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genderlessghoul · 1 year

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Thinking thoughts of transmasc Phantom's first experience with trans tape and it goes horribly wrong. Luckily, a certain fire ghoul finds him in his time of distress.

IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO GET THIS LONG WOAH.

Anyway, t4t Phantom and Dew fluff below the cut, with mention of trans Rain (everyone's trans, heck yeah) nothing sexual but they do be naked. Nothing graphic but Phantom do be getting scars in the long run.

This entire thing was a stupid idea. The idea of not having to wear an extra article of clothes to hide his chest had been very appealing, so was the thought of not having to reposition himself in a binder all day. He also had liked the prospect of getting to wear his binding equipment for a few days. But now it all seems like the worst decision he's made possibly ever.

He's on his second day with the tape on. It was fine the day before. It started being uncomfy during the evening but it didn't really bother him until that morning. He pulled through the entire day and every second he could feel the adhesive pull on his skin in the most uncomfortable way possible.

The decision was made right after dinner to take it off. His skin needed to breathe. The pull was painful when he entered the bathroom and now, 20 minutes later, it's unbearable. He needs the tape off yesterday. But he only got one tiny piece off and it felt like he was skinning himself alive. And he's supposed to do that for what, 7 more strips? He might just keep them on for the rest of his life, it's less painful than removing them.

He conciders it but he can't. He can't bare the feeling of anything touching his skin anymore. He tries to go back to removing the strips but it hurts too much, he's just making pathetic pained sounds while he pulls slowly, millimeter after millimeter. He's vaguely aware that his cheeks are wet but he doesn't know when he started crying.

Before long, he's on his knees on the cold bathroom floor, crying softly out of pain and frustration. Holding his head in his hands because he can't bare to remove the tape but he can't bare not to do it.

"What the fuck?"

Phantom about jumps out of his skin when he hears the voice. He turns around to find Dewdrop standing in the doorway. More like leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. The quintessence ghoul didn't close the door but he didn't think he'd have to, as the only way in is through his own bedroom.

"You scared the living shit out of me, what the fuck are you doing in my room?" he's trying to hide the obvious shake in his voice with a dry tone, scrambling to dry his face with his sweaty palms. The last thing he needs right now is for Dew to make fun of him.

"We share a wall, dumbass, I could hear your whining. Decided I'd come check out the situation for myself. Now what do we have here?"

The fire ghoul walks up to the other and offers a hand to pick him off the floor. Once on his feet, Dew grabs Phantom by his shoulders to gently coax him into turning to the right, then to the left, taking the time to examine the pieces of athletic tape glued to his side. Phantom knows he looks ridiculous. The tape is that wanna-be flesh tone colour that doesn't look real on any human, much less on a ghoul with such dark grey skin and such bright white patches. The job is uneven, he couldn't get both sides to matches. The tape is full of ugly wrinkles that make his skin itch. Truly a poor sight to witness.

"Tried tape for the first time? Not too bad I guess... There's a whole lotta wrinkles in it though, it's not gonna be a fun time removing it."

Phantom's eyes glue to the floor at that last part and the fire ghoul catches onto it. A concerned and puzzled look paints itself on his face as he turns the younger ghoul around one more time. There in his back, he can see a bright red spot right in the middle of one of the quintessence ghoul's white patches, directly next to the tape.

"You absolute idiot. Are... Are you trying to remove it raw?"

"I figured it was like a bandaid, I could just peal it off... Obviously not." he speaks softly. Dew turns him around one last time and grabs his face to force him to make eye contact.

"Why in all seven circles of Hell would you not ask me about it? Or Rain? You can't just peal it off, you're gonna take your entire back, sides and tits out with it!"

"I don't know, I just didn't think there was anything more to it."

The fire ghoul lets him go with a sigh.

"Okay just... Just stay there, don't touch anything. I'll be back in a couple minutes, okay?"

"Yeah okay."

Dew leaves and Phantom thinks he might start to cry again. The whole pack would know in a matter of seconds, they'd surely laugh at him in the morning for his pathetic attempt. He stares at the singular piece of tape sitting on his bathroom counter, the only one he managed to remove. He should have asked Dew about it, about the entire process really, but he was so scared of being made fun of for needing help with a task that sounded so simple.

The fire ghoul returns soon enough, he's armed with a bottle of some liquid and one of his own towel. There's a couple other things in a pouch that he sets on the counter top.

"Get in the shower, we're gonna oil you up like a rotisserie chicken."

"What?"

Dew rolls his eyes. "This is baby oil, it helps break down the adhesive in the tape. I don't wanna make a mess of your bathroom floor so get in the shower!"

"They make oil out of babies???"

Phantom looks completely horrified and Dew's thoroughly unamused. "It's made for babies, dipshit."

"... Oh."

He strips out of his pajama pants and boxers and slips into the shower. The fire ghoul follows suit after removing his own clothes. He jumps straight into his task, uncapping the bottle and lining the lip with the top of Phantom's tape, letting the oil soak through the offending material. He glides the bottle slowly over the entire lenght of one side of the quintessence ghoul's body, then repeats on the other side. Dew restarts the process a few times, each time lower on the tape, until every part of it looks soaked.

"I'm gonna work the oil into the tape, just to make sure it's completely soaked throught. Let me know if any spot hurts in particular, okay? You probably have a fair amount of blisters and raw skin under there, I don't wanna hurt you more than I have to."

Phantom nods and Dew discards the bottle on the shower floor. He starts gently massaging the tape, starting in the back and moving slowly towards the front. He sees the way Phantom winces when his fingers press into the very back on the strips and tries to soften his motions.

"You shouldn't stretch the tape so much in the back. The first and last inch of a strip serve kind of as anchor points, don't stretch them or you're not gonna have a fun time." Dew offers his quintessence ghoul some advice as he works.

"Huh uh" Phantom elects to rest his head on the other's shoulder, inhaling his scent to distract from the accidental self-inflicted pain. He smells like wood smoke and fresh cinnamon rolls, a lot sweeter than usual. Dew's fingers work over a few wrinkles.

"Put the tape on as flat as possible. Wrinkles will cause blisters. They can get really big and leave stupid ugly scars. They're also generally just painful so don't do that shit on purpose."

"Huh uh" Phantom knows there's no magic coming from the fire ghoul, nut he still feels like his touch makes his skin feel better.

Once he's done massaging all over the tape, Dew elects to run his fingers over Phantom's shoulder blades in a soothing motion for a while. The younger ghoul's head is still resting on his shoulder, his breath slowly stabilizing now that there's no immediate pain inflicted on him.

"When you want to remove it, you have to make sure you completely soak it in oil for a little while before. Any oil works, really, I just liked baby oil the best back then. Mount would scold me over using anything from the kitchen since you need a pretty obscene amount."

Phantom lets out a small hum as a reply and his hands move absentmindedly to Dew's own sides, his thumbs resting at the base of his scars. If getting himself in a stupid predicament is all it takes to get the fire ghoul's soft and caring side, he should do stupid things more often.

They stay like that for a little while longer before Dew's hands make their way back to the tape. "Let's try this again now, shall we?"

Phantom apprehends the pain when fingers lift the corner of a strip, but it never comes. It's removed slowly, without any real struggle. The other ghoul lets it fall at the bottom of the shower with a wet thump.

"See?" he says in a soothing voice. "It's a whole lot better when you do it right."

The fire ghoul whispers soft praises into his ear as he continues the job, slowly, piece by piece, until they're all sitting next to their fallen comrade on the shower floor.

Dew places a small kiss to the top of Phantom's head before detaching him from his sides. He discards the strips of tape to a corner with his foot and turns on the water, setting it to a comforting warmth.

"Now we just gotta un-rotisserie chicken you. Don't wanna get your sheets all oily."

"It's gonna hurt like a bitch if you scrub."

"Not gonna scrub I promise. Been there done that, never again."

He doesn't give Phantom a chance to argue before he's picking up the bottle of coconut scented body wash, squirting some into his hands and lathering it. He repeats his task of slowly working over the previously taped area on the quintessence ghoul's body. He's working as gently as he can but he still sees the way Phantom clenches his teeth whenever he reaches a blister or a spot of particularly sore skin.

Dew makes sure the ghoul in front of him is completely cleaned of any oil before he works the few spots where he got some on himself. The water is closed and he takes the other's hand to guide him out of the shower. Dew wraps him towel over his hips before grabbing another one and patting Phantom dry, still as careful over his sensitive spots.

The quintessence ghoul catches a glimpse of himself in the shower and only then does he realise how badly he messed up. Any white area of his skin that was covered by the tape is now red and inflamed, the darker parts no doubt just a bad even if he can't see it. There's blisters all over his sides and back, of varrying sizes but all with a disturbing yellowish undertone. The front of his body was miraculously spared that treatment.

"It's not as bad as it looks, I promise." Dew tries some reassuring words while he rummages through the pouch he brought. He takes out a small jar and a roll of gaze.

"You should've seen Rain's first try, I was patching up holes in his back for like months. He wasn't as lucky as you, I only found him after he ripped off all the tape by himself."

"Wait really?"

"Yeah that's why he has those dark spots there. He tells everyone they're really big freckles but... Don't tell him I told you."

Dew takes off the lid of his small jar. There's so sort of jelly-looking substance inside. He silently coaxes Phantom into lifting his arms up so he can apply a fair amount over his wounds and sore skin, wrapping his entire chest with gaze once he's done.

"There. That should help everything heal faster."

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't mention it. I wasn't about to let you skin yourself alive. Now you know how to not do things next time."

"I'm really not concinced I want there to be a next time."

"Hey," he takes Phantom face in his hands once more "we've all been there. Binding correctly, especially with tape like that, it's a learning curve. Especially if you have no one to teach you. Or if you decide that you don't need to be taught. Just ask us for help next time, okay?"

"Yeah, okay..."

Dew places a soft kiss on the quintessence ghoul's lips before letting go of his face. "Come on, I'm getting hella tired."

He grabs Phantom by the hand and all but drags him to his bed. The fire ghoul lays on his back and encourages the other to lie on top of him, on his stomach so that he's not squashing any blister.

Phantom's head comes to rest on Dew's chest, hearing the consistent beat of his heart. Warm arms wrap themselves around his middle and start rubbing at his lower back.

"Sorry I ruined your evening. You probably plans that didn't involve having to rescue me from tape, of all things."

"Don't worry about it, baby boy." he plants another kiss in his hair and Phantom kicks up a purr at the pet name.

"I'm just glad I didn't catch you with fucking duct tape or some shit."

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #dewdrop ghost #ghost ficlet #ghost fanfiction #fanfic #ficlet #meerkat writes #everyone's trans because I said so

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slashingdisneypasta · 29 days

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Otis B Driftwood x Reader || Excerpt

Plot: Just a moment after he tells you he's gonna keep you around. Not a whole lotta context 😅

Warnings: It's Otis B Driftwood. I don't even know where to start 😅

Otis' lips leave your lips feeling hot and bruised. The taste of metal remains on your tongue, forced there by his smothering kiss. His fingers leave a dirty smudge on your jaw as he roughly let's you go and stands up to his full height while you remain, sat on the bed. "Yeah... I think I'm gonna keep you, doll. Oh- I'm definitely gonna keep you."

"I hate you." You snap at him with his grimy sheets fisted in your clenched fingers; every bit of fury and disgust you felt looking at him cooking in your words. And everything else, too. The fear, the horror, the other things that you haven't thought about. That you're afraid to.

Otis doesn't seem too bothered by what you say though, a grimy smirk flickering across his face along with a chuckle. Your words change nothing, for him. You dont matter, not like that. You matter, your being here with him; his secret toy all for himself; but your opinions? What you want? Eh, not important. He shakes his head, strolling off to a chest of drawers. You're also wrong, he thinks, pulling out a nasty looking serrated knife. But whatever. You'll figure that out, eventually.

Your heartbeat jumps to life inside your chest, pounding inside your body, screaming to fly out and take off.

That doesnt stop you from spewling, though. You don't want him to know how scared of him you are, how terrified. ... He thinks that's real fucken cute. "You're an evil freak. If you think I want to stay here, you're out of your mind- "

"Obviously I'm out of my fucking mind. Look at me. Do I look sane to you??"

He turns around, the knife in his strong hand pointed downwards. Tucks it into the back of his jeans causing you to grimace. "Anyway," He shrugs, leaning back to pick up a beer can that's been on that dresser for who-knows-how long and take a swig so that some dribbles down the corner of his mouth. He wipes it with the back of his hand and drops the now empty can on the carpet; crushing it under his boot on his way back to you.

When he sits down close beside you, so your hips and your arms brush together making you shiver, he leans in so you can smell his metallic, now stale beer addled breath and tucks some of your hair ever-so-gently behind your ear making you wince this time. He's being too soft with you, and the thick material band around his wrist is damp and stinks. You also can't stop thinking about the jagged knife in the ass of his jeans. Surely he's getting cut, sitting with it like that?? Doesn't he care????

No, of course not.

"You hate me, huh?... " He whispers, smirking like he knows something you-fucking-dont. Which is infuriating. "... well, maybe. Probably. Whatever. But hey- " He leans in so close you can taste his breath, and try not to gag. "I think you're gonna like it here, baby. Eventually."

"What???" How could he possibly think- After he took you and killed your friends-

"We'll turn you crazy over time. A regular part of the family. Then you'll like it here." With a taught smile, he leans down and presses a hot, rough, open-mouthed kiss to your exposed neck; licking your skin and sucking like he couldn't help himself from getting a taste, before looking back up at your face again. "Then you'll admit y'want me. Promise."

Then he flashes a quick smile, and leaves the dank, messy room. Locks it behind him.

