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froggiewrites · 5 months ago

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Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You spend the night crying into your drinks about how much you want Sanji, and how much it hurts he's in love with someone else. Sanji spends the night crying about much the same. Your friends get sick of it, and decide to help the idiots realize what everyone else already knows. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Misunderstandings, Sanji and Reader both being idiots Word Count: 4.1k

You are going to get drunk tonight. Plastered, even.

Another day, another victory, another adventure spent staring longingly at Sanji when you were sure he wasn’t looking. You could usually handle the embarrassment of acting like a lovesick puppy for a man you knew didn’t feel the same, but something about today really set you off. Maybe it was the way he so sweetly called Nami’s name when you all reunited, or the way he so carefully prepared Robin her favorite drinks, or some other transgression you can’t quite remember. You don’t know exactly what it was, but you know you’re irritated and hurt and a little heartbroken, and there’s about a half a dozen drinks with your name on them behind the bar.

The tavern is lively and loud, and the rest of the crew is clearly having a good time. Your eyes briefly linger on Sanji at the bar, but you try to force your eyes away. No point in lingering here, yearning for something you can’t have. You instead make your way to the back of the room, wedging yourself between Zoro and Robin, who seem to be drinking in silence together.

You had intended on sharing in the peaceful silence, broken only by some quiet comments and gentle chuckles, but three drinks in you can see them side-eyeing you, brows furrowed.

“What?” Your voice comes out harsher than you meant it to, but you’re a bit too drunk to care.

“Just surprised you’re drinking so much, is all. You normally pace yourself more than this.” Robin’s voice is quiet and controlled, as though she’s just making a passive observation, but you know your friends and you know she is deeply worried about you.

“I had a bad day.”

“Really? You seemed fine earlier.” Zoro sounds genuinely surprised. Robin shoots him a look you can’t read, and he quickly shuts his mouth.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain someone?” Her voice is kind, so kind, but it makes you clench your jaw anyway.

“No.”

Silence.

“Maybe.”

Zoro mutters, “Oh, god damnit,” before taking another stiff pull of his drink.

“What happened, exactly? You both seemed perfectly friendly this morning.”

“I don’t…know. Everything was fine until it wasn’t, and now I’m all twisted into knots and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Well maybe you can start by telling us how you feel, and we can try to help you unravel all of this.”

“We?”

You both ignore Zoro’s confusion and indignation. “Maybe…if you think it will help.” You close your eyes, grounding yourself, and focusing wholly inward. “I just think I’m…tired of wanting things I can’t have. It’s really hard to be on a ship full of people living their dreams, fighting for everything they desire, and I’m here, feeling like I have to constantly hold so tight I feel like my fingers will break or else it’ll all slip through my fingers.”

“And do you feel like you’re holding onto Sanji?”

“Not just him, I guess. To everything. To all of you. But I’m trying to let myself believe that all of this is what I want, and that it’s going to be forever, and then I see him smile at someone else and the illusion just…shatters. I’m not happy. And I know damn well it won’t last forever. I feel like I’m stuck waiting for an inevitable ending that I’ll never be satisfied with. Right now, I’m in limbo, and I can keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt, but every time I think about how hopeless I feel with him it kind of reminds me of how hopeless it all is.”

You put your head in your hands for a moment, taking a deep breath. “And it’s not only about him, right? It’s just kind of a general dissatisfaction with where I am compared to you guys. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t more about Sanji than it isn’t. He’s both, like, a symbol of it and the source of it. He’s the thing I want most, and he’s the thing I know I’m never going to have.”

“Why do you think you’ll never have him?”

“Because he’s in love with Nami.” You say it like it’s obvious.

Zoro is glaring at his drink, still wondering how he got roped into this conversation and praying you stop, while Robin gives you a gentle look resembling sympathy. There's something behind her eyes though, something you can't read, that makes you feel a bit uneasy.

"It's one thing, to have your love unrequited. For the man you're in love with to be hopelessly smitten with someone else. But god, it's another for him to be right."

"Right?" Robin's voice doesn't betray anything as she keeps her tone to a careful academic neutrality.

"It's just...she is that wonderful. I can't be upset about it because I can't blame either of them. She's beautiful and kind and capable and he's...well. He's everything. It just makes sense. It's somehow harder not to be bitter because I really don't have anything to be bitter about, if that makes sense."

"It would make sense if anything you said was true." Zoro's voice is gruff, and you look to him in surprise, only to find his expression mirroring your own, as though he can't believe he opened his mouth. "He sucks, and she's great and all but she's no angel. And they aren't in love anyway so I don't understand what the problem even is." You think he's trying to help. Sweet, if ineffective.

"He's in love with her. He has been since the day they met. You know that, you were there."

"That isn't love. He's just a horny idiot."

"He's not an idiot." You hate how defensive your tone gets, how pathetic it makes you feel. You hate even more that Zoro and Robin both look at you with undisguised pity.

"I think what Zoro is trying to say is that you seem to think his feelings for Nami go a lot deeper than they do. They're just friends. He just speaks to all women like that."

"Not me."

You all hate the silence that follows.

"He hits on you too." Zoro's voice is a little weaker than before, knowing his argument isn't exactly rock solid. He's kind to you, complimentary, but he's never rushed into battle alone to save you. He's never ridden in on a blazing white steed for you, not like he has Robin or Nami. And sure, you've never been kidnapped like them, but it's hard not to feel the difference when Mr Prince himself has never played his part with you. He's kind to you, so very kind, but he's kind to everyone. That's just who he is.

