she lets him go; when she turns back to Charles, there’s a small pouch in her hand.

“Crystal said you almost sold your soul to a demon”, Edwin starts the next time Charles allows him a question.

Everything Crystal had told him has stuck with him, but this he had only realised much later, and it had scared him like hardly anything else had before.

Charles just nods, this time doesn’t even try for a smile, and Edwin is glad for it; he’s not sure if he could take it.

“I didn’t really think I had a choice”, he adds after a few moments, like it makes it better. “I thought the Cat King might have sold you to some kind of demon and that was why I couldn’t find you anywhere. And the idea of you, stuck down there… I couldn’t take it.”

“But there was no proof, there can’t even have been any indication that…”

“No, there wasn’t”, Charles replies and this time, he does smile, and the sight is as torturous as Edwin knew it was going to be. “But I had to make sure. No version of you getting dragged to Hell where I don’t come and get you, is there?”

His fingers, adorned with less band-aids than there were before, squeeze Edwin’s and for a moment, they almost feel warm, real.

And Edwin blinks back tears and thinks of Crystal saying, he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, and squeezes back.

“How am I supposed to get Edwin back now, Crystal?”, Charles sobs, the words coming out drowned in tears and desolation. “What if he’s in Hell and I can’t get him back?”

He’s on the floor of the roller-skating rink, David’s collapsed form just metres away, and Charles should move in case he wakes up again, but he can’t. His limbs are not moving, his thoughts spiralling, because the only thing that counts is that Edwin might be trapped in some kind of torture chamber in the one place Charles cannot reach.

Two familiar hands pull him up and into a hug that Charles cannot reciprocate, shaking too violently with the intensity of his sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Charles”, Crystal mutters into his shoulder, and she sounds shaken, sounds almost in tears. “Have you ever stopped for a second and thought what would happen if Edwin came back and you were in Hell?”

“Now that we’re all back, do you guys want to get back into detecting?”, Crystal asks them, and Charles flinches almost imperceptibly, before forcing a smile onto his pretty lips.

This time, at least, looking at it is a little less painful.

“Yeah, of course”, Charles says, “but maybe not right away. Unless Edwin…”

“No, I think a bit of a break would do us some good”, Edwin tells him before Charles can even finish the sentence. “Maybe once Charles’ hands have healed. We have no reason to rush it, do we?”

And watches as a little bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes.

It’s later, although Charles cannot tell exactly how much.

Crystal had to half-carry him out of the roller-skating rink, where they had both collapsed on the ground, unable or unwilling to move.

With time, Charles’ sobs had dried up, even though it feels like he has an ocean of them still stored inside his chest, lapping at his unbeating heart like waves. But Crystal had been right, he doesn’t know if Edwin is in Hell, just fears it more than anything else in this world.

“Charles?”, Crystal asks into the night air, sounding pensive, drained.

“Yeah?”

“I know you and Edwin are best friends, but that can’t be all that there is to it. Not with how you’ve been in the past weeks. What’s going on?”

It’s not the question he expected, it’s not even one he has ever asked himself before, but there is exhaustion so deep in his bones, paired with despair he didn’t know he could even feel, and Charles knows that Crystal deserves an answer.

So, he looks inside, pictures Edwin, his little smug smile when he wins at Clue and the elegance of his gestures and the way his voice softens when he knows Charles needs reassurance.

He thinks of Edwin, bathed in the light of the morning sun, and illuminated by the stars, thinks of Edwin’s wit and his brilliance and how easily he gets annoyed at period dramas on TV when their costumes aren’t historically accurate. Thinks of Edwin reading him to sleep when he was dying and reading him poetry afterwards when he found out that Charles had never truly liked a poem, and how Edwin’s voice had almost made him cry when he had recited Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale.

Thinks about how when he’s sad, it’s Edwin he wants to talk to, and when he’s happy, it’s the same thing, the same intensity.

Thinks about how no one has ever known him like this, inside and out, with all his flaws and imperfections and silly little quirks, and how Edwin does and still wants to keep him; how Charles knows just as much about him and feels the same.

Thinks about how it’s impossible to imagine a world without him in it, and how Charles never even wants to try doing so.

