#the whole situation makes me want to just quit right now no notice no new job to cover me with

[coloursflyaway]

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 18.000

Read on AO3

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there are more important matters at hand.

“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”

He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.

“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.” ____________ Edwin takes the Cat King up on his initial offer, so instead of a few hours, he is gone for six weeks. Charles isn't good at coping with it.

Tags for everyone who wanted one ♥: @that-ineffable-devil @mentally-unstable-fangirl @tipsyscone @butternutsquashthesenutz @makemeimmortalwithahug @mylu @imineffible @fabledshadow @asherxme @twopercentboy

„Now, I think this concludes our business“, Edwin says and fixes his bow-tie, the collar of his shirt. His lips feel strange, now that they have tasted their first kiss (and their second, and third, and fourth, and…, his treacherous mind corrects him), but this was a small price to pay for safe passage out of this godforsaken town. “So, could you please transport me back to my friend?”

The creature in question unfurls his body from the sofa they were lounging on for the transaction, and even if Edwin cannot find much that is good about this situation, the Cat King at least has been rather civil about it all, no matter his unconventional request for payment.

Even now, he walks closer and there is a smirk on his lips.

Lips, Edwin does not want to look at, because he knows how they feel and knows that they felt right in one, and terrifyingly wrong in all other ways.

“If you insist”, the Cat King drawls, and brushes two fingers across Edwin’s shoulders. “I can take you back to your little friend. But you’re also more than welcome to stay a little longer…”

“No, thank you”, Edwin cuts him off before he can continue, because he needs to get back to Charles, and as soon as possible, too. “As far as I can tell, you have been made quite happy, so I consider my debt repaid and would very much like to return where I belong.”

And the Cat King looks at him like he knows something he won’t tell Edwin yet, and snaps his fingers, and the world changes.

Edwin disappears in front of their eyes, and Charles forces down the spark of panic that comes with that.

The Cat King wanted to talk and Edwin can handle it, of course he can. Even if Charles would have liked it much better if he could have done it within his sight.

The warehouse looks different when it reappears.

Edwin needs a moment to make sense of it, but then his gaze gets stuck on the scratches on the walls, the splintered wood and bent metal, the wrecked throne and the hole in the floor that looks like someone dug it with their bare hands, blood streaked across the grey concrete.

It looks like a crime scene, like a war had been waged inside of it, and then Edwin’s eyes find Charles’ form in the middle of the broken up ground.

He’s sunken on the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his coat torn to shreds, his white socks stained, and his hair a matted mess of curls. Bits of concrete are stuck in there, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice, like he doesn’t seem to notice anything else around him, and it scares Edwin more than anything ever has before.

Before he knows it, he is moving, gasping out Charles’ name, and for a terrible, terrifying second, Charles does not react. He just sits there, motionless, like he is stuck in limbo; then he looks up, slowly, like he is moving through molasses, and somehow, it’s worse.

There is no life left in his eyes.

Usually, they shine brighter than the sun itself, sparkling with every emotion Charles is feeling, but now their light is dimmed until it has all but gone out, their brown not warm and inviting anymore, but flat.

A sound tumbles from Edwin’s lips, although he cannot quite make out what kind, something between a sob and a plea and a prayer, and Edwin is about to drop to his knees in front of him, when Charles propels himself upwards and flings himself into Edwin with a force that knocks them both to the ground.

If he was still breathing, the impact would force the air out of Edwin’s lungs, but he is certain that even then, he wouldn’t realise it, because Charles is holding him so tightly it compresses his non-existent ribs, like he has been hurt, like he had thought Edwin was.

And he’s crying.

It’s the kind of crying Edwin hasn’t experienced before, but something which he understands anyway; it’s the kind of crying he would hear in hell, seeping through the cracks of his doll house, the kind he would see much later when he was escaping.

It’s crying without any kind of restraint because there is no strength left to fight it, the kind of crying that comes from desperation so deep it captures your entire soul, and forces anything else into meaninglessness.

Edwin has never cried like this before, and he swears right then and there that he will find and butcher whoever did this to Charles.

Three hours have passed and Edwin isn’t yet back.

Charles is doing his very best to keep calm, but it is so, so difficult when the only thing those damned cats are willing to say is, sometimes the King likes to keep them for a while.

What is a while?, Charles had asked, but there had been nothing but a self-satisfied meow, which most likely just means that the cats know about as much as Charles does.

Which is not reassuring, but in the end, it will be fine.

Edwin might not know how to fight, but he’s clever and he’s brave and he would never leave Charles alone.

“Shh, it’s alright”, he is whispering into Charles’ curls, trying to soothe him even though it doesn’t seem to be working at all.

Charles is crying like the world has ended, his sobs so violent they make Edwin’s chest seize up, his fingers grabbing and pulling at Edwin’s clothes like he wants to sink into him and fuse their bodies together.

And Edwin might not know how to fix this, but he’ll damn himself to Hell if he lets go.

He’s about to try and change their position in hopes of making Charles more comfortable, when there is a thud and the sound of splashing liquid behind them.

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there’s more important matters at hand.

“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”

He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.

“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.”

Edwin has been gone for a day and a half and Charles is going insane.

He knows he’s going insane, but that doesn’t change anything, because Edwin has been gone for a day and a half, and they have never been apart for this long since they met.

“I swear to God, if you don’t bring him back, like, this instant, I’m going to start breaking things”, he tells one of the cats that have come to watch them; it’s not an effective threat because Charles has been saying this for at least six hours, but he cannot stop himself, because he feels like breaking things.

He feels like he needs to break things, and that scares him, but what scares him much, much more is that Edwin isn’t here, and he has been gone for a day and a half, and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.

“Sure thing, lover boy”, one of the cats replies, and Charles shouldn’t, but he screams.

Silence stretches between them, only interrupted by Charles’ sobs, his heaving breaths.

“What do you mean, I have been gone for six weeks?”, Edwin finally asks, dread of a previously unknown type and magnitude filling him with every tear Charles is crying into his suit.

“What do you think I mean? I mean, six weeks, you have been gone for six weeks, and we have been looking all over for you and this one”, she gestures to Charles, “has taken the entire town apart because he was so convinced that he would have to dig you out of Hell with his own bare hands. That’s what I mean with you have been gone for six weeks.”

And she looks down at Charles who is shaking in Edwin’s arms, and there is tenderness and true affection in her eyes, which vanishes as soon as her gaze returns to Edwin.

“So, like. Good to have you back, but also, what the fuck, how could you do this to him?”

It’s been two days since Edwin was whisked away by that absolute prick of a Cat King and Charles is losing his mind. Whatever he thought before about going insane was nothing, nothing at all, because this is so much worse.

Crystal, bless her, has been trying to calm him down, but there is only so much she can do, which is nothing at all, because Edwin is gone and no one will fucking talk to Charles and tell him what is going on.

So, he is pacing, because he cannot start smashing things up, even if he wants to.

Not because of any consideration Charles has for the Cat King or his kingdom or his subjects, but because Edwin will come back and he will have solved everything, and he will be so cross with him if Charles starts smashing things up.

So, instead, he paces, and thinks about how he’ll hug Edwin once he’s back, no matter if Edwin wants him to or not, and how he won’t let him out of his sight for the rest of eternity.

Six weeks.

The words shatter something within Edwin that he didn’t know existed, tear him down until he’s not sure if he’s still the same person as he was before.

Because Charles is crying in his arms like he watched the world end, and suddenly Edwin doesn’t just understand the emotion there, but feels it deeply, viscerally.

If Charles had been gone for six weeks, he would be tearing the world apart with his bare hands to get him back.

And suddenly, every one of Charles’ sobs is an open wound, every trembling grasping of his fingers a broken bone, every time he breathes in, wet and desperate and painful, is a death he dies, because Edwin is the one who caused this.

Edwin, who was gone for six weeks without knowing, who has left the most important person in his life to suffer without him; Edwin, who can’t do anything but hug Charles tighter, and pray to whatever god will hear him that Charles will be able to forgive him.

It’s been three days and Charles doesn’t care anymore.

He has told Crystal as much, after she had dragged him out on a coffee run, insisting that he cannot spend his entire time in that godforsaken warehouse. Which she is wrong about, he realises as soon as he has stepped outside, because Edwin could come back any second and Charles would not be there to take care of him after whatever this Cat King has been putting him through.

At first, the Cat King hadn’t seemed too bad, not dangerous, more annoying, but apparently Charles had been wrong because Edwin isn’t here, and there is no way Edwin would leave Charles alone for this long, especially because he must know how worried Charles is by now.

So, the only explanation is that the Cat King must be keeping Edwin from leaving somehow and Charles will not allow it.

He should have gone with him right away, shouldn’t have let Edwin out of his sight, will never do so again.

So, he lets Crystal get the coffee she wants, but ignores her looks when he brandishes his cricket bat even before they walk into the warehouse. Maybe he is overreacting, because it has only been three days, but at the same moment, Charles knows he isn’t, because maybe for other people, spending three days away from their best friend is just part of everyday life, but it isn’t for them.

Charles is used to looking up at any given time and finding Edwin within his sight and the fact that he isn’t terrifies Charles to the point where it is hard to think.

That’s why it doesn’t matter that Crystal is obviously uncomfortable when Charles twirls the bat around as he enters the warehouse, just like it doesn’t matter that the cats scatter, not even that Edwin would tut and tell Charles to use his head to solve this, not his muscles.

Because Edwin isn’t here, is he?

“Oi!”, he calls into the vast room and sends more cats running. “One of you little fuckers is going to tell me where your King has taken my friend or I’ll start smashing shit up around here, alright?”

Just to make sure they know he means business, Charles brings down his bat on the closest barrel and feels the metal dent under the impact.

It’s satisfying in a way that scares him, but everything scares him right now, so this doesn’t matter, either.

“Do you hear me?”, he shouts and knows that he doesn’t sound commanding, just desperate, because that’s what he is, desperate and scared and not even good enough to keep the most important person in the world safe. But maybe desperate is enough for this, because desperate people do desperate things and Charles is about to rip this place into bits and pieces until he finds Edwin again.

There is no answer, and Crystal reaches out to tug on his jacket, like she thinks he doesn’t mean it, but oh, that’s where she is wrong.

They have only spent a week and a half together so Charles doesn’t hold it against her, but he’ll show her, just like he’ll show the cats, how much he means it.

Edwin isn’t certain how long they stay like this, but it’s not like he cares either. His mind is still reeling from the revelation that he has been gone for six weeks, his heart caught in a cycle of ripping itself apart for leaving Charles alone and patching itself up once more because he cannot let Charles see how much he is hurting, not when Charles needs him to be strong now.

Despite having existed for over a hundred years, Edwin has never become comfortable with another person’s touch – Charles’ being the exception – but he knows that Charles needs it, so his hands have started running over Charles’ back, combing through his lovely curls, anything that will let Charles know that he is here and he is safe and he isn’t leaving ever again.

“For me, it was only a few hours”, Edwin whispers, a response that comes far too late, feels like far too little, because who cares what it was like for him if it has left Charles in such a state? “If I had known that time passed different there, I would have come back immediately. I wouldn’t have spent a second with that blasted man.”

His hand is cupping Charles’ head, trying to support him through sobs that seem to wreck through his body with the intensity of an earthquake, the tears they bring soaking through Edwin’s jacket and shirt. Even if his spectral skin cannot feel them, Edwin knows it anyway, just like he knows the desperate grip Charles has on his back, the shaking of his slender body in Edwin’s arms.

“Time passed differently-”, Crystal starts but then stops herself, almost like a decision Edwin can see her make, before she crouches down and puts a hand on Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s. Part of Edwin wants to push it away, because it should be him who touches Charles, no on else. “You know what, we can talk about that later. We have to get him out of here first, then we can figure the rest out.”

Metal bends and wood breaks and concrete doesn’t do much at all apart from sending shocks up Charles’ arms, especially if he does it again and again and again.

If he was still alive, his muscles would be screaming, he’d be covered in cuts and bruises, splinters embedded in his flesh and being driven deeper with every motion; like this, there is nothing, just Charles and the cricket bat and the violence he is unleashing.

The first hit had felt good, like a release, but by now it feels like nothing at all anymore, but in the end, he does not do it to feel better, but to get these goddamned cats to finally tell him where Edwin is.

It’s the only thing that matters, that has mattered, will matter, and Charles will take the whole fucking warehouse apart if that is what it takes.

His bat slams into the side of a barrel, denting it, and a cat flees; his bat hits a post and another one does.

“Just give him back!”, he screams and he sounds crazed, but that doesn’t matter either. “Tell me where he is!”

There is carnage around him, there’s bits of wood flying where Charles’ swing has toppled a palette over, and it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all.

It’s nearly impossible to get Charles to stand up and it breaks Edwin’s heart, because Charles should be light on his feet, a flurry of motion even if he is trying to stand still, but instead he stumbles when Crystal helps lift him up. His hands are still clutching to Edwin’s clothes, cramped to the point where Crystal can’t dislodge them, although she is whispering soft nothings, coaxing with even softer touches.

In the end, they shift his arms so that they are around Edwin’s neck, clinging to him when Edwin picks him up like one would a child.

Were they still alive, Edwin wouldn’t be able to carry him a step, but Charles’ astral body has no weight to it, so Charles’ head comes to rest somewhere between Edwin’s neck and shoulder, fresh tears spilling down to wet his collar.

His sobs have quieted somehow, but he is still crying, still mute to Crystal’s questions and Edwin’s attempts of encouragement.

In all the three decades Edwin has known him, he has never seen Charles like this, never this closed off or devastated; it hurts in ways Edwin didn’t know he could hurt.

Crystal doesn’t talk much to him, but for once, Edwin doesn’t blame her: if he had been here in her stead, watching Charles spiral from his usual self to this state, he also wouldn’t want to talk to the person responsible for it.

So, he just follows her to the room she is still renting, holding onto Charles’ trembling form and swearing to never let him go again.

Eventually it’s Crystal who stops him.

She screams his name over the sounds of destruction, an expression on her pretty face that Charles has no energy left to decipher.

“Charles, they are not telling you anything”, she says, and yes, that’s the problem. “Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Edwin is somewhere else entirely, maybe the Cat King has taken him somewhere else in town.”

It makes little sense, and Charles wants to go back and smash another barrel into pieces, just in case it’s this one that will make those fucking cats tell him where Edwin is, when Crystal puts a hand on his shoulder and adds, “Maybe he needs our help there.”

Suddenly, a barrage of images: Edwin kept prisoner, forced into iron shackles; Edwin, being tortured; Edwin, waiting for Charles to come free him.

Charles, who has sworn to protect him and failed once already.

Edwin puts Charles down on Crystal’s bed, but even then Charles doesn’t let go of him and Edwin is touched, Edwin is terrified.

He seems so small like this, curled up on Edwin’s lap, and Edwin’s heart aches with love and with devotion and with an unbearable amount of guilt.

Without thinking, he pushes a hand through Charles’ hair again, but this time, Charles shivers against him, either because of the touch or by chance, Edwin isn’t sure.

“What happened?”, he asks Crystal softly, as not to disturb Charles.

“What do you think?”, she asks instead of answering, “He thought you were gone. He thought you might be gone forever, or trapped in Hell, or another thousand things his poor brain came up with. Would have gotten himself wiped out of existence if I hadn’t stopped him. Or dragged down to hell. He was willing to do absolutely anything to find you.”

She looks down at Charles and Edwin watches her eyes soften, like she is watching something precious; she is right, of course, but part of his heart still screams for her to stop.

“I’m not sure you know how much he loves you”, she tells him, her expression still soft, and it’s preposterous, it’s uncalled for, and Edwin desperately wishes it not to be true.

They search the harbour and the lighthouse, the library and the abandoned houses scattered around town, the high school and the cemetery; Edwin is nowhere and Charles curses Port Townsend and its people, curses the two of them for ever setting foot in it and curses Crystal for bringing them here.

In the woods, they find something akin to a shrine, complete with ancient writing that Charles cannot read, but there is no sign of Edwin anywhere. Around it, skeletons are scattered across the grass, and Charles should care about it, should make this a case, but the thought of it feels so far removed he’s almost surprised when Crystal picks it up to bring with them.

That summons the skeletons and they run, and Charles forgets about it almost immediately afterwards because it doesn’t matter, nothing does.

As Crystal outlines the events in the past six weeks in broad strokes, Charles hardly stirs, even if his tears dry at some point.

He’s not asleep, because that is not a luxury granted to them, but Edwin notices this kind of exhaustion anyway; he’s felt it before, after he had crawled out of Hell, covered in soot and bile and blood, and had collapsed right there on the floor, finally safe, but unable to move for what felt like an eternity.

And he understands it, too: he’d rather go to Hell again than lose Charles.

“He just sat there?”, he asks when Crystal is nearing the end of her tale, because it seems impossible, should be that. Charles is movement, is a constant dance, and yet Crystal is telling him that prior to Edwin’s return, he hadn’t moved in a fortnight. And it should be inconceivable, but Edwin thinks of how he found Charles, sunken into himself like he had become part of the ground itself, and suddenly it is difficult to doubt her words.

Crystal nods, and again her gaze softens when it touches Charles; again something within Edwin twists and hisses.

“He said he wasn’t leaving until you came back”, she explains, and her voice is a caress not meant for him, but Charles, who cannot hear it. “And he said he would wait forever if he had to… and I believed him.”

“Oh, Charles.”

It’s a declaration of love, of sorrow, of everything in between, and for a second, Charles stirs in Edwin’s lap, before he settles back down; it’s for the best, even if Edwin craves to see Charles’ eyes with some semblance of life in them like a starving man might crave a meal.

He strokes his knuckles down Charles’ spine, wishing he could feel the bumps of every vertebra, and Charles presses closer, almost imperceptibly so.

“Thank you for taking care of him”, he tells Crystal and means it, even if the words feel like pulling barbed wire through his airways, because taking care of Charles isn’t Crystal’s duty, it’s Edwin’s. But she was there when Edwin wasn’t, and it comforts him at least a little to know that Charles hadn’t been alone.

“Of course”, Crystal says, and her eyes stay soft, stay on Charles, “but don’t you fucking do that again.”

The vase helps nothing at all, because Charles cannot read the words that were transcribed on it or the table, because he’s useless without Edwin at his side.

Edwin would be able to solve this, there is a reason why he’s the brains of the operation after all, but Charles? The best he can do is put the vase down on Crystal’s table and all but forget about it.

Until he comes back that night from another trip to the harbour, the magic shop, the warehouse, without Edwin, whose absence feels more like a gaping, oozing wound with every passing second, and there is a stranger in Crystal’s bed.

She’s petite and looks peaceful, but Charles doesn’t even get to ask what she is doing there before Crystal starts talking.

“I put some flowers into the weird vase we found”, she says, and it doesn’t explain anything at all, “Dandelions that I found when I went back to check if we had missed anything in the woods, you know, because of the skeletons. And I heard a thud from the hallway and Niko here had passed out right in the middle of it. Which, in itself, would have been concerning, but then...God, there is no way to say this without sounding insane, but there were little people? Crawling out of her mouth? Which are now asleep in the dandelions I put into the vase.”

She looks at Charles like she expects a response, but it’s really difficult to give one, when it’s… well. When it’s not about Edwin.

“That’s good?”, he tries and Crystal rolls her eyes, looking annoyed for a second.

“Charles, I know this isn’t-”, she starts, but then stops herself, her expression softening. “I know you are worried about Edwin, but I need your help with this, okay? It won’t take long, we just have to take those little creatures back to their little altar thing so they won’t crawl back into Niko once they wake up. Can you do that for me?”

It seems reasonable and Charles still wants to say no, because nothing matters as long as Edwin isn’t back where he should be, but then he remembers, dimly, through the pain and the confusion and the gaping hole that is Edwin’s absence, that this is what they set out to do.

Help people.

So, he nods, and Crystal smiles, and that might matter at least a little bit.

“I’ll take him back to London tomorrow”, Edwin says into the silence that has settled around them. “Through the mirror. Not because I don’t want you to come, just…”

He doesn’t quite know how to say it, but Crystal seems to understand it anyway.

“That’s a good idea”, she agrees easily, and reaches out to touch a hand to Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s hand once more. “I think he should be back home and you two… I think it might be good if you had some time to sort through things. I’ll join you later.”

In any other situation, Edwin would ask what she means by that, but right now, it really doesn’t seem to matter, so he just nods, settles back against the headboard, and lets his eyes slip shut.

Charles takes the vase back where they found it, and there should be some kind of satisfaction in it, something about the job being jobbed and the day being saved and the stranger, Niko, being out of danger, but there is nothing but the gaping hole in his chest where his heart is supposed to be, because Edwin isn’t there with him.

When the sun is rising, the first rays of light coming through the windows, Edwin tries to rouse Charles once more.

“Charles?”, he asks as softly as he possibly can, not yet pulling away. “I was thinking, we should go back to London.”

For a few moments, there is no answer, but then Charles slowly, ever so slowly, sits up, his arms still around Edwin’s neck, as if he couldn’t bear to lose their closeness.

And Edwin expects a reaction, but none as violent as he gets when he finally sees Charles’ face again.

It’s not like he has forgotten it; for him, not even a day has passed, and yet it feels like seeing him for the first time.

His eyes are the same brown Edwin has become so familiar with, but they are dull still, even if a hint of life has returned to them; they are rimmed with red, eyelashes clumped together as if Charles had just been crying. And he might have been, even if the thought that he didn’t notice hurts Edwin in completely new, unexpected ways.

“You’re really back”, Charles whispers and the words are a sob and a prayer and an exaltation, and Edwin’s heart breaks because he should never have been back, he should have just been there. “You’re really here.”

There are tears spilling down his face, making his gaze a little brighter and yet not worth it; Edwin reaches out to wipe them away without thinking and Charles trembles under his touch like he never has before.

“I never meant to be away that long”, he tells Charles, although he’s not sure it matters, because he was, and there is nothing he can say or do to make it better. “I never wanted to worry you.”

I never want to be away from you for more than a few seconds, he thinks, but doesn’t say, doesn’t recognise the thought but knows it to be true nonetheless.

“I know”, Charles says, and it’s still half a sob, more tears spilling down his cheeks for Edwin to wipe away. “I always knew that. And you came back and you’re safe and that’s all that matters and I just. I missed you so much.”

And it’s not all that matters, not by a long shot, but for now, Edwin just nods and wipes another tear from Charles’ skin.

Niko wakes up again and she’s lovely in a way Charles knows Edwin would have enjoyed, but if anything, that just makes the need to get Edwin back worse.

It’s been a week and Charles desperately wishes he could sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to feel this all the time.

At least Niko seems to be willing to help, which would be a relief if Charles had any hope left that looking through town would bring Edwin back. But they have been everywhere thrice, have looked at every single thing Tragic Mick has on sale, and Edwin is just gone, like the Cat King has made him vanish from existence.

The thought cuts into Charles’ flesh like iron would, burning hot and torturous and it’s been a week and maybe there’s no other way. Edwin must be hurt or captured or a thousand other things Charles won’t allow himself to think of, and Charles will bring him back, no matter what it takes.

“Could you girls go and check the lighthouse again? Maybe the beach?”, he asks and maybe Crystal is getting suspicious, but he cannot find it in himself to care. “I just, I don’t want him to get back and there not being anyone there to take care of him. Please?”

It’s enough to convince them; they won’t find anything, he knows it deep in his bones, but it gives him the time and the space to go back to the warehouse and do what is necessary.

It takes some convincing to get Charles to let go of Edwin enough to stand up, his hands sliding down Edwin’s arms like he doesn’t want to lose contact, and it’s then when Edwin’s gaze gets caught by something that should be impossible.

There’s red on Charles’ fingers.

Not the red Edwin associates with him, but the red of dried blood and fresh wounds and overwhelming pain; Charles’ fingers are stained with blood, his nails torn to the flesh, some missing ,his knuckles scraped and bruised.

A gasp escapes him, because they cannot get hurt, they are already dead. Wounds, even those from iron, are fleeting, fade within minutes. And yet, Charles’ hands are battered, bloodied, like he had just been punching a wall.

Without thinking, Edwin takes them in his, fingers delicately gripping Charles’ wrists as not to hurt his poor, wounded hands any further, as he raises them up for inspection.

“What happened?”, he asks and hears his voice breaking, feels his heart do the same.

Charles’ eyes flicker downwards and there’s a fleeting look of recognition there, but nothing more. No surprise, no confusion, not even pain.

“Oh, yeah”, he says distractedly, turning his hands within Edwin’s grasp. “It happened a few weeks ago, when I was trying to dig through the concrete. Started out with just a scrapes that healed again, no problem, but then at some point they just stayed. Don’t really know what they’re about.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Yeah”, Charles says easily, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send Edwin’s mind spiralling. “But you get used to it, don’t you?”

It’s the warehouse again because it’s always the warehouse because Edwin has gotten lost there, and Charles has to get him back, no matter what.

So he marches into there, cricket bat brandished, and sends the cats scattering. Their King has not yet returned, his throne empty and Charles’s non-existent, aching heart seizes in his chest, like it does every time he looks at that horrible pile of palettes.

For a moment, he wants to beat it into splinters even more than he already has, wants to reduce it to dust, but then he stops himself.

It’s not what he is there to do.

One of the cats is too slow; Charles catches it easily, even if it is scratching and screaming and twisting its little body in a futile attempt to break free.

Charles doesn’t want to hurt it, but if that is what is necessary, he will.

“Tell me where he took my friend”, he hisses at the creature, ignoring that the scratches sting like fire, ignoring that the cat is most likely terrified of him. “If you don’t I’m going to crush every bone in your body and I won’t even regret it.”

There is a moment of silence, and Charles sees his hands covered in blood, feels thin bones splinter in his grip, imagines a life going out because of him, and he doesn’t want to do it, but he will if he has to.

Its little legs kick out again, before they go still and then, with the most contempt Charles has ever heard in another being’s voice, it says, “There is a cave south of here where the King sometimes goes when he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Is Edwin there?”, Charles asks, a hint of hope blooming in his chest, because it’s a direction at least, a possibility. Yet, he tightens his fingers just so, just enough to let the cat know he means it.

“If you will find him, it will be there”, the cat replies and Charles breathes a sigh of relief, and lets go.

Edwin tries not to watch Charles say goodbye to Crystal, but it’s impossible not to, because Charles won’t let go of his hand. And Edwin cannot feel it, but he knows that Charles’ knuckles are still raw and his nails torn down to the flesh, and it is impossible to think of anything else.

“You’ll take care of yourself, okay?”, Crystal says, and reaches out to hug Charles, who goes willingly, their joined hands dragging Edwin closer, too. Their joined hands, Charles’ bruised and bleeding because of Edwin.

“’Course I will”, Charles answers and buries his face in Crystal’s hair; Edwin wants to tear him away from her and keep him to himself for the rest of forever. “You, too, though. And take care of Niko.”

“I will. Maybe she wants to come with me to London. See the sights. The agency. The haunted vending machine.”

The words give Edwin a start; that case, the vending machine that used to be haunted until Charles and he convinced the ghost stuck in there to move on in 2002, is nothing Crystal should know about. It’s one of the cases Charles and he still refer to sometimes when they pass that particular machine, a little inside joke.

That Crystal knows about it, that this Niko does as well, is an almost physical blow to Edwin’s chest, and for a moment, he does not know why.

But then Charles pulls back, his bloodied hand in Edwin’s still, and says, “That’d be brills. And we can make a few new memories, too. Good ones, this time.”

And suddenly, it is so clear: in the last three decades and some, there have been almost no memories they haven’t shared, and suddenly, there are six weeks of Charles’ existence that Edwin hasn’t been part of and the realisation of it feels like it’s ripping him to shreds.

“We should go”, he says, before he thinks of it, and it is unkind and cruel and selfish to ask Charles to cut his goodbyes short; yet Edwin cannot help but feel relief when Charles looks at him for a second and nods. “I’ll see you in two days, okay, Crys?”

And Crystal, who has a nickname too, nods, and Edwin breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Charles drags the girls with him to the woods to the south, unsure where to find the cave and yet determined to do so.

Chances are that Crystal is just humouring him, but Charles doesn’t care. And it doesn’t matter, does it, because it’s her who finds it in the end.