#Otis B Driftwood x Reader Excerpt #Otis B Driftwood x Reader #Otis B Driftwood #Excerpt #Horror Villain #Horror Villains #Horror Villain x Reader #Horror Villains x Reader

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und3ad-mutt · 8 months

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the depths of the club. he'd been here for who knows how long, smoking, drinking, partying. everyone was friendly, nearly every social interaction ending with a grin on his face and his tail wagging. usually, at least one person was weirded out by his hybridism: not in the city clubs, apparently. he even saw a few cats around, mingling just the same as he was.

so when he tried to leave for the night, he was surprised when there were bouncers on the inside of the doors. arms crossed, they'd told him he needed to sign out first. something about door logs. he'd been too intoxicated to question it much, and it was only when they herded him into an impressive looking office that he felt something was off.

"um... what am i supposed to—" the door closed behind him with a click.

the chairs are large and plush. the one behind the desk doesn't face him, set up on a rotating wheel. whoever was sitting there spoke up: "have a seat, darling. you're not in any trouble." she turns in the chair, holding a manila folder, flicking through the papers within.

nervously, tail tucked between his legs, he approached. his ears are tilted forward, twitching at every rustle of paper and every creak of the desk. he sits. "what— what is this? i just want to go home, i don't—"

"shh." she hasn't looked up from the folder once. he goes quiet, ears flattening against his head. something about her presence was undeniable: dignified, strong, decisive. pissing her off seems like the worst possible thing to do. so he waits.

after about a minute or so, she closes the folder and stands up, walking around to the front of the desk. "can i get you anything? a drink?"

"erm— no, no, thanks. already had a lotta those." he offers a nervous smile, searching her expression for anything that might hint at what was going on.

her expression was soft. kind, even. but there was something in her eyes that... "your file is one of the more interesting ones i've read." she cuts off his train of thought, casually stepping forward.

wait, his file? but that folder was nearly filled. no way that was all on him. and even so: "what? file? i never agreed to anyth—"

"you didn't have to. the second you stepped into my city, i had it all." she pulls out a thin piece of paper and holds it out. he leans forward so he can read it, and she takes another step closer.

it's a transcript of the conversation he'd had with the taxi driver on the way here. word for word. "you're not the first, coming up here to escape small town ignorance. most of my people did the same."

something cold shivers down his back. this was bad. this was terrifying. he looks at the piece of paper, then looks up at her. fear has him reeling, dizzy, a sickening lurch in his stomach. it was time to go, fuck the bouncers, fuck this.

he starts to stand. but one moment, she's in front of him, standing, and the next, she's got a hand on his chest and her hips over his. he stops short, eyes widening as she pushes him back down, all but straddling his lap. "wh- what-?"

"shhhh. you don't have to be afraid." she smiles. her presence was thick as the perfume he could acutely smell. thick, cloying, pleasant. some deep down instinct wanted to please her, his body betraying the ringing bells of fear in his brain. "let's calm down and talk this through, pup. take a deep breath."

his body betrays him, obeying. her voice takes on a strange quality, soothing, smooth, soft. "look into my eyes."

he can't stop his eyes from looking up. meeting her gaze. something in him shivers. "you're... you're hypnotizing me." he protests in a baffled mutter, already feeling it, the sway she'd somehow gotten over him. but hypnosis wasn't real. this didn't look like what he'd seen on TV.

"shh, pup. just look into my eyes and relax. look deep and relax. focus on me. you're doing so, so well." she cooed. her hand comes up, cupping his cheek, keeping his face turned to hers, keeping their eyes locked. something in her eyes was magnetizing. fascinating whirls of green in her irises, pulsing gently, soothing his fear, washing away his fear. then, her voice... it was a river he was in the center of, her voice flowing around and beside him.

he slips. the alcohol and weed in his system doesn't help. his eyes droop, his head leaning into her hand. something in him, deep down, struggles and fights desperately. something was wrong. he shouldn't trust her.

"there you go." she purrs approvingly. "there you go, pup. you're fighting me so well. focus on keeping those eyes open. you're so focused. you're fighting me so well. you're so calm and focused. such a good, sleepy boy. what were you saying?"

"...h... hypnnn...tttsss..." his voice is barely audible. a sleepy mumble. the hand that holds his head up scritches his fur, petting him. bliss shoots through him. his dick pulses, his groin heating up. he has to... fight... it.

"hm? i can't hear you, pup. you're too sleepy, aren't you? too sleepy and calm. so focused. so nice and docile already, sweet boy." her other hand, the one that had been on his chest, holding him down, drifts down to his belt. "i know what will help. close your eyes, all the way now. your heavy, heavy eyes. freeing up all that focus, so loose and hazy. try again, pup. really try to tell me."

"hhh... hhhmmnn..." he's so warm. he feels it in his face, in his dick, throughout his whole body. "hh..."

she laughs quietly, a beautiful noise. he wants to make her laugh again. she's pleased with him. she likes him. it's a relief. he doesn't know what's so funny, but he feels a smile mirror on his face. "goood boy," she purrs, scratching behind his ear. his tail would wag if he wasn't sitting beside it. sinking into the chair, so heavy. all that existed was her voice and her touch. and it was a lovely, dreamy existence.

"such a good boy for me. falling for me. deeper and deeper now. so relaxed. so calm. so happy." her voice is like candy— sweet, sugary, wrapping around his mind and binding him. it felt so fucking good. being weak. helpless under her. his head was empty except for her. he hadn't ever felt anything like it. it was such a relief. he didn't have to think. she would think for him. he was asleep, so far away and asleep. he didn't have to worry about a thing.

"so. what did you need again, pup?"

that was funny: he couldn't quite recall. it probably wasn't anything important.

#nsft #hypno kink #hypno fantasy #hypno pet #hypno kink puppy #hypnok1nk #petpl@y #( adam barks )

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theaceace · 10 months

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Ok so when Rose gives the heart back to unity once more rendering her the vortex and then she dies in her sleep, something goes wrong (either because Desire set a sneaky trap or because it's close enough to breaking the rules of Endless not hurting family) that there's an explosive reaction, and when the chaos dies down Rose is still in the dreaming even though that definitely should have woken her up and Dream is nowhere to be found

Now Rose is stuck in the dreaming, and after a quick five minutes of panicking, comes to the conclusion with Lucienne and Unity that she'll have to track Dream down and get him to fix this. Lucienne needs to return to the palace to keep the dreaming running smoothly, Unity despite seeming chill about it has just DIED and also has never actually used any of her vortex powers the way Rose has and I'm basically just handwaving the fact that Rose is going to have to search for Dream on her own

Or not entirely on her own! Matthew is there, because every young woman embarking on a solo adventure needs a sassy talking animal sidekick, them's the rules

So Rose and Matthew set out on a trek through the dreaming, and this is the point where I could get wildly creative if I had the brainpower, and come up with fantastical dreamworlds

Because this is an AU and I say that being the descendent of an Endless should have some perks, Rose can still travel between dreams, she just can't affect them/the waking world or bring down the walls between dreams the way she could before. She's more akin to Matthew or Lucienne than a vortex, despite being human and aliveSo they spend a while chasing dead ends and leads that go nowhere until they wind up in some dream set in a pretty normal pub, and in true dreamlogic fashion there are people in clothes that come from a mishmash of the last 7 centuries, eating by rushlight while on their phones. But! Rose looks over and there's Dream! Amazing, they found him!

Matthew's like uhhhhh, I've spent a lotta time with the bossman, Rose, I'm not so sure that's - but it's too late she's already marching over

Meanwhile, Hob has been having a really nice dream in which his Stranger enjoys his company and didn't stand him up and doesn't wander off to 'inspire' any upstart playwrights and smiles at him like he did when they finally met up again a couple of weeks ago or whenever it was. He really wasn't expecting it to be interrupted by a girl rushing over to grab his Stranger's shoulder all excited about how we've found you Dream we were so worried are you ok???

And look. Hob is pretty used to rolling with the punches. After seven hundred years on planet earth, you gotta be. But this is, he hates to say, a pretty fucking weird turn for his dream to take usually it turns more toward his Stranger bending him over the table ahem

Also there's a talking bird. Why not

Rose has now realised that this Dream is not, in fact, the real Dream. BUT that means this guy must know Dream! Maybe he can help out? And Matthew is like wait, wait a second. You. YOU'RE the guy the boss went all starry-eyed (literally) over???

Hob reckons uuuuuhhhhh probably not? Took him seven hundred years to admit they're friends, and Matthew is like holy shit that hussy

Anyway I want Rose Hob and Matthew to go on a roadtrip adventure to save Dream is what I'm getting at. I was to continue the glorious tradition of Hob learning things about his friend (😍) thanks to other people and not from his friend himself (😭). I want Hob to play accidental therapist to Rose like he does to his students. I want Matthew to mock him mercilessly. I want Hob to sometimes be an asshole. I want them to BOND

And I want them to make it to the house of secrets and the house of mysteries where Hob is forcibly reminded that he was raised a Catholic medieval peasant when he sits down for tea with Cain and Abel (who think that Gadling would be an excellent name for a gargoyle if Morpheus ever makes another).

I want Abel to offhandedly mention something unspeakably horrible in the basement, but when Rose opens that door it just leads into a big fancy hallway? They go through anyway, and something feels different about this dream. Matthew is all 'I got a bad feeling about this' because Patton Oswalt loves Star wars and I think it's funny. Maybe they see a stuffed raven with a white breast in a room of taxidermied animals

So they keep looking, and eventually Hob finds a door leading to a basement, cracks a silly joke about finding something unspeakably horrible down there to cover up the fact that he's actually fucking terrified (he's come to accept that this is not a dream in the traditional sense, although it took way longer than it should have), and heads down the staircase

(It's the snow globe)

And here I start to run out of momentum a bit but like. I think Hob Rose and Matthew deserve to come together to roast the shit out of Dream while Lucienne tracks their progress from the library with Unity and Merv, who are also roasting the shit out of Dream, and all roasting comes to an abrupt and choked end when they get to the basement

Maybe Dream has been reduced to a cloud of swirling black sand in the orb, or maybe he looks almost exactly as he did in reality, maybe the Dream Team have to get him out but in order for that to happen he has to allow them to help, or maybe he needs to free himself because something something it's a metaphor idk. Maybe Dream, in whatever state he's in, panics at the sight of his bae friend, his raven, and his niece all outside the glass just like Jessamy was. Maybe he tries to throw them all out of the dream, but he's weakened himself as though he really were trapped in the circle again, and Rose is able to stand her ground against him.

And idk I don't really have an ending beyond 'Dream gets out and everyone is OK and also Rose and Hob end up being exasperated penpals over Dream's... Dream-ness.

#Sandman #rose walker #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #matthew the raven #On today's episode of 'fics I have in my head so vividly and Simply Cannot Put To Paper'#A considerably less angsty installment this time #The dreamling is more background this time also but I love Rose so

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areyoudoingthis · 9 months

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Rated E, 6,971 words.

Ed gets a lazy morning full of warmth and orgasms. - Stede's hair is a random mess of flattened curls and golden strands sticking up wildly in every direction, and there's a bit of drool drying in the corner of his mouth. He looks adorably peaceful as his chest rises and falls at an even rhythm beneath the blankets, and Ed blinks sluggishly and tries to shake off the fog of sleep so he can drink in every minute detail.

Stede's hair is a random mess of flattened curls and golden strands sticking up wildly in every direction, and there's a bit of drool drying in the corner of his mouth. He looks adorably peaceful as his chest rises and falls at an even rhythm beneath the blankets, and Ed blinks sluggishly and tries to shake off the fog of sleep so he can drink in every minute detail.

The hair is probably his fault, he thinks with a self-satisfied smirk as the memories of the previous night start trickling back. A thrum of contentment goes through him as he remembers holding on to it a little too enthusiastically, and Stede being keenly on board with it.

He struggles to wake up fully, fights heavy eyelids and the inviting warmth that threatens to pull him back under, doesn't want to give in to it because Stede is soft and devastatingly cute right next to him, and the whole world seems to be holding its breath just for the two of them. Basking in the perfect stillness of this moment seems a lot more tempting to Ed than sleep.

He stretches his arms over his head with a yawn and shuffles around until he's settled comfortably on his side. His knee twinges when he bends it, and he winces and thinks again that he's gotta get around to finding a new brace for it soon - he can already tell it's gonna bother him all day after the workout he gave it last night. The bruises in his thighs and neck ache a lot more pleasantly, though, and excitement shoots through him when he pictures what he's gonna look like standing naked in front of the mirror.

He shifts his leg around until he finds a position that doesn't hurt his knee, yawns again and enjoys being snug in their big new bed under their soft new blankets. He makes a game of counting the freckles on Stede's nose to stay awake - there are a lot more now that he's stopped carrying his little parasols with him whenever he's in the sun, and Ed loves them but also misses how fucking cute he looked hiding under those. He's up to thirteen and starting to map out constellations on his skin when his mind suddenly grabs onto a thought and pushes it insistently to the front. Is this the first slow, relaxed morning he's had in... years? Maybe ever? The room is bathed in golden sunlight, he woke up with a smile on his face and he feels content and at peace. The bed is warm, Stede's body's warm next to him; Ed feels warm in every way that counts. And not just that, he feels safe and home, for the first time in a long time.

Next thing he knows, blood is rushing in his ears and he can feel his pulse rocket in his neck at the same time as the breath gets stuck inside his chest and every one of his limbs locks up. His heart is racing madly, and he's irrationally terrified of moving an inch and having all of this disappear on him somehow.

He knows that's not how it works, knows Stede and the bed and the house are solid around him and they can't vanish that easily. But things haven't exactly been stable lately, and easy and safe are not things he's used to, especially not first thing in the morning. He's used to his days beginning with a rush and a whole lotta clatter, generally with Izzy yelling at someone before the sun was even up. And the past few months have been even worse than the uszh - he didn't do a lot of waking up because he wasn't sleeping much to begin with, relying on drugs and sheer stubbornness to keep him going instead. His nights and days had been blurring into one big endless nightmare for a while.