Thinks of Edwin and how he is the best, the brightest, the most important part of his existence.

“I love him”, he finally answers, and he’s choking on the words because they are true and yet he hasn’t known until a second ago. “Crystal, I love him. I love him so much and I never even got to tell him.”

And he’s crying again, just as hard as before, and Crystal reaches out and holds him until it’s morning again.

“Crystal and I found the vending machine”, Niko tells them the next day when the girls arrive around noon. She’s skipping, obviously excited as she sits down between them, completely ignoring that it means they have to rearrange their intertwined hands. “The one that was haunted. It was so cool, I got an orange soda out of it.”

She’s unpacking her band-aids, although nowadays, Charles doesn’t need many of them anymore, setting them out as a surgeon would their instruments, and no matter how charming Edwin finds her, the reminder that the girls know of the vending machine still makes something in Edwin’s chest clench uncomfortably.

“That’s great”, Charles says and maybe there is a little bit more light in his eyes than there was yesterday. He plucks a band-aid from Niko’s lap and hands it to her. “This one today, please.”

And it really isn’t great at all, but Edwin doesn’t know how to formulate the fact into a sentence that doesn’t sound like complete lunacy.

“And this one”, he says instead, and grabs a random band-aid too, just so he won’t make a fool of himself.

It’s the first time he has participated in the little ritual by his own volition and Niko smiles at him, almost a reward, before taking a look at the plaster he picked.

“That’s nice”, she tells him, and puts it down next to Charles’ choice for later use. “And really fitting. They’re in love in the anime.”

Charles’ hand twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else until Niko is finished.

“There is one more thing”, Crystal tells him as they are walking back to the butcher shop, after she has explained the power of her ancestors she has just discovered to him, or at least tried to. “When I was in David’s mind, I could see… something in the warehouse. Somewhere he thought about escaping to. I think it’s something like a little pocket dimension, if that makes sense. Maybe Edwin is in there.”

That night, Charles gives him another question, and Edwin knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself.

“When did you tell Crystal and Niko about the Case of the Haunted Vending Machine of 2002?”

Charles looks surprised, and Edwin cannot blame him; it is such an inconsequential thing to ask when is so much else Edwin doesn’t know yet, but then his eyes soften a little, and there is a spark in his eyes that Edwin has missed dearly.

“I’m not entirely sure”, he says, and it makes Edwin feel a little better to know that: at least to Charles, it wasn’t an occasion that mattered. “But they asked about you sometime, especially Niko, after she could see me. About why I wanted to find you so badly, about how our life was like before we came to Port Townsend. And I thought the easiest thing was to just tell them about cases. And you were brilliant in the vending machine one.”

He smiles and for the first time since he got back, Edwin doesn’t have to suppress a flinch; it almost looks like the smile he is used to.

“So were you”, Edwin replies without thinking, and means it, too. His fingers tighten a little around Charles’ and he could swear he can feel skin against skin, flesh against flesh.

“We were pretty brilliant together.”

“We were”, Edwin replies and wants to pull Charles closer, wants to never let him go again, “And we still are.”

This time, Crystal doesn’t even try to stop him.

Charles walks into the warehouse, cricket bat in hand, vowing then and there that he won’t leave until he has found this pocket dimension, no matter what or where it is.

He starts with whatever is left of the furniture, smashing it to pieces and ripping those apart until they’re nothing more than splinters. The palettes strewn about are next, nails flying as Charles pulls the boards apart and leaves them scattered on the ground.

Then, the walls, tearing down the panelling, until the metal is bare and covered in dents and scratches and holes where his bat bust through the rust. He rips out the light fixtures and grinds them to dust under his loafers, shreds the nets hanging between the beams and leaves their tattered remains wherever he happens to be standing.

Finally, the floor itself, because if he has to dig down to Hell with his nails and teeth, he will.

The concrete cracks under the barrage of hits he rains down onto it, magic putting more force into the blows than his spectral muscles could, until the ground looks like a meteor hit.