“This doesn’t look very nice for a kitty”, Niko comments as they come closer; Charles still isn’t certain if she knows what and who they are looking for, but he doesn’t have the time stop and explain it, not if Edwin might be here, might be hurt, might be being tortured.

“I’m not sure if the Cat King would describe himself as a kitty”, Crystal replies as they get close enough to see into the cave, “But in general, I agree. I don’t think this looks nice for anyone in particular.”

She’s right; it looks damp and overgrown with weed, not a place fit for a king, but maybe for a prisoner.

“You wait outside”, Charles tells them, because he can’t die anymore, and because he isn’t sure if he wants his new friends to see what he’ll become if faced with the Cat King now. “If I need help, I’ll shout for you.”

Maybe Crystal answers, maybe she doesn’t; Charles doesn’t wait to hear it, just pulls out his bat and barges into the cave, ready to knock the whiskers off the damned creature that has taken his best friend, the best person in the world.

Inside, the cave is cosy, carpeted, a large bed and a bar crammed into a corner; it’s magic, quite obviously.

And it’s empty.

Being back in London feels right, even if the hand in Edwin’s still feels wrong.

Not because Edwin doesn’t want to hold Charles hand – he finds, although he never would have considered it before, that the weight of Charles’ hand in his is comforting, the pressure of his fingers grounding, that the occasional tug makes his heart skip a metaphorical beat – but because even without feeling, he is constantly reminded of the state of them, the blood caked under Charles’ fingernails.

Almost, he raises their joined hands again to see if maybe, some of the bruises have healed, but when Edwin turns around, Charles is looking at him with such wonder, such care, such lingering pain, that it takes his breath away.

That look alone is like a stab, a full-body blow, and Edwin hates himself for having caused it, for thinking about his petty jealousies when Charles has been through six weeks of what must have been Hell.

“Charles”, he says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say, but he doesn’t even get to finish saying his name; before he does, Charles pulls him closer, into another hug, that feels almost as desperate as the one they shared back at the warehouse, kneeling on the ruined concrete floor.

“I thought I lost you”, Charles sobs into his shoulder, and the only thing Edwin can do is hold him. “I didn’t want to believe it for a second, but you were gone for so long and I thought- I didn’t think I’d ever be here again, I didn’t think I’d be here again with you, I didn’t-”

It makes Edwin think of what Crystal said an ocean away, that Charles didn’t want to leave the warehouse, not without Edwin, and there are tears in his eyes now, spilling over and impossible to stop, because Charles there on the warehouse floor, unmoving as the world changes around him, is the worst thing he has ever imagined.

He hugs him closer, and Charles buries his face in the crook of Edwin’s neck, hot tears spilling against Edwin’s skin and soaking into his blazer, changing the fabric in the most fundamental of fashions.

The girls find him eventually.

Charles isn’t certain how long he has been sitting there, but he isn’t sure he cares anymore, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know where he is, so he can’t save him, which means Edwin is somewhere out there, alone and lost and most likely hurt. And he must be waiting for Charles to come, because Charles has always come, Charles has promised him, again and again, that he would always come.

And now, Charles doesn’t know where to go.

He doesn’t know he’s crying until Crystal is crouching before him, dabbing at his cheeks with a crumpled tissue, and it’s like everything falls apart around him, beneath him, inside him, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.

They eventually part, although Edwin isn’t sure he likes it; he’s not used to this kind of closeness, and yet it feels good to hold Charles, to comfort him.

It’s not like Charles goes far either, he keeps one of his poor, battered hands on Edwin’s wrist and drags him to their sofa, pulls him down until Charles can rest his feet on Edwin’s lap, their fingers still intertwined.

At first, it’s difficult to find somewhere to put his other hand, the one that is so used to holding books when he sits here, but Charles looks at him hopefully as he fidgets, until Edwin puts it down on top of Charles’ thin ankle, fingers snaking around to hold it.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened?”, Edwin asks after a few moments of silence – not uncomfortable, but heavy still – but Charles shakes his head almost immediately, dark curls bouncing.

“I’d rather not”, he says, and it sounds prim, almost rehearsed; it hurts in a new, novel way to think that Charles feels like he has to prepare answers when talking to him. “It wasn’t… pleasant. Do you wanna tell me how the Cat King kept you there for so long?”

His immediate response is no, he doesn’t want to tell Charles just what he had to do to appease the Cat King. There is an explanation ready on his lips, one he has rehearsed, back when there were lips on his throat, leaving imperceptible marks, but then he thinks of Charles’ hands, of his eyelashes clumped together with tears, and Charles deserves the truth, especially because there is so little else Edwin can give him.

“He asked for a kiss. Or rather, several”, he explains, then, because he isn’t certain how much Charles understood back then, on the warehouse floor, “For me, it was only a few hours, but wherever he took me, time must have been stretched there. It is the only explanation I can come up with.”

And he expects a chuckle, a smile, anything at all, but Charles’ eyes go dim again, go dull, and Edwin hates himself with renewed passion for causing it.

Charles isn’t sure how they end up in Niko’s room; he cannot remember walking, cannot remember teleporting either. But they do, and he is still crying, surrounded by pink and purple and bright yellow, and there are two sets of arms around him and they still don’t make him feel better.

He can’t remember the last time he cried, and he doesn’t think he ever cried like this before, not even with his father’s belt raining pain down on him. This is worse, because this is Edwin, and this is forever, and this is all his fault.

“Maybe the cat just didn’t know”, Crystal says softly, rubbing a hand along his back; for a brief moment, Charles wishes he could at least feel this. “Maybe their King doesn’t tell them much, I don’t think kings usually do. We’ll just keep looking. We’ll find someone who does.”

It’s meant to soothe, but it doesn’t; if anything it makes Charles cry harder, because who is left? He could go through the cats, one by one, and he will if necessary,, but if this one didn’t know, why should the next one be any better?

He doesn’t know how to answer, because any sound that comes from his lips is coated and drowned and swallowed by sobs, but he doesn’t have to, because Niko kisses the top of his head, and says, “You did mention a witch, maybe she knows? Maybe she has one of those crystal balls to look inside and find your friend!”

And she’s wrong, because Esther would never help them; and she’s right, because Charles has questions for her anyway.

A bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes quickly, thank God. Edwin isn’t sure what snuffed it out in the first place, but he swears not to make the same mistake a second time; his soul would not be able to take it.

He tries to keep the conversation light, only that so much of it seems to be caught up in everything that has happened.

It’s unusual, having to tread lightly around Charles, and Edwin hates it with a passion that surprises even himself. But it just feels so wrong, even more so than watching Crystal’s hand on Charles’ back, hearing her mention anecdotes from a life she wasn’t part of.

So, when he again almost asks Charles just how Crystal could have known about the cursed vending machine, he instead picks up the book lying on their side table and holds it up without even looking at the title.

“Do you want me to read you something?”, he asks, because back when they first met they occasionally did this, especially on winter nights whose cold they couldn’t feel, when Charles still remembered dying.

For a second, there is silence, Charles’ thumb brushing warm across the back of Edwin’s hand, and Edwin could live in this moment for the rest of his existence.

“The Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids?”, Charles asks, and there is a hint of his usual smile curling around his lips, a ghost of his normal teasing.

“I could get another book”, Edwin counters, and gives Charles a smile in hopes of getting a real one in return, “but I would have to get up to get it.”

And Charles is shaking his head immediately, and the smile on his lips grows into something Edwin almost recognises.

He reads the Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids to Charles for hours.

They get to E.

“Don’t do this”, Crystal repeats for the dozenth time, but Charles doesn’t slow down his steps, doesn’t even think about it. “Charles! Don’t do this. You remember the last time, she’s dangerous.”

“I know”, he answers, and he does. It’s just that it doesn’t matter. “That’s why she might have Edwin. Because she’s dangerous. Or she might at least know where he is. I can’t, Crystal.”

And he does stop, just for a second, turns around to see her and Niko trailing after him, Crystal obviously distressed, Niko most likely just confused. And he wants to care so much, but he just can’t.

Not when it’s Edwin.

“You stay out of this, Crys, please. But I can’t, not when it’s him. If there is any chance that Esther knows what that goddamned Cat King has done to Edwin, then I have to try. I have to.” He doesn’t expect Crystal to understand; they don’t know each other for long, it’s a miracle she’s even here still. “He’s my best friend. He would do the same for me.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then Crystal’s expression softens, like she might understand after all, and she nods.

“Alright”, she says, “Niko and I will stay around the corner and I’ll try to read her mind. But be careful, Charles. You won’t be much help to Edwin if you join him wherever he is.”

Night falls and they are still wrapped up into their cocoon of warmth on the couch, Charles’ hand by now a familiar weight in Edwin’s.

“I know you want to ask”, Charles says into the comfortable silence, and Edwin rejoices just for the pleasure of hearing his voice. “And I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, just… not now, okay? I want to enjoy having you back before I have to think about all that again.”

“Of course”, Edwin answers and he means it, understands it, too. He looks down at Charles’ hand in his and that is enough for now. “Whenever you are ready. There is no rush, we have the rest of forever to figure it out.”

Charles’ fingers twitch in his and it must be the light, but the knuckles look slightly less raw, less torn. Without thinking, Edwin lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss on the wounds, hoping that it won’t cause more pain.

It gets a response, at least, a sharp intake of breath, Charles’ fingers clenching around his, but when Edwin looks up at Charles, allowing their hands to drop once more, his eyes are wide and warm and a little alive.

“Doesn’t hurt”, Charles answers the question Edwin has yet to ask, but his voice sounds a little strangled still. “It’s just that you don’t usually do… any of this. I thought the hand holding would be almost too much, I just couldn’t let go.”

Because I need to make sure you’re really back, he doesn’t say, but Edwin hears it anyway. And the sentiment hurts, the thought that Charles thinks physical touch is a burden to him to the point of trying to let go of Edwin’s hand for his sake.

“I do not mind it in the slightest”, he declares, making sure to tighten the grip he has on Charles’ hand. “Not if it’s you.”

And Charles’ eyes widen once more, a spark in them igniting, and Edwin kisses his knuckles, one by one, vowing that he won’t let go until Charles can look at him without fear in his eyes.

“Esther!”, he yells before he has even reached the door, ready to barge in without knocking, even if Crystal has implored him to at least stay outside of Esther’s house. “If you don’t come out, I swear to God, I will come and find you and-”

“What?”, the door swings open and Esther is standing there, pipe at her lips as she regards Charles with a put upon kind of disinterest. “I heard you boys were still in town, but oh my God, can’t you let a woman cook up her revenge in peace? You boys are so annoying.”

If he was still alive, his teeth would splinter from how hard Charles is clenching them; his fingers are itching to grab the bat and just try and mash her face in.

“Do you know where Edwin is?”, he asks instead, because that’s more important than feeling her skull split apart again.

“Who’s Edwin?”, she drawls, taking a drag from her pipe and blowing the smoke into Charles’ face. “Is that the other one? I can’t keep up with you kids and your stupid little names.”

“That’s him, yeah”, Charles answers and God, he wants to smash her kneecaps in, he wants to beg her to help, he wants to storm past her and tear her house apart until he finds Edwin. “Do you know where he is?”

“You seem desperate”, Esther says, smirking, taking another drag from her pipe. “I like it. What’s it worth to ya?”

“Everything”, he replies, although he shouldn’t, because in the end, it’s the only answer he can give.

“Love that. Not for you, but for me.” Esther is sizing him up, obviously considering something Charles won’t like the least, and yet he knows that he will do it, no matter what it is she asks, if she can only tell him where to find Edwin. “It’s gonna cost you, and I mean, like, a lot.”

“I’ll pay it”, Charles answers without a second of hesitation, and Esther smirks in a way that should make him regret his words; it doesn’t. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

Sometimes, Edwin forgets how different they get to experience time; sometimes he's forcibly reminded of the fact. Because Crystal and Niko find them like this, wrapped up in each other.

Part of Edwin wants to tear himself away from Charles, although there is nothing untoward they are doing, but another, one he understands even less, wants to press closer, wants to kiss Charles' knuckles again and let the girls see.

"You made it!", Charles exclaims when he sees Crystal, voice sounding at least a fraction alive, and Edwin loves it, despises it at the same time. "How was the trip?"

They are dripping rain water on the floor, Edwin belatedly realises, but he decides against mentioning it anyway, less for their sake and more for Charles’.

“It was alright. Long, mostly”, Crystal answers, pushing a hand through her thick curls and sending a spray of water down onto their wooden floor. Edwin does his best not to notice it. “How are you? Is everything alright?”

The concern is palpable in her voice, almost a physical entity in the room, and Charles seems touched by it, his eyes softening and another sliver of a smile playing across his lips.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Edwin’s here”, he replies, like it explains everything, and Crystal nods, as if she agrees that it does.

Her gaze flickers over to Edwin for a second, then back to Charles, whose fingers clench around Edwin’s almost imperceptibly before he shakes his head, the motion so small Edwin almost misses it.

He’s about to ask what he is going on, but then Niko steps forward, spreading even more water on their floors, and Edwin is distracted by the bright teal of her coat, the white of her hair that wasn’t there before he was taken.

“You must be Edwin”, she says and holds out a hand that Edwin cannot take without letting go of Charles’. “Charles has told us so much about you.”

“That would be me, yes. I apologise, my hand is currently quite occupied”, Edwin answers, then raises their joined hands to help explain why he cannot shake Niko’s; an expression flits across Crystal’s face, too quick for Edwin to make sense of it, yet Charles seems to understand it easily.

It shouldn’t bother Edwin as much as it does.

“Ooh, that’s okay”, Niko says, and she sounds like she means it. Her eyes are wide and happy and suddenly, even without knowing much about her, Edwin is glad that she was with Charles when he was gone. “You should be holding Charles’ hand, that’s much more important. I completely understand.”

And silently, Edwin agrees.

Esther is grinning at him in a way that reminds Charles of the snake Edwin had found in her house, cold and dangerous and like he should be running from that smile.

Instead, he takes a step forward, and he would take another if Crystal wasn’t suddenly next to him, yanking him back.

“She doesn’t know a thing”, she half hisses, half shouts, her voice as deadly as Esther’s smile. “I read her thoughts and there is nothing in there. She just wants you to promise her that you’ll do what she asks, and then use you.”

Her grip is so strong Charles feels it through his clothes, through the barrier to physical touch that is death, and as she yanks him back, Charles feels the heart he doesn’t have break in his chest once more, because for a moment, he had had hope.

Esther cackles and Charles knows there are tears spilling down his cheeks, even if he cannot feel them.

“Well, it was worth a try”, she says, sounding like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter at all, and something in Charles just snaps.

Crystal’s hand on his shoulder still feels solid, but the cricket bat in his hand does even more so, especially when it connects with Esther’s still-smirking face.

While the girls go and dry off, Charles sinks back into the cushions, his eyes fluttering close. Almost, he could look relaxed, but Edwin can still see the tension in his body, like a spring curled tight and waiting for the lightest touch to set it off.

Edwin wants to soothe him, but he doesn’t know how to, especially not when there is still so much he doesn’t know about those six weeks.

He is trying to figure out a way how to ask, or at least hint at it, but then Charles opens his eyes again, and they are softer than they should be when Charles has been through so much.

“I think you’ll really like Niko”, he says, and he sounds wistful somehow; Edwin desperately wishes he knew why. “She’s pretty brills. Might have saved me once or twice.”

“Saved you? What from?”

Edwin imagines Esther and her giant snake and Hell and everything in between, but Charles’ eyes don’t change, neither does his voice.

“Myself, really.”

In the end, it takes both of the girls to pull him off Esther.

His whole body is aching from her iron cane in ways he had forgotten he could hurt, but the pain is distant, far away; the only thing that matters is that she had said she knew how to get Edwin back and she had given him a sliver of hope and then she had snuffed it out again.

Another thing that is far away: he is screaming, or crying, or both; two sets of hands drag him down the steps, and Charles knows he’s fighting them, because… because he doesn’t know what else to do.

And then he’s just crying.

Arms pull him close against a solid chest, fingers card through his hair, and there is nothing stopping the sobs wrecking through his body, so violently Charles feels them almost like he had felt the hits from Esther’s cane.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, crouched on the ground, but it is a long, long time.

When they come back, Niko hops onto the sofa’s backrest and Charles looks up at her with obvious affection.

“Do you need some band-aids for your hands?”, she asks, placing a little box on her knee. “I brought the Hello Kitty ones.”

The words make no sense to Edwin, but Charles nods, and Edwin hates how much he doesn’t know, hates that they ever had to spend time apart.

Charles twists and turns until he can put one of his bruised hands into Niko’s lap, who inspects it, before a bright, bright smile spreads across her face, like a sunflower opening to greet the morning.

“It looks better!”, Niko tells him, and she’s right; the knuckles are still red, but have scabbed over, the cuts are a little less prominent against Charles’ warm skin.

“Does it?”, Charles asks, and sits up straighter to see for himself. “I guess your dad was right, then.”

“I told you.” Niko is pulling a pastel pink band-aid from her box, unwrapping it before placing it gently across one of the deeper scratches on the back of Charles’ hand. It covers only half of it, if even.

“Charles”, Edwin starts before he can stop himself, “what is the purpose of this? Those patches won’t make your wounds heal any faster.”

It takes a moment, but then Charles turns to look at him; it’s a silly thought, but it almost feels like Edwin has missed his eyes on him.

“They won’t”, Charles agrees, and his lips are curved into an almost-smile. “But it will make them heal better.”

Charles cannot remember how they get back to the butcher shop, but they do, because Charles ends up sitting on Niko’s bed, while she rummages through her night stand.

He isn’t certain what she is looking for, but she finds it with a little ah!, and returns to the bed with a box in her hand. It’s metal, dented and scratched in a way that shows it has been loved; she opens it and there are dozens of colourful band-aids inside, waiting to patch someone up again.

“Now, I don’t know Edwin”, she says in a strange cadence, like she is trying to figure out what to say while speaking.”But if you love him so much, then I don’t think he would like you to be hurt. And since he isn’t here to make it better, I will try.”

The words make Charles’ eyes sting with tears once more, because Niko is right, Edwin wouldn’t want him to hurt; because she is right, Edwin isn’t here.

“Ghosts don’t-”, he starts, because if he doesn’t talk, he’ll start crying again, “Our wounds heal differently. Those band-aids won’t make them heal faster.”

Niko stills for a moment, then takes one of his hands in hers, which is scratched from Esther’s cane. The wounds won’t last more than a day, Charles knows it, but Niko still touches his hand with so much care, as if she thinks she could hurt him.

“My dad used to put band-aids on my knees when I fell from my bike”, she tells him as if it’s an answer to a question Charles hasn’t asked; maybe it is. “And he always said that even if that wouldn’t make the scrapes heal faster, it would make them heal better.”

And Niko looks up at him, her fingers cradling his hand like she thinks he can still feel it.

“Do you want a pink or a green one?”

“Pink”, Charles says, and doesn’t bother to blink the tears away this time.

Niko covers Charles’ hands in band-aids until she runs out of them, Charles’ wounds too numerous for what her little chest holds. They feel strange against Edwin’s palm when Charles switches the hand he is holding Edwin’s with halfway through, the plastic so different to Charles’ skin.

He watches the exchange and it tugs at his heart in ways he doesn’t understand; it hurts and it heals, because at least Charles had someone to put little plastic patches over his wounds, even if how familiar both of them are with the process means that there must have been far more wounds than Edwin was aware of.

At the very end of it, Niko places a kiss on Charles’ knuckles and Edwin’s lips ache in jealousy.

“Thank you”, Charles tells her, and she nods, bright and happy, before she starts sliding off the backrest.

She stops, though, and cocks her head as she looks at Edwin.

“The kiss makes the wounds heal even better”, she says, like imparting a secret, and then, she’s gone.

“You can’t keep doing this”, Crystal tells him the second they are alone, in a voice that allows no objections; Charles knows he will object anyway. “Charles, I know you cannot die a second time, but you cannot keep doing this. Esther hurt you and we had to watch and I just. I can’t do that again. I know he’s your best friend, but you’re running yourself into the ground with this and I don’t know if I can watch it happen.”

She looks like she means it and Charles wants to help, but if there is one thing he cannot give her, it’s this.

“I can’t”, he answers, and looks down onto his hands, peppered with brightly-coloured band-aids someone who cares about him put there, up at Crystal who saved him from being bound to a witch’s whim, and yet it all pales in comparison to the gaping hole in his chest where Edwin’s presence usually lingers. “I’m so sorry, but I just can’t stop, not as long as he’s still gone.”

He wants to tell her about how Edwin would do the same for him, about how he has saved Edwin from a hundred monsters and will save him from a thousand more, about how he isn’t sure if he can continue existing without Edwin at his side.

But he doesn’t get to, because Crystal takes a deep breath, and asks, “What if he’s not trying to come back?”

The question shocks Charles into silence, but Crystal continues talking anyway, words blurring into each other with how fast she is speaking.

“I didn’t want to say anything, because I know how much you care for him, but maybe he just left. Maybe that is why we can’t find him anywhere, why the cats couldn’t tell you anything either. Because he doesn’t want to be found.”

And it’s-

It’s the most ludicrous thing Charles has ever heard in the fifty-odd years he has spent on this Earth.

“No”, he tells Crystal, “No, you’re wrong. And not because I couldn’t bear it although I really, really couldn’t, but… that’s not how we are, Crystal. He wouldn’t leave. Never. If there is anything in the world I know for certain, it’s that Edwin wouldn’t leave. And that means he’s out there somewhere and he is hurt or captured, and he is waiting for me to come and get him. And I will, Crystal, no matter what happens, I will.”

There’s nowhere in the agency for the girls to sleep, so they set out to find a hotel, and Edwin breathes a sigh of relief, even if he hates himself for it only moments later.

He shouldn’t be so jealous of Charles’ attention, his affection, especially not when Crystal and Niko have stuck with him for six horrifying weeks, and Edwin should be nothing but grateful to them for taking care of the best, the most important person in existence instead of him.

But the door closes behind them, and it’s just Charles and him once more, and Edwin is weak, is possessive and greedy and looks down at Charles’s hand in his, and thinks that at least one thing is right in the world.

“Alright”, Charles says and turns to look at Edwin. “You can ask me. Not about everything all at once, maybe, but you can ask me.”

It should take him at least a second to understand what Charles is talking about, but it doesn’t; Charles says you can ask me, and there’s a thousand questions swarming through his head immediately, begging to be spoken aloud.

He nods, but before he can decide on any one thing to ask, he takes Charles back to the sofa and makes him sit down, their hands still loosely joined between them.

Touch is something Charles has always needed, but now, with Charles so hurt, so vulnerable, Edwin realises that he needs it almost as much.

There are so many things he wants to know that it feels impossible to settle on one thing, at least to start with, until suddenly, there’s a question that blazes through his mind so painfully that Edwin speaks it out-loud before he has a moment to reconsider.

“Did you ever doubt I would come back?”, he asks, then corrects himself, “No, did you ever doubt that I wanted to come back?”

He tells himself that he’ll accept any answer Charles will give him and it’s the truth; another truth: if Charles ever doubted that the only place Edwin wants to be is at his side, it will shatter his heart to pieces.

“Of course not”, Charles says, not missing a beat, and Edwin gets to keep his heart after all. His voice is soft and his eyes are, too, even if their light is still dimmed. “I’d never doubt that. It’s you and me against the world, isn’t it?”

Edwin nods, and there are tears in his eyes he does not deserve to cry.

“Thank you”, he says, unsure what he is thanking Charles for: for still being here, for believing in Edwin, in the strength of their friendship, for enduring all of it. “I know it must have been Hell, because that’s what it would have been had the roles been reversed, but something must have happened, because your hands…”

Without wanting to, he looks down at Charles’ fingers, wrapped in bright plastic, his own woven between them, pristine because he allowed the most important person in existence to go through this alone.

“I’m not really sure”, Charles replies, and when Edwin looks up again, it’s Charles who is staring at their joined hands. “To be honest, I didn’t really stop to think about it. We found out about this other dimension the Cat King uses to escape, and I just went mental, didn’t I? Started trashing the warehouse completely, and when my bat broke, well. I just used my hands. I guess they’re not as sturdy.”

He tries for a smile, and it rips Edwin’s heart to pieces.

“You-”, he starts, but doesn’t get the words out, because the thought is too much to bear, the images of Charles ripping his fingers to shreds to find him too vivid.

“Had to get you back somehow, didn’t I?”, Charles asks, answers, still smiling, and Edwin cannot take a second more, so instead, he pulls Charles against his chest and hugs him so tightly he knows that, if he had any bones left, he’d feel them creak.

Maybe he should be discouraged, maybe it should be difficult to go back out and start looking for Edwin all over again, but it isn’t.

What would be difficult is sitting down and waiting; what would be impossible is to let Edwin stay wherever he is being kept.

So, he walks.

Past meadows and across streams, up hillsides and then looks down into the valleys and still finds nothing, nothing at all. It’s maddening, it’s the worst thing he has ever felt, because the scenery is beautiful, the days long and the sun bright, and Charles feels like he is dragging himself through barbed wire and broken glass.

When he gets Edwin back, he’ll never let him out of his sight again, he swears when he walks up to the lighthouse once more, for the fifteenth or five hundredth time, sparing a look at the ghosts sitting there, watching the water. He’ll keep him close, keep him in his sight, keep one hand in Edwin’s, no matter if he likes it or not, for the rest of eternity, just to make sure he won’t stray too far.

It becomes a thing between them when they are alone.

Charles will look at him and say, one question, or three questions, and Edwin will go through his mental catalogue of them, realising how much he hates that there is anything about Charles he does not know all over again, every single time.

How long did you wait in the warehouse at first?, he asks, and Charles says, days. Crystal had to force me to leave it for the first time.

Why is Niko’s hair white now?, he asks another time when they sitting on the roof, the sounds of the city dulled down to a gentle buzz. Oh, that was mental, actually, Charles answers, and launches into a story about gnomes crawling from her mouth, and Edwin sits there and watches him, and wishes Charles would tell the story like he would have two months ago, animated and excited about it, instead of matter-of-factly.

How long would you have stayed on that floor?, he asks, and doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer this time, only knows he has to. And Charles looks at him strangely, fondly, sadly, and says, forever, mate.

Crystal catches up with him at the warehouse again, where he is pacing on the horrible, hated concrete floor, thinking about battering it open and seeing if he can find Edwin between the pieces. She’s been looking at him more often now, so openly worried Charles sometimes finds it difficult to hold her gaze, but there is nothing to be done about it, is there?

It’s the same way she is looking at him now, forehead furrowed and her dark eyes on him feeling like they are taking Charles apart, piece for piece, thought for thought.

“What are you looking for?”, she asks like she doesn’t know it, like the answer has ever changed.

He doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how to say Edwin’s name without breaking into tears, because if he says his name, he might not stop anytime soon.

“Charles”, she tries again and it stops his feet mid-step, “Charles, what if you don’t find him? What if he never comes back?”

It’s words that never should be spoken, because they cannot be allowed to be true, and Charles closes his eyes, just to save himself from the look in Crystal’s eyes.

“I’ve been to Tragic Mick’s shop and I asked him about ghosts and their wandering, because you are scaring me”, she continues, “and he told me that the only ghosts who wander are those that killed themselves. And that scared me even more.”

And Charles wants to shake his head and tell her she’s wrong, but it feels like that somehow; like half of him died and he is doing everything he can to follow.

Niko comes to change Charles’ band-aids and Edwin doesn’t think about it much, just watches her take out the box and tell Charles about the characters depicted on them. The wounds themselves have healed slightly, and even if no one knows why, Edwin breathes a sigh of relief at the discovery.

He expects Niko to let Charles choose a colour again, like she has done before, but instead she turns to him, who is just there because Charles is still holding his hand like it’s a lifeline.

“I think you should choose the colour this time”, Niko tells him, holding out a hand with three different band-aids in it, three different colours, three different patterns.

“It’s not my hands, though”, Edwin protests, but Niko just shoves her hand closer.

“No”, she agrees, “but they’re your wounds, too.”

And Edwin glances at Charles, who, for once, isn’t looking back, takes in the sharp cut of his jaw and the dullness of his eyes, thinks of his bleeding knuckles and broken nails, and knows she is right.