He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that part of his life is over now, Stede came back and he loves him and they've retired to become innkeepers, he's left all of that behind. But the memories and the dread of those achingly empty days still cling to him. It's hard to shake them off when they stretched for so long and he can still count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he's woken up next to Stede and been able to enjoy an uncomplicated lazy morning in bed with him.

Their first morning together he was up at dawn while Stede still slept, doing his best to forget everything that happened before he was dragged into his room and had the breath kissed out of him, trying to drown all his demons at once by sinking his leathers to the bottom of the ocean, useless as it was.

Their first few days in the cabin have been fun (because anywhere is fun with Stede), but not exactly restful - there were piles of dust and cobwebs and bird shit everywhere when they got here, not to mention the weeds and a critter or two, and they really shot themselves in the foot by not bringing any furniture with them. For days they've been making do with a few blankets on the hard floor and getting up with the sun to get this place cleaned up and as close as they could to inhabitable. This is his first morning waking up in their brand new bed, in their neat, bug free room, with nowhere to be in a hurry and no one demanding shit from him. It's disconcerting in its newness.

He tries to ignore his racing mind and relax back into his previous calm state, fills his lungs with the unfamiliar smells of their new home and the familiar scent of the man sleeping peacefully next to him, focuses on the warmth of the sunlight caressing his face, listens to Stede's soft snores and watches his eyelids flutter in sleep. He tells his brain firmly to stop being a dick so fucking early in the morning, but it's hard to get it to shut up once it's awake, especially when it's running a mile a minute and making his heart beat loudly in his ears like it expects an attack any moment.

He gives up on it after a few minutes, turns around on the bed and burrows into Stede, seeking body heat and the reassurance of his presence by Ed's side. Stede shuffles in his sleep, tugs Ed closer as if he's welcoming him home even in dreams. Ed sighs happily and lets himself be pulled, shelters comfortably in his arms and feels his heartbeat beginning to slow down already. It's amazing what Stede's touch can do to him, it's like his mind and body react to him more readily than they do to Ed's own commands sometimes.

He sighs as his body releases all the tension it was holding and decides then and there that this is how he wants to wake up every morning from now on, warm from head to toe in a room brimming with sunlight, sheets soft under his skin and bed full of the man he loves, with no one demanding shit from him.

He's hovering in that pleasant state between awake and asleep when Stede shifts some more against him and Ed can suddenly feel his erection pressing between them. His mind rushes back to full wakefulness, heart rate picking up again for an entirely different, far more enjoyable reason this time. He smiles in delight - this is already much more like his idea of a perfect morning than it was five minutes ago. He pushes closer and tilts his hips into Stede's body, repeats the motion a few times and feels his own cock stir in interest.

The sheets rustle behind him and Stede's face presses into Ed's back, so close that he can feel his delicate eyelashes brush his skin as he blinks his eyes open, hear the vibrations as he rasps, voice still drenched in sleep, "Morning, darling."

Ed beams, much happier now that Stede has joined him in being awake and their day can start.

"Mornin' babe."

He grinds into him a little more intentionally, enjoys the enticing drag of Stede's cock against his ass and is really fucking pleased they went to bed naked last night.

"Mmm, feels nice," Stede murmurs, arm tightening around Ed's middle, cheek nuzzling his skin. He smiles against his shoulder blade and his breath tickles the nape of Ed's neck as he asks, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, bed's great, 's like lying on a cloud." He yawns, feels the remains of something unsettled still stirring within him so he adds, "But I missed ya."

"While you were asleep?" Stede's tone is playful, like Ed just said something really funny. But Ed means it, has spent weeks missing him, months, years even. Probably his whole life.

"What if I did," he replies, and it comes out a little petulant.

He doesn't want to talk about where his mind was before Stede woke up. Wants even less to own up to how lost he was barely a week ago, unable to sleep and crying on the floor of the captain's cabin on the Revenge, playing with dolls painted to look like the two of them and believing that Stede had left him for good, feeling the lowest he's ever felt in his life as a result.

He means so much more than a few hours when he says he missed him, but he doesn't want to get into it while they're cuddling in bed after having barely woken up. Doesn't want to crack himself open and start rummaging around in his tenderest bits when he's already almost ruined his own perfect morning by panicking before he was even awake for half an hour. It's all still too raw and it's too fucking early in the day to be bringing up that heavy shit anyway.

They have talked over the past few days, a bit here and there, but the time they spent apart still seems like such a tangled thing to start unraveling. He's aware that they’ll have to talk about it eventually if they want to avoid crashing on the same rocks and shredding themselves against them all over again, but it's scary as fuck if he's being honest. And he doesn't want to think or talk about that or anything else right now. All he wants is for Stede to make the bad memories go away, to hold him close and fuck him slow and deep while everything feels sleepy and quiet around and inside him.

"Missed you too," Stede answers, easy as breathing, brushes his hair aside to drop a gentle kiss behind his ear that feels a lot like understanding and acceptance. The dark thoughts scatter like shadows, like Stede's opened a window somewhere inside Ed's mind and now bright sunlight's streaming in like the tide.

He hums at the contrast between Stede's soft lips and the tickle of his early morning stubble on a sensitive spot, delights in the lazy pinpricks of heat it sends scattering through him and the way his mind has gone quiet again at the touch.

Stede strokes a warm hand down the line of Ed's body, lavishes soft, affectionate kisses between his shoulders that have him melting into syrupy bliss.

Ed keeps grinding idly against him, chases his own sweet pleasure in Stede's body while the morning stretches hazy and indulgent around them. Stede licks and sucks at his pulse point, lets gentle fingers roam in a lazy caress over his skin, and Ed's floating dreamily on a cloud of want and slow rolling heat.

"Need you, Stede," he sighs, barely even aware of what he means other than more and closer, his motions becoming more insistent with every press of Stede's lips and tongue on his neck.

Stede holds him tight to his chest as he starts rocking against him in turn. Ed's back bows and his breath quickens, heat pooling thick in his hips and his chest with the intoxicating combination of Stede's hard cock and tender touch.

"What do you want, darling?" he murmurs, low and intentional, and Ed shivers as his tone shoots electric down his spine.

"Don't wanna move," he answers, and he doesn't, this right here is perfect already.

Stede chuckles in his ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin and making every hair on Ed's body stand on end. A low moan escapes his lips before he can bite it back.

"'s nice," he defends.

"It is," Stede agrees. "But I meant a bit more specifically."

Ah, of course, Stede's still learning his way around this, isn't he, around sex and intimacy and all the wondrous things they can get up to together. It's so fucking weird how it feels like they've been doing this -being Ed-and-Stede, openly in love and having a go at this relationship thing- for a hundred years, but it's actually only been a few days. And it's not like Ed isn't getting used to all of it too, not like Stede hasn't introduced him to a whole lotta new and firsts himself.

He dreams of five, ten, fifteen years from now, when their bodies know each other so well that they can move together on their own, know all the right spots to touch that will make the other shiver, where to kiss and where to bite down, when to be gentle and when to be rough, how to use their hands and tongues to make each other scream. He wants to spend his life learning Stede inside and out, thrills in anticipation of the journey that will get them there.

"Just keep your hands on me," he asks. He wants Stede to keep touching him for another two or three weeks for a start, thinks he might starve if he stops.

"Happy to," Stede agrees.

And he takes the request to heart. He slides an arm under Ed and splays his hand against his stomach to hold him steady as he rocks against him, unhurried and uncoordinated, chasing mindless friction more than any goal in particular. He traces the fingertips of the other one all the way from his hipbone to his armpit, has Ed's eyes falling shut and a sigh escaping his lungs with how good it feels to be touched so sweetly.

Stede presses his lips over and over to the sleep-warm skin of his back as his hand wanders over the rest of his body, skates up his inner thigh and his stomach to run through his chest hair, lingers there a bit longer than anywhere else. Ed smiles. Stede seems to have a fascination with all the hair on his body, and he's more than happy to indulge it.

He turns his head in a silent request and Stede doesn't make him wait, meets his lips for a wet, sloppy kiss that's so fucking hot it's got Ed halfway to hard in an instant. He thinks he could start writing poems about how good kissing Stede is, much better stuff to write about than what inspired his last song.

He gasps into Stede's mouth when his palm drags indolently over his tits and catches on a nipple, hisses and arches back eagerly against him when he does it again, on purpose this time.

"You're sensitive here," Stede comments, as if he's making an observation and plans to start taking notes any minute. He probably is, the lunatic.

"Yeah," Ed replies, although it comes out more as a breathy moan than an actual word, because Stede's gently rolling the nipple against the pad of his thumb now.

"You really liked it when I sucked it into my mouth last night," he breathes hotly into his ear, and Ed's brain scrambles.

"I really fuckin' like your mouth, as a general rule."

Stede groans and snaps his hips a little harder, and Ed makes a mental note of his own that goes Stede really fuckin' likes it when I praise him in bed . He's pleased that they're well on their way to reaching his five year sex goals, good thing they're both overachievers.

"You certainly seem to like having it on your cock," Stede says, and Ed's mouth waters at his brazenness and the way he says it, like he's savoring the word on his tongue the same way they've discovered he likes to do with his actual dick.

"I like it when you're using it to say dirty shit that drives me insane, too," Ed volleys back. This seems to be rapidly escalating into a dirty talk competition of some sort that Stede appears determined to win.

"Hmm, good to know," he smirks, and proceeds to latch his lips onto one of the bruises he left on Ed's neck last night and suck, hard. Ed moans and shudders, feels it reverberate all the way through him and settle molten between his legs.

"Fuck, that's great, too. Don't stop."

Stede's a really quick study, keeps playing with Ed's nipples as he nibbles on his neck like a fucking hungry vampire, rolls them between his fingers and pinches them, experiments with roughness and pressure, and before long Ed's blood is boiling with urgent need.

He starts mindlessly humping his hips into the air, hunger scorching through every inch of him and threatening to unravel him, dick aching to be touched. He decides to do something about it and tangles his fingers with Stede's, pulls his hand down to where he needs it, to where his cock is hard and leaking for him, all for him.

Stede moans deep in his chest and does exactly what Ed wants, fists his dick in the warm palm of his hand and begins stroking him slowly.

"Like that, babe. Love your hands," Ed hums in satisfaction, rocking his hips into the touch.

He swims in rapturous heat as Stede spreads the precome beading at the tip over the head and slides his fingers loosely around it, enough for it to feel fucking fantastic but not to drive him towards the edge anytime soon, like he's planning to take his time with Ed's pleasure this morning. Ed's breath hitches at the prospect.

Stede hooks a leg over his waist and smooths his foot languidly along his shin, makes sparks dance on his skin with the intimate touch as he fans the flames gathering in his belly by pumping his cock at an agonizingly slow pace at the same time. Ed grunts and bucks his hips, feels impossibly, maddeningly close to Stede with his body all over him like this.

He goes to move his own hand out of the way but Stede holds on to it, whispers filthily in his ear, "Show me how you like it."

Ed's eyes roll into the back of his head, and an obscenely loud moan tears out of him as whatever remained of his brain evaporates at the shameless invitation. Stede's gonna fucking kill him one of these days with the things that come out of his mouth.

He blinks a few times until he can focus again and reaches his free hand under the pillow, finds the oil he had the forethought to tuck out of the way last night before it ended up spilling all over their nice new sheets. Stede gets the hint and helps him get the flask open, and Ed pours some on his hand before he stoppers it again. It slips from his fingers and thuds onto the mattress when Stede's slick palm closes around him in a loose stroke.

"Fuck, Stede, the way you touch me."

"Help me make it even better," Stede murmurs, striking the perfect balance between suggestion and demand to have Ed's brain freezing and then hastening to comply.

He tangles their fingers back together, guides Stede to put the right amount of pressure around him and starts moving their hands over his length. His mouth falls open on a soundless gasp at the unexpected onslaught of sensation. They've barely even gotten started and it's already so much better than doing this to himself, and it honestly doesn't surprise him - Stede's hands on him are enough to have fireworks going off behind his eyelids under pretty much any circumstances. And holding hands around his dick as he shows him how he likes to be touched is one of the sweetest, hottest things anyone's ever asked him to do in bed.

He pulls out all the stops, shows him how to switch between squeezing his fist up and down the shaft and focusing more delicate touches on the head, gasps every time the pads of Stede's fingers brush against his heated flesh. He can feel his eyes glued to every motion of their joint hands, decides he might as well give him a show and presses his thumb into the slit, follows it with a twist of his wrist that has his toes curling and a string of moans and curses dropping from his lips.

"God, you're beautiful like this, Ed," Stede pants, voice full of wonder, like he's watching a really pretty sunset or staring at a nice painting.

Ed shivers and turns his head to find his lips again, trades messy kisses back and forth as he keeps fucking himself with Stede's hand. He's heard a lot of things during sex in the past, some of them praises even, but no one's ever called him beautiful and love and darling like Stede does, like Ed's something precious and cherished and he needs to make sure he hears it as he's making him come undone.

Stede bites his lower lip greedily as he lets Ed use his fingers however he likes, and Ed moans into his mouth and keeps showing him every move he has. He can imagine the cogs whirring inside Stede's skull, memorizing details about his dick the same way he memorized the parts of a ship before he ever got on one or fifty different names for the wind that he likes to bring up at random. The idea is insanely fucking hot.

"Let me try it now?" Stede asks after a while of letting Ed fuck his hand with abandon. Ed curses as white hot lust rushes through him, setting every last corner of him aflame.

Jesus fuckin' Christ on a cracker.