It turns out to be too much for his bat, which splinters just like the palettes, the pillars, the concrete did, so Charles throws it away and uses his hands instead, shovelling away gravel and debris and chipped wood, digging deep into the ground until it, and Edwin, are the only things he can still think about.

Somewhere in between, his hands start bleeding, his nails cracking and ripping down to the flesh, but Charles pays them no mind, even as pain radiates up his arms with every punch, every blow, every cut.

It feels like the scratch of a cat’s claw, just a hundredfold, and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

“Why is this so important to you? All the questions, I mean. I know Crystal told you the gist of what happened during that time”, Charles asks after he has answered another one of Edwin’s queries. He looks relaxed, his head pillowed on Edwin’s lap, and when he looks up at him, Edwin knows he could count the lashes around his deep, dark eyes.

They’re less dull nowadays, but still don’t hold that one spark that Edwin misses the most of all.

“It’s silly”, he confesses, not because he wants to, but because Charles has shared so much with him that he deserves to have at least one question of his own answered truthfully. “It’s just that for decades, all of your memories were mine as well. And those six weeks… I wish I could change them, I wish you didn’t have to endure them, I wish I could take all of it away, so please, don’t think that this matters more to me than that.”

He takes a deep breath, something that he had forgotten about in Hell, something that Charles had showed him once more after they had met, something that now will always be Charles to him.

“Suddenly, there are six weeks in the middle of your existence, and I wasn’t part of a second of them. And I hate that, much more than I should.”

For a few, long moments, there is no answer, just Charles’ eyes on him, just his fingers brushing across Edwin’s knuckles.

“Edwin, you were there for every second of it”, Charles finally answers, and his eyes are still not as bright as they used to be, but they’re bright anyway. “You were at the heart of everything. I missed you in every single moment.”

His hands are bruised and bloody, some of his nails missing, the others torn down until they are little more than gaping wounds, as Charles tears another piece of concrete from the floor.

He has looked everywhere and Edwin isn’t here and it is a constant refrain in his head; he’s not here he’s not here he’s not here.

Occasionally, there’s tears mixing with the blood, but Charles doesn’t pay them any mind either.

On the third day, Crystal finds him, covered in dust and grime and blood and splinter of what might be wood or bone or whatever is left of his ruined heart.

She breathes out his name and it’s a sob; when he looks up at her, it takes a second until he recognises her.

“You can’t continue like this”, she says, and there are tears in his eyes, on her cheeks, dripping down her chin. “Edwin wouldn’t want you to torture yourself like this and I can’t watch it any longer. It’s been almost a month, Charles, you won’t find him like this.”

It takes a moment or two until he finds the words, remembers how to speak, and when he does, he knows he’s crying, too.

“But what else is there left I can do?”, he asks, and Crystal chokes on her tears, before she reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

“I don’t know, Charles. I wish I did.”

“Your hands are almost fine again”, Edwin remarks and lifts the one he is holding up to inspect it. There are just two band-aids left, one around his ring finger, one on the back of Charles’ hand, green and yellow respectively.

“I know”, Charles answers, lifting the other one, a single frog-themed plaster around his thumb. “It’s a miracle, innit?”

And Edwin looks at him, his almost-perfect smile, the slope of his nose and the dark brown of his eyes; he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal says in his mind.

“Yes”, he replies, “it really is.”

“Come with me”, Crystal pleads, trying to pull him up from where he is sitting on the ground, between broken pieces of concrete and wood.

“I can’t”, Charles says, and knows it is true. His limbs won’t move, his body refusing Crystal’s attempt to lift him up; he won’t leave without Edwin at his side.

“You have to”, Crystal replies, and Charles wishes he could reach up and brush the tears from her cheeks. “You can’t stay here. Not like this.”

“You don’t understand, Crystal”, he says, and maybe he is crying, maybe he has forgotten how to do even that. “I can’t leave. If he isn’t here, then nothing matters. I cannot pass on, because there’s no Heaven if Edwin’s not in it. And I could stop existing, maybe, but if I do and he comes back, then he’ll be alone. So, if I can’t find him, if I can’t bring him back, then I’ll just… stay. And I’ll wait. Forever if I have to.”