“This one, then”, he says, and leaves the green one, covered with leaves, the yellow one, covered with stars, and picks up the red one, covered in hearts.

The thought doesn’t appear gradually, it rips through him one day when he is walking through the library, forgetting to avoid the bookcases and just phasing through them instead.

Two days before, Niko, in a futile hope to console him, had put a hand on his shoulder and given it a squeeze.

“If he has come back from Hell, then I’m sure he’ll come back from where he is now. Especially if he knows you are waiting for him”, she had said, and back then, Charles had just tried giving her a smile, not thinking anything of the comment.

But now, it’s like a bolt from the heavens, a thought so devastating it leaves him gasping in the middle of the room, clutching at his chest like he still had a heart to calm.

He knows little to nothing about the Cat King, because in the end, Edwin had always been the brains of their operation, the one with the encyclopedic knowledge of anything supernatural, but something he knows intimately are Edwin’s stories about Hell.

Most of them, he has heard at least a dozen times, and even if that is not enough to imagine the horrors there, it’s enough to know that the entities there use souls like bargaining chips.

Edwin had told him before that he had been traded from demon to demon, and back then, in the comfort of their agency, Charles had shivered and put a hand on Edwin’s shoulder in lieu of pulling him against his chest, tucking Edwin’s head under his chin and never letting him go again.

Now, a picture forms in his mind that is so terrifying Charles feels like screaming, and Edwin is not here, so Charles will claw him from the mouth of Hell itself this time.

“Charles, could I borrow Edwin for a second?”, Crystal asks one evening, and Charles’ fingers tense around his own.

It’s a strange phenomenon that has only increased with time; occasionally, Edwin thinks he can almost feel Charles’ touch, not as just resistance, but like he used to when he was still alive.

“It won’t be long and I’ll bring him back, I promise”, she adds, not even bothering to ask Edwin, just assuming he will follow her.

“Yeah, sure”, Charles eventually answers, even if a second too late, and slowly, ever so slowly, untangles their fingers from where their hands had been resting between them. It’s the first time since Edwin has come back that they are not touching, and Edwin feels the loss of it immediately, his fingers itching to find Charles’ once more.

For now, though, he only gives Charles a smile before he follows Crystal outside, where she stops immediately.

Her expression is one Edwin cannot decipher, anger lingering behind her eyes, but almost concealed by something much greater, much more important.

“Do you have any idea how much Charles loves you?”, she asks, and the anger is there in her voice, the other thing is, too. “I know I asked you before and you said yes, but I don’t think you do. And I think you need to.”

“I am perfectly aware-”, Edwin starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“You are not”, Crystal interrupts him and she sounds so certain that Edwin feels helpless hearing it, because even if he doesn’t believe her, there are things now that she knows about Charles and he doesn’t. “I watched that boy beat up a witch that almost took out all three of us, because she had lied about knowing where you were, and the only reason he didn’t bash her immortal head in was because Niko and I pulled him off of her. He was willing to sell his soul to her just to get you back. To a demon, too. He nearly ripped off his own fingers trying to reach you, because he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

She pauses for a moment and Edwin can’t speak, can hardly think, his brain trying to sort through the information and failing, because it hurts too much.

“I thought he was going to die, Edwin. Cease existing. Whatever”, she continues, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and the anger is still there, and Edwin understands it now, deserves it. “I went to see him every day at that warehouse after he had just sat down and accepted his fate and every day I expected him to just not be there anymore. That’s how much he loves you, I thought he was going to disappear just because you had, too. He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone.”

“Crystal…”

“If you hurt him, I’m going to make you regret you were ever born”, she finishes, and Edwin believes her without reservations, “and the only reason I won’t kill you a second time is because I know it would kill Charles, too.”

It’s not easy to get Crystal to tell him where David is, but Charles manages anyway.

The roller-skating rink is dark and dirty, the concrete floor too close to the one in the warehouse for Charles not to shiver when seeing it for the first time. But it doesn’t matter, isn’t allowed to matter, because crouched in the corner is a human figure with shaggy hair and a too-large fur coat, and Charles wants to rip him apart for Crystal, wants to beg him to help for Edwin.

“Oi!”, he yells out and David scatters in a way that reminds Charles of a bug of some kind. “You remember me, yeah?”

“What do you want?”, David spits back, pressed against the wall and trying to look like he wouldn’t flee if Charles gave him an opportunity to do so. “Haven’t you ruined enough?”

“Didn’t ruin a thing”, Charles replies, but there’s no fire to it, because in the end, as much as he hates it, he needs the bastard’s help. “I need you to send me to Hell.”

If he wasn’t so desperate, if there wasn’t a constant loop of torture behind his eyes whenever he blinked, showing him thousands of ways that Edwin could be torn apart this second, he would try to find a better, a more subtle way of putting it, but there is, and Charles has long since stopped caring.

He hasn’t seen Edwin in more than three weeks and if his best friend in the world, the one person who never deserved to go to Hell, spent three weeks there because Charles was too stupid to put the pieces together, he will never forgive himself for it.

“What?”, David asks, and Charles has no time for this, for any of it.

“Hell. I need you to send me to Hell, because my friend might be there and I need to find him”, he repeats, and it takes a moment, but then David laughs, an ugly, rough sound.

“You want to go to Hell”, he repeats, like Charles hasn’t said so twice already. “Voluntarily.”

“Yes.” Charles closes his eyes for a second, wishing that the deep breaths he used to ask Edwin to take would still have the same effects on him as they did when he was still alive. “You don’t need to understand it, you just have to send me there. I’ll sell you my soul or whatever it is you do, I don’t care. I just need to get to Hell as quickly as possible.”

David still looks like he wants to laugh, but this time, he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step forward, raising his hands as if he was trying to placate Charles, a smile on his lips that Charles wants to knock off.

“Alright, alright”, he says, and Charles hates him and hates the Cat King and hates himself for letting it come to this. But it will be worth it, anything would be worth it if it brought Edwin back. He’ll figure out what to do about his own soul later. “I’ll get you to Hell, absolutely. But it sounds like you’re desperate, so I might need a bit more than just your soul to make it happen.”

“No.” He thinks of Crystal and Niko and Jenny, all safe, all oblivious, hopes they’ll forgive him. “You’ll get my soul, and that’s it.”

David pretends to think about it, but Charles has dealt with enough demons to know he will accept; they are greedy creatures after all, and a soul is a soul is a soul.

“Okay”, he says at last, and still, Charles feels relief wash through him. Just hold on a little bit longer, Edwin. I’m coming. “I’ll take your soul. And I’ll send you to Hell. But I’ll choose the Circle.”

“Sure, whatever”, Charles replies and the smirk that David gives him should scare him, but he’s far past scaring. “I’ll find him no matter what.”

Crystal’s words echo in Edwin’s head when they return to the agency and Edwin slots back into the spot next to Charles, their fingers intertwining naturally.

He knows Charles loves him, of course he does. Has known it for thirty years and has it carved so deeply, so prominently into his heart that he’ll never forget it, yet something about Crystal’s words makes that knowledge scream in his chest when Charles looks at him, a little bit of his usual brightness returning to his eyes as soon as they touch.

It’s not frightening, that knowledge, but it’s not comforting either.

It’s just there, beating in his chest like a heart might, asking if Edwin feels the same.

And without a moment’s hesitation, Edwin answers.

Yes.

“Oh, you fucking won’t”, rings out Crystal’s voice just before Charles’ hand touches David’s, and for a moment, Charles hates her.

Then someone grips his shoulder and flings him backwards, and Crystal is standing there, breathing heavily, a cleaver in her hand, and for another moment, Charles loves her.

“You won’t fucking touch him”, she hisses, and David laughs, the sound just as rough, just as ugly.

“He came here by himself”, he tells her, grinning still. “He asked me to take his soul. He begged me to do it.”

“Well, the offer has been rescinded. And you better go wherever the fuck you came from, before I send you back there myself.”

“Crystal, I need him to-”, Charles starts, desperate, but he never gets to finish the sentence, because Crystal turns her head to look at him, and her eyes are blazing like fire, before they go white.

“No one needs him for anything”, she tells him and her voice is distant and emotionless and powerful, echoing in the empty space like it is made of a hundred women speaking.

And Crystal reaches out and puts a hand on the centre of David’s chest.

For a moment, nothing happens, then he is being flung back against the wall with an invisible force, kept there suspended.

“You won’t touch him again”, Crystal says and the other voices still echo within hers, leaving Charles breathless and awed and despondent. “And you won’t touch me either. Otherwise I’ll bury you so deep you’ll be begging me to send you back to Hell instead.”

And she lets him go; when she turns back to Charles, there’s a small pouch in her hand.

“Crystal said you almost sold your soul to a demon”, Edwin starts the next time Charles allows him a question.

Everything Crystal had told him has stuck with him, but this he had only realised much later, and it had scared him like hardly anything else had before.

Charles just nods, this time doesn’t even try for a smile, and Edwin is glad for it; he’s not sure if he could take it.

“I didn’t really think I had a choice”, he adds after a few moments, like it makes it better. “I thought the Cat King might have sold you to some kind of demon and that was why I couldn’t find you anywhere. And the idea of you, stuck down there… I couldn’t take it.”

“But there was no proof, there can’t even have been any indication that…”

“No, there wasn’t”, Charles replies and this time, he does smile, and the sight is as torturous as Edwin knew it was going to be. “But I had to make sure. No version of you getting dragged to Hell where I don’t come and get you, is there?”

His fingers, adorned with less band-aids than there were before, squeeze Edwin’s and for a moment, they almost feel warm, real.

And Edwin blinks back tears and thinks of Crystal saying, he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, and squeezes back.

“How am I supposed to get Edwin back now, Crystal?”, Charles sobs, the words coming out drowned in tears and desolation. “What if he’s in Hell and I can’t get him back?”

He’s on the floor of the roller-skating rink, David’s collapsed form just metres away, and Charles should move in case he wakes up again, but he can’t. His limbs are not moving, his thoughts spiralling, because the only thing that counts is that Edwin might be trapped in some kind of torture chamber in the one place Charles cannot reach.

Two familiar hands pull him up and into a hug that Charles cannot reciprocate, shaking too violently with the intensity of his sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Charles”, Crystal mutters into his shoulder, and she sounds shaken, sounds almost in tears. “Have you ever stopped for a second and thought what would happen if Edwin came back and you were in Hell?”

“Now that we’re all back, do you guys want to get back into detecting?”, Crystal asks them, and Charles flinches almost imperceptibly, before forcing a smile onto his pretty lips.

This time, at least, looking at it is a little less painful.

“Yeah, of course”, Charles says, “but maybe not right away. Unless Edwin…”

“No, I think a bit of a break would do us some good”, Edwin tells him before Charles can even finish the sentence. “Maybe once Charles’ hands have healed. We have no reason to rush it, do we?”

And watches as a little bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes.

It’s later, although Charles cannot tell exactly how much.

Crystal had to half-carry him out of the roller-skating rink, where they had both collapsed on the ground, unable or unwilling to move.

With time, Charles’ sobs had dried up, even though it feels like he has an ocean of them still stored inside his chest, lapping at his unbeating heart like waves. But Crystal had been right, he doesn’t know if Edwin is in Hell, just fears it more than anything else in this world.

“Charles?”, Crystal asks into the night air, sounding pensive, drained.

“Yeah?”

“I know you and Edwin are best friends, but that can’t be all that there is to it. Not with how you’ve been in the past weeks. What’s going on?”

It’s not the question he expected, it’s not even one he has ever asked himself before, but there is exhaustion so deep in his bones, paired with despair he didn’t know he could even feel, and Charles knows that Crystal deserves an answer.

So, he looks inside, pictures Edwin, his little smug smile when he wins at Clue and the elegance of his gestures and the way his voice softens when he knows Charles needs reassurance.

He thinks of Edwin, bathed in the light of the morning sun, and illuminated by the stars, thinks of Edwin’s wit and his brilliance and how easily he gets annoyed at period dramas on TV when their costumes aren’t historically accurate. Thinks of Edwin reading him to sleep when he was dying and reading him poetry afterwards when he found out that Charles had never truly liked a poem, and how Edwin’s voice had almost made him cry when he had recited Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale.

Thinks about how when he’s sad, it’s Edwin he wants to talk to, and when he’s happy, it’s the same thing, the same intensity.

Thinks about how no one has ever known him like this, inside and out, with all his flaws and imperfections and silly little quirks, and how Edwin does and still wants to keep him; how Charles knows just as much about him and feels the same.

Thinks about how it’s impossible to imagine a world without him in it, and how Charles never even wants to try doing so.

Thinks of Edwin and how he is the best, the brightest, the most important part of his existence.

“I love him”, he finally answers, and he’s choking on the words because they are true and yet he hasn’t known until a second ago. “Crystal, I love him. I love him so much and I never even got to tell him.”

And he’s crying again, just as hard as before, and Crystal reaches out and holds him until it’s morning again.

“Crystal and I found the vending machine”, Niko tells them the next day when the girls arrive around noon. She’s skipping, obviously excited as she sits down between them, completely ignoring that it means they have to rearrange their intertwined hands. “The one that was haunted. It was so cool, I got an orange soda out of it.”

She’s unpacking her band-aids, although nowadays, Charles doesn’t need many of them anymore, setting them out as a surgeon would their instruments, and no matter how charming Edwin finds her, the reminder that the girls know of the vending machine still makes something in Edwin’s chest clench uncomfortably.

“That’s great”, Charles says and maybe there is a little bit more light in his eyes than there was yesterday. He plucks a band-aid from Niko’s lap and hands it to her. “This one today, please.”

And it really isn’t great at all, but Edwin doesn’t know how to formulate the fact into a sentence that doesn’t sound like complete lunacy.

“And this one”, he says instead, and grabs a random band-aid too, just so he won’t make a fool of himself.

It’s the first time he has participated in the little ritual by his own volition and Niko smiles at him, almost a reward, before taking a look at the plaster he picked.

“That’s nice”, she tells him, and puts it down next to Charles’ choice for later use. “And really fitting. They’re in love in the anime.”

Charles’ hand twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else until Niko is finished.

“There is one more thing”, Crystal tells him as they are walking back to the butcher shop, after she has explained the power of her ancestors she has just discovered to him, or at least tried to. “When I was in David’s mind, I could see… something in the warehouse. Somewhere he thought about escaping to. I think it’s something like a little pocket dimension, if that makes sense. Maybe Edwin is in there.”

That night, Charles gives him another question, and Edwin knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself.

“When did you tell Crystal and Niko about the Case of the Haunted Vending Machine of 2002?”

Charles looks surprised, and Edwin cannot blame him; it is such an inconsequential thing to ask when is so much else Edwin doesn’t know yet, but then his eyes soften a little, and there is a spark in his eyes that Edwin has missed dearly.

“I’m not entirely sure”, he says, and it makes Edwin feel a little better to know that: at least to Charles, it wasn’t an occasion that mattered. “But they asked about you sometime, especially Niko, after she could see me. About why I wanted to find you so badly, about how our life was like before we came to Port Townsend. And I thought the easiest thing was to just tell them about cases. And you were brilliant in the vending machine one.”

He smiles and for the first time since he got back, Edwin doesn’t have to suppress a flinch; it almost looks like the smile he is used to.

“So were you”, Edwin replies without thinking, and means it, too. His fingers tighten a little around Charles’ and he could swear he can feel skin against skin, flesh against flesh.

“We were pretty brilliant together.”

“We were”, Edwin replies and wants to pull Charles closer, wants to never let him go again, “And we still are.”

This time, Crystal doesn’t even try to stop him.

Charles walks into the warehouse, cricket bat in hand, vowing then and there that he won’t leave until he has found this pocket dimension, no matter what or where it is.

He starts with whatever is left of the furniture, smashing it to pieces and ripping those apart until they’re nothing more than splinters. The palettes strewn about are next, nails flying as Charles pulls the boards apart and leaves them scattered on the ground.

Then, the walls, tearing down the panelling, until the metal is bare and covered in dents and scratches and holes where his bat bust through the rust. He rips out the light fixtures and grinds them to dust under his loafers, shreds the nets hanging between the beams and leaves their tattered remains wherever he happens to be standing.

Finally, the floor itself, because if he has to dig down to Hell with his nails and teeth, he will.

The concrete cracks under the barrage of hits he rains down onto it, magic putting more force into the blows than his spectral muscles could, until the ground looks like a meteor hit.

It turns out to be too much for his bat, which splinters just like the palettes, the pillars, the concrete did, so Charles throws it away and uses his hands instead, shovelling away gravel and debris and chipped wood, digging deep into the ground until it, and Edwin, are the only things he can still think about.

Somewhere in between, his hands start bleeding, his nails cracking and ripping down to the flesh, but Charles pays them no mind, even as pain radiates up his arms with every punch, every blow, every cut.

It feels like the scratch of a cat’s claw, just a hundredfold, and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

“Why is this so important to you? All the questions, I mean. I know Crystal told you the gist of what happened during that time”, Charles asks after he has answered another one of Edwin’s queries. He looks relaxed, his head pillowed on Edwin’s lap, and when he looks up at him, Edwin knows he could count the lashes around his deep, dark eyes.

They’re less dull nowadays, but still don’t hold that one spark that Edwin misses the most of all.

“It’s silly”, he confesses, not because he wants to, but because Charles has shared so much with him that he deserves to have at least one question of his own answered truthfully. “It’s just that for decades, all of your memories were mine as well. And those six weeks… I wish I could change them, I wish you didn’t have to endure them, I wish I could take all of it away, so please, don’t think that this matters more to me than that.”

He takes a deep breath, something that he had forgotten about in Hell, something that Charles had showed him once more after they had met, something that now will always be Charles to him.

“Suddenly, there are six weeks in the middle of your existence, and I wasn’t part of a second of them. And I hate that, much more than I should.”

For a few, long moments, there is no answer, just Charles’ eyes on him, just his fingers brushing across Edwin’s knuckles.

“Edwin, you were there for every second of it”, Charles finally answers, and his eyes are still not as bright as they used to be, but they’re bright anyway. “You were at the heart of everything. I missed you in every single moment.”

His hands are bruised and bloody, some of his nails missing, the others torn down until they are little more than gaping wounds, as Charles tears another piece of concrete from the floor.

He has looked everywhere and Edwin isn’t here and it is a constant refrain in his head; he’s not here he’s not here he’s not here.

Occasionally, there’s tears mixing with the blood, but Charles doesn’t pay them any mind either.

On the third day, Crystal finds him, covered in dust and grime and blood and splinter of what might be wood or bone or whatever is left of his ruined heart.

She breathes out his name and it’s a sob; when he looks up at her, it takes a second until he recognises her.

“You can’t continue like this”, she says, and there are tears in his eyes, on her cheeks, dripping down her chin. “Edwin wouldn’t want you to torture yourself like this and I can’t watch it any longer. It’s been almost a month, Charles, you won’t find him like this.”

It takes a moment or two until he finds the words, remembers how to speak, and when he does, he knows he’s crying, too.

“But what else is there left I can do?”, he asks, and Crystal chokes on her tears, before she reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

“I don’t know, Charles. I wish I did.”

“Your hands are almost fine again”, Edwin remarks and lifts the one he is holding up to inspect it. There are just two band-aids left, one around his ring finger, one on the back of Charles’ hand, green and yellow respectively.

“I know”, Charles answers, lifting the other one, a single frog-themed plaster around his thumb. “It’s a miracle, innit?”

And Edwin looks at him, his almost-perfect smile, the slope of his nose and the dark brown of his eyes; he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal says in his mind.

“Yes”, he replies, “it really is.”

“Come with me”, Crystal pleads, trying to pull him up from where he is sitting on the ground, between broken pieces of concrete and wood.

“I can’t”, Charles says, and knows it is true. His limbs won’t move, his body refusing Crystal’s attempt to lift him up; he won’t leave without Edwin at his side.

“You have to”, Crystal replies, and Charles wishes he could reach up and brush the tears from her cheeks. “You can’t stay here. Not like this.”

“You don’t understand, Crystal”, he says, and maybe he is crying, maybe he has forgotten how to do even that. “I can’t leave. If he isn’t here, then nothing matters. I cannot pass on, because there’s no Heaven if Edwin’s not in it. And I could stop existing, maybe, but if I do and he comes back, then he’ll be alone. So, if I can’t find him, if I can’t bring him back, then I’ll just… stay. And I’ll wait. Forever if I have to.”

Even though Charles, who used to flit between places like breathing, seems most content inside the agency these days, Edwin drags him up to the roof, because the weather is lovely and Edwin wants to see the sun on Charles’ skin, reflected in his eyes.

He seems different today, distracted, but he gives Edwin a small, almost-right smile when they sit down on the ledge, looking down over the city.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to ask a question today”, Charles says after a few seconds, but he sounds far away, almost distracted. “I know you like them. It’s just. There is one thing that I don’t think you how to ask about and that you should know. So I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Something about his words makes Edwin’s metaphorical heart beat faster, makes him look at Charles and notice everything at once: the way he clenches his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows, how his tongue darts out to wet lips that don’t get dry any longer.

He looks nervous, and Edwin hates it, because there is nothing Charles could say that would make Edwin care for him any less.

“You can tell me anything, Charles.”

“I know”, Charles replies and gives Edwin the smallest of smiles. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

For a long time, there is nothing, then Charles shakes his head slightly, a tick Edwin knows so intimately it almost pains him.

“You see”, he starts, “when you were gone, I found something out about myself. About you, too. I’m not sure if I would have otherwise, at least not now. And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, and now that you’re back it’s suddenly so difficult, because you’re here and I know it won’t change anything, not between us, but it will change something for me, anyway.”

He lifts their joined hands, the single band-aid stark against his skin, and smiles; for a moment, Edwin forgets that he doesn’t understand what Charles is talking about, because there is something so fond, so sweet, so devastating about the look in his eyes.

“I love you”, he says, and Edwin’s metaphorical heart stops, speeds up, swells until it is straining against his ribs, “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m in love with you, Edwin. And I thought I might never be able to tell you, so I’m doing it now.”

And he looks over at Edwin and for the first time since he had launched himself into his side in that godforsaken warehouse, Charles smiles at him and it’s the smile Edwin missed the entire time, every bit of sunlight in the universe bundled into his eyes, into the curve of his lips.

“You don’t have to feel the same. I don’t expect you to”, Charles says, and his voice is trembling, but he sounds happy nonetheless, sounds content. “I just needed you to know that you’re loved in every way there is.”

A beat, a second, another one, and Edwin looks at Charles and it’s like he is seeing him for the very first time, at the same time like he has never seen anything else in his entire existence.

He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal’s words echo in his mind, and she was right all along, and Edwin…

“I love you, too”, he says without thinking about it, because he doesn’t have to, he has known this for years, decades, maybe forever.

“I know”, Charles replies and he’s still smiling; he’s so beautiful Edwin wants to break down and thank the fates that he was sacrificed, that he was dragged to Hell and escaped it, that he is allowed to be here, holding hands with the best, the most important, the most beautiful boy in the world.

“No, Charles. I’m in love with you.”

And another beat, another second, and Charles’ eyes go wide, the sun behind them goes supernova, and Edwin can’t believe he ever looked at him and didn’t know he wanted to kiss those lips.

“Oh”, Charles breathes out and he sounds overwhelmed, sounds almost bashful. “That’s… that’s brills, innit?”

“Yes. It is.”

There is a pause, because something shifts between them; it doesn’t change, because it was always there, even without them knowing, so instead, it blossoms and blooms and grows into something so delicate, so resilient, so beautiful that Edwin finds himself smiling, almost laughing, almost crying.

“Can you just kiss me, please?”, he asks, love and happiness and devotion woven into every syllable.

And Charles nods, eyes brighter than Edwin has ever seen them before, and there is a second of hesitation, but then he leans in and kisses Edwin, and this time, there’s no mistaking it; there’s lips pressed against his, warm and soft and sweet, and Edwin can feel them just as if he was alive.

“I love you”, he whispers against Charles lips, and Charles laughs, before pressing closer still, kissing him again and again until Edwin’s head is swimming with it, his lips wet and swollen and his cheeks wet with the happiest tears he has ever cried.

“I love you”, Charles whispers back, and he’s smiling.

And he kisses him again.

[meangoose]

😫😫

[starsinthesky5]

drunk in love || joe burrow x reader

description: after a whirlwind of a few months, Joe finds himself being more open with the public about your relationship, which takes you by surprise.

a/n: im glad i could get this up in time! i think the tag needs to be filled with more positivity and the usual joey b content. we can push through :) 

requested by the amazing and extremely talented @joeys-babe, you gave me great inspo! i have also learned that i loveeee writing little flashbacks into my fics just to add more context to the situation. when I’m writing it’s like i'm painting on a blank canvas, and i'm going wherever the brush takes me :) 

warnings: smuttttt, language, angst

word count: 7.7 k

——————————————————————

The sounds of enthusiastic fans echoed as you and Joe arrived at the Fifth Third arena for Joe’s podcast taping. Joe had been asked by the Kelce Brothers to be a guest on their live podcast recording of New Heights since they were in Cincinnati, and who better to have on than the QB1? And Joe being the polite and respectful man he is, agreed to do it. You were a bit surprised he was willing to go out in front of a big crowd of people like this and just talk. He rarely did podcasts or lengthy interviews because of the anxiety they brought him and he didn’t like to share his personal life in front of thousands of people, so you were watching him like a hawk the whole night to make sure he was doing okay. 

Right now, you both were sitting in the locker room while the brothers were doing the game portion of their podcast. You were snacking on some pretzels, offering Joe some since he hadn’t eaten anything since this afternoon, but he refused. 

“Joe, you have to eat something,” you say while pushing a bag of pretzels towards him.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled while looking at the monitor to see what was going on in the arena. 

“I refuse to believe that. We’re going to Woodys after and we both know that you drinking on an empty stomach will cause carnage,” you giggle expecting him to laugh as well, but he continues to stare at the monitor, seemingly lost in thought. 

You look down and notice that he’s bobbing his left leg up and down and is picking at his fingers, an instant signal that his anxiety was slowly creeping in. 

You quickly place your snack down, scooch your chair closer to him, and place your hand on his thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. He felt the light touch of your hand and stopped bouncing his leg before looking over at you. 

His eyes met yours and you could easily tell that he was getting anxious by the way they turned a shade of deep blue. “Are you alright J?” you ask. 

Joe stays silent for a few seconds before letting out a sigh, “Just a little nervous,” he quietly says causing your face to drop. “I haven’t done this in a while and I don’t wanna get weird out there if they ask anything specific, you know?”. 

Joe was referring to getting weird if they asked any questions about his personal life. He never talks about his life behind closed doors and rarely talks about you in respect of your privacy. He was worried that they’d ask him about you or your relationship and wouldn’t know what to say or how to answer them. He never really threw the “girlfriend” tag around many people for quite a few reasons. One was that it was mostly implied that you were together, another being that he didn’t want people who may not have known about your relationship to bombard you with questions about him. He kept your relationship carefully locked away because it was the most important thing in the world to him and he was afraid that the world would rip it to shreds if you opened the door a little too much. He wanted to talk about you all the time, even telling you that he might not even be able to stop once he starts. But he just never knew when or how to talk about your relationship without making you sensitive to public discourse.

“You won’t get weird Joe,” you say as you rub his thigh. “It’s okay to be a little nervous, especially because this is out of your comfort zone. You are going to do great and I am so proud of you for doing this,” you say. “I’m gonna be right there, front row on the side. Orlando will be up there with you too. And I know Jason and Travis will respect your boundaries. Maybe they’ll just keep it all about ball,”.

He nods and grabs your hand and gives it a gentle kiss. “Thank you for being here,” he says, finally flashing you a genuine smile. 

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you say while pressing a kiss on his cheek. Joe puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in for a warm hug. He knew he’d be fine out there but couldn’t help but get a little nervous when he realized all eyes would be on him. Sure, in a football game, all 50,000+ eyes are on him, but that never bothered him because the game was his shield. 

“If you feel flustered, give me a look and I’ll cause a distraction for you to run away,” you giggle against his neck. 

He laughs and presses a kiss on your forehead, “My knight in shining armor as usual,”. 