“You know it isn’t the same, Zoro. It’s always Nami first. It always has been. He talks to me the same way he would any woman. Less than that, even.” You start tearing up despite yourself, and you hope your friends will blame your fragility on your drink and not your tender heart. “He just…he doesn’t look at me like that. He doesn’t fall at my feet, and it’s not like I want him to but…” You break into a quiet sob, and Robin’s hand comes to your shoulder, rubbing calming circles there.

Zoro leans in a bit, clearly a little uncomfortable but worried and kind nonetheless. “That stupid cook cares about you a lot more than any stranger on the street, and I think you know that. He’s just an idiot.” You look up at him, confused, and Zoro tries not to let out an annoyed sigh at your obliviousness. It isn’t entirely your fault. Who could blame you for thinking what you did? It’s not like Sanji helped with that. He didn’t give you the dramatic love confessions he did Nami or Robin. Nami had asked him once why he sang your praises differently than he did theirs, and he had insisted that he would give you only the grandest speeches, once he had prepared words worthy of you. The rest of the crew quickly figured out what he really meant: he was too nervous to say such a thing when he really meant it. He would instead tuck his love into the food and drinks he served you, into the jacket he placed over your shoulders when you were cold, into the gentle smiles he gave you when you weren’t looking. Everyone had agreed not to push him before he was ready, to let you both find your way to each other naturally, but it was becoming apparent this was the wrong move.

You keep crying into your glass, and Zoro sighs. You’re both ridiculous. What a pair.

Across the bar, Usopp lets out his fiftieth sigh of the night. He has no idea how he got roped into this. Sanji is somewhere between sorrow and rage, buried in a pile of empty glasses that reek of beer. He's been going on for at least fifteen minutes now, and if Usopp had even slightly less of a conscience he'd leave him here to wallow, considering his problem is entirely self-inflicted. But unfortunately, Usopp is a great friend, so instead he bravely sits on this barstool, a listening ear to make sure Sanji's drowning his troubles doesn't end in Sanji himself drowning after he stumbles his way home alone.

"It's not right." Sanji's voice is shaky with emotion, even with his words slurred.

Usopp sighs, pretending he hasn't heard this exact line of conversation three times tonight. "What's not right, buddy?"

"He doesn't...he doesn't deserve her. He isn't good enough for her. That stupid swordsman...what does she see in him?" He takes another swig of his drink, letting out a deep sigh and dropping his shoulders. "He's just...he's not even nice to her. Not like he should be."

"He's being nice to her right now." Usopp motions over to where you're having your own pity party, one Zoro seems to have become an unwilling guest of. Robin is patting your shoulder in sympathy, while Zoro leans closer to say something to you, care and concern obvious on his face to those who knew him.

"But he should worship her. Everyone should. She's...she's..." Sanji drunkenly trails off.

"An angel?"

"A goddess." Despite the glaze over his eyes, his conviction shines though, granting him a focus he hasn't had all night as he gazes at her. "Someone to be cherished, protected, adored. He doesn't adore her. He should be on his knees right now begging for her attention, and he's just...talking to her. Like he would anybody."

"Probably because they're friends."

"But look at her. She clearly wants more than that. She should get whatever she wants. On a silver platter." Sanji really emphasizes that last part, lips pouting and brow tightening. Usopp looks over again to see you about to cry into your drink, leaning further into Robin. You aren't even looking at Zoro right now, but Sanji is still burning with envy. Usopp would love to set him straight, tell him that anyone with eyes could see who's attention you really wanted, but he knows you'd kill him, and he quite likes being alive. Sanji's so filled with malice and self loathing right now that he probably wouldn't even believe him, anyway. For a man so delusional about love, he somehow can’t see it when it’s right in front of him.

“I think you’re a little lost here, Sanji. She’s not in love with Zoro. She’s just drunk and sad. Reminds me of someone else I know.” He keeps that last part under his breath, and Sanji is drunk enough not to have heard it. Instead he frowns, taking another swig of his drink before trying to stand and falling directly into the counter. Your head pops up across the room, eyes wide and concerned, ready to leap to Sanji’s rescue. It’s amazing how blind that man must be to not see how obsessed with him you are. Usopp waves you off before hooking his hands under Sanji’s armpits and hauling him up. “Time to go, loverboy. You’ve had enough.”

“But she needs me!” Sanji struggles, but he’s so drunk he can’t properly utilize his strength. Lucky, or he’d already be halfway across the room to make an ass of himself. Usopp notices a small trickle of blood on his forehead from where he made contact with the bar.

“She’s fine, I promise. But you need to take a trip to see Chopper.”

“I need to help her! I can’t leave a lady in distress!”

“The lady will be in a lot more distress if she sees you’re hurt, Sanji! So get moving!” Usopp starts dragging him unceremoniously from the tavern, praying Franky will still be awake when he gets back to the ship to help him maneuver Sanji into his cot. Sanji passes out about halfway back to the Sunny, mercifully. Usopp hopes Robin and Zoro are having a better time with their other drunken crewmate.

You wake up with a pounding headache and the worst case of dry-mouth you’ve ever experienced. Your eyes just barely crack open, letting in a blinding ray of light, and you let out a small groan of pain. There’s a large glass of water by your bedside and some pills, as well as a small note from Chopper telling you to meet him in the infirmary once you feel up to walking. You chug the water and take your medicine gladly, touched by the sweet gesture. Your crew takes such good care of you.