He removes his fingers and this time Stede lets him, proceeds to imitate everything Ed showed him with dedicated precision, has Ed dissolving into a blissful puddle in his arms in no fucking time at all. It'd be a little embarrassing, the way Stede manages to take him apart within seconds with a few touches, if he didn't feel so fucking safe and loved at the same time as he's going mad with the pleasure cascading brightly through every inch of him.

Stede keeps working him in his fist until he's got jerking off Ed's dick down to an art, starts growing bold and adding a few flourishes of his own eventually. Ed moans with every heated stroke of his fingers, can't stop himself from rocking into them and seeking more.

"You're so sweet, darling," Stede says, licking his shoulder blade. "You even taste sweet."

"That's probably the oil from last night's massage you're tasting," Ed grunts. He doesn't think his skin tastes of anything in particular, except maybe sea salt, and probably not even that anymore.

"Mm, I'm not sure," Stede goes on. "I'll need to do more research before I can give you an official conclusion."

Ed snorts. What a loon. He's so absurdly gone on him.

Stede wraps his fingers around the head of Ed's cock and flicks his wrist just like he showed him, and Ed arches his back and presses his hips forward into it, delights in the flames that spark through him as Stede's fingers touch him exactly the way he likes. It may not even take them five years after all, they may have their whole sex life figured out by the end of the year at this pace.

And then Stede's hand leaves his dick altogether to cup his balls and play with them lightly, and Ed whines in surprise as much as pleasure, writhes helplessly under his touch, dizzy with lust and drunk on him. He didn't even show him this, this is one hundred percent Stede and his fucking fascinating mind at work.

He keeps rolling his balls gently between his fingers until Ed feels like he's about to snap.

"Stede ," he whimpers.

"Is this working for you?" he asks, sounding both genuinely curious and a little smug at the same time, as if he already knows what the answer's going to be.

"Yeah," he replies, honest and raw. It's not like it's a secret; Ed isn't playing hard to get here.

Stede hums and kisses his jaw, switches to stroking his fingers down Ed's thighs, a barely there whisper that makes goosebumps break out wherever they go. He moves promisingly close to his dick and Ed tries to thrust into it, but Stede draws away to rake his fingernails lightly through his pubic hair instead, and it pulls a choked gasp from Ed's throat. He presses his fingers gently into one of the purple bruises that decorate Ed's thighs, and Ed outright whines at the pleasure-pain that pulses through him. Every touch feels like silk and lava, has fire catching on his skin and in his veins. Stede's hands are fucking magical.

Stede never stops rolling his hips as his hands tease and caress, and it's all driving Ed mad, the warmth of his body pressed so close, the tantalizing drag of his cock against his ass and the way it catches on his rim every now and then, the fingers now stroking slowly up the underside of his dick, sparking sheer, blazing need in his core. It's like Stede’s in no hurry to go anywhere, and Ed suddenly needs more, needs to feel him all over him, to be drowning in him until there's nothing else left in the world.

He reaches a hand behind him and digs his fingers into Stede's waist, presses himself as close to him as he can and cants his hips.

" Ed ," Stede groans, clutching him tightly.

"Want your dick inside me."

He feels Stede shudder and bury a whine in his neck.

"I won't last long, darling. I'm already close, you feel fantastic like this," he says, running his fingers delicately over the swell of his ass as he ruts his cock between his cheeks. "And watching you fall apart under my touch... God, Ed, you're absolutely perfect."

Ed feels warmth flush all over him at the praise, feels suffused with so much love he doesn't think his body will be enough to hold it. It drips liquid like honey through his veins, settles golden in his heart.

"Doesn't matter," he reassures, voice saturated with affection and need. "Wanna feel you come inside me."

Stede moans brokenly and stills against him, takes a few deep breaths and says, sounding strained, "You're not helping matters, Edward."

Ed chuckles. Like he should be sorry for a little begging after every dirty thing that's come out of Stede's mouth this morning?

Stede nips his shoulder. "Keep that up and you won't get what you want," he scolds.

Fuck, that's hot. He likes it when Stede tells him what to do, has for a long time, decided it was maybe his third new favorite thing in the world as soon as he heard the words I'm your captain come out of his mouth (the first two are Stede in general and the way he's always so gentle and attentive with him, in bed and out of it). He makes it his immediate goal to see what it takes to get him to do it again.

Stede pats the bed until he finds the oil where Ed dropped it earlier, and soon enough he's got a slick finger teasing at his entrance. Ed thrills with anticipation for what's coming next - if Stede's hands feel wonderful on him, they're even better in him. Stede draws lazy circles around the muscle, pushes in tentatively with two fingers at once, and Ed's whole mind flares bright at the pressure right where he needs it.

"You're still so loose," Stede purrs, stroking his fingers slowly in and out of his body. His voice sounds awed at the discovery.

"Yeah, happens when you got fucked into the mattress a few hours ago."

It doesn't hurt that Stede's been reducing him to putty for what feels like ages with a single hand on his dick, either, or that he gave Ed the best massage of his fucking life last night. Every muscle in Ed's body feels relaxed and loose.

Stede groans and bites down on his shoulder again, thrusts his fingers deep into the heat of Ed's body. Ed gasps and writhes in his arms.

"Fucking hell, Edward."

"Like the thought of fuckin' me often enough that I'll always be ready for you?" he challenges.

Stede crowds closer, brushes Ed's ear with his lips, whispers his next words right into it, "Are you doing it on purpose, darling?"

Ed feels strangely caught out even though he has been literally asking for it, reels for a second until he reminds himself that this is Stede, he can trust him with anything. He exhales the breath he's been holding and answers, "Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?"

Stede responds by crooking his knuckles sharply and keeping the pads of his fingers pressed against his prostate until Ed goes dizzy with it, whimpers at the unrelenting waves of pleasure rolling through him. The world fades for a few seconds, is reduced to Stede's fingers and frantic heat and Ed could swear the sun's come down from the sky to burn inside him for a moment.

"Look at that, you can be quiet after all," Stede growls. "You wanted me inside you," he punctuates the words with a deep thrust that has Ed's breath hitching and sharpening into a whine. "Wait until I've given you what you want," he does it again. "And then you can talk as filthy as you like."

Ed's mind blanks at the order, mouth falling shut and brain emptying of anything but the need to do as he's told. Stede's fingers are stretching him so sweetly already, he can be good and wait to have his cock.

For the next few minutes he takes everything Stede gives him as quietly as he can, focuses on the firestorm gathering in his hips and practices being patient. He's helpless to staunch the needy little sounds that escape him with every knuckle that slips past his entrance as he works him open, but he doesn't break until he can feel the blunt head of Stede’s dick press against him and slip into his hole.

"Can I talk now?" he bursts, at last. It sounds breathless to his own ears.

Stede laughs, a ragged and frenzied thing.

"Can't promise this won't be over really quickly if you do," he grunts as he sinks into him inch by lovely inch. He presses closer and closer until he's buried inside him balls deep, and Ed floods with ecstasy at finally getting what he's been craving.

"Don't care," he pants. And he really doesn't, just being joined like this with him is everything. "You feel fuckin' amazing inside me, Stede. Fuckin' love the way you fill me."

" Darling ," Stede moans, and rests his forehead on Ed's shoulder, breathes heavily like he's struggling to keep it together as much as Ed is, like this is all a little overwhelming for him as well. "You feel wonderful, too. Always so good for me." Ed dissolves into dazzling brightness at the neverending praise.

Stede plants his foot on the bed and drapes himself over Ed's back, starts rolling his hips at an easy pace. It's fucking great to feel him move against him his in this position. He's curled tight around Ed's body, blanketing him better than any fabric he's ever covered himself with, skin soft and warm, muscles hard underneath, holding him close against his chest as if he never wants to let go.

Ed's heart beats thunderously at the closeness, a river of fire flowing through his body with every maddening drag of Stede's cock inside him. He pants and lets himself be tugged by the current, rides the waves of pleasure Stede keeps him swimming in and knows that he's safe as long as he's got him, could never drown here.

It's all already so much, and then Stede adjusts the angle until he finds the one that makes Ed curse as stars erupt behind his eyelids.

"There?"

"Yeah, shit, right there," he groans.

Stede feeds the heat coursing liquid inside him with every snap of his hips, wrings every ounce of ecstasy he can out of him. This is all Ed wants for the rest of his life.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" Stede asks, pulls almost all the way out and slides hotly back in.

"So good, Stede. Fuck , do that again." Ed knows he's babbling a little incoherently, can't be bothered to give a single fuck about it. His mind is blissfully quiet and he's dying for more, and Stede is so good at giving him what he needs.

Stede builds up a slow, burning rhythm, brushes relentlessly against Ed's prostate and takes him higher and higher with every thrust. Ed shuts his eyes tight and focuses on the warmth of Stede draped over him, the way his lips and tongue brush over his skin everywhere they can reach, the blazing pleasure unfurling inside him. He loses track of what's coming out of his mouth, could guess it's probably a combination of Stede's name and shameless pleas for more.

"I love your body, Ed," Stede whispers like a confession as he moves inside him. "Love all of you so much."

The words wash over Ed like the sun glittering on the waves, light him up from the inside until he feels like his skin should be glowing with it. He practically sobs Stede's name as he intertwines his fingers with the ones pressed against his stomach, pushes back into him until he's as close as he can be.

Stede kisses his shoulder, his neck, his scalp, and Ed feels every press of his feverish lips as another declaration of love, thinks of names written in permanent ink and vows of his own he'd like to make some day. He feels bathed inside and out by the sunlight streaming through the window, by the warmth of the love being poured into his body.

"Love you, Stede," he whispers back. "Love you so much."

Stede buries his face between Ed's shoulders, snaps his hips a little faster, and they pant together as he fucks him just like he wanted, gives Ed exactly what he needed when he woke up feeling out of sorts about his life being too nice all of a sudden. His brain is definitely on board with too nice now, would like another hundred mornings like this one, please and thank you.

Stede's cock is perfect inside him, all velvety heat and delicious pressure as it stretches and fills him just the way he likes. It sparks something wild in him every time it slides in and out of his hole, every time it presses just right against the perfect spot inside him. He's so close already, and then Stede snakes a hand around his waist to wrap around his dick again, and Ed is melting, surrounded by red-hot flames on all sides.

"So close, Stede. Fuck. Please don't stop, please, please ," he begs.

Stede's movements stutter and his pace becomes a little more frantic, but he doesn't stop, keeps driving heatedly into Ed's body as his hand works his cock in the tight, hot circle of his fist in tandem with his hips. Heat swells inside Ed like a hurricane with every touch, with every inch of their skin pressing together, with every needy noise Stede lets out above him.

"Yes, yes . Come on, Ed." Stede sounds halfway to wrecked already, pace turning all the way from sweet and lazy to erratic and desperate as he speaks. Ed's almost ready to let go, too. "You feel - ah - too good, darling. I'm- god , I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, babe, let me feel you."

Stede moans his name, keeps thrusting rapidly for a few more seconds before he buries himself deep inside Ed once, twice, and spills hotly within him.

Ed whimpers and comes right after, the feeling of Stede's cock pulsing inside him, of his come slick and messy in his hole enough to push him over the edge, too.

He's engulfed by heat, mind and body full of nothing but Stede and molten pleasure. It's like hitting the water at a hundred miles an hour and executing a perfect dive, the waves parting easily around him to lick welcoming tongues of fire all over his skin. Pure ecstasy ripples blindingly through him until it's all that's left and Ed is being consumed by it.

He makes a mess of Stede's hand as he comes all over it in hot, thick white ropes that seem to go on forever. Stede keeps working him through it, milks every last drop out of him until Ed starts shaking from too good and too much.

Stede releases him then, wipes his hand on the already ruined sheets and runs it over Ed's feverish skin in tender, soothing motions, whispers praises into his ear - so good, Ed, love you, you were amazing -, until Ed comes down and sinks against him, limbs heavy and mind light. He drinks in the warmth of Stede's body, feels his heart beat wildly against his back and cherishes the proof of his life flowing strong and steady through him.

"You gonna keep talking like that all day?" he asks, in between gulps of breath.

"Would it be such a big problem for you?"

He chooses that moment to pull out of him. Ed shudders.

"Fuck me, Stede. We won't get a thing done if you keep running that mouth of yours."

"I remember you having a few dirty things of your own to contribute," Stede remarks as he brushes Ed's damp hair out of his face, strokes his palm lazily down the curve of his waist. "Had to shut you up about it, in fact."

And he did it so beautifully, treated Ed just like he needed. He feels tingly all over at the memory, will make him do it again if it gets him fucked this thoroughly then, too. He brings Stede's hand to his lips and kisses his palm, a wordless thank you for taking such good care of him.

They lie contentedly together, exchanging soft touches as they wait for their breaths to even out and their hearts to settle. It's peaceful and perfect, until Stede's stomach rumbles loudly in the quiet room. Ed laughs until he has tears in his eyes.

"Maybe we can table our discussion until after breakfast," Stede concedes.

"Oh, it was a discussion, was it?"

"Would you like to think about it as more of a healthy competition?"

Ed pounces on him and kisses him until he's stolen all the air from his lungs. Stede flounders in shock for a fraction of a second before he's kissing back with equal enthusiasm, buries a hand in Ed's hair like he'd be more than happy to go at it all over again. Ed's stomach is the one that interrupts them this time.

"Make me breakfast while I run us a bath and I'll let you win this time, 'kay?"

"That wouldn't be sportsmanlike, darling," he complains, and pinches his ass.

"I'm starving here, babe." He sits on Stede’s hips and gives him one of the pleading, wide eyed looks that he's quickly discovered will get him anything he wants.

"Oh, alright, that's uncalled for, Ed. You're playing dirty."