A few minutes and a handful of pretzels later, you’re sitting on the side of the stage while Jason and Travis introduce Joe. The crowd erupts as they say Joe’s name and the song choice for his introduction makes you laugh like a hyena. “Get the Gat” was playing, a nod to the era that truly started it all for Joe. He was scanning the crowd for you as he walked toward the stage, eventually catching you in the front row, just like you said, in your stunning white dress that highlighted your most precious features. 

You gave him two thumbs up and mouthed “You got this,”. He gives you a big smile before walking up onto the stage and greeting the brothers. 

Things were going pretty smoothly for him. They were talking to him about his injury and recovery, his questionable tweets about aliens that got the entire crowd laughing their asses off, and some playful football + rivalry talk between Travis and Joe. He seemed incredibly relaxed up there and you felt relieved, until they changed the subject to the one thing that Joe was worried about. 

“So enough about ball,” Travis said. “What has Joey B been up to this off season. Where you been, Who you been with?”. 

“Uh oh,” you whispered. 

Joe laughed softly before saying “Just hanging around. Obviously training and getting better, some UFC events here and there, some boy's trips, spending time with family, but mostly spending time with my girlfriend,”. 

Your eyes widen at his words and your mouth slightly falls open. He just mentioned you in front of god knows how many people, and so casually? What the actual fuck. 

“Ohhh,” Travis smiles. “Is your lovely lady here tonight?” He asks. 

“Yeah, she’s right there,” Joe smiles and points over to you, causing literally everyone in the arena to turn and look at you. 

“Ayeee,” the brothers say in unison as the camera points over to you. 

Your cheeks turn tomato red as everyone starts cheering and waving at you, and you flash a big smile in return even though you were completely freaking out internally.

“Yep, that's her. She’s the best person in the entire world. I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without her support and love,” Joe says as everyone turns back to face him. “She really knows exactly how to deal with me when I’m too in my head and always shows up for me no matter what happens. I owe a lot of how I am and how I handle things, to her” he adds.

“Awww,” said Jason. 

“Especially with this injury. I seriously don’t think I would’ve been able to get through it without her. I was in a really tough spot, mentally and physically, and she really stepped up for me,” Joe says. You feel a shift in his demeanor when he says that. From relaxed and positive, to now a little tense and serious. 

The wrist injury took a toll on Joe, and unfortunately your relationship. It took everyone by surprise when it happened as Joe was just hitting his stride after recovering from the calf strain. This was supposed to be his year and when that got taken away from him, he shut down. You tried your hardest to be there for him, and he appreciated you so much. But he needed to figure stuff out on his own which caused a bit of tension between you both. And all of it got too much for you to handle; you had to deal with his emotions, your own emotions, and help him recover on top of 100 other things that were being thrown your way. 

Little arguments became common as they always would stem at the most unexpected times. Sometimes they would happen when you would check in on how he was feeling, they’d happen during a happy moment where one of you said something that didn’t land correctly, and sometimes when he would come and apologize to you for snapping at you, but you would become a child and remain stubborn even though you wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and let everything out. 

Flashback to December 

It had been a few weeks since Joe got surgery on his wrist. Ever since then, he’d been acting strangely and it was driving you insane. He was watching some film all day in his office so that he could help out at practice, so you’d hardly have seen him all day. 

You got off the couch and decided to bring him a snack, some strawberries and bananas, and made your way up the stairs. 

You made your way into his office, making sure that you weren’t getting in the way of anything. He was rewinding some footage with his left hand, but was struggling to do so since his dominant hand was in a cast. 

“Here, let me help,” you say as you place the bowl of fruit down in front of him.

“It’s okay, I got it,” he says trying to grab the mouse, but he was too late as you already grabbed it and fixed it for him. You looked over at him and smiled, but in return got a loud sigh and an eye roll. 

“Gee, I was just trying to help,” you replied. 

“And I didn’t ask for any,” he mumbled, slightly irritated. Your face dropped at his tone but you decided not to push it.

“I brought you some fruit. You skipped out on lunch so I thought you’d be hungry,”.

“Thanks,” he says as he pushes the bowl to the side and goes back to the film. 

You stand there for a few moments, debating whether or not you should leave him alone or talk to him. You decided to talk to him because this mood he’d been in was not welcomed. 

“Is there something wrong? Does your arm hurt?” You ask as you rub his shoulder. 

He immediately slams the mouse to pause the film and looks up. “What’s wrong is that you won’t let me watch the film for this week. I told you I'm not hungry and you’re bothering me,” he snaps.

You’re taken aback by his sudden anger, “I was just trying to help, Joe-”.

“And how many times have I said, I don’t need it,” he spit out. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step back. “I’m sorry, I- I just wanted to make sure you were okay,”.

“I’m fine” He said, slightly shouting as he looked back over to you. 

The tears in your eyes made their way down your cheeks as you felt more angry than sad. His attitude was unfucking called for as you were just trying to check in on him. 

“You know what, fine. I’m done asking you if you’re okay and if you need something. I get that you’re hurt. I get that this is hard for you. But do not for one second think that I’m just going to sit here and take this bullshit. You’ve been acting like this for weeks, on and off. And quite frankly, it’s giving me whiplash,” you unload as more tears stream down your face.

“Y/N-,” he interrupts.

“No. Listen to me. If me helping you is bothering you, If I am bothering you, just say the word and I’ll stop. You don’t have to tell me how you’re feeling, and I’ll just stop asking. I love you, you know that. But I’m done acting like this is okay,” you spit out, tears running down your cheeks faster than a trackstar running a mile.  

He stays silent for a few seconds so you take that as a response and nod your head. You leave his office, making your way into the bedroom and slamming the door shut. He immediately felt bad for yelling at you and making you cry. He fell back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about how shitty he was. 

You lay down on your side of the bed, crying into your pillow. A million thoughts flooding your head, and a million emotions flowing through your body. You felt bad for him, you really really felt bad for him. But you started to feel bad for yourself because of how he was acting around you. Did you do something to make him act like this? He wouldn’t talk to you much about how he was feeling, so you were in limbo. 

You curled up into your pillow, a few tears still falling down your face as you heard the door open. Joe walked in and saw you laying on the bed, immediately feeling like shit because he did this to you. He walked over to the bed, crawling onto his side and gently rubbing your arm. 

“Y/N?” he asked. 

You didn’t look over at him and remained facing the windows. 

He let out a sigh before saying, “I deserve that.” 

“Listen, I am so fucking sorry for that. You didn’t do anything and I took my feelings out on you which was totally uncalled for. It’s just, I have alot going through my mind right now. But that is no excuse for me to do that to you, and you have every right to be mad. I’ve been putting you through alot lately and you’re just trying to help,”.

You turned over to face him and moved up. “So then talk to me, Joe?”. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay. I’m here, I’m always here,” you say as you wipe your tears. 

“I know. And I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to burden you with all my feelings,” he says.

“You could never. We’re in this together, we have been since we first met. I want you to talk to me whenever you need to. Please, do not keep your feelings bottled up like that,”.

“You’re right,” he says as he pulls you into his arms, his hand rubbing your back for comfort. “I am so so so sorry for treating you like shit. You have been nothing but helpful and patient since the surgery and my dumbass can’t seem to fathome that,” he says.

“You’re not a dumbass,” you say as you look up at him. “You just have alot going on in there,” you say as you move your hand into his hair. “Just let me in and let me help you figure it out,” you whisper.

So that’s exactly what he did. He unloaded all of his heavy feelings, self doubt, and fear onto you. And instead of running out of fear or anxiety, you stayed. You stayed and you helped him just as you said you would. 

End of Flashback 

You were holding your breaths around each other for a little bit, but luckily you got through it. It was a bumpy few months, but in the end, you got through it together and came out the other side stronger like you always do. 

“Seems like you got yourself a great lady,” Jason says, snapping you back to the present.

“I sure do,” Joe laughs while meeting your eyes, setting off butterflies in your belly. 

“So what have you guys been up to, if you don’t mind sharing? I think the fans would love to hear it,” Travis says as the fans begin to cheer.

Joe lets out a laugh and runs his fingers through his hair, “Yeah, why not. Well, we’ve gone on a few vacations, watched a bunch of movies we’ve been meaning to for a while, built some legos, and she’s taught me how to bake,”. 

The crowd lets out a laugh as he says that last thing. You were surprised at how he was being an open book right now and you didn’t know if you should be concerned at this newfound openness or ecstatic, but you were sure as hell enjoying it in the moment.

“You heard it here first, Joe Burrow knows how to bake!” They announced to the crowd. 

“Yup, it’s really not as hard as it looks,” Joe shrugs.

You let out a laugh when as says that. It really wasn’t that hard, but Joe was certainly not a pro baker as he was implying. 

Flashback to a few weeks ago 

It was a rainy evening in Cincy today, causing you and Joe to postpone your plans to walk around the neighborhood this evening. You were bored out of your mind, contemplating if you should take a nap or do something productive, but nothing sounded fun until an ad popped up on your phone for new cake pans which set off a lightbulb in your head.

“Cinnamon Rolls!” you said out loud as you just got an idea of what you could do for the evening. 

You quickly walked over to the kitchen and started pulling out everything you needed to make your famous Cinnamon Rolls, which happened to be one of Joe’s favorites, but Pumpkin Pie remained number 1. Joe was probably playing video games or watching something upstairs so you’d get to surprise him later with the delicious dessert. 

A few minutes later, you were in the zone and were starting to make the dough when you heard Joe come down the stairs. 

“Hey Babe, whatcha doing?” He says, a slight bounce in his step. He must be feeling good today, and rightfully so. He deserved to feel loose and cheerful after the past few months. 

“It’s a secret,” you giggle as you start making the liquid mixture. 

He raises his brows at you before examining the surroundings, eventually putting the puzzle together and realizing you are making Cinnamon Rolls.  

“Well, Can I help?” He asks as he walks over and hovers behind you, placing his chin on your shoulder. 

You stop mixing the Milk and Butter and look back at him, “You want to help me bake?”.

“Why are you saying it like that?” He asks as he begins pressing warm kisses on your neck. 

You stay silent for a few moments before taking advantage of his offer, “No reason. Here, let me show you how to make the dry mixture,” you say as he flashes you a big smile.

You spend a few minutes getting Joe situated with all the dry ingredients and then go back to your task. You peek over at him every few moments and although he’s making a huge mess, he seems to be doing just fine. Once you both were done with your mixtures, Joe insisted that he would make the dough in the mixer. So once again, you taught him how to use the mixer and left him to it as you started making the Cinnamon Sugar Filling. He was doing very well for someone who’s dominant hand is still not at 100%.

“Joe, this looks great!” you say as you look over his shoulder, rubbing it as you inspect the dough. 

“Yeah?” he asks, feeling proud that he was doing good for his first time baking.

“Mhmmm, just the right consistency. Very impressive for a rookie,” You tease. 

The next half hour passes by as you finish prepping the rolls. You roll out the dough and spread the cinnamon mixture across the sheet and Joe helps you roll it back up to cut the buns out. You place them in the fridge to rise and Joe takes responsibility for making the icing, so you pull over a barstool and watch him figure it out. 

“You’re doing great babe,” You smile as he begins mixing the ingredients while carefully looking at the recipe. 

“This isn’t so bad,” He says looking back up at you. “You wanna taste it? I’m almost done,”.

“Okay,” you say as he dips his finger into the icing and puts his finger out to you. A huge smirk appears on his face once you realize what he is implying. 

You pull his finger closer to your mouth and make direct eye contact for a few seconds before wrapping your lips around the sugary tip. You swirl your tongue around his finger, taking in all of the sweet icing. You both still hold eye contact, which makes you feel hot all around as you know how you are making him feel by doing this. A few seconds later, You take his finger out of your mouth and give him the same smirk he gave you.

“Was it good?” he teases. 

“Soooo good,” you purred. “Very warm, sweet, and delicious,” you say as Joe walks over to you. He grabs your hand and pulls you off the barstool, causing you to let out a squeal. “What are you doing?” you giggle.

“How long do the rolls take to rise?” he asks as he lifts you onto the messy counter, flour now covering your sweatpants. 

“About an hour. Why?” you ask as he starts to kiss your neck.

“Perfect. I think I need an hour to eat my favorite dessert,” He whispers in your ear before rubbing your upper thigh. 

You don’t follow what he’s saying, “I didn’t make pumpkin pie silly,”.  

“I’m not talking about pumpkin pie,” He says while coming back into your view, his eyes filled with hunger and desire, and his fingers untying the strings of your sweatpants. 

End of Flashback 

You were incredibly smiley and cheery for the rest of the recording and kept playing back everything Joe said about you. It warmed your heart that he felt a little more comfortable opening the door, even if it was just the slightest bit, to show fans your love for each other. But you were so curious as to what changed his mind. A million thoughts were filling your head, and it also didn’t help that he looked so fucking hot. Although he was wearing a comfy, laid-back fit, he looked mouthwatering and you were trying so hard not to jump at him. The extra few pounds of muscle he gained from his training this year was showing and that messy bedhead look he was sporting was filling your head with unholy thoughts the entire time. 

Once Joe had wrapped up his appearance, you headed back to the locker room area to find him. 

He was talking to some Bearcats coaches when you found him. No stress was apparent on his face and he looked like he was just fine. You let out a relaxed sigh as you leaned on the door, letting him have his conversation without any interruptions, but he immediately felt your presence and turned around. He mumbled something to the coaches and then they walked away. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say while moving off the door.

“Yes I did,” he says as he walks over to you, immediately pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a deep and thorough kiss. One hand cupping your face and the other sliding down your waist. You both were literally making out in the locker room and anyone could walk in at any time, but he didn’t care. He pulls away after a minute, leaving you a little breathless. 

“Cherry Lip Gloss,” He says. “My favorite,”. 

Joe loved your Cherry Lip Gloss. You remembered the moment when you both had your first kiss, he immediately pulled away from you and you didn’t know why until he told you how amazing you tasted and he had to let you know. 

Flashback to a few years ago 

You and Joe just got back to your apartment after your bowling date downtown. He parked the car in the parking lot and you both were sitting inside, wishing that the night would never end. He turned over to face you, a million thoughts flooding his head. A few being that you looked absolutely enchanting and he really really liked you. You both had been on a few dates so far, each one better than the last, and tonight felt like a dream. 

“Did you have fun?” He asked as he stared deeply into your eyes. 

“Best date ever,” you smiled. You were feeling a little nervous after tonight's date, only because you realized that you really liked him and that it wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment feeling, and you didn’t know if he really felt the same way. Was he just looking for a girl to have on his side who would take care of him during the season and be good enough to hook up with? Or did he want a girl that he could have a genuine and meaningful relationship with?

He let out a deep breath and said, “You look really pretty by the way,”. 

A blush crept up your face, “Thank You,”. 

He kept staring into your eyes as you both remained silent. He moved closer to you but you couldn’t process it because you were caught up in your own thoughts. Was he waiting for you to make a move? You both haven’t kissed yet and every date felt like it would end with a kiss, but it never did. You were all in your head about how he felt about you and you didn’t know what to do, so you thought that it would be better to just go inside and avoid the awkward moment. 

“I should probably go,” you say while staring into his deep blue eyes, but before you can grab your stuff, Joe leans in and captures your lips in a gentle kiss. You stay absolutely still for a few seconds before he suddenly pulls away. 

The blank look on his face fills your stomach with anxiety. Did your breath stink? Did he not enjoy it? Was it a mistake? You felt like hiding in a corner somewhere and never coming out. 

“Your lips,” he says. “Is that Cherry?”. 

You pause for a few seconds and say, “Yeah,”. 

“I love Cherry,” is all he says before pulling you back over to him, and completely attacking your lip with sloppy and eager kisses. You feel him grin into the kiss which immediately gets rid of your wandering thoughts. 

“You taste like love,” he says in between kisses. 

End of flashback 

He presses another kiss on your lips which snaps you back to the present. “You did great out there,” you told him. “They loved you,”.

“Yeah, it felt natural and easy,” he says as he leans back in for another kiss. 

Before you could ask him about his sudden change of heart about wanting to not talk about your relationship, a team member came over to tell you both that you’re allowed to leave and go over to the bar and that everyone would join you there in a little bit. Joe nods, wrappinh his arm around your waist, and leading you both out to the car. This newfound PDA was a little weird for you as you were walking through crowds of strangers and Joe seemed to not care. You decided not to push the subject just yet, it would be better to wait till you were alone so you could figure out what was going through his head. 

The after-party had a stereotypical College party vibe to it, and it being in a College Bar was definitely adding to the mix. Loud music and laughter, numerous cans of beer scattered across the room, and groups of people playing darts or beer pong. You felt like you were transported back to College and were drunk on nostalgia, and maybe something more. 

Joe was standing next to you, one hand firmly gripping your waist, and a beer can in the other, as you were extremely focused on the game of darts in front of you both.

“Andddd, Bullseye!” you yell as the dart hits the middle of the board. 

“Great Job, Y/N. I taught you well,” He says as you feel his hand migrate down to your ass, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“That you did,” You say as you look back up at him. Here he goes again with the PDA, not that you were upset at it. You loved it, but you were also just as confused. You watched him take another sip of his beer before breaking off to go greet a few more people. You watched as he was conversing with a group of people before he looked over at you and motioned for you to come over. 

“And this is my girlfriend Y/N,” he says as you join his side, his hand once again around your waist. You had no idea who he was introducing you to and were even more surprised that he was just tossing around the “girlfriend” tag so casually in front of people that he seems to have met for the first time. A few minutes later, you wrap up your conversation and decide to talk to Joe about what all this was about. 

“Hey Joe?” you say to get his attention. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” he responds.

“You wanna over there for a bit? I need to talk to you about something,” you say as you point over to the semi-secluded barstools in the back of the bar. He nods and you lead him over to the stools and sit down with your drinks. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks as he rubs your thigh. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you say as you place your hand on his. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,”.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he questions. 

“Its just, before the podcast you were getting nervous about them potentially asking you about us, and they did,”.

“Yeaahh,” he drags out as he nods his head.

“And when they did, you seemed to be just fine and were like an open book. Not to mention the out-of-the-blue PDA you’ve been showing all night,” you giggle. “I just wanna know, why the sudden change of heart? You know I don’t mind not being so open and public with our relationship, I hope I didn’t make you feel like you had to say or do something,”. 

Joe looked deeply into your eyes for a few seconds before responding. “These past few months have been pretty hard for me, and us. You know that best,”. You nod in return, now feeling a little queasy at the mention of the rough moments you had. 

“And it gave me a lot of time to think about life,” he adds as he interlocks his fingers with yours. 

“I’m tired of acting like you’re not the reason why I can do most of this, aside from actually playing football. You always know exactly how to handle me when things get too chaotic, you know how to calm me down, you help me with literally everything, but most importantly, you put up with all the bullshit that being with me brings,”. 

“Joe,” you whisper. 

“Wait, I’m not finished. You’re the most important person in my life, and it’s time I make that known to everyone. I realized that I have no reason to be worried about what others will think, I love you more than anything and people need to know that. These past few months have shown me that I need you more than I need anything and the thought of you not being by my side freaks me the fuck out. Fuck their opinion. Fuck their comments. I love you and I chose you. Opening the door just a little will not hurt and if anyone has a problem with it, screw them,”. 

You felt like crying as he said all of this to you. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. You were relieved that his feelings towards you hadn’t changed, as odd as that sounds. There were a few negative thoughts about your relationship that piled up in the back of your mind over the past few months, but you never confronted them out of fear. The injury did a number on you both and you were scared that you’d lose this special thing you had to something that wasn’t in your control. 

“I love you so much, Joe. I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. 

“I love you more. And good, I think if you did I wouldn’t know how to function,” he says as he pulls you off the barstool and closer to him, slowly pressing his lips against yours. His lips tasted like your cherry lip gloss and beer, a familiar mix that you would often call ‘drunk in love’. He told you during your first kiss that the cherry lipgloss you had on tasted like love, and the beer was already intoxicating itself. A mix of both felt like you were well, drunk in love.

You were caught up in a heated moment in the dimly lit corner of the bar, not caring who saw you or who cared what you were doing. Your tongues tangled in your mouth as his hand navigated to your waist, holding you tightly. He lightly bit your bottom lip, causing you to moan into the kiss. His hands continued to wander around your hips, slowly moving down to your ass. He gives it a few squeezes, pushing you deeper into him. You pulled away from his lips and said, “Do you wanna get out of here? I’m all for being a little more open, but I think we should finish this one away from public view,” you wink. 

He playfully shakes his head and lets out a laugh, “Deal,”. 

He grabs your hand tightly and leads you through the bar, giving it a few squeezes as you make your way outside. 

“We didn’t tell anyone that we were leaving,” you said as he led you down the street to the Car. 

“We’ll be fine,” he reassures you as he opens the car door for you.

He gets you situated before going around and getting inside the driver’s seat. You couldn’t wait to get home and finish what started in the bar. Once he got on the highway his hand navigated to your upper thigh, rubbing it up and down, softly caressing your exposed skin. You were already on edge from your heated makeout before and his hand being this close to where you needed him most was driving you insane. 

“Did I mention that you looked absolutely sexy tonight? This white dress is really making me feel things,” Joe says. 

“You’re such a tease,” you giggle. 

“Hm?” He questioned, acting oblivious. 

“You know what you’re doing, Burrow. Got me all flustered from earlier and now this,” you say as you pat his hand that’s on your thigh. 

“How did I get you flustered?”.

You sit up in your seat and say, “Well for starters, you looked like walking sex tonight, even if it’s a laid-back fit kinda day. Something about you in all black makes me insanely horny. Secondly, your talking about me caught me off guard but my stomach was fluttering the entire time. And then that makeout earlier at the arena and in the bar? Yeah, I’m this close to literally passing out,”. You fall back into your seat for dramatic effect as Joe playfully rolls his eyes. 

“Well then, maybe I should do something about it,” he says while looking over at you for a second.

“What are you proposing?”. 

“Just lay back and relax,” he says. So you do as he says, knowing exactly where this would lead, especially because it wasn’t the first time.

His hand moves to part your legs, and then slowly moves higher up your thigh until his fingers are teasing the edge of your panties. He moved them to the side as you let out a quiet whimper because of the newly exposed skin meeting the cool air of the car. His fingers parted your folds, finding your wetness and sliding easily inside you. The feeling was intense, the rhythm slow and gentle as he explored the depths of your desire. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his hand, needing more of his touch.

“Joe, Fuck,” you moaned as you felt pleasure overcome you. 

His fingers moved in and out of you, a familiar sensation building with each stroke. Heat and pure ecstasy were coursing through your body, your breath coming in short gasps as you reached the edge of pleasure. Joe’s thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive bud and sending you fully over the edge.

“Ohhh,” you moaned as you threw your head back into the headrest. 

You spent a few minutes catching your breath and he slid his fingers out of your core and up to his mouth, cleaning up the mess on his hand. “Sweet,” was all he said, flashing you a smile. 

You laugh and say, “Can’t wait to get home, It’s your turn,”. 

He looked over at you, pure lust in his eyes as he gripped the wheel strongly and pushed on the gas pedal a little harder. Once you got home, Joe parked in the garage and quickly pulled you out of the car, eagerly leading you through the halls of your home, not even giving you a moment to take your shoes off. 

“Joe, slow down,” you giggle, slightly holding him back so he stops. 

He turns around and stares into your eyes for a few seconds, then eyeing you up and down, before tossing you over his shoulders and leading you up the stairs. “Boy, someone is excited,” you laugh. He leads you into your bedroom and gently tosses you down against the silk sheets of your bed before slipping your heels off. He then kneels in between your thighs and captures your lips in a messy kiss. 

You slide your hands into his messy curls and pull him closer, if that was even humanly possible, as he starts to fiddle with the straps of your dress. A few minutes later, both your clothes are now on the floor and you are back to making out, ignoring the fact that his boner was poking your thigh. You would never get enough of his lips, so soft and plump, very easy to get lost in. He pulls away and presses a few sloppy kisses around your neck before moving down your body. 

You stop him before he goes further, “Wait. I told you that it was your turn next,”. 

“You don’t have to, Y/N,” he smiles. 

“Mmmm, too bad,” you say as you move out from under him, allowing him to lie back against the headboard. Once he gets settled, you straddle his hips and press a few kisses around his face, then kiss your way down his perfectly sculpted body. You reach his hard-on and wrap your hand around it, giving it a few pumps as pre-cum was beading at the tip. 

You looked up at him, making intense eye contact, as you wrapped your soft lips around the tip of his cock, feeling him twitch in pleasure. You start to move your head back and forth, going deeper each time as sounds of pleasure escape Joe’s lips. 

“Shit, you feel so good,”. 

You continued to bob your head up and down his shaft until you felt him getting closer. Your hands gripped his thighs as you took him deeper and deeper, nearly choking up. His breathing became more erratic as you sucked him harder and faster. He slid his hands into your hair as started to buck his hips into your mouth, a sure sign he was about to cum. 

“Fuckk,” he moaned as you felt hot spurts of his cum filling your mouth, making sure to swallow every drop. You slowly release him from your mouth and look up at him with nothing but love and adoration. 

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, wiping the spit and salvia off of your mouth.

“And you’re amazing,” he says as he pulls you back on top of him. You let out a soft laugh before kissing the tip of his perfectly sculpted nose. “You still up for a little more?” you ask him.

A huge grin appears on his face, “Always,” he whispers as he moves closer, once again kissing you passionately. You break away to put each of your legs around him and he grabs your waist while moving down to lie back against the bed all the way. You leaned down to press a final kiss on his lips before lining up his cock with your slick entrance. You slide down his length, soft moans leaving both your lips as the feeling of fullness feels like you’re coming home. 

You begin to move your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. Your hands rested on his chest and your fresh manicure left a few marks as you dug your fingers into his tan skin. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You feel so fucking good,”. His hands moved up and gripped your waist, helping you move back and forth to ease the soreness that you were definitely feeling by this point. 

“Yeah,” you moaned.

“Faster Baby,” he whispered. You nodded and picked up the pace, riding him faster and harder. You could feel the tension building in his body, his muscles tensing beneath you as you moved with a steady, relentless pace. Joe started to buck his hips into your slick lower half, making you throw your head back in pleasure. Your breathy moans and sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. 

“Shit,” you moaned as he continued to pound into you. 

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. You looked back down at him and smiled, he never missed a chance to praise you. He looked absolutely fucked out; his lips were red and swollen from the many kisses you shared, his hair askew, and a content grin on his face. The next few minutes passed by blissfully as you continued to ride him into oblivion. You leaned down, pressing your breasts against his chest, and started to bounce back onto his cock while moaning sweet nothings into his ear. His hands wrap around your back, pushing you closer and closer to his warm body. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he moaned. 

You whimpered in response as heat was building in your belly. He picked up his pace and continued to pound into your core as he felt your walls start to tighten around him. The pleasure became too much for you, so you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your screams. 

“I’m cumming, Fuck,” he moaned. You felt his hands around your waist again, tightly gripping your plush skin, as you felt him shoot his load into your core. 

“Y/N,” he groaned.

You lifted your head out of his shoulder and pulled him in for a sloppy and needy kiss to stifle his moans. You were once again lost in his lips so you didn’t even realize it but he somehow managed to flip you over so now you were laying back against the bed. He moved one of your legs around his waist and ruthlessly thrusted into your core to help you find your pleasure. Your whole body shaking as he pushed you deeper and deeper into the bed which each thrust.

“Come on Baby,” he groaned. You were so fucked out and the alcohol from earlier was finally in full effect so you had zero thoughts in your head. You just felt your boyfriend pounding into your core and the pleasure building inside your sore body. 

“Mmph, Joe,” you whined as you felt the increasing wetness between you both. Breathy moans escaped your lips as you finally felt the rubber band in your belly snap, causing waves of intense and deep pleasure to wash over you.

“Fuckkk,” you whimpered. Joe gently collapsed on top of you, making sure he didn’t crush you with his weight. He pressed a few kisses on your neck as you remained in your high.

“Joeee, Fuck, you’re so good. It’s so good,” you moaned as your orgasm came over you. You spent a few minutes coming down from your intense high and held Joe close against your body. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, telling you repeatedly how much he loved you like it was a sacred prayer. 