It takes a while for the medicine to kick in enough for the light to stop hurting, but eventually you’re able to stand. You can’t remember the latter half of last night, your last memory being Sanji slamming his head into the counter while Robin and Zoro held you back from running to him. Zoro had supplied you with another drink then, and Robin had asked you more probing questions, but you could not for the life of you remember any other specifics. You make your way to Chopper’s infirmary so lost in thought you didn’t notice the mischievous looks in the eyes of your crewmates, the way their gazes subtly followed you as you walked.

“Chopper?” Your voice is still a little hoarse from having cried your heart out last night. You slip through the door, expecting to find your dear doctor ready to fuss over you and scold you for overdoing it last night. Instead you find Sanji face first in a bed, a small bandage wrapped around his head. Before you can ask if he’s alright, or if he knows where Chopper is, you hear it.

Click.

Your eyes widen. Your hand reaches for the doorknob, ready to turn it, and you find it doesn’t budge.

“What the fuck?”

Sanji groans again, slowly and carefully sitting up, before looking over at you. “What are you doing here, darling?” He looks at your hand, up at your expression, then back down to the doorknob. “Why…why is the doorknob backwards?”

Instead of the lock being where it should be, you find the keyhole on the inside of the door. There’s slight scratches around the nails holding it and place, and you realize someone has turned it around. There’s a quiet murmur of voices on the other side of the door, which turns to a yelp when you punch the wood. “What the hell is this?”

“We’re helping!” Nami’s voice rings out confidently from the other side, and you hear a few noises of agreement.

“With what, exactly?” You have a horrible sinking feeling you know exactly what they’re going to say, but you try to push it out of your mind, channeling the relentless optimism of your captain.

“We’re tired of you two being idiots!” Zoro’s voice is annoyed and unfriendly, but after a moment it slightly softens. “Just…talk to each other. Like people. For once in your lives.”

You don’t know why, but something about that makes Sanji’s brow twitch in annoyance. “Let us out, mosshead! I knew you were awful but I can’t believe you’d trap a lady!”

“It wasn’t my goddamn idea! Blame Nami!”

Sanji pauses in his yelling at that, but shockingly enough, he still seems upset instead of instantly kowtowing. He frowns, forehead wrinkling, but doesn’t say anything else.

“We aren’t letting you out until you’ve talked. We’re gonna go so you have privacy, but if you break out we’re putting you right back in, so don’t even think about just kicking down the door!” Nami’s voice is firm and commanding, and you find your shoulders slumping, knowing there’s no real point in fighting her. You’re both hungover, exhausted, and not in any state to continue the conflict. You sigh, making your way to a cot next to Sanji’s. You throw yourself down, the slight bounce you make on landing making you far more nauseous than it had any right to.

“Do you know what they want us to talk about?” Sanji sounds almost nervous, which surprises you. Does he know?

“I…have an idea. Do you?”

“I might.”

You both shift awkwardly in the silence that follows. You fidget with your hands, curling in tighter, anxiety eating at you. This is it. This is the rejection you’ve been waiting for. The final blow to shatter your fragile hopes, to crush your remaining optimism and the wonderful future you’ve allowed yourself to keep dreaming of.

“What do you see in him?” Sanji’s voice is quiet and seeping with vulnerability. His eyes are closed, as though he’s scared to even look at you and get your answer.

“What do I see in who?”

“In that stupid swordsman. Why do you care about him?”

“What?” You blink owlishly.

He finally looks up at you. He blinks back. “What do you mean, what?”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m dating Zoro?”

“Are you…not? Trying to do that?”

“No! God no! I’m–” You barely hold yourself back from saying trying to date you. “I’m not into Zoro like that. Did you think I was?”

“I–um. No?” His dour look turns sheepish, a small bit of red painting his cheeks. Adorable.

“God, Sanji. Zoro is not my type.” You both sit for a moment, before you realize something. “Were you upset because you thought I was into him?”

“He isn’t good enough for you.” He says it so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth. “No one is, but especially not him. You deserve the best, and nothing less.”

Your heart flutters a little, that little thing with feathers worming its way back into you, but you suddenly see Nami’s face in your mind and you crush it. To dream and watch it die is far worse than never dreaming at all. “That’s sweet, Sanji. But you shouldn’t say things like that. You might give someone the wrong idea.”

His head cocks to the side. “What do you mean, wrong idea? You do deserve the best. No one in the world deserves it more than you.”

“What about Nami?”

“Does she not deserve the best? More than I do? More than anyone? Your sweet Nami-swan?” You fail to keep the bitterness out of your tone in that. Not bitterness towards her, of course, or even towards Sanji, really, just a sour taste in your mouth you can’t quite shake.

His brow furrows, lips downturned. “Well she deserves the best too, of course, but why would she deserve it more? Why wouldn’t you deserve everything you want?”

You let out a frustrated growl. “That’s what I want to know! Why not me?” You slam your hand over your mouth. God, he knows, and now he’s going to reject you, so sweetly and kindly, like he does everything, and it’s going to shatter you into a million pieces. You squeeze your eyes shut like blocking out the sight of him will undo what you’ve just done.

You don’t hear him reject you. You don’t even hear him move. You only feel warm hands on your cheeks, and you open your eyes to see Sanji right in front of you, nose to nose, and you can see reflected in his eyes something you might dare to call hope.

“Do you want it to be you?” You hear a longing in his words, see it in his eyes. You have never known Sanji as a man to want, to desire more than what he’s freely given, but in this moment it truly almost seems like he wants you.

You slowly take your hand off of your mouth. Your voice is meek, mouselike, but you force it out anyway. “Would that be okay? If I did?”