"Thought that's what you were all about these days," he teases good naturedly as he bends down to steal one more kiss from Stede’s lips.

He feels cheerful and airy as he gets out of bed and slips on his favorite soft robe, stumbling start to the morning all but forgotten after being wrapped in Stede's warmth and loved so earnestly and absolutely.

Stede comes to join him, wraps his arms around him from behind and smiles as he hooks his chin on Ed's shoulder.

"I win, anyway. I get to hold you forever," he declares.

Ed's knees go a little weak at that. He didn't know it was possible to love anyone this much before Stede, didn't think he was even capable of loving like this. He remembers standing on the edge of a cliff and declaring himself unlovable, remembers the hair-raising fall that followed, too.

But he was willing to do something about it after all, wasn't he? He's learning to ask for what he wants, learning to give himself permission to accept what Stede gives freely, learning to believe that he means every praise he gives, every I love you he gifts him. He turns around in his arms and kisses him tenderly.

"And I get to be held by you." He smiles against his lips. "I think we both win."

Stede's eyes shine brighter than the morning sun.

Ed can hear him sing all the way from the bathroom as he makes breakfast for two, a catchy, cheery tune. He manages not to burn the toast this time.

#gentlebeard #blackbonnet #ofmd #ofmd fic #our flag means death #my fic #i can't believe i'm finally posting fic again

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sugar-omi · 1 year

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omg idk if u do nsfw request but could you like write jealous cove x fem reader nsfw? i think cove isn’t the type to feel possessively jealous but there’s times he can’t let it go but it’s not a like “your mine!!” type possessive more like a “im yours!!” possessive? IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE SORRY

DW IT MAKES A LOTTA SENSE N I AGREE W EVERYTHING U JUST SAID!! i hope i lived up to your rq 🙏🙏 i enjoyed writing this sm

tags : NSFW, fem reader, jealous cove, service top cove, hand jobs, penetration, between step 3 and 4, you are in college, mention of wanting to marry you

(mentions step 3 "happiness" moment and you getting upset when cove doubted you'd still be together at the end of summer in step 3.

also i'm thinking abt the patreon moment n how cove likes just a hint of pain n runnning w it, i'll never recover from it!)

synopsis : cove is jealous and worried about you finding another man, so you ease his anxiety.

you have always reassured cove that you love him, that he makes you the happiest girl in the world. you promised him that he doesn't have to do anything special to make you happy, that he alone makes you happy.

cove can't help but feel loved every time he thinks about it. and after you got mad at him for doubting the strength of your relationship, brought to tears by the notion, cove promised himself to never make you cry sad or angry tears ever again if he can help it.

but you're standing there, talking with a classmate of from one of your classes and you're laughing and he's looking at you with one too many hearts in his eyes and a darker voice in the smallest crease of cove's mind wonders if you'd like if he looked like that.

hair styled in a way that was casual but handsome, and a ribbed turtle neck under a cream jacket.

cove quickly dismisses that thought, knowing you prefer him in less layers and that you'd never ask him to change his style unless the weather called for more layers must to his chagrin.

unable to take anymore, broken by the guy putting a hand on your shoulder. cove steps out the car, easily taking long strides and he calls out to you.

"y/n!"

you turn around, happy as a peach to see your boyfriend and cove's heart throbs at how easily you forget about the guy in front of you. "are you ready to go eat? its gonna be lunch rush soon..." cove bites h is lips, wondering if thats a good enough excuse to get you out of this guys reach before he puts too many moves on you.

"yeah, just-" you adjust your backpack straps and turn to address your classmate but you step towards cove, taking his hand in yours. "i gotta go, but you should check the online class board, you can download the notes from there! bye!"

cove pulls you away as you barely finish your greetings, opening the car door for you but he slams his own door and winces but pulls out the lot nonetheless, making the drive back to your shared home.

"cove? what's wrong?" you put your hand on his thigh soothingly but cove just jumps at the sudden touch, his head hits the steering wheel, trying to use the break at the stop light to push away his jealousy.

knowing he can't hide from you, cove address you, looking at you with teary puppy eyes, not wanting to upset you but his heart is in turmoil.. "i'm jealous. i know i shouldn't be but- but! that guy was definitely hitting on you and i know you love me but i'm worried you'll leave me for someone better an-" cove whimpers, blinking his eyes as he focuses on the road again and turns onto your street.

"cove... i'm so sorry baby, i- i didn't even notice he was hitting on me. he was just asking about what he missed during class... if it helps, he's only in my elective class! we're not even in the same major so-"

cove cuts you off, quickly and smoothly parking the car in your designated space. "it's not just him. like.. baxter, or derek. i know we haven't heard from baxter in awhile but he was so smooth and flirty and confident. and derek, well derek is nice and reliable and.. i don't know." cove leans over the console.

"i don't want you to leave me for someone better, i know you said you won't but. i love you so much. i wanna be your's forever, i wanna marry you one day! i love being your boyfriend so much, y/n.." cove frets, pushing his head into your hand when you cup his cheek, fighting tears and failing.

"cove. i love you. you'll always be mine." you kiss his face, hovering over his lips, "you'll always be my special lover boy."

cove purrs, melting into your kiss. when you pull away, cove looks at you with hooded lids, "l-lets go inside..."

you barely make it through the door, your hands running under cove's shirt and he trembles trying to put the key in the door, steadying when you wrap your hand around his and guide him.

when the door unlocks, you pull cove in, kissing his neck as you reach behind him to flip the lock and slip the chain through the track. "y-y/n, ahh.." cove mutters breathlessly, some other words escaping his mouth in a jumbled mess but you hear a stuttered "feels good" and you keep going, pulling him through the house to your bedroom.

on the way, your shoes are left haphazardly in front of the door and a trail of clothes breadcrumb the hallway.

you push cove onto the bed, stepping out of your bottoms and left in just your underwear, you help cove unbutton his shorts, pushing away shaky hands.

you slip off his boxers, deciding to take care of cove while he's still pliable. "shh baby, let me take care of you.." you settle in his lap and cove throws his head back in a shaky moan when your hand wraps around his sensitive cock, stroking him slowly and swiping your skilled hands over his weeping slit, knowing how to work your boyfriend's body in the best ways.

"y/n..." cove whines, bucking his hips into your hand as you grope him through his boxers.

"t-tighter, please.. ah!" cove groans when your hand tightens around his cock the way he likes, feeling a knot build in his abdomen at your increasingly faster strokes. "i'm, i'm close.. mh-" cove gasps, finger tips digging into your hips.

in his lusty haze, cove looks at your bra and works the front clasp the way you showed him. you grin knowingly, enjoying cove's blush as his eyes train on how your breast bounce when the clasp comes undone.

you arch your back, encouraging cove to play with your chest. his lips clasp on your collar bone, nibbling and sucking lightly so as to not leave marks but when you flex your hand around his cock cove bites particularly hard, sure enough to leave a bruise.

something primal inside of him feels pleased at that.

cove shudders, looking up from your chest to meet your eyes. "w-why did you stop?.."

you smile, kissing your lovely boy on the cheek. "don't want you to finish yet." you reach for a condom, urging cove to lean against the pillows.

you're not too worried about stretching yourself as you'd had sex the night before and only applying ample lube for what will definitely be a bit of a long night, thankful your classes are over for the day.

cove takes his place, shaking when you roll the condom over his sensitive cock. you straddle his lap, hands gripping his shoulders as you line him up with your cunt.

you sink onto his cock, moaning sharply when his tip hits your bladder from inside, your cunt sensitive and nearly dripping with your slick.

when you finally take him to the hilt, his cock rubbing all the sensitive spots inside you and reaching deeper than you could ever reach on your own.

cove gasps and holds you tighter when your cunt trembles around him, kissing you as you gently bounce on his lap. "cove, cove..." you mutter, breathless and your eyes water at the sensation of his cock dragging against your gummy walls.

cove grips your hips, grinding your hips together making you moan loudly. "can i.. *swallows* can i move too?"

you nod, whining when cove instantly bucks his hips into yours, taking the lead at your instruction.

you pull cove into a kiss, your tongues dancing together before the kiss turns gentle and loving. breaking away for air, cove trails kisses down your neck as you gasp and moan, his cock hitting your walls in a way that makes you leak with more slick and clench tightly around him.

"i'm gonna cum, fuck please cove! more!"

cove reaches for your clit, his thumb circling your sensitive clit as he brings you over the edge. "i love you y/n, so happy to be yours.. please cum, wanna feel you cum around me." cove whispers sweet and dirty words in your ear, "you feel so good.. ahh fuck, thats it.. agh fuck!"

cove trembles, cumming into the condom as your pussy tightens and your thighs shake on either side of him.

cove collapses into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you and you both shake in each others embrace.

"i love you." you kiss cove's head, coming down from your orgasm.

cove kisses your neck back, his lips tickle against your sweaty skin as he speaks, "i love you too.."

"cove? what're you-"

you pull yourself off his lap, cove throwing the tied off condom in the trash and before you can get up he pulls you back into his lap.

cove's brilliant blue eyes drill into you, sparking the flames of your heart and your cunt throbs with need. "i still want you.."

you laugh, happily sinking into the bed with cove on top of you.

cove grabs a condom from the open drawer and rolls it over his sensitive but still hard cock, quickly sinking into your warmth.

he moans shakily, drawing his hips back and slamming back into you, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist so he can fuck you and still steal a kiss from you.

cove leans into your neck, his body supported by his forearms but he still looms over you. "i love you.. so happy to be your boyfriend, ngh-.. i-i love belonging to you."

you scratch down cove's back. "you're mine.. ah!" cove picks up the pace, ignited by you agreeing that he's yours.

cove mumbles happily into your neck, most of his chant muffled by his face buried in your neck; sucking marks and hiding at the same time. most of it is moans, but you hear a few "yours.. yours..." among his moans.

cove grunts at the use of the nickname, buoyed to go further and he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit.

feeling that knot in your stomach, you tell cove you're coming. "c-c'mon cove! make me cum, want my sunshine to make me cum!"

you reach orgasm together for the second time, cove dripping sweat onto you.

you both pant, the temperature making you squirm.

cove speaks first, "..i love you, love you so much. i'm sorry i got jealous.."

"its okay cove, if this is how its gonna be you get jealous more often!"

cove groans, embarrassed by your teasing. "carry me to the shower?"

cove pops up, bright like an obedient puppy. "yes!"

#our life: beginnings & always #cove holden smut #cove holden x reader #cove x mc #cove holden #cove x reader #smut #cove holden x reader smut #cove holden x mc smut

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wildernezz · 7 months

Text

dead poets society scene that cannot be slept on any longer (im just rambling and analyzing the sillies and pretending to be smart. also spoilers loll)

I GET THAT THE DEAD POETS SOCIETY BARELY HAS A FANDOM BUT WHY DOES EVERYONE SLEEP ON THE PUNCH SCENE WITH CHARLIE AND CAMERON?? IT'S GENUINELY SO WELL WRITTEN AND PROBABLY ONE OF THE BEST DIALOGUE SCENES I'VE SEEN IN FILM??? HELLO?????

every single actor in this scene does such an amazing job. they genuinely all feel like such real and complex characters it's insane.

i don't care if you hate cameron's character but you cannot deny that his scene was amazingly pathetic. his actor did such a perfect job at portraying him almost like a rat backed into a corner. he's doing everything he can to save himself, telling himself he's the one in the right, the one with common sense, when he knows he's faking it. all his dominance is such a pathetic lie and it's genuinely impressive to watch it be portrayed so accurately. it is exactly what it's like to watch someone desperately claw for an ounce of respect. cameron was always a desperate character, and the moment he got the chance to drop his friends and come out "higher" than them, it just made him even sadder to watch.

and meanwhile charlie's the perfect example of failed justice and passion being outpoured all at once. he has so much determination and desire to stand up for what he believes, but it's all pouring out at once. he doesn't know how to handle all of it. he knows he's done for but he can't give up for the life of him, and it all comes out in a solid swing to cameron's face. that single punch probably sums up everything about charlie, and honestly everything i love about him as a character. he seems like a menace-y little bastard, but at the end of the day he just genuinely wants to do what he thinks is right. he's fiercely protective of the people he looks up to but he'll never admit it. that little shit has ZERO clue how to handle his emotions rationally and it's honestly respectable. he doesn't know exactly who he is, but his values are so strong that he's unknowingly guided by them. basically he's just a silly little guy and i hope he punches people more often :3

AND TODD THE BELOVED <33 he is so underrated in this scene it's insane. every word feels like it's falling out of him. he's lost his best friend and he's lost all control over himself. it's powerful seeing such quiet and reserved character unwillingly transform into everything they've been trying to keep down. i will forever be in love with how his character completely breaks down after neil's death. this is kinda just me projecting but he fr feels like a representation of all of my own thoughts when breaking down, except he's actually voicing them. todd supremacy for-fucking-ever.

THE OTHERS ARE ALSO SPECIAL TOO BUT THEY DONT GET A LOTTA LINES FOR ME TO ESPECIALLY ANALYZE SO IM JUST GONNA ADD RANDOM TIDBITS OF THE OTHERS HERE.

i absolutely adore how knox acts in this scene. especially his lines of "don't touch him charlie, you do and you're out," and then for that to be followed by "you don't know that" after charlie's little "i'm out anyway"?????? knox's entire personality in this movie might be about trying to rizz up girls (and it's a little concerning now but it was a different time guys please he's silly guys i swear), but he's honestly SOO sweet when he's not focused on that. he's just as protective of his friends and it's so nice seeing him be the voice of reason. like did u guys not see how quickly he reached for charlie when he was about to kick cameron's ass????? he genuinely wants the best for his friends and he knows them well enough to try and stop them from doing any irrational shit (even tho it failed later but shshsh). love knox for that.

meeks and pitts don't say anything in this scene, but their looks alone give off so much. you can just SEE how much meeks feels betrayed by cameron, and then pitts looks like he's still trying to process the fact that cameron would even do something like that. it's honestly so sad but god it's so amazing to watch.

anyways thank u for coming to my ted talk plspls ask me about films or drop ur random analyzations to me im so desperate to analyze my favorite little guys :33

#dead poets society #analyzing #ramblings #film loser analyzes 6 white boys real #i swear im normal

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what-the-stories-have-foretold · 1 year

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Heyyy good evening ^^ I just saw that you’re having an Advent/Event (I’m not good at English😭)And I really love you’re work !