You felt him press a kiss on your cheek before slowly sliding out of you, causing you to shrudder at the loss of contact. He went into the bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up before getting in bed; your body was too sore and tired to get up to wash off the sweat and cum.

“Thank you,” you said as he turned off the lights and got into bed next to you. 

“No need to thank me, Y/N,” he chuckled.

“God damn, that was a workout,” you laughed as you turned over to face him. 

“My favorite workout,” he smiled as he pulled you into his side. You rest your head on his bare chest as he plays with your messy hair for a few moments. 

You looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but love and warmth. “I love you, Joe,”.

He moved his hand down to your face, cupping the side and caressing the soft skin of your cheek. “I love you so much, baby. I’m glad I get to show the world how much you mean to me. It’s you and me, forever,” he says before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“Always and forever,” you whisper against his lips. You moved back down to his chest and snuggled closer to him. You look back up for a second and see Joe falling asleep, a smile still present on his face. He was happy, you were happy. Everything was perfect. 

—The End—

[weebsinstash]

I'm not typically a fan of pregnancy au stuff for hazbin because it introduces a hell lotta new questions, but anyways, I DO find it absolutely entertaining thinking about a Reader who did the nasty with Alastor and had kind of a friends-with-benefits situation with him and he does his whole 7 year disappearing act without warning you or telling you anything at all (assumedly because he did not have a choice or opportunity) and he comes back, knocking on your front door, "say, doll! What's say we mosey on over to our old favorite jazz club to catch up on old times?"

and suddenly peeking out from behind your back is just the cutest little fawn with a head full of curls who is very clearly Alastor's son, clutching at your apron, "Mama, isn't he the man you listen to those old recordings of? He sounds the same"

Alastor feeling this, this WARMTH in his chest as you invite him inside your home and it's completely different from the last time he was there, filled with everything your son could need, his drawings and report cards from that nice school you break your back to afford stuck lovingly on the fridge and a hot home-cooked meal currently cooling on the stove as Alastor's invited for some food... if he feels comfortable. You and him discuss privately where your son can't hear as you get all weepy, "I'm sorry, but when you disappeared, I couldn't... ASK you what you would have wanted... I didn't want to have some kind of, of PROCEDURE and you hate me for it... and even from the very first scan, I loved him so much... he's my entire world... I couldn't even CONSIDER... getting rid of him. He's my beautiful smart baby boy and i would die for him"

Genuinely I think it would be real funny if Alastor is initially quite jealous actually for having to share you with a CHILD, but the more time he spends around the young boy, the more he realizes, oh, this is quite the upstanding young fellow! His mama raised him right and he likes to help around the house, likes to read lots of books, loves all kinds of music, helps his mother on all the crosswords and word searches and puzzle books, and he's smart enough to suss out pretty quickly, "sir are you my father"

and the second your son receives an answer, just, KICKING THE RADIO DEMON IN THE SHIN, "You're a horrible man!! You call yourself a gentleman but you left my mama to raise a baby all by herself!! You're terrible! Incorrigible! Disrespectful! Untoward!--" Your young son is breaking out the goddamn dictionary and synonyms on this man, "you lying, deceitful, devious, DEPLORABLE--"

And Alastor is watching this little kid threaten to beat his ass and not even caring that he's up against The Infamous Radio Demon, just shouting at Alastor until the young boy is absolutely changing colors in the face, getting SO SO upset for his mama that he's ready to FIGHT OVER IT, and Alastor is just, essentially, breaking out into laughter, "oh, so you ARE my son!! Aren't you a gutsy one!! Put JUST a little force behind that next one and it might actually sting a bit!" and pats the boy on the head. That settles it; he's accepted as Alastor's son like THAT

Of course, Alastor now caring for this boy does not come without its... complications. There might be some 'incidents' if you, for example, have other positive role models for your son, other men who are regularly coming around, making Alastor's new position as the boy's father and your not-quite-husband (yet) feel threatened and unstable and encouraging the Radio Demon to 'act out'. You're so happy to have Alastor back in your life that you don't even notice things are a little off until your son starts mentioning things like "Mama where did Mr Thomas go? He used to come by every Thursday to play chess but I don't remember seeing him for a while?" "Mama I know Benson has bullied me and pushed me down and stolen my things but I saw his mom crying outside the bookstore earlier saying he's gone missing and I think we should help look for him" "Mama I know Mr Alastor said we don't need her and he can teach me but I also like my old piano teacher. Could I have some lessons with her and some with Mr Alastor instead of just all of them with him? I miss Ms. Mason"

But like... you don't want to deny Alastor a relationship with his child after they both have already lost so much time and you don't want to deprive your son of his father without a good reason, so you stifle some of your suspicions. It's all for your son's sake, isn't it? And you can't help but, get a little selfish when Alastor insists on taking you and your boy out, going to see live bands, going to local events, taking your son to the county fair and you feeling tears in your eyes as, your boy finally gets to spend time with his father. It's like... it's like you're a real family... you've always wanted something like this, for him, for them, for yourself--

But... Alastor doesn't... see you THAT way, does he? He displays his emotions much differently than you, and there were even times in the past where Alastor himself drew the line in the sand that, oh yes you two were quite close friends, he has such a deep affection for you, but... romantically? Sorry, sweetheart, but no

... or so he thought. Now that he's back, he sees how deeply you love his son and sacrifice so much for him amd how much your son absolutely adores you and how, completely by yourself, without any of Alastor's help, you raised him into a fine young man that... the Radio Demon could see himself helping raise, a boy he can't help but feel a little pride in helping make and, can't help but feel a little sad he missed all sorts of important milestones for. And of course, of course of course of course, he missed YOU ever so much, and when Alastor looks up from his paper to see you at the stove, hair all out of place and your hands messy as you cook a meal for your son and his father, your little boy dutifully helping clean as you go, he can't help wish that THIS was how he spent his last 7 years.

Lucifer have mercy on anyone who tries to disrupt his new utopia of peace and tranquility. Could you even imagine, could you even fucking imagine you and Alastor are walking with your son and nearby TVs snap on and it's fucking Vox, showing your family on TV, talking shit to Alastor, using HORRIBLE language in front of your son--

And Alastor feels his love for you grow all the more as you use your own magic to surge through the television and begin strangling the newscaster right on the air, "DONT YOU DARE SHOW MY SON'S FACE ON TV YOU FUCKING--" and Alastor starts lovingly conversing with his son about how important it is to stand up for your family and your values as the pair of them watch you throw Vox around his recording studio in a frenzied rage, "You and your disgusting Vees always trying to peddle your worthless garbage to kids, you CREEPS!! BABIES DON'T NEED IPADS, RETINOL CREAMS, SKEEYEE DANCE ROUTINES, AND ATHLEISUREWEAR LEGGINGS THAT GO UP THEIR ASS, YOU CONSUMERIST IMMORAL SHELL OF A HUMAN BEING--"

Snapcut to you rejoining your family on the sidewalk with your hair a mess and visible blood on you while Vox is facedown on the floor in his broadcast unable to move before it cuts to a "technical difficulties, please stand by" screen. Alastor is oh so genuinely joyfully smiling, "Now who wants to go and get some waffles? I say we should celebrate any victory over our enemies with some tasty grub!!" and he takes you and your son's hands and is all but skipping down the sidewalk while his hated rival is bleeding out in his tower somewhere. Oh, Alastor will give the Television Demon his own revenge for daring to try and shame the lovely beautiful mother of his child and his beloved boy on that disgusting show. What kind of degenerate uses children for content, let alone threatens their safety? Alastor will be back for him later and do much, MUCH worse than you did.

For now, though? Alastor just wants to enjoy the sight of you and his son sitting in a booth with him while you all scarf down some hotcakes. A family of his very own, huh? How wonderful. If only his own mom were here to see it...

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Imagine when the dagger squad first initially met at the hard deck Jake's wife noticed Bob first and is like "your my son now" and she tells jake their gonna parents and jake is excited to be a dad and javy is excited to be an uncle and she just introduces Bob as her son and everyone is like ???????? And jake is like so your not pregnant.....guess I better change that.

And on trainings Bob tells on jake to Mrs. Seresin everytime Jake teases him and she's like dont be mean to our son now apologize to our son right now😤😠😠 and she threatens him with a month of no sex if he doesn't apologize to Bob

Lollll okay but, just remember, you asked for this 🤣🤣

Practice Baby

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Wife!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin's wife plays a joke on her husband and it backfires.

CW: This is very tongue in cheek. Swearing, mentions of adoption, pregnancy, it gets a little weird.

"You’re so cute, I just want to adopt you," you coo, pinching Bob’s cheek affectionately.

Bob grins at you. "You can adopt me. I mean, I have parents, but you can still adopt me. I wouldn’t mind coming over for some home cooked meals now and then."

"Aww," you say. "Anytime, sweetie."

"Amazing. Can I invite some friends over?" He laughs.

You give him a pointed look. "Maybe when you’re finished your homework."

At that moment, your husband walks into the pub with his buddy. When they spot you at the bar, they start heading in your direction.

"Fuck," Bob mutters. "I forgot who my dad would be."

You giggle. "He might be a little rough around the edges, but he’s a big softie when you get to know him."

"Not really keen on getting to know him," Bob retorts just as Jake and Coyote arrive.

Jake slips a hand around your waist and lowers his head to bring his lips to your ear. "You have no business being so fucking hot, Mrs. Seresin," he murmurs with a smirk.

You glance up at him with a smile. "I have some news, babe," you say.

Bob makes a whining sound and Jake flinches. "Jesus, Bob, when did you get here?"

Bob grimaces. "Been here the whole time."

"Really?" Jake furrows his eyebrows at him suspiciously.

You roll your eyes. "How do you feel about being a dad?" you ask with a completely straight face.

Jake turns to look at you with a stunned expression. His eyes are so wide, they look comical. He takes your face in his hands and brings it right up to his own. "Baby," he whispers. "Are you pregnant?"

You bite your lip, realizing you might've taken the joke too far. You hadn't expected Jake to react like this, and now you feel kind of bad. Jake has always seemed very neutral toward the prospect of children. So, you didn't, even for a second, consider that he might be excited to be a father. "Uhh," you utter slowly.

"I'm going to be an uncle?" Coyote pipes in excitedly.

Your eyes slide to look over Jake's shoulder, but Jake brings his face even closer to yours to redirect your attention. You wince, reaching to your side to pick up Bob's hand. You wave it sheepishly while Jake takes a minor step back and glances between the two of you questioningly. "Meet our son," you say with a nervous laugh.

Jake watches you with an unimpressed expression. Coyote narrows his eyes, blinking profusely. He's still trying to wrap his head around the situation. "What?" he says in confusion.

"Okay," you say, dropping Bob's hand. "You guys killed the joke. Congratulations."

Jake's mouth curls slightly upward. "Joke's on you, because I'm gonna put a baby in you."

You raise your eyebrows at him.

"It's your own damn fault," he says. "You put the idea in my head."

"But, we have Bob." You gesture toward the man to your right who doesn't quite know how to respond.

Jake grins at you and then at Bob. "We'll get him an, 'I'm going to be a Big Brother' t-shirt."

...

A month later, you meet your husband and his squad at the Hard Deck. You walk right up to Jake and smack his shoulder.

"Ow!" Jake yells. "What was that for, woman?"

"You called our son a bonehead?!" you shout at the top of your lungs.

Jake looks around to see the other patrons watching you. "Not a real son," he clarifies for the spectators. He rises from his seat and mutters in a low tone, "You're making me look bad, honey."

You give him a flat look. "You are bad!"

"It's all in good fun, this is how they learn," Jake says. "I'm just teaching him to grow a backbone like any good father should. Next week, I'm planning on taking him to his first kegger."

"Be nice to our practice baby," you say.

Jake puts his arms around you and leans his head on yours. "You're so weird, sweetheart," he mutters into your temple. "I love it."

"I'm being serious," you say. "If I hear him complain one more time, there will no sex for a month."

Jake gives you a pointed look, trying to hold back a laugh. "We're just going to have to teach our little Bob to stop tattling now, won't we?"

"Bob's not the problem."

Jake nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. "Sugar, let me get you a drink," he mutters, kissing your shoulder repeatedly while he runs his hands up and down your arms. "You seem a little on edge."

"Don't patronize me!"

Jake lifts his head and gives you a serious look. "Are you okay?"

You nod. "Just don't do it again," you say.

"I won't," he promises. "What are you drinking?"

You give him a sheepish look and purse your lips. "I'm not," you respond.

Jake stares at you in shock. "Are you fucking with me?"

You gulp awkwardly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. You shake your head, sort of terrified to see how he will react after your tumultuous trial run with Bob.

Jake lets out a bewildered breath and then he pulls you in for a kiss, his arms winding around your back as he presses you into the table in behind.

"People are eating here," you hear Coyote complain.

Jake ignores him, continuing to kiss you feverishly. "I'm gonna be a dad," he mutters against your lips with a smile.

"I mean, you already are," you reason.

Jake chuckles, his hands caressing your waist. "Coyote!" he says, turning to look at him sternly.

Coyote looks up from his burger jadedly.

"I'm gonna need a car seat," Jake says proudly.

Coyote wrinkles his eyebrows. "For Bob?"

You snicker while Jake glances back at you with a thoughtful expression. "Car seats work for planes too, right?"

"Don't even think about it," you respond threateningly.

Jake grins. "You're right," he says. "You know, Mav and Rooster have this cute little motto. It goes: 'Don't think, just do.'"

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[charlietheepicwriter7]

Why is it always Hellva Boss earworms that make me come up with ideas?

So, during the whole Freakshow thing, it wasn't true mind control. Danny was definitely affected, but it messed with his self esteem and emotions to the point where he damaged all of his relationships and is considering running away. Freakshow, who was a little bit smarter in this, then reveals that he knows Danny's a halfa and hey, why don't you join my ghost circus while you figure some things out.

So Danny becomes a clown because he's always liked clowns, and if you've seen the new episode, you know what happens next

and over the course of a few years, Freakshow isolates Danny from his family and friends, indoctrinates him into the crime side of business, and gaslights Danny into thinking he's nothing without him. Danny loves performing, but is so beaten down that he thinks he can't leave even if that's what he wants. Danny's a famous performer at this point, even if no one knows his real identity. The other ghosts aren't really a comfort since they're mind controlled.

The Justice League, specifically Young Justice, already know that Circus Gothica is a crime ring, but have no evidence to get them arrested bc the ghosts (who they think are just metas) are too good. The leader during the thefts (Danny) is the only one they've ever been able to get close to. Maybe at some point, Tim!Robin and Danny get trapped and Danny has a panic attack for failing Freakshow? Something happens that makes Tim convinced Danny isn't a criminal willingly, but he can't convince the others.

Danny and Klarion somehow end up dating. Freakshow joins the light, probably, and the two work really well together. Klarion asks Danny out, and Danny was really reluctant since he hasn't had... anyone, in years, but they date and it's just another thing for Freakshow to hold over his head.

Eventually, Freakshow gets the inkling that Danny isn't working as hard as he should be so he puts "Greatest Clown in the World" contest, and tells Danny that all the clowns who don't win will be immediately killed.

Danny is horrified, but he can only care about himself right now, so he's working his ass off.

(Meanwhile, in Gotham, the Joker tried to join, but the Batman broke in, stole all his bones, and left him in the hospital for a few months)

So Danny's putting his all into this performance, but Young Justice finds out about the murder bit and infiltrates with, IDK, disguised Nightwing? Klarion is also there to support his man.

Danny ends up tying with Nightwing, and the tie-breaker is a three minute performance and whoever's more entertaining wins. Danny has a panic attack during Nightwing's performance and Tim and Klarion team up to talk to Danny.

Danny's convinced he will be nothing without Freakshow (literally, he might fully die), so while Klarion helps him feel better about his skills, Tim finally gets the deets about Danny's whole situation. Tim logics that Freakshow mindcontrolling this other dimensional species + Danny is half this species = Danny is being mind controlled, pissing off Klarion while Danny thinks back to what happened when Circus Gothica first came to town.

His irrational anger at family and friends, his desperate need for approval from Freakshow, how he never even considered going independent, how he thought he was immune to the mind control staff despite being half ghost.... He's pissed. He wants to quit.

So he tells Tim that YJ needs to get the staff during his performance; without it, Freakshow wouldn't be able to mind control anyone. And he goes on to give his performance.

As for that... look, 2 Minute Notice is an amazing song with amazing choreography. the only thing i would add would be a quad somersault during the trapzee part.

Danny proves himself as an amazing clown, Freakshow gets arrested since Danny is willing to testify against him, the ghosts are free, and Klarion later murders Freakshow in a cell because that's his boyfriend, you pathetic excuse of a warlock.

"Freakshow, you sad sack of shit! Fuck you!"

[spitdrunken]

response to this ask: ABSOLUTELY NOT TOO MUCH!!! This ask has brought me infinite joy and I have reread it a LOT. (Also dw, I will always assume Reader is an adult through asks!! But I get why you’d wanna say that with a term such as grooming, haha) also this got REALLY LONG… HELP.

Notes: pseudocest, obsessive behaviour, codependency, unequal power dynamics, implied minor character death, infantilization… general creepiness. Perhaps this veers away from my original post a little, but I love the idea that you’re someone entirely new to Hell. You’re fresh off the boat, so to speak, entirely unfamiliar with the way things work around here— Except that everything’s fucking terrifying, and you want out! Right now. Please. You see an ad on a random TV in a store’s display, one featuring a hotel that promises ‘sinners’ (which is what you are now, apparently, even your own body now being a new and confusing factor of your existence) a possible way to ascend up to Heaven. Now new and refurbished, after the last successfully averted extermination! Whatever that means. With nowhere else to turn to, no other leads or possibilities except sleeping out on the blood-soaked streets, of course you go! Who wouldn’t? You’d be stupid not to go! …Unless this is all a big scam In which case, you can only hope that you can’t die more than once.

Maybe you arrive, and this grand, beautiful hotel, is, well… Deserted. It’s beautiful on the outside, sure, but where are any of the staff? Or the people staying there, for that matter? You’re so uncomfortable out it all, that you nearly turn tail and run back from whence you came. You would have, if where you came from wasn’t ten times worse.

You walk up to the front desk, and, before you can change your mind, ring the little bell placed on the desk. Someone appears in a flash of golden light, and you have to squint your eyes to avoid being blinded. It disappears as quickly as it came, and a man… Demon, actually, appears in its place. (You catch a quick glance of something bright yellow being quickly stuffed into his pocket, but you have no idea what it is.) His form is noticeably more humanoid than the others you’ve seen out and about. Yes, his skin is an inhuman tone, and his cheeks take apple-red to a whole new level, but he doesn’t appear monstrous. That doesn’t make him exactly inviting, however. His face is set in a neutral expression, and he openly looks you up and down, pupils narrowed into slits. You scratch at the side of your neck, only to immediately flinch. You aren’t quite used to how sharp your nails are nowadays. “Um, hello! I— Sorry to bother you, sir,” you break the silence. “I might be wrong, but is this the Hazbin Hotel…? I saw the advertisement that was put out, and I was interested. Would you happen to be the owner?”

His neutral expression fades, and a small smile takes it place, eyelids sliding half-closed. “Oh no, no— Old me isn’t the boss of this place. That would be my daughter! I’m sure you would have heard of us.” He leans on his staff, both of his hands cupped around the apple on top. His eyes roam around your expression as if searching for something. “You’re pretty new here, I’m guessing?” “…Mhm. It’s that obvious, huh?” You don’t know how he was able to tell so quickly, but you laugh in a way that can only be heard as self deprecating. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, and avert your eyes.

“It’s kind of hard to tell how much time has passed, but— Not a lot. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. One moment, I was alive, and the next I was here, with this weird body, surrounded by terrifying people, and I don’t know—“ Your voice cracks under the weight of the reality of your situation. An eternity in Hell. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Yeah. It’s just been a lot.” “I see. Yes, this realm isn’t particularly kind, least of all to newcomers. I can’t imagine what you’ve seen.” He says, quieter now. You dare a glance at his face. Something in his features has softened at your words, his slit pupils and smile wider in size. When he sees you looking, he extends a hand. You take it, and he gives you multiple firm shakes, before pulling you into a quick hug that has your knees buckle a bit and crushes the air out of your lungs. For a little guy, he really is surprisingly strong. When he lets you go, he’s still got a hand holding yours, leading you to one of the couches in the lobby, and promptly plopping down, pulling you with him. “But things are already on the rise for you from here on out!” He says, all boisterous and smiles, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “You’re new here, and already hit the jackpot! Lucifer’s the name!" And you can only imagine what kind of expression flashes over your face, because he nods rapidly and winks at you. “—Yes, that one, glad that, at least, rings a bell. And staying here places you under my family’s protection." His gaze drifts over the lobby. "My daughter and her friends are out doing trust exercises somewhere right now, but I’m certain she’ll be happy to welcome once she returns. She’s a real sweetheart, let me tell you! She didn’t get that from me, I can tell you that!” He laughs, but it quickly tapers off into a sigh. You wish you could laugh along. You have to admit you’re more than just a bit frozen up, questioning all of the decisions in your life and death that lead up to this moment. Sitting on a couch in a hotel lobby with Satan himself… Maybe you could die again, after all, and you were about to experience it. You probably have committed like fifty gross breaches of etiquette already, and, and— There’s a little rubber duck sitting on your lap.

It immediately snaps you out of your stupor, with how sudden and unexpected it is. The duck is bright yellow with chubby orange cheeks, and wearing a little black top hat. You can’t help cracking up a bit, taking it into your hand. …Maybe this guy is as silly as his outfit would suggest. Was calling himself Lucifer his idea of a joke? Things might be alright after all. “Ah..." You smile. "He’s so cute!” You relax, letting your back hit the sofa you’re sitting on. “Like a little gentleman!” This is the only adorable thing you’ve seen ever since arriving in Hell, and no one should blame you for getting a bit excited. Your days have been nothing but utter misery, after all. “You think so? I mean—“ He laughs, short and sudden. “Of course you do! Just look at the little guy! Who couldn’t love him? You can keep him, I can make another one lickety-split!” “Oh! Um, thank you! Does he have a name?” You’re full-on smiling now, and turning to look at ‘Lucifer’. At a shake of his head, you hum in thought. “A fancy guy deserves a fancy name… What about Reginald?” You turn the little toy around, inspecting it from all sides. “You’ve seen nothing yet! Just give it a little squeeze, not too much.” You do as he says. Through the little hole in its beak, a white droplet emerges. “It’s glue! He used to help me with my crafting projects. But, well, he’s yours now. Off to greener pastures, as they say.” You can’t help yourself. The whole situation is really not all that funny, but you crack up, and once you start laughing, you can’t stop. Your chest hurts, and tears are burning at the corners of your eyes. You have no idea why! Everything’s been such a mess lately. After a couple of seconds, you babble out some nonsense. “I gave— I gave Reginald such a posh name! But… Y’know, he’s a working man!” You say, still cracking up in between the words. At this, it’s Lucifer who laughs, a sound loud and sudden enough to ring in your ears. Seems you hadn’t heard a real laugh out of him before after all.

In other words, Lucifer (who you end up finding out really is the Devil himself) quickly grows fond of you, and takes you under his wings. Perhaps it’s your innocence about Hell and it’s mechanisms that pulls him towards you, combined with the fact that you’re just kind of easy to fuss over. You’re none the wiser that Lucifer was all but hopeless about sinners before helping restart the hotel, and entirely unaware that your dynamic is anything but normal. In your mind, Lucifer must befriend people rather frequently! While you’re quickly taken in by Hazbin Hotel’s other friends and staff, it really is Lucifer who helps you through your adjustment period. He makes you little covers for your claws, so you can get used to having sharp appendages, and not accidentally keep clawing open furniture or your own flesh. He requests Nifty makes some food that is at least visually similar to some Earth meal. When you wake up in the morning, there’s always a little duck sitting in front of your hotel door, making you start your day with a smile. You’ve got a shelf full of them now, and love all of them. (And when you’re curled up in your bed, late at night, crying over all that you’ve lost, smothering your sobs with a pillow, there is a gentle knock on your door. Lucifer sits on the side of your bed, wearing striped pajamas in red and white, and encourages you to pour your heart out to him.

There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everything you’re feeling, everything you’re going through— He’s heard and seen it all before. In fact, he’s sure he’s heard much, much worse. Has he ever done you wrong? No, he hasn’t. So, talk to him. He tells you, dabbing at your face with a white handkerchief decorated with apples stitched onto it. And you do.)

Lucifer looks after you. Sure, he’s not perfect. But no one is, right? Lucifer often seems to lose track of the conversation you’re having with him, distracted by the things around him and suddenly veering off into entirely different territory. In general, his memory is spotty at best, but you’re not surprised that an immortal being such as himself wouldn’t remember every single little thing you say.

He’ll hole himself up in his workshop for days at a time, only to emerge with nothing to show for it, except for a downtrodden expression. He’ll fight with Alastor (and continuously remind you to stay far away from that piece of shit), and get fussy whenever you try to leave the hotel without him glued to your side. Though his memory seems to often be unreliable, and you believe that a lot of simple conversations you have with him are simply left forgotten, there are instances you would consider insignificant that remain fresh in his mind.

“You’re doing it again,” you tell Lucifer. He’s pacing up and down the length of his room, ranting about Alastor. He blinks, and halts his movements, tapping his staff on the floor. “Doing what?” “The thing,” you emphasize, before standing up and walking towards him, dragging the top of your finger across his bottom lip. You can feel him take a quick inhale as soon as you make contact. A golden smear is left across your skin. “You’re always chewing on your bottom lip when you get upset. Doesn’t it hurt? I know it heals within, like, ten seconds, but still!” Absentmindedly, you look at his blood. It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s strangely… Beautiful. You look back up at him, and your brow furrows. “Hey… Were your red spots always that big? I think I’m seeing things.”

But things get better, and he improves. He starts to try and take little notes of the things you’ve told him, alongside the words of other people important to him, like Charlie, like a diary of sorts. The door to his workplace starts being left unlocked, and you’ll wander in, from time to time. You’ll sit on the chair in the corner of the room, reading or otherwise occupying yourself, and telling him that no, that duck or toy is not the worst thing you’ve ever seen, and doesn’t deserve to be burnt to a crisp.

You listen as he, on bad days, talks about his wife with a forlorn expression on his face. Things get better, though. He tries not to see the worst in sinners any longer, and his moods grow better. He spends more time with Charlie. All is well. You don’t realize just how entangled your existences are until you’re in too deep. That your eyes search for him every time you enter a new room, that you’ve grown comfortable with him doing the talking for you. You try to convince yourself it’s not a bad thing, but the simple truth is that you’ve lost a chunk of your independence. And when you try to go out with the other residents, it’s so easy for him to coax you back out of it.

Are you really sure you want to go? Look, I’m not trying to keep you here— I’m really not! But Hell’s a dangerous place out there, and I can assure you there’ll be things there that you really don’t want to see. …I’ve been working on a little display case for your favourite ducks, I can show you that instead.

He only grows more protective when time goes on, and you do more exercises with the rest of the hotel, bond with the other residents. At times, he tries to convince you to forgo their shared activities entirely.

(You try to forget about what you found in a drawer of his desk, one day. A note among so many other reminders that he is known to keep. But this one is wrinkled, pen pressed so hard to the paper that it’s torn in places. All of them want to go to Heaven, all of them want to leave here. Me. I get it. Because she has left, no one can be guaranteed to stay. But I won’t let the apple of my eye be taken, even if they send down an envoy and try to escort them up themselves. …But it’s hard not to remember.) When he gives you your a warning about the ‘scary outside world’ for the umpteenth time, you can’t help but roll your eyes and counter. Alright, dad. Nothing about your tone shows sincerity. You mean it as a joke or a jab, but Lucifer doesn’t laugh. Instead, he hums out a pleased little noise, a smile settling on his face.

The way he looks at you is so utterly tender, all half-lidded eyes and pupils blown wide, that it leaves you reeling. He nestles himself at your side, under the comfort of your arm, and promises to take care of you for the rest of your eternal life spent there. You have an eternity. It’s sweet, and knocks the breath out of you.