“Oh angel, it would be more than okay.” He slides impossibly closer, thighs on either side of yours, torsos pressed together, surrounding you wholly. “It is you. It has always been you. It will always be you. Is that okay?”

You want to answer him in words, something articulate that would move his heart, but instead you let out a soft squeak of surprise before grabbing his cheeks and pulling his lips to yours. They’re chapped, the dehydration from the hangover still plaguing him. He has morning breath. His movements are uncoordinated, unsteady. His goatee scratches your chin. When he opens his mouth, welcoming you further, he tastes like cigarettes and a hint of shitty beer.

It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You end up on your back, Sanji’s weight holding you down, comforting and all-consuming. His hands rest on your hips as yours tangle in his hair. You only pull back when the demand for air is too much, and even then you consider ignoring the scream of your lungs. You both pull back, chests heaving, and Sanji buries his face in your neck.

“I never thought I’d actually get to do this.” He buries his nose further into your neck, his arms sliding underneath you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Neither did I. I kept telling myself to stop dreaming about things I couldn’t have.”

“You’ve had me from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“You’ve had me for just as long.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

You take a strained breath. “I was…I don’t deserve you. And I thought you knew that. And that you were in love with Nami. That didn’t help.”

He pulls back to look you in the eyes, his gaze boring into you. “You thought you didn’t deserve me?” He sounds absolutely baffled at the idea.

“You’re kind, talented, strong, handsome…you’re everything, Sanji. You deserve everything you want. And I didn’t think you wanted me.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before a small chuckle forces its way out of him. “That’s…that’s so ridiculous I genuinely don’t even know where to start.”

He kisses your forehead. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I’m ever going to want.”

He kisses your cheeks. “I have wanted you from the moment we met, and I will want you until the day I die.”

He kisses the tip of your nose. “I have never met anyone more deserving of the world than you. And I’m not going to let anyone say otherwise. Even you. So there.”

You lean up to kiss his forehead in turn. “Well there’s nothing in this world I want more than you. Can I really have you?”

He takes one of your hands and places it over his rapidly beating heart. “You feel that? It’s all yours.” He lifts your other hand and kisses it in a deeply princely gesture that fits him perfectly.

Before you can reciprocate, the door slams open, and you hear Zoro’s disgruntled voice call out. “They’re making out! Can we be done with this now?”

Sanji whips around with even more vitriol than he usually reserves for the swordsman. “Piss off, mosshead. Can’t you see we’re busy?” The quick movement makes him sway slightly, and you’re forced to remember how horribly you’re both doing physically. If he picks a fight with Zoro right now he might end up puking all over his shoes.

“Ignore him, Sanji. We need to get some rest anyway.” You pull his face into your chest, which he gladly collapses fully into. When you run your fingers through his hair, he’s practically purring.

“Anything you say, my love.” His content smile grows wider when he hears your heart quicken at the words. Neither of you say anything else as your friends crowd the room, with their finallys and about times. Nothing in the world matters more than this right now: the feeling of each other’s warmth, the softness of each other’s skin, and the feeling of relief in both of your chests that your hopes were finally allowed to thrive.

#sanji x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #x reader #one piece

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roanofarcc · 6 months ago

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CHASE IT

pairing. javi rivera x reader

summary. Javi has a problem telling you how he feels until he almost loses you.

warnings. angst with a happy ending! slightly inaccurate meteorological info, a curse word or two, descriptions of injuries, reader gets hurt, love confessions! movie scenes will not be shot-for-shot but as close as I can remember.

word count. 2.5k || masterlist

The car ride to El Reno was tense. A tornado was hurling toward a town full of people and Javi had made the decision to follow Kate, Tyler, and the rest of the wranglers to help instead of staying with Storm Par. And as much as you wanted to tell him it was the right choice, you were too stubborn to. It wasn’t because you didn’t agree; you did. You’d been skeptical of the business since you started working for them but you tried, time and time again, to convince yourself that they were helping people. It wasn’t until seeing Kate’s reaction that you snapped back to reality.

You didn’t say anything to Javi because you were still upset with him. The night before you two had gotten into an argument bigger than you ever had. You’d come to the end of your line. For the past couple of years, you’d been stuck in a confusing limbo with him. One minute you were making out in bars and staying up until the early hours of the morning talking, and the next he treated you like a co-worker. He was up and down, hot and cold. You had no idea where you stood, and you had gotten so tired of waiting around for him to finally commit. You started to think he never would.

But heaven forbid you get flirted with by a good-looking stranger at the diner you’d all stopped at for dinner. Javi refused to make a move and he tipped-toed around an answer when you asked him what the two of you were doing. But he didn’t like someone else making the move he wouldn’t do. It wasn’t fair. All you wanted to was to know how he felt, but he couldn’t seem to give you that. So, you two argued, hot and angry. You still felt the thick tension cloud the car, with the added anxiety of the people directly in the storm’s path.

You both stayed silent the whole ride, not speaking until you arrived in a town that was alive with sirens and dangerous winds. You had spotted Kate, and Javi was quick to throw the truck into park. You both rushed out, only to find a frantic Kate trying to lift a heavy piece of debris that trapped Tyler’s foot. Javi grabbed the closest thing he could find, stuck it under the piece of debris and you all lifted it enough for Tyler to yank his foot free. He didn’t look too badly injured, or maybe his body was pumping enough adrenaline to keep him upright.

“We’ve gotta find shelter!” Kate yelled above the whirling winds. The nearest building that people rushed into was an old-looking movie theater down the road. There didn’t look to be many obvious safe places in the dated downtown, but the storm was moving fast, and staying outside only worsened their chance of survival.