If it’s not against the rules,wrong info or make you feel uncomfortable that I would like to request “why do you only call me when you’re high” with Shuichi Akai and Rei furuya(I love them sm) from Detektiv Conan ^^ I hope I didn’t see anything wrong ,please correct me if I am 😭 Take you’re time and have a lovely day !!! ^^

Thank you, you're so sweet!

Now it's 3 in the Mornin' / And I'm Tryna' Change your Mind

Navi.

Akai Shuichi x gn!reader, Furuya x gn!reader

Warnings: reader doesn't like cigarettes (Akai's) cursing, mention of injuries/having been shot (Furuya´s); complicated relationships

Wordcount: both 240~

He was standing leaning against the wall outside. It was already dark, barely any stars reaching the patio this night. There was a cigarette between his fingers. You watched, enraptured, as he gently placed it between his parted lips, before retracting his hand again and letting the smoke out again.

He turned his head towards you, and your eyes widened for a fraction. His eyes slowly raked over your figure, before he gestured for you to come close.

Carefully, you stepped through the doorway before awkwardly coming to a halt beside him. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he took another drag of his cigarette. He hummed when you pulled a face at the smell.

"You still don't like 'em?"

You shook your head, hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

"You still do?" Your voice came out quiet, though whether it was the atmosphere hanging in the nightly air or your dwindling confidence you could not say.

He laid his head to the side, eyes carefully analysing you before he decided to pull your body towards his. His warm breath fanned over your cheek as he spoke to you, bent down to be closer:

"I may not exactly be the type of guy you had in mind, but sweetheart, I know how to treat you right."

He leaned back again with a grin on his face as he took another drag, quietly enjoying you flustered state.

It was dark when he called. It wasn't his fault. No, really, it wasn't. His job was hard and unpredictable. And dangerous. That's why he called you, delirious from whatever painkillers he had found in his pocket to at least alleviate the pain of having been beaten and shot.

It had been a while since the last time, you had to give him that.

"Hey." His voice was raspy. You could swear you could hear the sound of water. Was he by the docks? "Just wanted to hear your voice."

"You're high." It was not meant as a criticism. He only hummed.

"I'm in a lotta pain. Fuck. Can't even think straight." You could hear how he moved around - there was the rustling of clothes accompanied by small groans of pain as well as hissed curses. Your hand was already reaching for your keys. "The only thing I can think of right now is how pretty you must look right now. Wish I was there - shit - ah, don't worry about me, beautiful. I'll be fine. Just go to sleep for me, yeah? I'll take you out somewhere nice t'morrow, okay? Just - ah, fuck - just couldn't stop thinking of you. Way too fucking good for me, love you so much."

"The warehouses close to yesterday's explosion?"

"Yeah."

He paused.

"I finally said it, didn't I?"

You only hummed as you closed the door behind you with a little smile gracing your lips.

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toasts-httyd-hyperfixation · 9 months

Text

Alright i can't decide so y'all are fixin to do it for me

I have several things i wanna work on but i cant pick one to do so ive been doin none of em

Options are

Redoing the Httyd Timeline and Ages post i made a while ago. Its all mostly accurate and the things not explicitly stated in canon i still stand by, but i found a couple other things to add in, and overall its a lil messy cause its from when first started making longer posts, so it could just do with an overhaul to clear it up a bit

Im trying to go through and make a Full AU list, with Name and a summary of what its about, so i can actually talk about em here, as well as sorting all other AUs out properly. These were all talked mostly via the Discord Server, so its literally sorting through whats gotta be hundreds of thousands of messages from over the course of >1 year. Which its great because ive deeply enjoyed talking to everyone ( Shout out to the Discord Buddies, Love yall, you're the Best🫶🫶) but my god, i should have kept on top of it lol.

This one i don't know if anyone else even really is interested in, but y'all are getting it eventually regardless, because ya know you can't stop me from making posts here, no matter how much yall may want to sometimes (Toothfull my beloved <3). Anyway the gist of this one is, idk if its just me, but a lotta times when i hear ages in a book, i understand it, but it doesn't really connect. So i like to go and find other characters and people that are the same age, especially in like movie or shows, where i can look at people that are the same age and go "Holy Shit, they're just babies" or such as the like as that if they're older (Mostly in Alvins case, that man is not as old as a lot of yall probably think he is, or maybe you don't, who am i to say what you do or do not think)

Number 4 is essentially the same thing as number 3 but height related instead. I just like making visual comparisons for a lot of these things, cause it helps put things into perspective, as well as its nice for like drawing and stuff.

This ones just Goofy. I have several sillier ships that ive had over the years, some that just fall into crack ship territory. Some of them i do actually think would be cute/sweet, others are just for the sake of going "Could you fuckin imagine". So im making a poll, much like this one, with a brief explanation, and then yall get to vote on em. I dont know if itll be for the Worst, The best, Which One is y'all's favorite, i dunno, but its gonna be something.

And then the last one i can think of is, i really don't know how to explain it, but it's talking about how, in my opinion, the Vikings view of hiccup is being accurately portrayed? Like, that's a really bad summary, but i can't think of how to explain it better so, this is kind of a vague, mystery option

Anyways, those are the options i got for now

Im probably forgetting something but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Everything'll eventually got done

So with that said

#httyd books #httyd #how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon books #not putting as many tags on this since its not really a Post post #Also this should say what i *try* to work on next #cause lets be real there is no guarantee im gonna be finishing it before switching to something else lol #i do not control the Adhd‚ i am simply bound to its will #anyways

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usmsgutterson · 16 days

Text

Achilles Heel - Givenson

one, two, three

Read Achilles Heel on AO3

okay!! this fic has lived in my stupid little worm brain for like, three weeks now, and here we are! This is the last chapter in the miniseries and mostly serves as the epilogue because I am simultaneously a lover of angst and a sucker for a happy or happyish ending.

Warnings - tim is in heart attack recovery so the heart attack is still biiiiiig time a focus here!! There's a few mentions of seizures (tim is mentioned to have had two more en route to the hospital) and a few mentions of cigarettes, a few mentions of tims time in the military, and even though I did edit this twice, if I missed anything, feel free to let me know!!

When Tim wakes up, the first thing he registers is the sound of his own heart beating through a monitor, the sound regular enough to be of little concern. The second thing he registers is the fact that his eyes are still closed and how heavy they feel, and the third?

The third thing he feels is Raylans hand clutching his own, his mouth close to Tims fingers.

“I need you to wake up,” Raylan says, his voice quiet. “Been a week, Tim. You need to be okay. I need you to be okay.”

“’M fine,” Tim rasps, exasperated. “My eyes are just heavy.”

It takes him a few seconds, but he does manage to open them. When he looks to his left, he sees Raylan looking at him with a smile. His eyes are glossed over but if Tim asks, he knows Raylan well enough to know he'll deny it, so he doesn't say a word.

“Boyd,” Tim starts, his tone anxious as bits and pieces of the two weeks spent in Boyds captivity start to flood his brain. “Is he--”

“Awaitin’ trial,” Raylan says. “Reardons the judge and Boyd did the surprising thing—waived his right to a jury. Vasquez tells me that Reardon is favoring the death sentence in Boyds case. He's bein' questioned further today, I think? Rachel mentioned wantin' me there, but I figured I'd be of better company here and can't stand to look much at the bastard anyway. Had I seen him in the office, I'd've killed him, no questions.”

“Oh,” Tim says. “I--”

“It’s fine,” Raylan responds, squeezing Tims hand. “You don’t need to talk. I have a lotta shit to say, actually.”

Tim nods.

“First and foremost, when Stevens and I had caught up with him, he admitted to all of it—everything,” Raylan start. “In order, too. First to stalkin’ you and the ones you love, then to abductin’ you outside’a Kingstons, then to two weeks of torture and finally, to triggerin' your second heart attack with intent to murder. Smiled and stared at me when he said that last one, though, and I just—I saw red. I wanted t' tackle him to the ground and punch the life outta him for it, but Stevens kept me from that. I wanted Boyd dead and almost killed him, but one thing kept me from actually doin' it."

“What?”

“Rachel and Dunlop had called, said that you were in an ambulance havin’ your third total seizure but your second in the space of fifteen minutes. Stevens told me to arrest Boyd so that we could bring him in and I could visit you once you were done with surgery, and that brought me back around,” Raylan says. “I hated it—the idea of losing you. I couldn’t risk that. Not again.”

“I’m right here,” Tim says. “You didn’t lose me.”

“No, but I did when I left for Miami,” Raylan says, tone sorrowful.

“You had a kid and Winona wanted to try again,” Tim shrugs. “I--I’d do the same if I were in similar circumstances. I don’t fault you for that, even though things were shit when you left.”

“Well--let me make my point,” Raylan snarks. He kisses the back of Tims hand and Tim grins softly, letting the gesture mean it’s full weight instead of pushing it away. “I talked to Rachel, and then I talked to Dan, and then I sat here every single day for a week straight waitin’ for you to wake up, and I thought.”

“About what?”

“About what Boyd called you when I asked him why he’d taken you, of everyone in my life for whom I would willingly step in front of a gun,” Raylan laughs a bit. “I told him he coulda taken Art, or Rachel or—shit, even Dunlop. I asked 'im why he’d chosen you if it wasn’t just a decision made for the sake of convenience.”

“You’d step in front of a gun for Dunlop?” Tim laughs a little. “And I thought you decidin’ to sleep with me was the worst decision you’d ever made. Guess I was wrong, then.”

“Not Dunlop,” Raylan presses his forehead against Tims hand. “And--not like I can anyway, not anymore. He quit as soon as Stevens’n I brought Boyd in, but you--stop keepin' me from makin' my point, dammnit.”

“Sorry,” Tim squeezes Raylans hand, shifts a bit as he finds his position mildly uncomfortable. His mouth is dry and he misses Rachel more than he’ll ever admit, but he’s okay otherwise. “You thought about what Boyd called me when you asked why it was me he’d abducted.”

“He called you my Achilles heel,” Raylan says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I denied it at first—eleven years gone from when I left and there’s no way you qualify as much when we hadn’t spoken for all that time prior to when I first got down here. I told Rachel about it, told her I disagreed, and she laughed in my fuckin' face.”

Tim grins gently. “Yeah, she would.”

“Then I called Dan and talked to him, then I called Art,” Raylan says. “Dan told me there was space at the office if I wanted to stow you away in my suitcase, and Art pretty much did what Rachel did. Called me an oblivious idiot prior to, at least, and told me he’d be in Lexington this week if I wanted to chat. I came here, I grabbed your hand and I prayed to a God I haven’t had real cause to believe in since before my daddy hit me for the first time, and then I got to thinkin’ and I just couldn’t stop it.”

Tim takes a deep breath in, swallows thickly and reaches for the water that’s sitting on the table tucked to his right. He grabs the bottle and sits up, takes a sip while he waits for Raylan to continue.

Raylans watching him, he realizes, and when Tim meets his gaze, he continues.

“I realized Boyd was right,” he says. “Kills me a little to admit that, but—while you were gone, I was relentlessly pissed off. Even the smallest thing ticked me off into a rage. I screamed at Dunlop, for fucks sakes.”

Tim laughs, takes another sip of his water before he closes the lid and puts it in his lap, too tired to reach for the table for the time being.

“What are you sayin’?”

“I’m saying—shit, you really are gonna make me say it?”

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “I’m tired, Raylan. Real tired. Don’t make me ask twice, please.”

“Well--you had a massive heart attack, two seizures, and landed here, so I guess I’ll do the nice thing,” Raylan shrugs. “What I’m sayin’ iis that you are my Achilles heel and unfortunately, I love you more for it every fuckin’ day.”

Tim looks at Raylan, really looks at him, and sees that he means the words he says. The feeling it generates within him is bone deep, so deeply seated within him that when it roars back to life, it doesn’t come as anything close to a surprise.

“What are we gonna do about that, then?”

“Well--knowing whether or not the feeling is mutual seems a decent place to start,” Raylan laughs. “But that’s just my opinion, you don’t need to take that seriously.”

“Raylan Givens, you idiotic bastard,” Tim laughs. “It’s--it’s reciprocated. I reciprocate it so much that my chest has hurt when I’ve thought about you almost every single day for the last eleven years, and—of fucking course we’d have this moment while I’m in a damn hospital bed.”

Raylan laughs. “Okay--that’s good,” he says. “I’m gonna call Dan, I think. Do him a disservice by takin’ two months off so I can help you recover. Rachels already booked you in.”

“I was back at the office within the week last--”

“Your last heart attack was mild,” Raylan cuts. “This one was massive, and I’ll be damned if I let you do that. You’re takin’ two months.”

Tims lips form a line and he presses his head against the pillow. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’m going to take a nap now.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Raylan laughs. “Likely reeling after Dans finished up yellin’ my ear off.”

Tim huffs, closes his eyes and squeezes Raylans hand, dimly registering that he wants Raylan closer than he is right at that moment but also registering that he’s unwilling to have Raylan as close as he wants while he’s sat up in a damn hospital bed.

A few hours later, when he wakes, he finds Raylan has kept his word and is still sitting to his left.