But you would’ve been able to reconcile the image of Lucifer and ‘father figure’ more easily if he, sometimes, didn’t act so contrary to such an image. He’ll call for you from behind his workdesk as you’re sitting on your usual chest, ready to show you a ventriloquist doll he’s been working on.

As you stand next to him, an arm is wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you on his lap. It’s in no way comfortable for him. He has to stick his head underneath one of your arms to see anything at all. It would be silly otherwise, but the way he pulls you flush against him, face nuzzled into your side as he audibly inhales, one clawed hand resting on your thigh… You can’t help but have it muddle your feelings towards him. He frequently kisses your hand as a greeting, and insists you let him kiss both of your cheeks before parting. You would write it off as one of his unique quirks if he did the same thing for Charlie, but he doesn’t.

Lucifer, with an eternity of time to hone his skills behind him, has picked up all kinds of crafts, including sewing. He’ll make pieces of clothing for you in his colour scheme, sew apple-themed patches on your clothing, among other things. It’s always embarrassing when he makes something. He fusses and cooes over you like you’re a child when you first wear any piece, clapping his hands and grinning. Oh, just look at you! Aren’t you the cutest little thing? It looks lovely on you!

Anyone with more than two braincells can tell something is going on between the two of you, though no one is quite sure exactly what. Perhaps Angel is rubbed the wrong way by just how overbearing Lucifer is being, and considers you to just get out there for once with the rest of them. You’re always cooped up inside the hotel! Come on, he’s been around the block more times than he count, and he knows every trick in the book. You’ll be fine as long as you stick with him. And… You have fun! Going out, dancing and drinking, accompanied by your friends, is wonderful. But maybe you drink a little bit too much, yet entirely unfamiliar with the different types of names alcoholic beverages in Hell have. How were you supposed to know you accidentally ordered one of the strongest drinks on the menu? And, in the crowd of people, you lose the rest, wandering outside without really noticing it. You’re such an obvious target, staggering on the sidewalk, giggling and mumbling to yourself, that you wouldn’t entirely blame anyone for the poor argument that ‘you were asking for it’ in a place like this. Your world is left spinning as you’re pushed against a wall, vision momentarily blacking out as your skull bashes against brick. (Somewhere in the club, Angel is looking for you, getting more frantic by the moment.)

You never get the chance to figure out exactly what the demon’s intentions are. As soon as their fingers brush over a patch Lucifer had sewn into your clothing, an apple with a little snake head popping out, they’re blasted back by golden light.

Your addled mind is still struggling to keep up when you’re wrapped in a set of soft, beautiful wings. The back of your head is cradled by gloved hands. You catch a glimpse of blood-red eyes set within a familiar face, but, soon, a cluster of feathers covers your eyes. There are horrible cracking noises, gurgling, wheezing— Though you see none of it, your imagination more than makes up for it. You press your face up against his chest, nauseous and shaking like a leaf. Lucifer takes off without a word, the flapping of his multiple sets of wings loud enough to awaken an oncoming headache. Mid-flight, when his features have returned to the ones you know him for, he peppers your face with kisses, and makes you look at him. You mumble out apologies, sniffling, drunk and shaken, but Lucifer shushes you.

What were you doing all the way out there, on your own? You’re usually such a good listener, my dove. You always listen to all of my warnings. A gloved finger traces your cheek. Someone convinced you to go out, didn’t they? That has to be it. You can tell your dad who it is. I won't be mad at you. You’ve never been afraid of Lucifer before. Now, though, you’re filled with apprehension. You frantically shake your head. Oh, then it was your own idea? The tip of one of his nails pokes your cheek. Not nearly hard enough to hurt, but the pressure is there.

…And you really do deserve to be in Hell, because prompted with this question, you take the selfish way out, and once again shake your head. More slowly, this time. See? It wasn’t that hard to be truthful, was it? I knew it wouldn’t be your fault. Now, all you have to do is tell me who it was.

That night, you spend the night in his bed, with Lucifer arguing that you’re very drunk. Which is very much. It’d be horrible for you to go ahead and choke on your vomit, or something like that! So, you should just stay with him. As you're drifting on the verge between conscious and unconscious, his lips find the skin of your throat, placing kisses up and down. Open-mouthed and warm, barely restrained.

You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache and only vague memories of the day prior. But you wake up with Lucifer’s arms wrapped around you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, each of his breaths tickling your skin. You wake up to one of his legs slotted in between yours. You wake up to the realization that you’ve bitten off far, far more than you can chew.

[pandorasfavorite]

STOP OMG HI, yk the promo the tjd had with Santos and this new group or whatever. N how Dom didn't tell the judgement day , can the reader also be in there and jd doesn't have to exist that's up to you but can you do something like the reader notices how the girl with the pony tail i think her name was elektra lopez but like she was flirting with dominik right infront of the reader and the reader gets jealous and ignores dom the whole night? YOU CAN MAKE UP THE REST BUT THATS ALL TYY I LOVE YOUR WORK BTWW

Petty Antics

AN: Am I the only one who hates re-reading my work for mistakes? It makes me want to propel off of a bridge or sum. Thank you for loving my work- I love you 🩷.

“Hey! What’s up guys!”, Dominik throws his hands up and smiles when they walk in. Santos greets Dominik while everyone stands back and watches with overflowing confusion. You most of all. When he pulls back you smack him on the chest and scold him, “You didn't tell us we had company”. Everyone else nods and Rhea glares at Santos's group. While you are staring at this new group of people (that only Dominik knew), Damian pulls him to the side by the arm. However when you see the angry look and a vein popping out on Damian’s forehead; you start to watch more closely. You really hated the hard grip he had on Dominik’s arm out of the whole situation so far. It’s clear Dominik was embarrassed to be confronted in front of his friends and nervous by the encounter. So when he walked back over with a jittery look you couldn’t help but put a comforting hand on his arm. “You’ve done it now”, Rhea also scolds him. 

Dominik looks at you, “Mami, can you talk to Priest? Tell him not to get so mad?”, he asks and rocks on his feet nervously. You bite your lip and consider how you would talk to him, but you know it would come better out of Rhea’s mouth. You turn to look at her with an exhausted expression, “Could you?”. Her shoulders drop a bit but she agrees anyway and she talks to Dom again, “We need to get this communication back under control”. She reminded him with no room for argument. Quite frankly you had to agree with her, out of everyone you thought Dominik would tell you. After all, you were his soon-to-be wife, and keeping secrets was a quick ticket to trouble. Now it was your turn to reprimand him, “Communicate okay? Now deal with your friends”. 

He rubbed a hand over his mouth while you sternly spoke to him. He hated it when you were mad at him with a burning passion. It was one of the worst things he had to endure. “Everyone! Meet Judgment Day! Mami, Rhea, Finn, JD”, you glare at the group; not hiding your dislike. You cross your arms and stay closed off much like the rest of the group. From beside you, Rhea is in her own world as you were, until a hand reaches out to touch you. You smack the guy's hand away, “Don’t touch me” you grit. When you said that Dominik’s smile dropped and he looked at the guy, ‘hey hey’ he peered through him. The same guy put his hands up and smiled at you and Dominik both. At that, Dominik lightened up again but you refused. At this point, you thought nothing could make this situation worse. 

From that point on Dominik spent his time trying to entertain his friends while you stood beside Rhea and Finn to the side of you. Of course, JD lingered in the back not saying a word; just as you liked it. You found solace in standing beside your friends without looking at your Finance spend his time with people he barely knew. But when Rhea whispered in your ear to “look up”, you could’ve burst into flames. Elektra or whoever the fucks she was reached out and touched Dominik’s hair. In other words, she was trying to take your man on how he looked. Dominik’s nose scrunched up at the interaction and just stepped back not paying much attention to it after that. He moved away from her and tried to continue what he was doing. What you would’ve preferred was for him to call you over; especially considering the fact you were 10 feet away. Then not even 2 minutes after he shifted away from her she was reaching out to trace the tattoos on his arm. 

This had to be a joke; like someone had to be playing a prank on you for this to actually be happening. Now you personally wouldn’t consider yourself a jealous person; others happen to disagree. But only yours and Dominik’s opinion matters really. And when Dominik agreed that you were a jealous person; you had tried to dial it back for his sake. Though bitches stay pissing you off. Some things are so clearly flirtatious and should not be said. Originally you had believed that every woman had a good sense of right and wrong, but this girl Elektra didn’t seem to understand. And on that note, no matter how dramatic it may have been; you took Rhea’s hand and stormed out of the room together. You slammed the door to the point it rattled on the hinges. 

From inside the room, everyone’s eyes went dime-size, and Dominik whipped his head around to find you. Only for the realization to dawn on him that you were the one who left in a hurry. He sputtered out an excuse to leave quickly and threw open the door to follow after you. You had just made it around the corner of the long hallway, when you hear Dominik yelling after you. Rhea turns to you with wide eyes, “What are you gonna do?” she says in a hushed whisper. You cross your arms and stick your chin up, “Be petty and ignore him”. You hear his yells get closer and your exposure drops. Dominik skids around the corner and sighs a breath of relief when he sees you. He jogs up to you and spins you around by the waist to face him, you have to fight the urge to smile on instinct. “Why’d you leave?”, he commented and looked down at your angry face. 

You push his hands off of you, only to turn to Rhea and whisper in her ear. She raises her eyebrows at you but you return with a stern look. She then echoed what you said to her, to Dominik; “She said that she isn't talking to you”. Rhea was quick to turn around and walk away from you both. When she turned around Dominik put his hands around the sides of your stomach. “Mami”, he drawled and kissed your cheek sweetly. You turned away from the kiss and averted your gaze. Dominik was already getting so desperate for your attention. He tries to kiss your cheek but his lips chase after you when you move away. Now Dominik is practically pouting when he follows after you down the hallway and back into the very room you stormed out of. 

There everyone was sitting down and waiting for the group appearance in 2 hours. Normally the waiting game was already boring as is. But for Dominik, it felt like hell. When he’d sit beside you, you’d scooch away and smack his hands away when he tried to touch you. Committed to the end. He stared at you with crossed arms and listened to you talk to Finn with no issues. He was jealous of everyone else you talked to. Finn walked away to play darts with Finn and instantly Dominik was pressed against your side, whispering in your ear. “If you talk to me, we can go into the bathroom”, he said and you could practically feel his smirk against the side of your face. You turned to look at him with a sharp glare, only to turn away from him again with no words. He sunk into the couch with a groan, it was giving toddler. 

When it came time to go out into the stadium, Dominik pulled you to the side in the hallway on the way there. “Princesa, talk to me”, he murmured as he kissed the side of your neck. You pushed him back by the head and his shoulders dropped. Before you could turn around he pulled you back to him, “Baby what did I do?” he breathed. Only to be ignored once again. It could probably be read on Dominik’s face how annoyed and frustrated he was getting. He was used to talking and hugging you anytime you had been around. But all his questions were answered when a clip from earlier came up on the big screen. They aired your pissed-off expression while he was paying attention to Santo’s group. The light switch went off in his head when he looked over to you and the disgusted look on your face at rewatching it. 

Therefore when you all walked back and out of the eyes of thousands, he really gave you no choice when it came to pulling you into an empty room. He took you into the room and closed the door. Then instantly took your hands in his, and sunk to his knees in front of you. He looked up at you and began to apologize, “I’m sorry mami. I should’ve kicked them all out when she did that, but I was trying to make a connection for The Judgment Day. That’s no excuse though, I’ll do better. You’re my one and only mi amor” he enunciated. The apology was perfect, he knew what he did wrong and him being on his knees surely did help. You stay quiet for a minute and Dominik’s face drops, “Mami you're killing me here” he murmured and put his head on your thighs. You put your hand in his hair so he would look up, “I think that was the best apology yet” you remark with a smile. He pops up off the floor and kisses you to make up for all the ones you had ignored. 

[heartfullofleeches]

You've got mail!

Alt title: Single Ghost babes in your area

Yan Chain-Letter Entity + Amab/G.N "Loser" Reader [smut, mdni]

[Tags: light horror elements, masturbation, tit fucking]

-

!WARNING!

Now that you've read this, there is no going back.

The woman in this photo was a young bride getting for her big day. Following traditions of her new family, she was forced to wear her veil the entire week predating the ceremony, and quite unhappy with her situation. Her marriage was arranged and she had yet to fall for her new husband. She begged for a way out, help given in the form a voice from the shadows offering to change her appearance the night before her wedding. When her husband and in-laws saw her new face the next day - they all went mad from terror. This image is the only picture of her face and she'll do anything to keep it hidden.

Send this message to eight people in seven days, or she'll visit you at midnight on the final day."

"...."

"... hear me out..."

The air stills - warranted caution to keep your big mouth shut where input was not needed - or wanted.

"Why is she hot?..."

A collective, drawn out groan harmonizes from those plagued by your company.

"..what the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

Below the totally scary and terror inducing text was a photo of a woman shrouded in darkness. Part of her dark outline rooted from the shadowy grey veil draping to her long, thin neck, and waist-length jet black hair framing her pale, ashen skin. Her sunken eyes and mouth agap in a silent scream stretched the cloth against her hollow cheeks - small, white irises fainty visible from her empty sockets and the veil that hide them. The same white eyes your friend had alleged to have been staring them back at them when they looked in the mirror all week.

As unsettling as the picture was to most in your group, your eyes had settled on the more pleasant sight of her shapely figure shown off in the tightly fitted, lacey gown she wore.

"What?! I can't be the only one that noticed how huge her tits are! I hate when people make these cheesy attempts to scare you, and the monster that's supposed to be sooo scary is just some ghost. You can't even really see her face in the first place!"

"God, how do we put up with you... Just make sure you send that back to the rest of us before you leave."

The bulk of your collective friend group had gathered to comfort the unfortunate soul who received the email, and squander their fears by sending it between one another to meet the chain letter's rule. You tagged along for the offer of free lunch, and now that you've gotten your meal you're ready to head home and avoid meeting these people again with the exception of an online space. You stand up from the table, tucking your phone into your back pocket.

"Yea, yea I'll do it when I get home."

"Y/n..."

"I said I'll do it later. I promise, as soon as I get through the door I'll do it."

-

11:58....

11:59....

12..

Opening your eyes, you expect to find angry, sunken eyes staring back, but all you see is the blank white wall of your ceiling. A week ago, you sorta forgot about the whole chain letter scare by the time you made it home, and only remembered minutes before the deadline upon realizing how pathetic it'd look if you died with your dick in your hands when you opened a new priva tab on your laptop. As figured, not a damn thing happened upon the stroke of midnight and quite frankly you felt it must've just been some stupid prank by your friends after not hearing a word from any of them during that time frame. You guessed there'd be no hot ghost chick to cause your untimely demise this time - but it never hurt to make sure.

"Gee, I sure hope a sexy ghost doesn't pop out to kill me right as I pull down my sweatpants. That would sure suck, and the embarrassment alone would probably end me!"

Nothing. You reopen your laptop with a heavy sigh. "Welp- Since I'm still alive, guess it's back to tonight's scheduled plans."

Tugging one hand into the waist of your sweats, you pull up one of your usual sites for quality adult content - scouring for the right material to fit the mood. Alot of good choices, but strangely every thumbnail you clicked lead to a dead link. You switch to multiple sights, but the same thing just kept happening. Frustrated, you don't bother wasting time looking at the preview of a message sent by one of your friends as you scroll. If they could wait this long to text you, they could wait a little longer for you to respond.

Ready to throw in the towel and let your imagination work its magic - you finally manage to get a stream open through sheer determination and miscellaneous presses.

"Finally...." You push your sweats past your thighs as the video opens on a woman sitting on a bed. The room is too dark to see most of her, but the camera and lighting was centered on all you needed to see to pull out your swelling length. The woman's flowing gown hugged the plump flesh of her thighs, rolling up to her hips - and revealing the of her transparent fabric of her underwear as she parted her legs slowly. She removes one strap from her shoulder, long hair falling over her breasts as she contorted to better fit her face into frame.

Head crashing into your pillow with a small groan, you fist your cock to the woman's beautiful image and thought of her large tits in placement of your palm. Your hand could only mirror a fraction of their softness and you whine as your thumb pressing the tip, picturing plush lips closing around you as you came. Your entire being yearned to paint her pretty face and chest in your release - narrowly avoiding the unnatural whites of her eyes at the intensity and build up of your climax left your own body out of your control.

Peeling your eyes open for the second time, the speed of your hand slows as you start to get the odd feeling of being watched. Looking back at the screen, the woman stares back, appearing directly in front of the camera as cold sweat breaks down your neck. Her fingers slither along the glass, reaching through your monitor as your eyes widen in horror. You scream- throwing the laptop as far from your person as you coward against the bedframe. It lands, screen upwards feet from your bed. Loud cracks and snaps play from the speakers as the woman pulls herself free with janky, articulated movements. Her gown falls down to her knees and her veil washes over her face as she climbs to her feet.

You pull your blankets over your shamefully, almost painfully hard dick as you raise your hands in defeat. "Please don't kill me! I'll send the messages right now, for real!'

The woman cocks her head to one side - eyes shrinking as you cover yourself.

"Don't hide...."

She crawls over your quivering legs, gripping at the end of her veil.

"I've taken on so many face - yet, none of them have ever been called attractive before.... Tell me..."

The room light's flicker as she pulls the veil upwards - slowly revealing the dark void where her face used to be. Thin claw marks drew from the intact flesh of her cheeks and jaw to the permanent shadows gouging her features dug deep as if whatever had done this to her had taken more than just her face. The pearly points of her teeth and the whites of her eyes were all that remained of her mortal beautiful. Shaking in fear, your body betrays your fright as your cock jumps watching her drag her tongue over her sharp rows of teeth.

"Do you think I'm beautiful now?...."

At lost for words, you dip your head in reply - eventually squeaking through a strained voice. "You're the hottest ghost that's ever been in my room.

The woman's body writhes with a full body shutter as she takes the blanket in her hands. "Let's see that I'm the only person in your bedroom... living or otherwise."

You hiss from the cool air enveloping your cock as the entity tears the last shield protecting your shred of dignity away. It not like the had much to begin with, but sleeping with the ghost that most likely killed your friends definitely took whatever was left. Her heated breath fans your skin as your cock springs from your shorts and against her cheek. Turning her head, your muscles lock as her sharp teeth come to contact with the head of your penis. There's some give before them, lips hidden by the shadows of her face puckered around your weeping tip as an impossible long snakes from between the two and spirals down your girth as her breasts spill from her tightly fitted top.

Cradling an arm beneath them, the ghost woman sandwiches cards your dick between her breasts. Her tongue, still working around you, provides lubrication - and lewd suction as she bounces the weight of her large tits in your lap. The tip of her tongue grazes your balls and you feel them tighten as you rock your hips into the supple flesh of her chest. Her tongue squeezes at your increasing pulse and her veil falls back in place as she to uses both hands to better assist her assault on your pulsing dick.

You tangle your hand through her hair, cock swallowed by her breasts and plump lips. Your other gropes at her tits, toying with her nipples as hitched gasps and the growing sloppiness of your thrusts signed your peak. The coil in your lower abdomen breaks right as she pulls her lips from your swollen head, using her tongue, face and breasts to catch the milky fluid that pumps from you in thick spurts. The white streaks contrast the dark silhouette of her face and as she looks up at you, you use a discarded blanket to wipe some of it away before collapsing on your mattress in a sweaty, panting heap.

The cotton touch of your pillow is placed with soft flesh as the woman crawls beside you in bed and pulls you closer to her. She brushes hair away from your clammy forehead, raising her veil to kiss your skin as your arms fall around her.

"Sleep now, my love... We'll play more once you've gotten some rest. I look forward to all the things we'll do in the future. I'm sorry about your friends, but I seem to be more of the jealous type..."

You fight off the spell of exhaustion to shrug lazily with a reply that makes your new wife smile from ear to ear.

"Eh.... fuck 'em, it was worth it."

[tonyspank]

CHAPTER TWO | THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY

Warnings: Literally do not know..

A/N: I wanted this chapter to be longer but I also wanted you guys to get an update.

Jenna Ortega x G!P Reader

"No! Emma! You're not listening." Jenna yells at her from the other side of the phone, and the other side of the country as well.

"How am I not listening?" Emma asks, attempting her best to not laugh at the situation. Jenna had been on the phone with her since 9 PM, it's currently 12.

"Because!" Jenna scoffs, throwing her arms around like a maniac. Emma covers her mouth with her hand, laughing into it.

Jenna's eyes whip to her screen. "How the hell is this funny?!" Emma shakes her head and her hands, "It's not! It's not! I promise."

"Why are you stressing so hard? It's just an outfit?" Jenna groans at the girl's words, "I want this date to be perfect."

"And it will be, Jen. So relax..." Jenna takes in a breath, visibly relaxing. "And put on that outfit." Jenna smiles at her best friend, who immediately smiles back.

Little did Jenna know you the same thing was happening on your side?

"Jack! Is this too much?" Jack looks up from his phone, "Yes!" He immediately says, standing up from the couch.

"Dude. Why are you wearing a suit?" You scan your outfit, "Because this is a date?"

"No, no, no." He undoes your tie, "Take this off, you're just walking around downtown. It's not like you're going out with the president."

You throw your head back, groaning out loudly. "Fine."

"What a silly individual." Jack laughs to himself, sitting back down, waiting for you to show him your new, and hopefully improved outfit.

You come back out in shorts and a shirt, Jack shakes his head, "Too casual."

You go back, changing again.

"Paparazzi will notice you from a mile away, too flashy."

And again. "Uhh, too boring."

Again. "I don't know. I'm just not feeling it."

"Boring! Next!"

But finally. Jack approves of your outfit when you step into your living room, "Wow!" He stands up, clapping his hands together.

"This outfit is brilliant," He wipes a fake tear, "I'm so proud of you, daughter." You bit down on your lip, holding back your laughter as Jack continues with his performance.

"You're all grown up." He places a hand on your shoulder, bringing you into a hug.

He pulls away, smiling. "But in all seriousness. You look great! I'm excited," You smile back at your best friend.

"Me too." Jack pinches your cheek, making you send him a slight glare before slapping his hand away.

"Ouch." He mutters, rubbing his hand. "We should rehearse." He then suggests, you scratch your eyebrows confused. "Rehearse? For what?"

"For what you're going to say to Jenna?" He says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "You can't just go out there unprepared." He adds on.

"Okay. Fine. I guess?" You agree, Jack motions for you to sit down as he stands up in front of you.

"Okay! Okay! I'm Jenna and you're you." He informs you may be a little too excited.

"Hey, Y/N. You look great. As always." Jack says in a slightly high-pitched voice, mocking Jenna while he twirls his long imaginary hair.

"Ummm... Thank-" You burst out laughing, Jack stares at you seriously, hand on his hip.

"Focus!" You wave your hands in front of your face, "Jack. I can't take you seriously."

"Jack? My name is Jenna, Y/N." You laugh again and Jack can't help but join in.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and suddenly you're extremely nervous. Jack watches you pull out your phone with a slight smile on his face, once you read the messages your eyes meet his.

"She's outside." You stand up, repeating yourself. "Jack! She's fucking outside!"

"I know." He replies, finally removing his hands from his hips. You walk to the door, Jack following right behind you.

"Y/N." You turn around at Jack's words, facing him as you put your phone in your pocket. "Don't be nervous be yourself."

You nod at his words, trying to calm yourself down. You could really use a smoke right now. But again, this whole thing was so you could quit smoking.

Jack's hand reaches to your cheek, but before he could pinch it you slap it away. "Enough." He laughs giving you one last pat before you exit your apartment, and slowly make your way downstairs slowly because you were nervous but, surely indeed.

Once you exit the building your eyes land on Jenna immediately, your heart starts racing, but at the same time you feel relaxed, Jenna smiles at you and it makes her even more inviting than ever.

"Hey," She smiles, engulfing you in a hug. You immediately reciprocate it. Due to your height difference, her head lays on your chest as her arms wrap around your waist, she pulls away, but a hand stays on your waist.

"Hey Jenna, you look great. As always." You mentally slap yourself for repeating Jack's words. Jenna laughs, "Well... thank you. So do you."

You flash a smile, muttering out a thanks before you two enter the car together, it looked like the same SUV Jack had picked you up from that night.

Once the two of you are seated the driver pulls off.

You faintly hear The Weeknd playing in the background as Jenna explains her date idea to you, "Are you listening?"

You met her eyes, shaking your head. "Of course... not. Yeah, I wasn't."

"Dude. I'm about to kick you out and make you walk." Jenna jokes, you dramatically drop your jaw in shock. "Wowww! So you'd want a sweaty date?"

"It'll help you learn to listen." You shake your head, still laughing. "You can't expect me to listen while The Weeknd is playing."

"Oh shit!" If it's possible Jenna's smile widens, "You know this song?"

Girl, bring your friends, if you want we can share. Or keep it simple, baby, we can just— ride with it, ride with it...

"Yeah! It's like one of my favourite songs in my playlist." Jenna scoots closer to you, pulling out her phone. "Here show me your playlist."

You pull up Spotify, typing in your username before handing the phone back.

You watch Jenna scroll through your playlists with a smile on her face, "Here let's listen to this one."

Kali Uchis then plays through the car speakers, Ooh, never thought I would be without you...

The rest of the car ride was enjoyable, you and Jenna spent the whole time singing, dancing, and talking about your favourite songs, bands, artists and other things of that nature.

You get out of the SUV, holding the door open for Jenna, she thanks you before resuming her sentence. "— I've always wanted to play guitar or piano, but the cello is also fun."

"Oh, yeah! I remember hearing you say you learned the cello for Wednesday." You say, not really thinking about what came out of your mouth.

Jenna smiles at you, you walk by her side and finally look at her after noticing the silence. And that's when it hits you. Jenna herself never told you that, you heard her say that from an interview.

"Oh, my god." You mumble and Jenna laughs, placing an arm on your bicep. "No— it's kind of cute that you watch my interviews."

You cover your face with your hands, "Bro! That is so embarrassing." She laughs again, removing her hand to hold her stomach slightly.

"This date is officially cancelled." You joke, removing your hands from your face, Jenna's hand is back on your arm, and you don't miss the slight increase in your heartbeat.

"Okay! If it makes you feel better," Jenna starts off, clearing her throat. "I found your Instagram."

Your eyes widen, and you let out a small laugh. "How on earth did you find my Instagram!" She subconsciously squeezes your arm, "Y/N, I actually like went through Jack's following and found it."

She continues as you watch her with a huge smile on your face. "And I sat in my bed and scrolled until I got to 2016."

Your mouth opens slightly, "WHEN I HAD MY BRACES?" You nearly shout, a few people walking by look back at you, either scared or confused. Jenna can't help but laugh extremely loud, bringing herself closer to you if that was possible.

With joy you eye her, as her eyes shut, her dimple takes shape with a massive smile on her face.

"Yes! You looked so innocent!" She gushes, and the smiles are permanent on your faces. "You know when you looked innocent?" Jenna hums in response, grinning up at you. "When you wore that SHOOK shirt to the Spider-man Homecoming red carpet."

Jenna gasps, "There's no way you know about that!" You laugh, "And since you wanna stalk my Instagram, I'll make it easier for you and make you my profile picture."

You pull out your phone, instantly going to Google, looking up 'Jenna Ortega Shook Outfit.'

"Dude!" She yells laughing, attempting to grab your phone. You raise it so she can't reach it.

"If you do that then you've become my profile picture as well!" You pause, holding up your hand in surrender. "I surrender!"

"You better." Jenna looks at a shop to her left, which has a big sign reading, Fun Hats. Your match Jenna's line of sight before speaking up, "We should definitely buy some hats."

She sends you a quick smile, letting go of your arm, and you quickly miss her touch, but it surprises you when she then interlocks your hands, dragging you along with her to the store.

Hand in hand you and Jenna search throughout the isles, stopping every now and then to try one of them on. You're near the back of the store, and all of the hats have a match.

Jenna picks up the hotdog hat, laughing and you pick up the burger with a grin on your face.

She turns to you adjusting her hat, you reach out to help her before fixing your own. "I need to get a picture of this." She giggles, you by her side when she finds a mirror taking a picture of the two of you.

"Now this. This is Instagram-worthy," You say, jokingly, but Jenna nods her head seriously. "Can I post this?"