None of you had a chance to take off anywhere before a horrible creaking sound echoed above the wind. You spun around just as the town’s water tower started to make its way to the ground. A string of curses left your lips, tumbling out of your mouth as the water tower crashed to the Earth, releasing the water in a rush. You tried to run, but the water mixed with the flying debris swept all of you up before you could get far.

The current pulled you harshly before it slammed your body against the front of a building. Pain brushed up your side as you groaned, soaked head to toe from the mixture of rain and rushing water that depleted as it continued down the street.

You coughed, feeling like you were still moving. Everything spun around you, whipping around as you sat on the ground trying to grasp your bearings. It wasn’t until Kate appeared at your side and pulled you to your feet did you rip yourself from your daze. There was no time to think about anything other than getting everyone to safety. The sky was turning darker by the minute and the town had already erupted in chaos.

In your wet clothes, you took off after the group, following the mass of people into the movie theater.

The place had no basement, only scared people confused storm chasers. You were suddenly filled with hopelessness, cold and daunting that crept into your gut. It was bad, really bad, and growing worse by the minute. If the tornado hit the theater, there was a good chance not everyone would make it out alive.

You had no idea what to do, but you saw something flicker in Kate’s eyes, something the boys had missed as they watched the storm out of one of the exits, trying to come up with a plan for all of the people inside. She took off running towards the other exit, and you followed her.

You had only just met Kate, but Javi had told you a lot about her from their college days. He trusted her, and from what you’d seen that week so far, so did you. Maybe it was a reckless move, following an almost stranger outside in the middle of a tornado, but you weren’t thinking rationally, only with the mindset that something had to be done and Kate seemed to know what that was.

It wasn’t until she reached Tyler’s truck that you caught her, grabbing her arm before she swung open the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

You glanced at the incoming storm, the ominous clouds that held so much destruction within its black, swirling form. “I'm going with you.”

She looked like she wanted to ask why, but there was no time. Instead, she nodded and quickly got into the truck as you followed, hopping into the passenger seat.

Javi had told you of Kate’s original study in school; she wanted to stop a tornado. And it looked like she was going to put it to the test again. She raced through a field, hitting every bump, causing your head to nearly hit the roof of the truck each time.

You had been close to a tornado, closer than most people willingly got, but you’d never been inside of one. Nor had you seen a storm quite like that one. The tornado was massive, a wall of sheer force that knocked into the truck with everything it had, knocking the wind right out of you.

Kate was too determined to be paralyzed by the swirling darkness that surrounded you. She slammed down on the buttons on the center console, but nothing was happening.

“It’s not working,” she cried, trying again and again as her panic swelled. You shuttered, hardly hearing her above the roar of the wind. The truck rocked, unsteady, and you weren’t sure how much force it would be able to take. The size of that tornado wasn't like the kind the Wranglers drove into.

You glanced out the rearview window at the barrels on the trailer that were supposed to release their contents, but the lids remained on. Kate gripped the steering wheel hard as the wind beat against the doors, shaking the truck worse and worse by the second. Her hands shook too, trembling as the tornado continued to engulf you, threatening to chew you two right up and spit you out like it was nothing.

You repeated Kate’s actions with the buttons, hitting them with a silent prayer again and again until finally, the lids all popped open, and their contents were sucked up into the storm.

Both of your relief was short-lived as the storm overpowered the rig. The world blurred before your eyes as the truck was flipped. The passenger side window was shattered as you landed upside down; shards of glass sliced through the skin on your face, but the pain wasn’t felt right away. The only thing you felt was the intense drumming of your heart that beat against your ribs.

You’d felt panic before in a storm, a small drop compared to what you felt at that moment. It was hard to breathe with the world seemingly closing in around you. You didn’t want to die, not like that. But it felt inevitable at that moment. The blood rushing to your head, the shattered glass peppering your skin, and the scream of the twister directly over top of you.

Your mind was on fire, but you tried to find an anchor, something to hold your panic still enough to think straight. Javi came to mind subconsciously. You saw him, his sweet smile and dark eyes. The argument you had was far from your mind. Instead, all you saw was the good stuff. Sneaking out of your motel rooms to watch the stars on clear nights during chases. Him laughing at your jokes no matter how terrible. The way he had memorized your drink order and insisted on buying you them at every bar. Despite his inability to just tell you how he felt, Javi had always been the person you were drawn back to. And you didn’t see that stopping. Maybe it would hurt in the long run, and maybe it was just wishful thinking that he wanted anything deeper than what you had. But he was so intertwined in your life. He was the only person you wanted to share things with, the first person who you had cared about so intimately.

You loved him, you realized. You had pretty shit timing.

Or maybe not.

A hand grasped your arm, sending a wave of pain through your shoulder. You gasped, peeling open your eyes you hadn’t even realized were closed. Turning your head, you saw Kate’s glossy eyes staring back at you, wide but focused. She held her hand hovering over your arm; it was red, and you weren't sure if it was her blood or yours.

“We did it,” she whispered, and you realized you could hear her, easily. The roar of the wind was gone. The storm was just…gone. A smile broke out on her lips as she repeated," We did it!”

There was a nasty cut on her face, blood running down the side of it. Your hands fumbled for your seatbelt and harness, undoing them quickly and trying to maneuver your body so you didn’t land on your head in the overturned truck.

“We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” you breathed out. Kate followed your actions. Shards of glass cut up your hands as you crawled out of the busted window, slowly and pained. You clawed at the mud, never having felt so grateful for the feeling of the earth under your fingers.