“You call Dan yet?” He hears, registering immediately that the voice is Arts. “Please tell me he threw a fit and please tell me you saved your laughter til the phone call got done with.”

“I did,” Raylan says. Tim looks at him through half open, exhausted eyes, sees a smile on his face. “He didn’t throw a fit—I explained it before he could throw one and while it stings, he says they’ve gotten used to the office without me.”

“I imagine it’s rather peaceful without you around,” Art laughs, and Raylan just happens to look over to see Tim watching him.

“Hey, sleepy,” he greets. “How ya doin’?”

“Been better,” Tim shrugs. “Also been worse, though, so I’m fine. Are they dopin' me up with pain meds?"

Raylan nods once, and Tim sighs. He can feel it--he's loopy, overtired, and just drowsy enough to be completely honest while completely unprompted in his honesty.

He turns to Rachel, who’s standing to his right. “I feel like I should’ve called Raylan after the first one,” he says. It prompts a laugh from Rachel and Tim mentally celebrates the small victory.

“No shit,” she says. “You’ve gotta stop scarin’ me like that, Tim. My heart can’t take it a third time.”

“Neither can his, I suspect,” Art rebuts. Tim takes a minute to look him up and down from where he stands beside Rachel, and he is pleasantly surprised at just how good retirement still looks on the likes of Art Mullen. He’s sixty-seven now, has been retired for a decade and his skin is still tan as it was last they saw each other. His smile is still the same kind of bright that only comes with freedom from working in law enforcement and his eyes are still very kind. “I mean—a third heart attack will put him in the grave, won’t it?”

“Yeah, which is why he’s retirin’ soon as he hits the damn 20 year mark,” Raylan snips. “Four more years and he’s home free.”

“I never agreed to that,” Tim says. “I’ll be retirin’ when I’m 57 and not a damn minute sooner.”

He turns to look at Raylan and sees his mouth form a line. “I can get behind that, if you transfer to Miami,"

"You're too fuckin' protective," Tim grumbles. "And too fuckin' stubborn. I had a damn heart attack, but just because it's my second ain't gonna mean I take kindly to bein' coddled. I'm a forty-five year old man, for fucks sake."

Raylan smiles. He mouths an apology as Rachel follows on the coattails of Tims words, and Tim doesn't respond.

“I also ain’t approvin’ that request,” Rachel says. “No way. You wanna keep an eye on him like he’s some damsel in distress, you transfer back down here. I’m keepin’ him til he either quits, retires, or dies in the damn field.”

Tim moves his eyes to the ceiling as he seeks out Raylans hand, flexing his fingers as he searches. The idea of being around Raylan and Rachels bickering has never bothered him much--he usually mediates when they're at work because damn it if they aren't so damn alike that they clash, but he has zero interest in mediating while he's sat up in the recovery unit. He decides to stare at the ceiling while he waits for them to quit it.

“I didn’t miss it, either,” Tim feels Art gently push his shoulder. “Their bickering. That was the best part about Raylan bein’ gone before I retired.”

Raylans hand finds Tims and Tim is quick to interlace their fingers. “We aren’t bickering,” Raylan says. “I’d request the transfer if I thought Dan’d approve it.”

“I’ll retire on my forty-nineth birthday if y’all just shut the fuck up,” Tim says, exasperated. “Or--partially retire, or some shit, or work less—just stop. Please, in the name of Christ, quit the fuckin’ bickering.”

Tim feels Raylans lips against the back of his hand in lieu of an actual apology, and Rachel gives his shoulder a sisterly squeeze.

“Sorry,” she says. “I talked to one of the nurses—you'll be discharged five days out, then you get to go home to Roulette and keep your ass there for the next two months. Once you come back, you’re gonna do desk duty for at least the first two weeks after, mkay? I don’t need you havin’ a third heart attack because your heart wasn’t ready for you to be in the field.”

Tim hates the idea of desk duty, hates the idea of two months off with only Raylan and Roulette the cat to keep him company, but he puts up with it because it’s better that he recover fully than go back to work when he’s not ready and risk further screwing up his heart.

“Fine,” he says. “That--that’s fine. I can live with that.”

He can, if just barely. He turns his gaze from the ceiling over to Art and Rachel, searches their faces and finds that the epicentre of their concern exists in their eyes, just like it does for Raylan.

“I’ll come and visit a few times,” Art says. “I’m down here for the next couple weeks before I head back to South Carolina--our trip has extended for reasons that aren't just related to you, I swear it-- and eight hours a day with Raylan drove the best of us crazy. I don’t even wanna think about how awful twenty four would be.”

“Eight of them will be spent asleep,” Raylan rebuts.

“More like ten,” Tim corrects. “I’m--ugh. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Rachel smiles gently. “You tryin’ to kick us out and be nice about it?”

“No,” Tim says nonchalantly because he does want them there—Rachel and Raylan make it easier to sleep, and Arts presence is just kind of weirdly comforting. “I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t go anywhere, I’m just noting that I’m tired.”

He looks to Raylan, blinks tiredly. “Yeah,” he grumbles. “I really should’ve called the first time.”

Raylan smiles, eyes crinkling just so at the corners to tell Tim that it’s genuine. “Well, we all make mistakes,” he says. “Art--there’s a coffee machine just outside if you’re also gettin’ tired? I know I could use a cup.”

“I’m gonna go with him,” Rachel says. “Make sure he doesn’t get lost or anythin’.”

Rachel and Art head out, and Tims shoulders relax just slightly.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Raylan asks. “Like--how worried do I need to be?”

“Not at all,” Tim says. “I’m just tired, ‘n I hate hospitals, and I was so fuckin’ stupid about this stuff last time around—I just—the idea of fuckin’ up my heart for a third time is scarin’ me well past my damn limit.”

“Well then don’t,” Raylan says, laughing at himself a little. “I mean—don't push your heart past its limit. Stop smoking cigarettes, we’ve already covered the no-booze thing extensively. Start eating healthy and keep going for your runs in the morning. Rachel and I are too scared to lose you to let you go off track and I know you’ve scared Art at least close to shitless so he’ll help while he’s in Kentucky, and it’ll be fine. Plus, you only have five more days in here, then you’re home free. Roulette keeps falling asleep on your sweatshirts, by the way—it was real cute at first. Now it’s just real depressin'.”

Tim smiles, soft and gentle and so not like himself. “I miss her.”

“She misses you,” Raylan says. “She’s close to nine weeks old now and she still meows just as loud as she did when you brought her home, I suspect. Loves to sleep on your clothes and splayed out on the arm of the couch. I’ve been lookin’ after her in your absence—she's kept me calm.”

Tims smile somehow only gets softer. He watches Raylan take the center of his top lip between his teeth.

“Are you doin' okay?” Tim asks because he wants to focus on someone elses well being instead of his own for a few minutes.

“I thought I lost you there, for a sec,” Raylan confesses. “I was scared, and I’m just thinkin’--I’m glad I didn’t lose you, ‘s all.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “I’m--I--” he closes his eyes to illustrate the point he’s too tired to speak into existence, and when he hears Raylans snort he thinks he could die happily if he were to die right then.

“Yeah,” Raylan whispers. “Sleep, Tim. You look like you need it.”

He wants to open his eyes, to scoff and call Raylan an asshole, but he refrains, chooses to sleep instead.

Five days later, he’s discharged from the hospital and Raylan takes him home. He spends a lot of his first day being followed around by Roulette like she’s scared he’ll leave again, but when he moves from bed to kitchen to couch and inevitably sits to relax somewhere along that line, she curls up on his lap or in his chest and her purring is as loud as a freight train.

She keeps him calm, usually. Her purring is just barely less than enough to lull him into sleep, but the sound of Raylans breathing in quiet moments usually finishes the job.

The first day is spent sleeping, mostly, unless he’s hungry or has to take a piss—when either of those things occur he slips out of bed while Raylan tells him to take it easy and Roulette abandons her post tucked up against Tims side in favor of sticking to his right, her side pressed against his ankle as one step for him is a good two or three for her.

He grabs something quick—rips a little carton of yoghurt off of the pack he’s had in his fridge since before Boyd had abducted him, rips a banana off the stem and then peels and eats it, or even just grabs a granola bar to tide him over til either the next meal or when he inevitably gets hungry again.

When he’s not eating, he’s in bed with Raylan. Normally he curls in on himself just a little, tucks himself under Raylans chin and takes a deep breath to breathe him in before he’s finally able to settle. Sometimes, he doesn’t even sleep, just closes his eyes and slows his breathing down and tries to fight the anxiety that seems to linger relentlessly, never going away or fading no matter what Tim does.

Eventually, somewhere between nine o’clock on the first day home and midnight on the second, Raylans hands find Tims hair and start carding through it in a bid to get him to relax.

“You’ve been on edge all fuckin’ day,” Raylan says when Tim starts to retreat. “Relax for a second, Tim. It ain’t gonna kill ya.”

“All this time off might,” Tim rebuts. “I know I agreed to it, but—the off time is just more time to be anxious about my heart randomly giving out. I figured I wouldn’t make it to sixty, but fuck, facing that reality is a little scary.”

He stops retreating from the touch once it fully registers, and after a second it actually starts serving it’s purpose—it relaxes him bit by bit, starting in the slightest release of tension from his shoulders.

“You’re not gonna die at sixty,” Raylan says. “Or a minute before then. I have eleven years of time to make up with you so if you die a minute before your fifty-sixth birthday I’m going to lose my shit.”

Tim smiles gently, drapes an arm over Raylans waist. “Give me the next two months to actually think about this, but—I might ask Rachel to transfer me to Miami in the new year.”

“Funny,” Raylan laughs. “I was just thinkin’ about asking Dan to transfer me back to Kentucky.”

“You’d--you’d live here willingly?”

“For at least five or six years,” Raylan says. “Not permanently—I could never stand to live here as long as you have, and Miami is great, but I wanna be where you are.”

“Saying that to me while I’m just tired enough to only be half listening is so, so unfair,” Tim says. His shoulders relax further and the ease spreads down his back, through his legs to the balls of his feet. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow, when we’re actually fully awake. You, Raylan, are going to let me go for a run tomorrow if it kills you.”

“It’s not my death that I’m worried about,” Raylan rebuts.

Tim grumbles, settles further into the bed and closes his eyes, willing his mind to relax along with the rest of his body so that he can go to sleep.

“Running ain't gonna kill me.”

“It might.”

“I’ll--fine,” Tim sighs, presses himself closer against Raylan in spite of himself. “I’ll go for a jog, then, and I won’t touch coffee unless it’s decaf.”

Raylan sighs, content, and Tim decides to shut his mouth for the time being.

Eventually, he falls asleep. It’s the deepest sleep he’s slept in days and he’s all the more glad for it.

The first quarter of his eight weeks off is relatively uneventful—Kentucky is riding out the coattails of autumn and heading straight for winter in a manner that Tim loves more than usual that year, and Roulette just gets clingier everyday.

Art comes around a few times a week, as does Rachel, though they both tend to come around at different times of the day. Rachel usually checks in after she gets off work and then stays for a few hours, and Art is usually around from noon on the dot to four on the dot.

It’s a weird kind of nice to have Art around again—it reminds him of his first bit with the Marshals. Art had been a weird, fatherly-adjacent sort of constant in and around the office, one to scowl but not say a word otherwise when Tim would come in mildly hungover.

It’s odd to see him in a different kind of context that involves Tims shoddy little apartment and usually sitting on the couch or standing in the kitchen versus the one he’s used to in Arts post-retirement era, that being sat across from him at some restaurant with Michelin stars, drinking decent bourbon and making easy conversation.

Art is simultaneously exactly who Tim remembers and an entirely different person, but more in the way that he's a lot more relaxed than he used to be. Working as a LEO, let alone as Chief Deputy, used to have him sort of high strung, even though he was still more lax than even the most unbothered of Tims bosses while he worked in the military.

It’s only at the tail end of the second of eight weeks of off time that Tim is reminded of the fact that Art Mullen is a 67 year old man who had an upbringing entirely separate from Tims both in the general sense and also the generation.

“Were you and Raylan—like—was that--?” Art asks it within the first hour and a half of his four hour visit, and Tim just about spits out the decaf coffee he’s finally started to like on a consistent basis. “I mean, the signs were there and everythin’, but I didn’t ask at the time cause you two worked damn well together.”

“Art!” Tim laughs. “Oh my God—I know Rachel calls you the closest thing I’ve got to a dad for shits ‘n giggles, but what the fuck was that? I don’t think even my daddy woulda asked me about that like you did, and I doubt he'd've asked me about that at all if he were still kickin'.”

Arts eyes go wide, and Tim laughs into his coffee mug as he hears Raylans footsteps tredging out of the bedroom.

“Mornin’, Tim,” Raylan greets, still groggy and likely in that blissful post-cat nap headspace as he speaks.

“It’s the afternoon,” Art says in a pointed tone as Roulette, who’d been sticking with Raylan most of that day despite her usual clinginess with Tim, daringly leaps up onto the counter top to headbutt Tims arm until he gives in and scratches the spot she likes under her chin.

“Coffee?” Raylan asks.

“It’s decaf,” Tim says.

Raylan scowls but grabs a mug anyway, and starts making himself a cup.

“What were you guys talking about?” Raylan asks, one of his hands goes to Tims hip in a gesture that to Raylan is probably idle but to Tim means just a bit more than the world.

“Well, honey,” Tim laughs a bit. “Art just tried to ask me, very delicately, if we were bangin’ back in Boyds heyday.”

“We were,” Raylan says nonchalantly, and suddenly Tim is very grateful for the sheer amount of entertainment that can come from a groggy Raylan who’s woken up from a cat nap and is still not fully there yet. “Next question.”

Arts eyes go wider, somehow, and he chuckles. “You deal with this every single day?” Art asks. “Like--willingly? You know you don’t have to, right?”