"You don't have—" She cuts you off, "I want to. We look cute." Your face heats up, but you play it off shrugging. "Sure then."

Your phone vibrates and when you pull it out, Instagram has notified you of a tag.

—

Load comments

y/n SHOOK

↳ jennaortega i hate u

jackchampion they grow up so fast. 🥲

melissabarreram you guys are so cute

lucas_hevean22 who is that lol

—

"I guess we do look kind of cute." You say as you put your phone away, Jenna does the same. "We do."

"Here let's go buy these," Jenna connects your hands again, walking to the register to pay for your matching hats.

Even if you two looked like complete idiots, you both didn't care. You didn't know why you were so nervous earlier, Jenna had managed to calm you down the second you laid eyes with each other, and she absolutely makes your heart race.

Jenna makes you feel alive, cliche, yes, but it's true. You honestly can't stop laughing, nor smiling when you're around her and she was right about being a professional, you were so comfortable and peaceful you weren't even thinking about smoking.

The feeling was mutual. With you, it felt as if Jenna could finally get a breath of fresh air, no media involved. She could be herself, and joke around with you like she had no worries in life.

Her love language was physical touch and she could not keep her hands off of you. Whether it be holding your arm, holding your hand, or your hands ever so slightly touching as you walked side by side.

Your date had ended by the time the street lights were on, Jenna and you were back in front of your apartment, right where you had first greeted each other.

"I really enjoyed today," You tell Jenna. She smiles up at you. "Told you I'm a professional." You playfully roll your eyes.

There's a comfortable silence in the air.

Jenna comes closer, embracing you in a hug. You hug back, rubbing her back gently. She pulls away ever so slightly, staring into your eyes and then glancing at your lips.

You feel the tension, and you want to kiss her you really do but.

"There's six more dates to go." You say softly, "No need to try and kiss me on the first one." You joke, letting out a chuckle.

Jenna laughs, pulling away and placing a hand on your chest. "That is true. You don't hear these hear turning?" She says, pointing at her head.

"I'm going to get my kiss, Y/N." She backs up, pointing at you. You watch the brunette walk away backwards, looking at you before turning around completely.

"Good night, Jenna!" You yell out as she gets inside the SUV.

taglist: @laylasbunbunny @smromanoff @friedryes

[retromoments]

but you tolerate it,

featuring sakusa kiyoomi

warnings angst w/ happy ending, just general negative self talk, mention of cigarettes

tonight had been a disaster.

You and Kiyoomi had been dating for a year at this point after meeting after you were introduced as the new publicist for the Black Jackals. The two of you hit it off instantly after realizing that civilized company within the team was lacking and found solace in each other and quickly developed a romantic relationship soon after.

It was only after your one-year anniversary that you realized that you barely knew any of Kiyoomis's friends other than his teammates, this eventually lead you to tonight. After pestering your boyfriend about it for weeks, he finally caved and arranged a dinner for you to meet all of his old school friends. You were only 20 minutes into the dinner before you realized how great of a mistake you had made. 

Conversation topics that went completely over your head seemed to be in favor of the night. The worst part was that you had never seen Kiyoomi so happy in a social situation. It quickly led to a festering insecurity that was making itself comfortable in the low pit of your stomach. As the night progressed things just seemed to get worse and worse as your boyfriend slowly pulled away from you the whole night.

The jokes you made didn’t land. The wine you had picked out for the occasion had been ridiculed ruthlessly by these strangers that had played such an important role in your boyfriend's life. The white knit sweater and brown corduroy pants you had picked out were quickly making you feel more and more underdressed as Kiyoomi introduced you to more and more of his friends, all of which were dressed as if they were attending a 5-star restaurant. 

What started as him just shaking off your hand when you attempted to grab it at the dinner table had now matured into him sitting on the complete opposite side of the room as you. The final straw was when one of Kiyoomis friends, a girl named Mika, noticed the bright piece of art hung above the tv in the living room. It was one of the first things you and Kiyoomi had picked out for the apartment.

“Kiyoomi don’t tell me that you picked that atrocious thing out?” Mika remarked as she pointed a manicured nail at the painting full of bright blues and pinks

“No, no that one was all her,” Kiyoomi muttered as he took a sip from his glass of wine 

“I can tell.” Mika giggled, and to your dismay, Kiyoomi began chuckling right alone with her.

 After muttering a quick excuse about needing some fresh air (you aren’t quite sure anyone even heard it), you grabbed the carton of cigarettes you kept “only for emergencies” and bolted for the balcony of you and Kiyoomis's shared apartment which is where you’ve been camped out for the last half hour blowing smoke out into the dark abyss that surrounded your home as you waited for the tears to stop streaming down your face.

This whole night had just caused you to reflect on your relationship with Kiyoomi and just wonder if he was truly happy. Did he feel as if you were simply too immature for him? Was he unhappy being with someone who didn’t come from as much money as he did? Are you good enough for him? These questions lingered in your head and plagued your thoughts the longer you sat in the silence of the night. Your worsening thoughts were interrupted by the balcony door sliding open.

“Mind if I join you?” You quickly used the sleeve of your sweater to brush away your stray tears as Kiyoomi made his way onto the balcony.

A smile was lingering on his face, an expression that you had only been privileged enough to see a few times throughout your relationship. You took a long drag from your cigarette as he made himself comfy on the spot right next to you. 

“why’d you leave?” 

“didn’t seem like anyone wanted me there.” you shrugged at your boyfriend as you stood and blew more smoke off the balcony.

“i want you there.” with this you turned and looked at your boyfriend

“do you actually? cause you have a hell of a way showing it,” you stubbed out your cigarette on the wood of the balcony railing “you’ve barely talked to me all night, and all you guys talk about is stuff I don’t know the first thing about,” more tears began to fall as you continued “all tonight has made me think is that I’m obviously not good enough for you, and every single person in that apartment knows it including you.”

“I’ve never once believed that for a second, my love,” Kiyoomi was standing now and wiping the tears from your face “I never wanted you to feel like that, and I’m sorry I’ve upset you so much”

“I don’t know how to relate to people like them, I feel so silly when I try,” you confessed 

“Want me to kick them all out so we can have a movie night?” The offer was tempting but you shook your head at it

“These are your friends Kiyo, It’s not your fault I don’t know how to be civilized.” the humor in your voice was dry

“They were my friends,” he agrees “but honestly I haven’t talked to them in months, and if it weren’t for you wanting to meet them so badly I probably would go several more before I even reached out,” He takes a moment to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ears “Simply put they aren’t apart of my life anymore, and I hardly think that’s a bad thing.”

“But they make you so happy Kiyo, I’ve never seen you so engaged in conversations.”

“Remembering High School memories will make anyone happy, but trust me the conversation gets boring after you run out of memories to romanticize, which is why I had to come searching for my favorite girl to come save me from them.” A smile graced Kiyoomis face once again, not the one that he had been wearing all night, or the one that reporters love getting photos of after he wins a game. A smile reserved just for you, for the nights where you two shove all the furniture into a corner so you can dance around the living room, for the lunch date that had ended in him asking you to live with him, for the day down the road where he gets down on one knee and asks you to marry him.

So you brave the storm. You take Kiyoomis's hand and let him guide you back into the apartment. You get through the night with Kiyoomis's arm around your shoulder, reminding you that even if he may have more history with the people surrounding him, you are the one he wants to spend his future with. With the night coming to a close and the last guest out the front door, an invisible weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You and Kiyoomi finish the dishes quickly and plop down on the sofa.

“Do you seriously not like the painting?” You murmur, exhaustion weighing on you heavily

“I think it’s a crime against humanity but you lit up so much when you first saw it,” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head “It’s my favorite thing in this entire apartment.”

[starvi-boi]

yall asked me how i did it so here we go:

first of all, if you dont struggle with an ed or are in recovery than dont interact or read this. i am pro recovery for everyone except myself. stay safe everyone!!

my situation:

im 167 cm tall

i started at 67.7kgs and now im 43kgs, (bmi 24.3 -> 15.4)

i live with my parents and they after two months noticed and now they watch what i eat

it took me around 5 months but during 2 of them i was just maintaining because of miscalculations and binges

1) meals:

i do omads, its really effective, keep it around 350 - 900 cals a day, i used to fast for few days every now and then but omads work wonders

heres how my week looks:

mon: 400-700

tue: 400-800

wen: 400-600

thu: 350-650

fri: 400-800

sat: 900-1200

sun: 850-1250

omading dinner works quite well and so does omading breakfast, but i prefer dinners, i can keep my morning skinny all day and i dont have to walk outside being bloated af

2) exercise:

i do around 5 hours climbing a week, after 3 months i added a 20 minute workout every day that i dont climb, also sometimes i spent whole days climbing on rocks outside

i also have 2 hours of pe a week

i try to get at least 5k steps, mostly i get around 6k a day

im not a try hard in exercise, sometimes i go inline skating but its for fun

i dont distract burnt cals from the days total. i dont.

3) pürging:

i used to pürge anything that was over 500 cals, but it was useless, dont do it, its not helping, i did this only the first 2 months because of guilt

4) binging:

before i began eating less, i used to binge like 4 times a week (around 4k cals), it used to be my coping mechanism

at first i didnt binge at all, i didnt eat because of guilt, i hated food

lately ive been binging on low-cal stuff which is bad, but at least its not as high cal (i actually crave low-cal things), but now i tell myself this: 'enjoy the emptiness, nothing can fill in the void inside, especially not food' and it has helped a lot

but im not rlly sure what to do about it- it just sometimes happens

5) weight ins:

i do them everyday in the evening before dinner, i dont drink water during the day (dont do this, i forget to drink and am used to that, stay hydrated), which makes me not want to eat because id gain the food and water weight, if i knew i was having two meals id weight in in the morning

6) metab days:

since i live with my parents who now check on me, i do them on weekends - both days, i mostly binge on those days (sometimes even 3k cals) lol

i aim for 900-1100 cals on them because on other days i try to restrict as much as possible and my bmr is around 1200

even though they seem scary, theyre very much needed!!

7) rituals:

i dont snack, only gum - it works amazing (i go through like 30 a day :'))

i always plan my cals for the day in the morning and always add in the food before eating it

i spend a lot of time on edblr and edtwt and edtt, motivating

i always have an emergency snack on me and water, im allowed to eat it if im too dizzy or too weak

8) my tips:

never eat alone. never.

eat only at the table - it makes it really annoying to sit there while eating which makes me not wanna eat

romanticize hunger (not the best but ykyk), be a good ana, be pure, be pretty

wear layers, youre gonna be freezing all the time

vaping/smoking can help if youre already into it, dont start with it just because i said it might work

be patient.

skip any meal you can, fake eating, empty packages, hiding food in clothes, taking in to your room, dirty plates, sitting and staring at an empty cup licking the clean spoon over and over as if the cup was full so you seem like youre eating... anything

dont obsess over food, obsess over being skinny and over fasting!!

dont eat more than 2 meals a day

prepare your own food so you can calculate it right

high volume low cal stuff and high protein stuff are your new best friends (lettuce, peppers, cucumbers, pickles, rice cakes, tomatoes, melons, coldfish, chicken breasts, cottage cheese)

warm water fills you up, so does coffee and tea

be nice to yourself, reward yourself when you do good, make it a game - points for being good -> rewards you can buy with your points, when you mess up you have to extract few points

take it slow, one day at a time or one week at a time, you have plenty of time, messing up is okay (one binge doesnt make you fat just as one fast doesnt make you skinny, but doing it repeatedly will)

if youre getting weak -> increase your cals, its better to get your energy back but maintain for few weeks than it is to be weak and passing out

9) do what works for you

i cant do longer fasts because of my family, just because this worked for me doesnt mean its gonna work for you, find what you can do and stick with it

i really suck at portion control so i omad, its way easier for me to not eat than to eat small amounts through out the day

thats it for now!! thanks for reading, if i think of something more ill write it down!!

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

blank space - m. murdock

a/n: uhm... this one is dedicated to my friend arin who doesn't like daredevil but is encouraging me to be more unhinged. i hope you guys enjoy because i had a blast writing this. possible part two in the works, please like and reblog with comments and feedback <3 warnings: i cannot emphasize this enough-- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT there is so little comfort to all of this hurt. matt is abusive and mean and reader is tortured and quiet and readers dad is an addict and a gambler and also stabbing, cursing, talking about fucking, sub/dom dynamics, nicknames, fem reader, lmk if i missed any! word count: 3.5k summary: Your dad makes your life horrible. Matt can make it worse. paring: dark!matt murdock x reader now playing: blank space (taylor's version) - taylor swift "so it's gonna be forever/or it's gonna go down in flames?/you can tell me when it's over/if the high was worth the pain"

You never meant to get involved with him.

Really, it wasn’t anything you did.

 As usual, it came back around to your father, who had a bad gambling problem, as well as a substance issue, and would often be tempted to gamble big prizes for things like coke or heroin. He would bet money, college funds, heirlooms, your house.

But of course, he couldn’t pay these debts.

Your mom had been gone for quite some time, and you suspect this is where your fathers’ addictions stem from. But you’re trying to just make your way through your adult life. You had gone to a local college, unable to afford much else. Now, you worked in a dingy little office where they constantly abused your work ethic.

Between your grief, his constant betting on your lively hood, and your asshole boss, you felt your bones grow tired. Not the sort of tired that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep. The sort of tired that could be fixed by a new life, not that you had the means for that.

You think your mother would haunt you for the rest of your days if you abandoned your dad.

Friday night came, and you were ready to go home to the small apartment you shared with your father, and drink some wine, and get a nice sleep.

You had been told by your boss that you needed to stay late to translate paper files to the digital system. No, you would not be getting paid overtime.

It was dark by the time you finally left, your feet aching in your heels as you made your way through Hell’s Kitchen, wanting to get home so as not to start crying on the streets of New York.

You don’t make it home.

As you turn the corner by your block, you notice a van creeping up on you. How long had it been following you? If you weren’t so tired, maybe you would know.

But the van pulled up next to you, and you did the only thing you could in this situation. You started to run.

Only, you made it about ten feet before you twisted your ankle with these stupid fucking heels. As you fall, you let out a cry of pain, and before you can think, two men are outside the van. They grab you by the arms and pull you into the van, the whole time you struggle.

Someone puts a black hood over your head and wraps duct tape around your hands. Your ankle is fucking aching.

You aren’t sure how long you drive for, but someone is then pulling you out of the van and drags you along. They give you an opportunity to walk but your ankle hurts to the point where you can’t walk.

They drag you again, and your foot is dragging, and holy shit, you can’t believe that your biggest concern while being kidnapped is how much your ankle hurts.

Eventually, hood on your head still, you are sat in a chair. Your hands are untied, and you want to jump up and fight, but you know your ankle won’t help you here.

They quickly tie your hands back to the chair, with rope this time. Whoever ‘they’ are.

You’re starting to have trouble breathing, because you’re realizing what sort of situation, you’re in right now.

You’ve been kidnapped for something; you have to assume in some way that it’s to get back at your father.

The hood is pulled off your head, and your eyes take a moment to adjust.

The room you’re in is dark, dingy. You know there’s two people behind you, big enough to carry you. You can hear water outside the room, assuming you’re in an abandoned office by the docks. Then, there’s three people in front of you.

One is a man, with long blond hair. He wears a nice suit and is just standing in front of the door. Another is a woman, with even longer blond hair and she also dons rather luxurious apparel. Your dirty work clothes make you look meager next to her.

The last is a man with dark hair. He wears a simple, rather expensive suit, and red glasses.

If you weren’t on the verge of a meltdown, you’d probably realize how hot he is.

Oh, he also holds a knife.

The blond man talks first.

“So. Do you want to start, or should we?”

“What?” Your ankle throbs.

“I guess we should, then.” He hums. “Do you have five grand worth of heroin on you, dear?”

You could throw up.

“I—”

“No, of course you don’t. You and your boyfriend probably used it all.”

What is he talking about? Now, on top of being in pain and panicked, you’re confused.

“The man you live with?” The woman finally speaks. “I assume you two used all the heroin he stole.”

You realize she means your father. You realize that your father stole five grand worth of heroin. What else did he steal?

“What else does he owe?”

“No, darling,” she scoffs, “We ask, you answer.”

“I don’t do heroin.”

“So, how do you know he owes us more?”

“Took a wild fucking guess.” You spit. “Figured you wouldn’t kidnap someone over five grand, figure money is no object.”

The man with the knife steps out of the shadows. Your heartbeat races, and he chuckles. He crouches in front of you.

“You’re a spitfire. I like that. In fact, I love that in a woman, don’t I, Foggy?” He turns his head back slightly.

Foggy answers.

“That you do, man.”

His head turns back to you. But you get the impression by his glasses that he can’t see. So how is he looking right at you?

“If you give us some sort of sass like that again, I’ll stab you and make sure you feel every second of pain.” You whimper, and he laughs again. “Not so cocky anymore, are we, sweetheart?” He stands and goes behind you, his arms landing on the outside of your own, caging you in. He leans down and whispers in your hear, “Is this.. turning you on, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“Liar.” He whispers back, the knife gracing over your ear. He cuts your ear just enough to make it bleed, and tears slip down your face. He makes his way back to the front of you and crouches again. “I’ll ask you again. How do you know he owes me more?”

“I figured he would, when gamblers start, they don’t stop.”

“Not only did you lie to me again, you also just gave yourself away. Lie to me again and I hurt you worse.”

Your foot that isn’t hurt goes up and kicks him in the face. At least it tries, because his reaction is too quick, and he grabs your ankle.

“Bad, bad girl.” He tuts. He lets go of your leg and picks up your other leg, the one with the bruising, swollen ankle. You start to shake. His hand squeezes the wound and when you yell in pain, he just coos at you. “Aw, does that hurt, sweetheart?”

You’re busy crying.

“Answer me!” He demands. It shakes you to your core. You realize you do not know who you’re dealing with, and you’re even angrier at your father for jeopardizing you like this.

“Yes!” You sob, and this seems to satisfy him. He takes the knife in his other hand and slowly cuts open your stocking, loving the way you’re shaking with fear.

 “Keep moving and you’ll cut yourself.”

You try to calm yourself down, on the verge of a panic attack. The knife grazes your leg, and he starts to focus in on your thigh, twisting the knife around your skin.

“How do you know him?” he asks. And you aren’t sure why you try it. You don’t know how he knows when you lie.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, just let me go, I promise, I’ll tell you where he is, just—”

Then you feel it.

The knife pierces your thigh and is lodged into your leg. You scream in pain, gripping the arms of the chair. Fuck, it hurts. Your vision blurs, and you’re unsure whether it’s from pain or from your tears.

 He stands up in front of you, ignoring the stares from Karen and Foggy. He knows he might have gone a step too far for someone he’s pretty sure is innocent in all this. But he can’t help himself. He likes hearing you wither in pain, and he likes being the person administering the pain. He has all these things he’s in control of, but at this moment, no one else is in the room. It’s you and him, in a rather intimate moment.

He pats your chin, “C’mon, focus, right here, sweetheart. Tell me the truth and I make the pain go away.” He tells you, breaking through the wall of pain and fear that blocks your ability to think.

“He’s my father!” You finally cry out. It comes out as if you’re yelling in church, screaming to God a confession you can’t bear anymore. The only thing missing is your position on your knees, but being below this man like this is as close to an altar as you can see yourself being. “I know he has a gambling problem, and I know he has a drug problem but that’s it! I don’t know anything else, I just lost the parent roulette, okay?!” Your words come gasped out, in between sobs and when you’re not too distracted with your pain.

He seems to be satisfied with this. He gets back down, closer to the ground. Now he’s the one at the altar, but the devil has no place in a church, only between your thighs. He tilts his head and kisses the inside of your thigh.

“See? Good girls get rewards.” Bad girls get stabbed. He stands up, and with him, he pulls at the knife. Blood gushes as you cry out in pain again, sure he'll leave you to bleed out, to be fed on by rats.

He drops the knife at your feet and adjusts his tie.

“What should we do with her, boss?”

“Go get her father.” He says, “But don’t let her go just yet. I’d like to keep her a while.” You think you’ll be sick. “Knock her out though, we don’t want her knowing where she is.” That’s the last thing before the butt of a gun meets your head.

It’s a nice relief from the pain.  

• • •

You wake up on a bed with silk sheets. It’s almost nice enough for you to forget about the whole situation. Maybe your whole life has been a dream, and really, you’re a rich housewife for a man who loves you deeply and your mom is still alive.

But then you sit up, and your stockings are ripped, and your heels are gone.

A brace wraps around your hurt ankle. A bandage wraps around your thigh. The pain isn’t there anymore, you’re not sure what drugs have been given to you.

The room is rather barren, you realize, with little to no works of art or even photos, and it’s rather dark. It’s also freezing cold, a central air system whirling around you. You wonder, if you’re a prisoner, then why put you in a room like this?

What is happening?

The door opens and immediately you went to defend yourself, though there were no weapons around you.

The man from the night before steps into the room, and he looks... casual. He wears dark jeans and a tee shirt, his glasses discarded. Bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” You don’t respond, just stare at him. “I’m Matt.”

You stay quiet.

“You’re not being tortured anymore, honey. If you want, you can lie and be mean now, I don’t bite. Not anymore. Not unless you want me to.”

“I’m Matt.” You repeat, unable to believe it. “You stab me in the leg and kidnap me, and you go as casual as ‘I’m Matt’?” He grins.

“I told you; I love a woman with some fire.” You wonder how many times he’s used that line on people. “Telling them they’re beautiful just doesn’t hit the same way when you’re blind.” He says, going over to a door, and when he opens it, you realize it’s a closet.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“No?” He turns to you, and smiles. He says your name. How does he know it? “You went to college for Marketing, cute. No siblings. Your mom died a few years ago, after a long battle with cancer. I’m sorry.” This sounds sincere. “You were engaged once, but he cheated on you and is now married to the other woman.” And he goes back to stinging. “Your father, I know all about him. David is an addict and a gambler. Now, addict, I could deal with. Addiction runs deep but it can be managed. It’s the gambling that frustrates me, and Sweetheart, If I’m frustrated, you must be riled up. He gambles everything, I should know. He gambles it to Foggy, who shares it with me.” He hums. He picks clothes out of the closet and heads back to you, “The pants are your size, but the shirt is mine.” He tells you, laying the clothes out in front of you. “Don’t worry about me watching, or anything.” It’s almost enough to make you smile.

You get changed, the challenge of slipping into the slightly lose jeans the hardest part. The bandage fits right in there, but even whatever pain meds have been given to you, aren’t enough.

“So, your father,” You groan, your face in your hands. You get it, your father is awful, and he hates him, but you know that your father is awful, and you know that you hate him. Why must he keep involving you? “I know, sweetheart, you’re in pain, and you hate him, but just stay with me on this.” he says, a cooing tone to his voice. You don’t know why, but you’re compelled to listen to him. “Your father forces you to live in this small apartment, because you’re the only one who works, and he always manages to find your money to gamble away. But it’s not just the money, it’s your electronics, your nice shoes, any pills you have in the house. And really, by doing all this, he is gambling you. Because not only is he risking not being able to pay his debts and someone taking you, but you’re tired. Aching for absolution that will never come. But the worst part is that even though all this stems from his grief around your mom, he gambled her wedding and engagement rings, the one you were always told you’d be proposed with.”

Tears well your eyes.

“Please, stop.”

He sits next to you on the bed, and you don’t have the energy to move away from him. In fact, you lean against him ever so slightly. He must know it too, you figure, since he can tell when you’re lying and when your heartbeat races. He’s warmer than you imagined. He’s a beacon of warmth in this cold, dim room.

He takes something out of his pocket, and then drops it into your hands. It’s a necklace, just a simple chain. Three things hang on it. A silver charm with an ‘M’ on it, and two rings. Your mom’s engagement ring, and her wedding band. You thought you’d never see it again, not after you came home and went to your jewelry box only to find out from your dad that he had lost it in a poker match a few weeks before.

You clutch the necklace in your hands.

“M for Matt?”

“Or Murdock, whatever you’d like.”

“You’re in charge, right? Just how in charge are you?”

“I run everything. There isn’t a corner of this city that I don’t have men in.” So, he’s the kingpin. The boss. Matt Murdock, a man feared by all, gentle to only you. Only for this moment.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

“Bun, I was never going to let you go. But I don’t think you want to leave, either.”

You stay quiet. You can’t run. He made sure of that. Was he always going to stab you? Had he decided that from the moment he heard you whimper or was it your reaction to his pet names that did you in?

His fingers come up to graze your ear gently, but you flinch, since it’s where he had cut you.

“Bunnies are always so sensitive to the ears. Fragile. It’s not like you can hop away. Besides, you need time to heal, and I could take away all the pain. No more mean fathers, no more mean bosses, and no more mean thoughts.” He says gently. “I could put you back together.”

His voice is soft, as if his intentions are as well, but you’re sure he’ll destroy you. He will not put you back together, only break you down, collecting tiny pieces of you for his collection.

You consider it. You would never have to work again. You would never have to do anything again. You would never have to see your father again.

You turn your head, and nod.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if you had a choice in the matter. But nonetheless, He grins, and takes the necklace from you, only to wrap it around your neck, and clasp it on.

Despite the rings being something you had longed for, the ‘M’ alone weighs on you like a boulder.

He tilts your head gently, his fingers brushing against your chin, and you look away, ashamed of what you have done. He grabs your chin and keeps you looking at him. He leans forward and for a moment you just stay, feeling his hot breath against your lips. Tears escape from your eyes and run down your cheeks. He tuts softly and kisses your cheeks where the tears lie.

“Sh, Sh.. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he comforts. His other hand trails down to your thigh, where two of his fingers find the stab wound, and push into it. You whimper in pain, grasping his wrist. He sighs deeply, “Pretty noises.” He hums. “I would never deny you anything, bun. But if you deny me what I ask, it won’t end well for you. Understand?”

You nod, but when you aren’t verbal, he pushes down harder, the bandage and his fingers soaking with blood.

“Tell me. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Matt.” You manage to whimper out. He takes his fingers away and kisses your cheek.

“Good. Good job, honey.” He says softly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking your blood off them. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

He leans forward and kisses you, and it’s full of a gentleness you weren’t sure he was capable of. You kiss back, afraid of what he’ll do if you deny him again.

He winds up kissing you to sleep, not mad at you for falling tired as you kiss. You lay with him in these silk sheets, freezing cold as you cuddle into him. He relishes being wanted. You accept that this is love. He feels you shivering and pulls you closer.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tickling the bottom of your torso. You whine when he does this, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He laughs, kissing your head.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll buy you blankets. Blankets, Diamonds, anything you want.” He tells you. You’re tired. You just want to nap. You want him to give you more of the drugs that dull the pain of your thigh, and you want to eat something homemade that you didn’t cook yourself.

You want to give in and remain thoughtless. Just be happy with him since no one is looking for you anyways.

But as you drift off to sleep, feeling his hands crawl along your skin, you begin to plan. You’ll let him think you’re in love with him. You’ll let him love you, fuck you, put you back together. You’ll be his bunny, his arm candy, his toy to dress up and do whatever the fuck he wants. You’ll let him think he owns you.

He’ll know that he does.

And you’ll become close to his friends too. You’ll dress in pretty dresses, and he’ll pretend he’s oblivious to how much everyone wants you.

 And then, when your wounds heal, you’ll run.

You’ll flee the country, you’ll change your name, dye your hair.

But you don’t yet realize how relentless he is. How deeply enamored of you he is. By how determined he is to have you.

Escaping the devil will not be as easy as you think it might, not when he can hear your heartbeat, not when he can smell you, not when he wants you.

And it doesn’t help when he gives you the honor of killing your father.

That’s when you start to fall in love with him.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 2

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader; Word Count 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing, Sexism

A/N; Hi everyone! I am so glad you guys liked the first part! It was so much fun to write, and when someone asked for this to be multi-chapter, I just couldn't get it out of my mind. So here's another part! I have no clue how long this will be yet, but I do have a plot in mind. Please enjoy, have fun, much love , <3. - Mo

Eli and you made a pact to not tell the family that you now BOTH were working for one of the most feared men in the city. Eli would’ve been berated for an hour or two at best, thrown out at worst. You? One could only imagine how many years you would be locked in your room. When your mother and father asked about your interview and your new boss, you gave the prettiest pieces.