You only managed to get your upper half out of the truck before someone grabbed your arms. Looking up, you met Javi’s panicked gaze. He held onto your arms tightly, breathing heavily and rain-soaked. He helped you the rest of the way out and pulled you to your feet. The world still spun a little, and you swayed, disoriented. He didn’t let go of you, keeping his hands firmly on your shoulders. It looked like his mouth was moving, but the sudden movement of standing hurt your head.

It took a couple of moments before his voice cut through the pounding in your head. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed thickly, achy and definitely bruised. But you were alive and that was a lot better than you’d thought you be a minute ago. “I-I think so.”

He sighed in relief before his expression shifted into something unreadable. With his hands still on your shoulders, he shook you, gently but enough to get his point across. “What is wrong with you?!” Javi raised his voice too. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have died! Seriously, what-”

You cut him off by shoving him hard enough for him to drop his hold on your shoulders. The revelation you just had slipped back to the back burner and the fight you had the night before stood front and center.

“Are you seriously yelling at me right now?” you bit back.

“Yes!” He threw his hands up in the air as if to say ‘obviously.’ “I thought you died! You can’t do shit like that! You can’t just leave in the middle of a goodman storm and not tell me!”

A scoff fell from your lips. Your whole body throbbed in a dull pain, momentarily overshadowed by the adrenaline pumping through your veins. “Why do you care?” you shouted back; your words were coated in hurt that you’d been too angry to express during your fight the night before. You hadn’t said all that you wanted, but it bubbled to the surface and mixed with the flush of emotions you felt in the middle of the storm for Javi.

He looked offended by your words. “I care because…because you’re you! And if something happened to you I-I…” he trailed off, caught on his words.

You were sure if the wetness on your face was fresh tears, blood seeping from the little cuts, or leftover tears from your near-death experience. Too many things were spiraling around you, even though the storm had stopped.

“You still can’t do it.” Your chest hurt like someone had reached inside and sank their nails into your heart. “You still can’t tell me how you feel.”

Wiping your cheeks, you stumbled backward, on the verge of crying. But before you could walk away, he caught your wrist, spinning you around to face him.

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” he admitted, blurting out with so much emotion it was dizzying. You were sure you'd never seen him look like that, scared yet brave. “If you died and I never got to tell you…” He took a breath, sliding his hand down your wrist and into your hand. “Tell you that I love you.”

For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard him right. You blinked, silently staring for a moment. You’d hit your head more than once and everything was still a little off as you came back down from the tornado.

“You what?”

“I love you,” he said, that time without hesitation. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

You smiled, bright and relieved. You hastily grasped the side of his face before pulling him toward you in a sweet but desperate kiss. That kiss was different than it had been before, in the darkened corners of country bars. The kiss was full of pent-up emotions and unsaid words finally spilled.

Pulling apart, you rested your forehead against his, laughing lightly at the absurdity of it all. You still felt like you were spinning.

Someone behind you both cleared their throat and you felt your face get hot at the raised brows of Tyler and Kate. “Sorry,” you said, feeling giddy and still a little woozy.

“Don’t be,” Tyler replied. “That was beautiful.” Kate rolled her eyes and smacked his arm.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kate said before she and Tyler led the way back to town.

You and Javi lingered for a moment longer, your hands intertwined. “I love you too,” you said, earning a toothy grin from him. He slung his arm around your shoulder, careful to avoid the little bumps and scarps you’d accumulated over the course of the storm, and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

#twisters #twisters 2024 #javi twisters #javi twisters x reader #javi x reader #javi x you #anthony ramos #anthony ramos x reader #twisters fanfic #tyler owens #kate carter

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withleeknow · 4 months ago

Text

wishful thinking. (7.5)

chapter 7.5: limbo

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; minho's pov; non-explicit smut, kissing, grinding, implied unprotected sex; alcohol consumption, non-linear storytelling (jumps around a few random scenes before we get back to the present that picks up from the end of chapter 7), cursing, the final line :-?; not that unedited i am so so sorry lol word count: 5.6k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Wishing fountains, we pray for change in the dark Moving mountains, we end up right where we start The world’s not falling apart But you and I, baby we are

Wishing Fountains - Bad Suns

“What does it say?” Minho asks.

You sigh, your eyes trailing the words on the small piece of paper in your hands before you shove one half of the fortune cookie in your mouth. It seems dry; you look like you can barely swallow it.

“Bullshit,” you say simply, a little bitter before you hide behind a mask of indifference, turning to him as you ask, “Yours?”

He breaks his own fortune cookie in half, pulling out a similar piece of paper that reads, “‘Jeg elsker deg’ means ‘I love you’ in Norwegian.”

You're both lying on a fluffy rug on the floor of your bedroom, with an empty bottle of rosé sitting somewhere near your head. “That’s... random,” you say, casting your eyes to the ceiling. “But I mean, at least it’s kind of educational. Now you know a phrase in Norwegian.”

“Sure,” Minho laughs, testing out the syllables in his mouth and butchering them in the process. “Who would I even say it to?”

“Impress your future girlfriend with your worldly knowledge. Or say it to Hyunjin, I’m sure he’ll swoon and blush like a schoolgirl.”

“That’s the last thing I want. He’s already clingy enough as it is.”

“Alright. Well, your loss then.”

He only hums in response. “You’re really not gonna tell me what yours is?”

“I told you. It’s bullshit.”

“Wanna tell me why the fortune cookie is evil at least? I’ll fight it for you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a playful scoff. “It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

It takes a minute for you to gather your thoughts into one semi-cohesive pile.