Even though Charles, who used to flit between places like breathing, seems most content inside the agency these days, Edwin drags him up to the roof, because the weather is lovely and Edwin wants to see the sun on Charles’ skin, reflected in his eyes.

He seems different today, distracted, but he gives Edwin a small, almost-right smile when they sit down on the ledge, looking down over the city.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to ask a question today”, Charles says after a few seconds, but he sounds far away, almost distracted. “I know you like them. It’s just. There is one thing that I don’t think you how to ask about and that you should know. So I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Something about his words makes Edwin’s metaphorical heart beat faster, makes him look at Charles and notice everything at once: the way he clenches his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows, how his tongue darts out to wet lips that don’t get dry any longer.

He looks nervous, and Edwin hates it, because there is nothing Charles could say that would make Edwin care for him any less.

“You can tell me anything, Charles.”

“I know”, Charles replies and gives Edwin the smallest of smiles. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

For a long time, there is nothing, then Charles shakes his head slightly, a tick Edwin knows so intimately it almost pains him.

“You see”, he starts, “when you were gone, I found something out about myself. About you, too. I’m not sure if I would have otherwise, at least not now. And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, and now that you’re back it’s suddenly so difficult, because you’re here and I know it won’t change anything, not between us, but it will change something for me, anyway.”

He lifts their joined hands, the single band-aid stark against his skin, and smiles; for a moment, Edwin forgets that he doesn’t understand what Charles is talking about, because there is something so fond, so sweet, so devastating about the look in his eyes.

“I love you”, he says, and Edwin’s metaphorical heart stops, speeds up, swells until it is straining against his ribs, “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m in love with you, Edwin. And I thought I might never be able to tell you, so I’m doing it now.”

And he looks over at Edwin and for the first time since he had launched himself into his side in that godforsaken warehouse, Charles smiles at him and it’s the smile Edwin missed the entire time, every bit of sunlight in the universe bundled into his eyes, into the curve of his lips.

“You don’t have to feel the same. I don’t expect you to”, Charles says, and his voice is trembling, but he sounds happy nonetheless, sounds content. “I just needed you to know that you’re loved in every way there is.”

A beat, a second, another one, and Edwin looks at Charles and it’s like he is seeing him for the very first time, at the same time like he has never seen anything else in his entire existence.

He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal’s words echo in his mind, and she was right all along, and Edwin…

“I love you, too”, he says without thinking about it, because he doesn’t have to, he has known this for years, decades, maybe forever.

“I know”, Charles replies and he’s still smiling; he’s so beautiful Edwin wants to break down and thank the fates that he was sacrificed, that he was dragged to Hell and escaped it, that he is allowed to be here, holding hands with the best, the most important, the most beautiful boy in the world.

“No, Charles. I’m in love with you.”

And another beat, another second, and Charles’ eyes go wide, the sun behind them goes supernova, and Edwin can’t believe he ever looked at him and didn’t know he wanted to kiss those lips.

“Oh”, Charles breathes out and he sounds overwhelmed, sounds almost bashful. “That’s… that’s brills, innit?”

“Yes. It is.”

There is a pause, because something shifts between them; it doesn’t change, because it was always there, even without them knowing, so instead, it blossoms and blooms and grows into something so delicate, so resilient, so beautiful that Edwin finds himself smiling, almost laughing, almost crying.

“Can you just kiss me, please?”, he asks, love and happiness and devotion woven into every syllable.

And Charles nods, eyes brighter than Edwin has ever seen them before, and there is a second of hesitation, but then he leans in and kisses Edwin, and this time, there’s no mistaking it; there’s lips pressed against his, warm and soft and sweet, and Edwin can feel them just as if he was alive.

“I love you”, he whispers against Charles lips, and Charles laughs, before pressing closer still, kissing him again and again until Edwin’s head is swimming with it, his lips wet and swollen and his cheeks wet with the happiest tears he has ever cried.

“I love you”, Charles whispers back, and he’s smiling.

And he kisses him again.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles #i am sooo glad i got this finished before the holiday #because i would have hated to explain to my friends that no unfortunately i wouldn't be able to go to a bar i needed to write gay boy angst #anyway i hope you guys like it!!!!!!

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