He is quite successful papa. The bakery is very large, easily 100 men employed!

Yes mama, I get my own desk, and I get Rosh Hashanah off.

Yes papa he is Jewish. Yes very respectable. No I don’t know what Temple he attends.

Yes mama Eli never left my side. And I suppose he is handsome. No mama I don’t know if he is married.

Your mother bustled about, checked all of your dresses and stockings, making sure they were all in perfect condition for your new job. She checked your bag of supplies possibly 30 times by the end of the night, just to ensure that you had everything you could possibly need, even things you may not have needed. A mother could never be too careful.

The next morning as you began to walk out of the door, your mother and father kept fussing over you, straightening your hat and sweater.

“Now dear since Eli’s shift does not start till later you will have to walk yourself ok? Be careful, don’t talk to anyone, you go right to the office yes?” Your mother reminded you for the umpteenth time.

“Yes mama of course. Straight to work.”

“And be on the look out for those awful gangsters poppet. The Peaky Blinders have been seen milling about town, and you know that God forsaken Solomons has his disgusting paws on every corner of the city.” Your father grunted out still drinking his morning tea.

You felt the tips of your ears warming. You hated to lie. You were so bad at it. “Of course papa. I’ll be careful, I love you! I might be home late, I’ll send Eli to alert you.”

You kissed them both and made your way down the street. Excited for a new start, and for what the day may hold.

It’s interesting how Alfie insisted on being at the office at 8, yet still had not shown up by 8:20. Thankfully Ollie had given you a tour of the distillery, shown you your desk (situated right in front of Alfie’s door) and given you the times of the meetings today. You had taken the liberty of starting up some tea on the small stove by your desk, and clearing out some of the crumpled paper strewn out across the floor. ‘Honestly for such a tyrant he really keeps this office unruly.’

You hear your name bellowed from outside the office, and you run out quickly. There you see Alfie, smiling at you. “Shalom my little viper! So you weren’t bluffing were you? Glad to see you aren’t as cowardly as Eli.”

You crossed your arms and you felt your mouth firm, “Shalom Alfie. You are late this morning and I have to talk to you about todays schedule. Ollie had to show me around the distillery and he informed me that you have 5 meetings today, FIVE! One of them is set to start in 20 minutes, and -.”

“Now now treacle hold your tongue, be sweet to me yeah? My back. Let get to work yeah?”

It was only then that you noticed the cane he was clutching. You immediately felt your chest become heavy, and guilt override. “Oh..Alfie I’m so sorry I didn’t know I-“

“Hush now pet don’t even begin to fuss. It’s just my back yeah?”

“What are you taking for it?”

Alfred just scoffed and rolled his eyes walking away from you and into his office.

“Mr. Solomons what are you doing to help your back!?”

“Be quiet woman! You want the whole town to know that Solomons’ got a bad back? Hush damnit! Now what is on the calendar? Who am I meeting with?”

“Well you have a Mr. Abrams coming in at 8:40. A Mr. Clochester at 10. Rabbi Rubin at 12. And a Mr. Shelby at 4. But you’re not seeing anyone until you-“

“Till I what huh? Till I what? Are you my mother? No! Now hush! Ollie! Get this woman a notepad now! Treacle sit there on that coach and be quiet!”

You just stared at Alfie, and you couldn’t help but feel shame and embarrassment. And Alfie was faring no better. He could see hints of tears threatening to spill, but your chin set firm, fists clenched. Alfie wanted grab you in his arms and… tell you he was sorry, but…

“Aw fuck… treacle… no you’re right. Treacle come please. What do you think?”

“Think about what Mr. Solomons?”

“Nah fuck that I told you Alfie. Tell me what you think I should do about these meetings and my damn back.”

"No not at all Alfie. If you don't need anything for the pain in your back then you don't. I'm just a woman right?

"Well now you're acting like a fucking child."

"Of course Alfie. Whatever you say Alfie."

You closed your ears off to what he was barking at you. Fine. If he wanted to suffer, he could suffer. It was far too early to fight with such a stubborn...beast of a man. And besides, you had things to attend to.

Despite the tiff this morning, the day went by smoothly. As smoothly as it can be in the distillery you supposed. Mr. Abrams left the room with a black eye and tears, promising he would never lie to Alfie again. Mr Colchester left more bloody than he came in. Rabbi Rubin was a delight, complimenting the tea you made, and scolded Alfie for not coming to temple recently.

Throughout the day, you could slowly but steadily see the stiffness working it's way up Alfie's spine. Though it didn't quite deter him from inflicting pain and vengeance on those who came in, you kept your eye in careful study. The small twitches of his eye. The rougher grunts when he got up from his seat, and the heavier footsteps as he walked around. You also noticed that he hadn't eaten all day, and when you asked about it he merely mumbled, "mmnot hungry''. But based on the way he quickly avoided your gaze when you caught him staring and the loud grumbling you heard at 3, you figured his resolve would have to melt soon.

At 3:45 you were at your desk, drafting out some letters Alfie had requested. It was while you were in deep focus, chewing on the tip of your thumb when you heard a soft cough.

Your head snapped up, and you were met with the iciest eyes you had ever set your eyes on.

Pretty.

That's the only thing you could think as you looked at the man in front of your desk. Clean shaven. Well dressed. The smell of tobacco and soap and...something secretive radiating off of him. You internally shook yourself out of you consideration of the man to finally say, "Good Afternoon sir, how can I help you?"

He smiled, in a soft way though you felt a rush in your chest, "My name is Thomas Shelby, I have a meeting with Mr. Solomons."

Oh. This is Thomas Shelby. Leader of THE Shelbys. "Oh yes Mr. Shelby I've been expecting you. You are a bit early, so if you could please sit. Can I offer some tea?"

He nodded, turning to the soft couch across from your desk, "Tea would be lovely, thank you love."

After serving him tea, you went back to work at your desk till the clock struck 4. At least you tried to. You felt those eyes all over you. You felt as though every muscle movement was being scrutinized. "Since when did Alfie get a secretary?"

"Today is my first day, he hired me yesterday."

Thomas hummed in understanding, looking out the window to your left, admiring the soft rain. "If I may be so bold, could I ask your name? I don't like not knowing who gave me tea."

You gave your name, looking directly into his eyes. He repeated it back, as if he was feeling out every consonant on his lips. Even though it was an innocent enough question, you couldn't shake the feeling that you needed to be on the offensive. As if he wanted something. "Where did he find you? You're far too pretty to be working for someone like Alfie."

"I found him. And I can assure you Mr. Shelby that my face had nothing to do with my hiring."

"As you wish darling."

As soon as he said it, you heard your name being called from inside Alfie's office. You quickly got up to meet him, and felt those eyes all over you.

Alfie looked horrible. His hair was sticking up in all directions, his vest and shirt were both half done, and he was scribbling away on some paper, "Oi, is that bastard here yet?"

"Mr. Shelby? Yes, he is sitting down waiting for you. I've just given him tea."

His head rose from his hands, and his thick brows were furrowed together, "The fuck did you give him tea for? He doesn't need tea, no he doesn't deserve tea!"

"Alfie you can have tea too if you ask me."

"No no no already told you I don't want tea. I don't want lunch. I don't want your help beyond taking the notes. I am a grown man damnit! Now for fucks sake, bring that damn bastard in here, sit on the couch, take the notes, and hush your mouth!"

He was teetering. This wasn't just being a gangster. This was a child who was fighting to take a nap. He was going to snap soon. So you just smiled cheekily, "Of course Alfie. I'll be right back."

You nearly skipped to the door. Alfie was growing increasingly frustrated, "AND TAKE AWAY THAT FUCKING CUP. NO ONE GETS TEA."

You did take the tea cup away from Mr. Shelby , and ushered him in, settling yourself down on your seat with your pad and pencil.

As Mr. Shelby settled in, he smiled and looked at Alfie, who was looking more and more disgruntled, "Good Afternoon Alfie. You look well."

"Fuck off Tommy. What do you want?"

"Yes the weather is quite dreary, but I am doing well thank you. But yes let's get down to it. Alfie...are you familiar with gaming clubs?"

In your opinion, this meeting should have taken 30 minutes at most. But you were going on hour 3 at this point. 7 o'clock and you were growing tired. You know Eli had already gone home to tell your parents you were held up. This was becoming ridiculous.

The idea was interesting enough. Gaming clubs have been an up and coming social house for the high society. Men (and their women) would gather in clandestine areas, playing cards, placing bets, drinking, doing snow, all types of things. But the real trade was information. Yes their main products would be successful in such places, but the information that would be dripping from loose lips would bring more power than they could get now. More than they could get in decades.

The only thing they disagreed on was the split ownership. Alfie offered a 90/10 split. And when Tommy refused Alfie was quick to pull his gun. And maybe you should have been afraid, but frankly you were too irritated with Alfie to care, or to believe this petulant act he was putting up. Your pad was almost filled with doodles, crossed out numbers and terms when they finally shook on it, you would write up the agreement in the morning.

As Tommy stood to leave so did you, and when he took your hand to shake it, he raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss and giving a wink. Your eyes widened at his boldness. He smirked at your response, turning to Alfie again, "Love the new secretary Alfie. Definitely brightens up the place."

He turned back to you and tipped his hat to you, "See you soon darling."

Tommy sauntered out of the door, and Alfie stayed standing until the door closed and he heard his steps fade. It was then that Alfie nearly collapsed into his chair, hands rubbing his face, "Treacle come here."

You came and sat right back in the chair Tommy Shelby just occupied, "You want me to reread the agreement to you?"

"Nah I trust you got it. Just write it up tomorrow. But listen to me yeah? You do not go near Thomas Shelby. I know the young girls tend to fancy him but listen to me... that man is evil. He is not safe. And I don't want you caught up in his nonsense."

"He's evil yet you're doing business with him."

"I'm a bad man darling, but that doesn't mean you need to get wrapped up in it. Just say that you won't fratrenize with him alright? Or do you need to fight with me about this as well?"

You nodded, "I understand."

You just stared at him, waiting for him to dismiss you when you heard his stomach growl again, and his face twitch in pain, hand rushing to his back. "Are you ready to admit defeat Alfie?"

He scowled at you, "I don't know what you're talking about. Go home it's late, you don't need to stay."

You smiled, "If it's already late no difference is made at this point. But I'm not about to let my boss go home hungry and in pain... or go home without saying I was right."

He puffed out his lip, "There's nothing to eat here anyway."

"I brought you lunch. Beef, roasted veg, and bread."

He looked at you quizzicaly before you said, "Eli told me that Ollie told him that you haven't been eating recently. I just took upon myself to bring you something. There's also a muffin, but you will have to share."

You heard him say something about mutiny, but then told you to go fetch the lunch you brought him. You only brought enough for one lunch for him, but he ended up insisting you share with him, since, "You haven't eaten supper. It's not right."

Eventually, once his stomach was warm with a good meal, you got him to let you tend to his back. "What are you going to do hmm? Give me a strange draught your grandmother taught you that will make me vomit for three days?"

You laughed brightly, and he couldn't help but smile and stare at the way you threw your head back and laughed loudly. Deep in his chest he hoped that you would let him make you laugh like that forever.

"No you ridiculous man. My father was in the war, and he got shot in the shoulder. He lived thankfully, but he feels a deep pain like you do. The muscle tightens and he can't move. We get a hot rag, place it on his shoulder, and my mother needs to work out the pain."

Alfie felt a flush on his neck, "Well that would require me to take my shirt off darling."

You rolled your eyes, "For a gangster you act like a child. I won't tell if you won't Alfie. Now will you cooperate?"

In truth you hadn't thought that far into it. But it was pitiful to see him like this, and you can definitely be professional about this. Alfie shrugged and pulled off his vest and shirt, and you couldn't help but feel the heat rise, and not just from the hot rag in your hand.

You knew he was imposing, it was hard not to see him and hear him. But seeing the breadth of his shoulders, the width of his body and the hair on his chest made your cheeks heat up and your face freeze. Alfie caught your stare, smirking, "Now who's acting like a child?"

You rolled your eyes, and placed the rag on his lower back, hearing him hiss and try to relax into the heat. You began to work the knots out of his back when he asked, "Do your roommates know where you are?"

"My roommates are my parents, Eli, his parents, my little sister, my younger brother, and our grandparents. And they know that I am at work, helping my boss finish a business meeting. Eli told them."

Alfie nodded, "Do they... know where you work?"

You smiled, "They know that my boss is a respectable jewish man, who owns a large bakery that employs many many men, and that I get my own desk."

He snorted, "So you lied to them?"

"Not lie. Just...reframed it for them. Shall I tell my mother that I am the secretary of the fearsome Alfred Solomons? Or should I tell my father that I directly disobeyed his orders to stay away from Solomons boys, and went directly to the top?"

He laughed, "Alright now alright... so why this office? Educated girl like you can't work anywhere else? Unlikely, seems like you like being rebellious to me."

"Well... if you can believe it Mr. Solomons... my back talk does not do me many favors. Truthfully... Eli brought me here because you were my last chance at independence. It was either your office, or I would have to visit the matchmaker."

A silence washed over you, and you began to worry that you shared too much. "Well... I like that you speak your mind. Even if it drives me fucking nuts. Never give it up darling. You stay just the way you are alright?"

You smiled softly to yourself, "Yes Alfie."

A comfortable silence took its' place, and you eventually were able to work out all the knots from his back. You began to pack up your bag, and as Alfie redressed himself he asked, "Is Eli coming to pick you up?"

"No I don't think so. He is probably having to help with the tailoring, and he won't be able to step away. I'll be ok."

"Fuck no. You're a woman, you don't walk alone at this time at night, especially not here. I'm taking you home."

"You don't think women are capable of taking care of themselves?"

"No I know you could hold your own darling, but it is cold and I am not about to let you get hurt on my watch. Come we'll take the car."

The drive to your house was comfortable. You couldn't understand it. You had only met Alfie yesterday. And yet you felt as though you had known him for years. As if you never knew life without him. The whole ride you talked. From business for tomorrow, his childhood, his dog, your interests and what your opinions were on the business. You laughed and spoke the entire time, and it felt like no time passed. The car pulled up right to your door, and Alfie walked to your door to open it for you and help you out, "Alright watch your step treacle, still wet from the rain yeah? There you go darling."

You took his hand, and your breath hitched at the contact, his warm and rough hand covering yours. You looked up into his eyes, face partially obscured by his hat, "Thank you Alfie. You didn't have to."

"Of course I did. And it was no trouble. If you are kept in the office till dark, I drive you home yeah?"

You nodded with a smile, and he shook his head in affirmation, "It's a deal then. Now get inside you little viper, you'll catch a cold."

You began to walk to the door, turning around to say, "Goodnight Alfie."

He smiled, "Goodnight darling."

As you walked up the stairs to the home of your family, you couldn't help but run through the day in your head. Especially the end of it, smiling to yourself and feeling the rush in your stomach. You opened the door as quietly as you could, but heard you mother say, "Who was that in the car dear?"

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

Zoro with a S/O who gets period cramps would probably be him yeeting them to Chopper and then come nap with you (because he gets good boyfriend points by taking a nap, what more could he ask for?) BUT what if he was being a real asshole? This is my brain rot. (because I have quite a few Zoro requests so he's on my mind :3)

afab!reader since it's period cramps, but NO PRONOUNS ARE USED so it's fairly gender neutral (like me lol).

TW's: period cramp pain, taking pain medicine, ooc Zoro, Zoro being an asshole

🍶 wc: 2k

I wanted it noted I'm a slut for Nami calling her friends "Honey" or "Darling" platonically when calming them down.

“Go fuck yourself, Roronoa”

Anger flooded your body, burning hot alongside the pain ravaging your lower abdomen and back. You glared harshly at your boyfriend, then flinched and held back a groan at the new wave of pain. You were shaking and trying not to cry, especially now that he pissed you off beyond belief.

“Hah? I don’t know why I pissed you off. Cmon it’s not that bad. My lover isn’t weak, now stop being dramatic. You’re interrupting my nap”

You couldn’t even fathom a retort, curled in a ball and unable to stand upright. And now you were stuck here. In the crows nest. With a boyfriend that has thoroughly pissed you off beyond belief.

You managed to crawl to the crows nest balcony, the effort making your breath heavier. You knew these cramps weren’t going to ease up without something to help, either heat or medicine, and neither were present in your current situation.

You used the last of your strength to SLAM the door shut behind you, curling up on the warm wood. Tears made their way over your face, and you held back a moan of pain.

“Shit”

You had to get down somehow. Maybe Luffy? No it’d be best to get chopper up here. Another wave of pain interrupted your train of thought, and you clenched your jaw. Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as your entire body tensed against the pain. It felt like someone was taking a spoon and carving out your uterine lining.

Slowly, you began to forcibly relax your muscles, keeping your breathing at a steady, short pace. Your eyes opened, and you sniffed. It still hurt, but Zoro was right. His lover wasn’t weak. Couldn’t be.

But he had pissed you off, and you knew just how to annoy him.

“SANJI?! CAN YOU COME HERE REAL QUICK?!” You called. You knew Zoro heard. The whole ship probably did. Soon enough, you heard Sanji enter the crows nest, bicker briefly with Zoro before you whined for him again.

“Yes you- shit are you okay?? Let’s get you to Chopper!” He picked you up easily bridal style, and you groaned as the new angle sent pain ricocheting through your abdomen. You gripped his coat, tears springing to your eyes as the pain sharpened. Your whole body tensed, and you hardly noticed Zoro’s call of your name as Sanji quickly descended.

Sanji kicked open the infirmary door, startling the poor reindeer. He quickly switched to doctor mode when he saw you cradled in the cooks arms, obviously in pain.

“What’s wrong?”

Sanji laid your gently on the bed, and you immediately curled back into a ball.

“Period cramps. Gimme medicine and heat- fuck- please!” You gasped. You breathed out, the cramp subsiding to a manageable level. Sanji immediately left, likely to heat some water for you. Chopper rummaged in his cabinets for medicine. Your cramp flared again, and you tossed your head back and arched your back before curling back into yourself.

“Here. Take this” chopper said by your head. You opened your eyes, and saw him handing you a large pill and a glass of water. You shakily uncurled yourself and managed to down the pill, collapsing with a groan back on the bed. Sanji appeared, a hot water pad in his hand. He put it by your head before leaving again. Chopper moved the water pad to your lower abdomen and you grunted out a thanks.

The door to the eating area opened again, with Sanji reappearing with a plate in hand.

“Robin and Nami said chocolate and salty snacks are the typical cravings. I also have coffee brewing to help widen the blood vessels or something. Unless you’d rather have tea?”

You shook your head, trying not to let tears escape as you huffed out your words.

“Thanks Sanji. Coffee is good. I’m sorry for bothering you two. Should be stronger”

“It’s no bother! Human menstrual cramps can be as painful as a heart attack” Chopper informed, smoothing a stray piece of hair back from your forehead. You missed Sanji blanch.

“A HEART ATTACK?!”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, before your cramp got worse with the movement.

“I knew they hurt but I didn’t know they could be that bad! Are you okay?” Sanji fretted. He hovered over you, as if he couldn't tell if he should touch you or not. He finally offered his hand to squeeze, and you gladly took it. You smiled a little before flinching as another wave of pain twisted your innards, and you gripped his fingers in a vice.

"Obviously fuckin- shit- not. But at least you recognize they hurt" you spat, the venom in your voice directed at your boyfriend.

"... did that Marimo not believe you?" the blonde asked. You nodded, unable to voice your answer as you shook and blinked back tears. Chopper rubbed your shoulder.

"I can't believe he would treat you like that! I thought he was in love with you, but he's an absolute idiot if he's saying that" Sanji grumbled. He continued muttering colorful phrases under his breath. Chopper blinked at him, but focused back on you as you hissed in breath through your teeth, easing yourself back into the moment as your pain temporarily subsided.

"Sanji. Can you please call Nami in here? I can't quite walk yet" you said breathlessly. Damn these cramps. You groaned and let go of his fingers, seeing the imprint of your grip on the pale skin.

"Sorry" you muttered, looking at his hand as the blood flowed back.

Sanji blinked at you, following your gaze.

"Oh! Don't be! I'll go get Nami" he ran out of the room, leaving you in blissful silence with Chopper. A few minutes later, the door opened again, bringing the scent of a freshly peeled tangerine with it. You opened your eyes, gaze falling on Nami sitting by your bed. She placed a peeled tangerine on the plate Sanji had left for you. You smiled at the gesture before flinching again.

"So. Cramps?" she asked gently. You nodded. She put a warm hand on your lower back, massaging gently. You moaned at the soothing action. Tears sprung to your eyes as you thought back to how dismissive Zoro was of your pain. You feel like you should be stronger, like you should be able to handle this pain. You're dating the man who's going to become the world's greatest swordsman, who also happens to have an incredibly high pain tolerance.

"I should be stronger" you mumbled into the pillow. Nami's hand paused briefly before continuing.

"Why do you say that?"

You looked at her, eyes filled with tears from both the pain and how useless you felt.

"Zoro..." you looked down again, too ashamed to continue talking while looking into her concerned stare.

"What about him?" she urged. You sighed, unclenching your muscles as the pain faded for a moment.

"He... He said that it couldn't be nearly as bad as what he had to face in the past, and when I got mad, he didn't see why I would be, and to stop being dramatic, and that his 'love' wouldn't be so weak" you said quietly.

"Oh honey, Zoro has nothing to do with the pain you know you have. He can't feel the pain for you, and he's being a total ass about this. Here. Chocolate?" she offered a piece of the sweet treat by raising it to your mouth. You shook your head, throat burning from holding back tears and a groan as your cramp started up again. She shrugged, and popped it in her own mouth.

"Listen, stay here and take a nap. Luffy and Usopp are fishing, so they should be quiet for a little. The medicine should start kicking in soon. Okay? And it's okay to cry from the pain. It really hurts sometimes" she said quietly. You nodded, finally letting the tears fall. You heard Chopper rummaging around briefly before Nami dried your tears with a tissue.

"Get some rest, okay? I'll leave you with Chopper. And don't hesitate to ask Sanji for anything. He may be a perv, but he makes a mean chocolate cake."

You nodded, little sounds leaving you as you let yourself cry. Chopper took Nami's seat, his now human hand rubbing the same circles Nami had traced. You let his soothing touch comfort you, falling into a light sleep as the medicine began to ease your pain.

--

You finally jolted awake as you heard a loud screech and a thump from the deck, calming quickly when you heard Luffy's distant cackling and Chopper's yelling. You moaned, rolling over from facing the wall to turn your attention to the room. Your gaze landed on a steaming cup of coffee, and you inhaled the rich aroma. Sanji is an absolute blessing of a man. You sat up and plucked a piece of chocolate off the snack plate and let it melt in your mouth as you sipped the drink. You hummed in satisfaction, sipping the coffee again. You placed it back down.

"Better?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin, a short yelp echoing through the room. Your eyes finally landed on your boyfriend, leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the room.

"Motherfucker! Don't scare me like that!" you snapped, breath heaving. Your hand clenched your shirt over your heart. Zoro didn't respond- just stared at you with his brows furrowed. You sighed, still thoroughly pissed off at him.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you right now. Not while I'm weak" you spat, knowing the words would hurt. He flinched a little.

"You don't have to talk, but I'm not going anywhere" he said determinedly. You glared at him, but he ignored you as he took a seat next to your bed, and handed you your drink. You took it, but only because it was some damn good coffee.

"Nami gave me a lecture" he started. You snorted.

"Yeah?"

He glanced at you.

"I didn't know... no. I was being a total asshole. I shouldn't have told you those things."

You looked at him. What the hell did Nami do?

"Do I even want to know what Nami did?" you asked. Zoro grimaced.

"Between her, Robin, and Chopper's medical books, you really probably don't."

You couldn't help the evil chuckle that escaped you.

"So? Learn anything?"

Zoro sat forward, grabbing one of your hands gently, tracing circles on the back of your hand. You looked at him in surprise.

"I was so, so wrong. And I'm sorry. Trust me when I say that witch made sure I knew how much of an ass I was being. God. It feels like it's being scraped out? Or like something is twisted around? It can hurt as much as a heart attack?"

You stared at him in shock. He was never like this.

"I mean... that's a little exaggerated but sure" you said, shrugging.

"Every month!?"

You shrugged again, sipping your coffee.

"Give or take, yeah. Some cycles it isn't as bad. but 's why Sanji spoils the girls when they ask for certain things."

Zoro's forehead thudded on the mattress by your thigh as he groaned.

"Let me make it up to you."

It suddenly hit you that he was bowing. Bowing. To you.

"Woah, hey. Sit up!"

He raised himself enough to look at you. You pushed his shoulders so he was finally sitting upright.

"Look. I'm still fucking pissed that you said that, alright? But you didn't know, and now you do. I'll let you make it up to me. Did Nami and Robin tell you at all what you should do?"

He grunted with a nod. You smiled, putting your coffee down as you held out your arms for a hug.

"C'mere then. I want my back and shoulders rubbed" you said cheekily. He muttered something under his breath, and gently smacked away your arms so he could wrap you in his embrace. You smiled, face squished against his pecs. If this is how he treated you every month now... you giggled. I could get used to this.

[werrmu]

Hot tradition with a cold boy.

warning: without a plot, mistakes because english is not my native language, not quite canon because i never figured out what his personality is, but i really want to kiss him

also one ithaqua once in a match pinned me in the wall and did not let me pass for almost 3 MINUTES while my teammates were standing in the basement;

His hands are everywhere. In your hair, held by the waist, even if it is not necessary, on your hips, pressing circles into the soft skin, intertwined with your palms. Everything he can grab onto while his lips greedily dig into yours, not giving you a chance to take a breath or at least calm your heart after a hard chase.

He is demanding, moves his lips, bites, his tongue is always the first to slide between your lips, slowly and without words forcing you to open your mouth, letting him in. He knows what he's doing and he knows you like it. Even if his own cheeks are burning with embarrassment, and his body is languishing from an unknown feeling, he always does it so skillfully with you, making your breath come off in a couple of seconds, and your legs tremble.

This tradition came to you by chance and completely unexpectedly. That day you had almost finished the last cipher when all the sounds of the chase died down, leaving you alone with the buzzing of the typewriter. The difficult match against the new hunter was coming to an end, because there was only one cipher left, which you were just working on. Your hands were typing rapidly, typing the sequence, hardly noticing anything around, until your body suddenly shuddered from the cold and the frosty wind pulled you to the hunter, leaving almost no chance to grab something, at the same second forcing you to suffocate from your own hair and pain when the icy blade of the ice drill plunges into your flesh, knocking you down.

What the hell your teammates were doing at that time and where the fuck they are when you need them so badly is unknown, but you knew that you were finished. This is the third time you've become chairman, the third time you've screwed up again. A quiet, almost girly giggle of a hunter - and here you are in the air, limply and pitifully waiting for your exclusion from the match, when suddenly instead of a chair you find yourself on a dirty cot, firmly pressing your ass to its dusty, rusty surface. His weapon rings loudly in your ear as Ithaqua leans on it, squeezing his hips between your legs, unnaturally hunched to be at the level of your face. The hunter's sky-blue eyes eagerly dig into yours, intently watching the reaction, while his fingers nervously draw circles on your skin. Excited? Why?

— You're too angry, you don't let me chase you, you constantly run away to these incomprehensible things, not letting us be alone. - Boy dramatically sighs, pouting his lips, but the mask and thick fur on his hood carefully suppresses any sounds, turning everything into a rustle when you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and fear is changed by misunderstanding. — It's my turn to play!

You open your mouth to object, or at least to clarify what he means at all, as his hands brazenly rest against you, almost bending over with his whole body to briefly kiss you on the cheek, and poking the sharp edge of his half-hidden mask right into your nose and eye, demonstrating this strange affection. which came from him out of nowhere. Your confusion and inaction seem to give him a reason and permission to act further when the guy's dry lips are completely chaotically showering your face with kisses, completely childish and almost cute, but only until he gets to your lips with burning eyes, turning this situation into something that you share in each match strictly with the priming machine.

Someday your comrades will guess why after every match with the Night Watch it is you who get the MVP, and not them, regardless of what they did in this match, but let's hope not now.