“Just… reminds me how I don’t really fit into anyone’s life,” you start, your voice coming out a little small and timid before you seem to let the alcohol give you enough confidence to say what you want. “I don’t feel like I’m worth anyone’s time. Everyone’s going to outgrow me eventually, if they haven’t already. Their lives will only get bigger and bigger, and they’ll have to leave me behind at some point. All that space but none for me.

“I think I’ll be stuck like this forever, in this fucking… limbo. And I know it’s dramatic because we’re still young and we’ve got our whole lives in front of us and whatever else that people say. But it feels like wherever I go and whatever I do, my life will always be this small while you all move on. Chan and Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, Felix, even Hyunjin and Jisung when they’re not too busy being idiots. Everyone’s got everything all planned out, and they have other things to fall back on if those plans don’t work out. If I fall, I think I’ll just keep falling until I hit rock bottom.

“And you… you’re gonna do great things too. You’re gonna live your life and it’s going to be a good one, and you’ll forget about me too. A few years from now, when everyone’s already moved on, I’ll just be a girl that you used to know. I’m just a stop along the way.”

Then you pause, and the laugh you let out afterward is choked up and not at all sincere. You rub your hands down your face, groaning a little when you say, “Ugh, that was depressing. Sorry, it’s the wine. Forget I said anything.”

You have beautiful eyes, that’s what Minho has always thought, the kind that holds all the universe’s sparkles and all its sadness too, a bittersweet balance. The kind that makes one want to stop and admire for a while. He loves when they light up before the joy gradually spreads across your face, like watching the sun peak over the horizon before it colors the sky with ethereal pinks and purples and blues. You’re a wonderful sunrise, his favorite part of every day.

He even loves your faraway gaze when you’re here but you’re elsewhere simultaneously, hiding in your eyes musings that are privy to nobody else. You’d stare into the distance and he’d watch you the whole time, wondering if any of the thoughts that occupy your mind are about him.

Minho has an urge to take you into his arms and hold you tight and tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That no one’s going to forget about you because you’re not someone who can be forgotten so easily, let alone be forgotten by him. That he isn’t going anywhere if it’s not by your side, that he wants to be in your life until you decide you’re sick of him, not the other way around.

He wants to tell you he loves you because that’s the truth. He was gone the minute he saw you at that stupid party years ago when you had walked in shyly with Chan and Jess. You had tried to make yourself smaller in a roomful of strangers, but you’ve always been the only one Minho could find in a crowd.

Years and years from now, when he thinks back to his youth, the highlight reel that will pop up in his mind will be of his idiot friends and the good memories they’ve shared with one another. How they laughed and cried, how they fell and got back up together time and time again.

And at the center of it all will be you. Green grass, blue skies, his golden days and you, the focal point of his youth.

He loves you. Would it help, or would it scare you?

He doesn’t let himself debate that question for long. Regardless of what the answer is, now isn’t the right time. So instead, he says, “For what it’s worth, everyone’s just taking it one day at a time, even if they seem like they have it all planned out. You’re not falling behind. You’re going at your own pace, who cares about other people?”

You turn your head to stare at him, your cheeks flushed with a rosy tint from the wine you had shared and a pensive look on your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but he holds your gaze anyway.

“And I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ll always have me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

A quiet moment passes. If Minho focuses hard enough, he thinks he might be able to hear the faint beats of your heart.

His gaze flickers to your lips for barely a second before it returns to your eyes, quick enough for it to escape your notice.

Then, you’re holding yourself up on one elbow and shuffling into his orbit until you’re right by his side. He doesn’t move a single inch; he only watches as you get closer, and closer, and closer until there’s no more space between the two of you. He blinks, and in that split second he misses the way you let your eyes shut as you lean down to press your lips to his.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so.

You taste like rosé, like something he’s always known that he wants to chase.

It stuns him enough that he forgets to respond, his mind focused solely on the feeling of your soft lips on him, the scent of your jasmine perfume and how you’re so warm pressed against him like this.

Maybe it’s the stillness of his body that shocks you out of it, because you pull away after a few seconds with an instant look of mortification in your eyes, trying to scramble back to your original spot on the rug like you’ve just committed an unspeakable sin. Running away, he thinks, is your first instinct.

But Minho is just a tad quicker than you are. He doesn’t let you stray very far when he props himself up to cup your face with one hand and bring you back to him.

He’s kissing you again and for a brief moment, he feels like he could die.

You don’t break from him this time. Instead, you’re kissing him back just as deeply. You let him lower you back to the floor as he holds himself up above you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips while his thumb strokes your cheek softly, keeping you there in his loose hold so you could still run if that’s what you want to do.

But you stay with him, your hands trailing up the expanse of his chest to find purchase on his shoulders, your legs parting so he could perfectly slot himself into the space that you’ve allowed him.

When he rocks his hips into you experimentally, you bite on his bottom lip, a whining sound from your throat comes out muffled against his mouth.

He strays just long enough and far enough so he could look into your eyes, with your pupils blown much darker than they had been at the start of the evening.

He says your name, the gentlest sound in the world, then a question. “What do you want?”

Minho half expects you to overthink your answer and come back to your senses, to choose flight because it would be the easier option.

But you don’t. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you lock onto him, and there’s something underneath the pool of lust in your gaze that leaves him breathless and wondering.

“You,” you say quietly, “I want you.”