“He loves me, asshole,” Raylan grumbles. Art looks at Tim again, quirks one gray eyebrow.

“And--you’re completely sure about that?”

“Unfortunately,” Tim nods, takes a sip of his coffee, applauds himself because the damn grinder Raylan had bought burnt the beans every single time without fail and the maker was old but beloved so automatically not at fault.

“Asshole,” Raylan grumbles. He accompanies the word with a kiss against Tims cheekbone, though, so Tim knows it’s halfhearted.

Tim finally gives in after Roulette does the passive aggressive thing and runs to the wall, only to sprint towards Tims forearm and put every ounce of her energy into headbutting it. He scratches the spot under her chin and when she decides she’s done and claws her way up his arm and to his shoulder, he lets her.

It used to bug him when she did that—the claws in his arms and up his shoulders generated tiny little dot-sized scabs that’d eventually turn into dot-sized scars, but he’s grown to love it as time has passed. She sits on his left shoulder, presses her tiny little head against the side of his neck and purrs herself asleep. It's a cute sight and sound, though somewhat of a nuisance in the mornings when she purrs so loud it wakes him up.

“You love me,” Tim says, narrowing his eyes in Raylans direction.

“Unfortunately,” Raylan echoes. Tim leans against the counter a little, glances at Art.

“We were,” he says nonchalantly. “Tried to keep it under wraps because we knew we wouldn’t be allowed to be partnered on cases and we worked too well together to risk that possibility. Plus—it wasn’t really serious either time.”

“Well, Raylans got a child with another woman so that much is obvious,” Art shrugs. “Is it that serious now?”

“We’re still workin’ out the majority of the details,” Tim shrugs again. “Like--livin’ arrangements and shit, but yeah.”

Art turns to look at Raylan now, and Tim follows his gaze only to see Raylan going for the freezer, grabbing for the frozen meat patties to make burgers in the oven. Tim decides he’s content with that—they have a surplus of those fuckin’ burgers because Raylan likes them that damn much, and Tim has no qualms about what he eats unless he's the one making his food.

“You hurt him,” Art says. “I mean—you do it again, and I will be livin’ out the rest of my days in a jail cell, you hear?”

“Loud’n clear,” Raylan nods. “I hear you.”

Tim smiles at Art, and Art returns the gesture.

It’s nice, Tim thinks—to have the illusion of family for even just a second.

The five weeks to follow go sort of slow in a way that Tim learns to cherish. He starts, gradually, going for runs again. They start as walks with Raylan at no earlier than 9:30 in the morning but gradually progress to jogging by himself at eight and then by the end of his seventh week off, he’s waking up at 6:30, getting dressed into a pair of sweatpants and an old military tee and is out the door and on his run by seven.

He settles back into routines of old even as the seasons continue to change and the month shifts from November into December. He spends Christmas with Raylan that season, orders the pair of them Chinese food and does the dishes while Raylan FaceTimes his daughter.

As December shifts into January and his sixth week off turns into his seventh, he and Raylan have a lot of discussions about their future—it's stuff they can’t avoid, really, not if they want to make it work like they wasted eleven years not doing.

Raylans plan had, initially, been to come back up to Kentucky, but they realized very quickly that that wouldn’t work—Raylan would be unhappy in Kentucky, for starters, and the only reason he was there at all had been for Tims sake anyway, and Dan would never approve of the transfer with them being stretched out that thin at the Miami office.

Tim had spent a lot of time considering it on his end—there was no time difference between Kentucky and Miami, and it was a fifteen hour drive versus two hours total spent in coach on alternating weekends.

In the end, the choice was clear enough, and that was what led him to walking into Rachels office, his shoulders wound up tight and his smile mostly not there.

“Hey,” he says. “I know I’m not due back at work for another week, but—we need to talk, if you’ve got a sec?”

“You’re gonna ask me for a transfer,” Rachel says accusatorily. “Where? Because I love you enough to know that if you go to Miami, it’ll be against the damn law for you and Raylan to be partnered up, which will make Raylan grumpy and then he’ll get angry and lash out, and I’d really rather save you and Dan from havin’ to deal with that. Come in and sit down, I’ve been anticipating this since fuckin’ Christmas.”

Tim laughs, does as she tells him without a second thought.

“Anywhere,” he says. “Look--I know we have our jokes about how we’re gonna leave this state, but--”

“You fell in love with somethin’ that ain’t your job for once,” Rachel cuts. “Look--I’m not mad. I know I said I wouldn’t approve a transfer when you were layin’ up in a hospital bed, but things have changed. I’ve seen how you are with him, with that stupid fuckin’ cat.”

“Roulette is not stupid,” Tim says, immediately jumping to her defense.

“She’s dumb as a box of rocks, Tim,” Rachel says. “She’s cute, and she’d die if you, specifically, went longer than maybe twelve hours without givin’ her attention, but she is damn stupid.”

“She has at least two braincells,” Tim rebuts. “They’ve just never been used—and that, Rachel Eloise Brooks, is entirely besides the point. What do you mean by that, that you’ve seen how I am with Raylan?”

“He softens you up like I’ve never seen anyone else capable,” she says. “You smile at him, and you mean it when you do it. It’s like when you smile at me except when you smile at me, it’s platonic. Whenever you smile at Raylan it’s all romance goin’ through your big, idiotic head. Swear to God, he makes you soft. Makes you comfortable with bein’ vulnerable even after eleven years no contact. I found it funny at first, if I’m honest, but now I appreciate it.”

“You notice too much,” Tim says.

“That’s probably true,” Rachel shrugs. “But the fact that I know you’ve got Raylan in your life again makes this easier—do you know the name Elliot Shephard?”

A brief image of a then 25-year-old Sergeant from his days in the infantry unit flashes across Tims mind.

“Fuck yeah I know that name,” Tim nods. “He was my boss while I worked infantry. Why do you ask?”

“He’s the Chief Deputy at the Newnan office down in Georgia, which is about a two and a half hour drive out from Miami. You cut out an hour of time if you fly down but honestly, I don’t think that’d be worth it. Lexington is father away from Harlan than Newnan is from Miami and there’s no difference in time zones.”

“Well,” Tim shrugs. “I am in my seventh week of off time and it’s January so my brain is foggy as all hell—spell it out for me, please.”

“He called and asked how well staffed we are up here in Lexington. I said we’ve got at least one to spare if you need, and he said that there’s a position he needs to fill come the end of March. Are you in?”

“You sure you can handle another two months with me?”

Rachel laughs. “I’m gonna miss the fuck outta you, Gutterson,” she says. “You best remember to call me once in a while after you’re gone, all right? I don’t got much in the way of family anymore, either, so I do expect an invite down to Georgia at Christmas.”

“You and I have spent Christmas together every fuckin’ year since you left your ex husband,” Tim laughs. “Yeah. You have an invite, and I’ll call you a few times a week.”

Rachel smiles, reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze. “I’ll tell Shephard that I’m sendin’ you down.”

Tim smiles back, tries to ignore the way that his chest aches at the thought of leaving Rachel behind even though he knows he’s going for good fuckin’ reason.

“I’m gonna miss you too, by the way,” he says. “I really do love you, y’know.”

Her smile brightens. “I know,” she says.

They sit in the silence for a while after, basking in it as they would at the end of a long, tough case. Tim cherishes the silence, cherishes who he's sitting in it with because he knows it's not the last time they'll sit in silence before he's gone off to Newnan, but it's the time that'll mean the most.

The last time that Tim goes to the VFW in Lexington, it feels kind of bittersweet. Alexander is leaving to go down to North Carolina and it’s their last session before Tim leaves for Newnan.

“You doin’ all right?” Alexander asks. It’s the end of March, Tim has packed his entire life up to that point into his truck and all he has to do yet is grab Roulette from the Lexington office, where Rachel had offered to watch her while Tim did his last appointment with Alexander, and then he can hit the road and spend the next six hours driving. He’ll be in Newnan for seven if the traffic is good, which he really hopes it is. “I know we haven’t really talked about it because it’s been so long, but you had a damn heart attack five months ago, and then another one what—a month later? How are you doin’ with that?”

That makes Tim laugh. “Good,” he says. “I mean—we’ve talked about it a bit in a few of the appointments we’ve had since my second, and I feel okay about it, I guess. I don’t think about it as obsessively as I used to, don’t think I’ll be dead by sixty anymore. I have a cat, for fucks sakes. If I die before she does, Hell hath no fury quite like mine.”

It makes Alexander laugh, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, Tim considers it a victory.

“You’n the—the guy,” Alexander says. “The Marshal, as I’ve dubbed him. What’s the what with that?”

“The what is that I’m transferrin’ to Georgia to be closer to the asshole,” Tim says nonchalantly. “He’s decided my heart is so gnarly I’m to retire once I hit twenty years with the service but I’m gonna see if I can coax him into twenty-five. We’re tryin’ to figure stuff out for the long term—I'm movin’ to be only two and a half hours out from Miami. We’re gonna make it last. I’m fuckin’ determined about that.”

“Have you guys been talking a lot about the long term?”

“It’s all we can talk about,” Tim laughs. “I dunno—Raylan retires in a bit. I retire in anywhere from four to ten years, and we’ve been talkin’ a lot about it.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Right now it’s lookin’ like he’ll retire come the end of the year, stay in Miami for the next bit til I retire. He’s got a kid he’s down there for and he’s gonna stay down there til she graduates high school in a while yet which makes me hopeful he won’t notice when I fail to retire at forty-nine and retire at fifty-four instead. Seven years out, he’s either going to come down to Georgia and join me in Newnan for the next two years til I retire or I’m gonna bite the bullet’n retire at fifty-two. We’re both winter lovers so we’re thinkin’ relocating to somewheres like Maine in the end. It’s all idyllic right now, none of it actualized, but he told me we either moved to Maine and stayed in the states or we moved to Nova Scotia way across the border because, in his words, they’re “basically the same.””

“Maine, huh? You don’t really seem like the type who’d enjoy that much snow in the winter.”

“I sure as hell won’t enjoy the blisterin’ sun all the damn time,” Tim laughs. “Plus--shovellin’ all that snow in the winter will give either Raylan or myself somethin’ to do for a season. Like I said—it's all idyllic, nothings for sure yet and I doubt it really will be til we cross the bridges we’re only talkin’ about as of now.”

“Everything works out in the end,” Alexander sighs. “That’s your philosophy for now, isn’t it?”

“Nothing worked out for eleven years,” Tim answers. “Right now, I’m in that headspace where I have to make sure it will. I dunno how long that’ll last, but I bet it’ll last for a while.”

Alexander laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I get that—I've been there. Just try to remember that relationships are games of give and take. You’re not always going to be able to give it your everything and neither will Raylan, but that’s okay. It’s normal, even. You and Raylan will naturally find your footing in time and it’ll work out in the end, even if it doesn’t work out how you’re hoping it will.”

Tim smiles gently. “I’m doin’ everything I can to avoid screwin’ this up, I promise.”

“I know you are, Tim,” Alexander says. “Does he know a lot about your time with the military yet?”

“He knows a lot of it,” Tim shrugs. “All we’ve really had time to do in the past few months has been talk. He learned most of it while I was on leave after my second heart attack, but I’ve only been telling him when he’s been asking. He was like that when we first met—curious about my kills, the longest I’d ever stayed awake, the highest profile target I stuck a bullet into. I was closed off about it then.”

“Did you ever figure out why?”

Tim shrugs. “Something about the idea of being known that intimately scared me half to death,” he says. “And we’d known each other for all of like, a week or two when he first started asking those questions. I hadn’t even opened up that much with my boss of that time, no fuckin’ way was I gonna divulge that shit with some stranger. No matter how handsome said stranger may have been, I had standards then. Standards about who knew about what with regards to the time I served.”

“Standards are good,” Alexander says. “Whats changed?”

“Well--he’s not a stranger anymore. He has seen me naked, and his stupid, deft fuckin’ fingers have touched even the worst of the scars I’d garnered in that time.”

“You let him in.”

“I did,” Tim nods. “For the third time, mind you. Hopefully it doesn’t blow up in my face again.”

“I doubt it will, if it’s of any consolation,” Alexanders smile is bright, and meaningful, and warm. It almost kills Tim on the spot, just a little. “You’ve finally been dealt a good hand. Don’t let that go, Gutterson.”

Tim checks his watch, finds it’s quarter to one. “I promise you, Alexander, I won’t,” he says. “But I’ve gotta hit the road if I wanna make it to Newnan for seven.”

Alexander stands and Tim follows suit. Tim gears up to leave, has been mentally prepared for his exit for the past three months.

Alexander extends his hand. Tim shakes it without thinking.

“I’m real proud of you, man,” Alexander says. “You’re not as rough around the edges as you used to be.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“It ain’t,” Alexander laughs heartily. “You’ve come a long fuckin’ way, and it’s good to see. That’s all I was sayin’.”

Tim smiles warmly, lets Alexanders hand go for a minute.

“Thank you,” he says. “For everything you’ve done these past six or so months.”

Alexander shakes his head. “Get on the road,” he says. “Get to the good part of life that awaits.”

Tim does as he’s told, heads out of the VFW with some part of the ache in his chest feeling lighter.

He climbs into his truck, stops off at the office to collect Roulette and hugs Rachel as tight as he can because they’ve both always sucked at proper goodbyes.

He gets on the road, knowing that he’s not the same guy he was sixteen years before, or the same guy he was a decade past or even so much as five years ago, but feeling glad for that.

Change, he decides, is not an inherently bad thing. Sometimes, in moments like that one, change can be for the better, and the change he’s making is decidedly so.

#tim gutterson #raylan givens #tim gutterson x raylan givens #givenson #justified #justified fx

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