And it’s with this simple answer that you pull him back to you again, not the other way around. You kiss him more fervently than before if that’s even possible. When he slides his arm around your waist, you let him pick you up to cross the few steps it takes to get to your bed, his lips never leaving you even after he has laid you onto the mattress. They follow the path where your jawline leads down to your neck, then where your neck meets your collarbone, and he savors every little whimper that you make for him even though he’s barely touched you yet. There’s hardly any patch of skin that he leaves unkissed, and when he reaches where your shirt begins to hide the rest of you from him, he only looks up at you, quietly asking for more permission.

You don’t give him a verbal answer. You take matters into your own hands, lifting your top over your head and flinging it somewhere on the floor.

Then your bra follows to join your shirt, wherever it may be. Minho assumes they’ve landed on the bottle of rosé, only guessing by the sound of the glass being knocked over and rolling around. He’s not sure but he doesn’t care about it enough to look, not when he’s got you right here under him, so beautiful and so willing that it makes his head spin.

He’s imagined this before, just a few times whenever he's drunk enough to let his mind wander without the guilt that comes with it when he’s sober. He has wondered before what it would feel like to kiss you breathless and have you kiss him back, to touch you in ways that no one else ever has, to taste how sweet you are and feel your warmth. None of it is appropriate, not at all platonic. He’s well aware of it.

It's been years, ever since Minho met you at that party when he was 19 and you had been too awkward to start a conversation. Years of walking with you in the rain after class, sharing umbrellas that are too small to shield the both of you but it’s okay, because he doesn’t mind leaving half of his body exposed to the harsh weather as long as the rain doesn’t get on you. Years of making sure you get home safely after nights out with your friends, years of insisting that he sees you walk inside your building and up to your floor whether it's 11PM or 4:30AM. Years of lingering glances, of pretending he isn’t bothered whenever Felix offers to introduce you to someone, of smiles sent your way that are far too endeared to mean nothing at all.

Years of loving you in silence because he’s your friend first and foremost, and his friendship with you means more to him than the feelings he has for you.

And yet...

He’s here in your bed, watching you with mesmerized eyes as you take off the rest of your clothes before helping him discard his, as you kiss him just as deeply as he’s wanted to kiss you for the longest time, as you keep pulling him into you even when he’s already as close to you as humanly possible. His lips on yours, his heart pressed against the other side of yours. His fingers intertwined with yours when he slips inside of you, and how your hands stay interlocked the entire time you’re wrapped together. You cling to him so tightly, as though it would hurt you if he were to ever let go.

It’s the way you look at him, like he’s the only person that exists in your universe. It’s the broken moans that you give him, the nonsense babbles that make his chest swell with pride at the knowledge that he’s making you feel so good that the only thing you know how to say coherently is his name. It’s the heaven between your thighs, absolutely divine and infinitely better than any fantasy that he could ever let himself indulge in.

Just for tonight, Minho can pretend that you're his, even though he knows that he’s already been yours since the first time you met. He’s been yours for as long as he can remember, even if you don’t know it yet.

Later on, when he’s collapsed next to you on the bed, there’s a safe distance between your tired bodies and a certain tension in the air that’s heavy with the consequences of your actions. When he takes your hand, the one that’s shaking as you grip the sheets between your fingers, it alleviates some of that anxiety.

“The fortune cookie, what did it say?” he asks, like you’re simply continuing the conversation from before.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Seriously?”

He gives you a lopsided smile, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Seriously.”

You purse your lips as you look at him for another second before you cast your eyes to the ceiling again, like you’d done just an hour ago. “It said ‘You’ll be loved.’”

You are, he thinks to himself. You’re loved.

“Open wide.”

You give him a look, to which he only responds with a shrug and a sly grin.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say, but you take the spoonful of chicken soup that he offers you anyway. You can’t focus on the taste but it’s warm and the relief you feel is instant when it soothes your throat.

You’ve practically been on bedrest for the past three days, slowly rotting away in your apartment with a bad strain of the seasonal flu until Minho came over and unleashed his inner mama bear on you. Now here you are, wrapped up like a burrito on the couch (Minho insisted; he wouldn’t have it any other way) while he spoon feeds you homemade chicken soup.

You were stubborn about it at first, as one could probably imagine. When you told the group chat that you wouldn’t make it to movie night at Chan’s place last weekend, you were adamant that you would be able to sleep it off and bounce back in no time, despite Minho offering to make you some food and bring over some meds and cough drops.

The symptoms worsened overnight though, and you developed a fever along with a cough that’s worse than any you’ve ever experienced. When Minho called you to make sure you were still alive, you could barely even speak.

He hates your cavalier attitude when it comes to taking care of yourself. He hates himself even more for believing in your nonchalance and not bulldozing his way over sooner.

“I’m enjoying this because I was right,” he says, feeding you more of the soup. “I told you instant ramyeon wouldn’t cure you.”

He lets his I told you so triumph go easily, even though he suspects that you have much more to bite back at him if you could get through half a sentence without wanting to hack your lungs out. You make a noise, and he isn’t really sure if it’s one of agreement or protest but it’s most likely the latter. He thinks it’s cute that you close your eyes after every spoonful, lazily eating like one of his cats back home whenever they’ve run out of energy. You’re probably tired and can’t wait to get into bed.

When the soup is finished, Minho fetches you your meds and a glass of warm water. He doesn’t know if the scrunched up face you make after every pill is because you hate the bitter taste or if the tablets keep dragging against your already sensitive throat on their way down, but he strokes your hair all the while you wash it down with water, a gentle hand on your head as if to say You’re doing well.

He tucks you in bed not long after, despite your weak protests as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you had managed to croak out. “I’m not that helpless.”

“I know,” came his response and a teasing smile. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

You’re pliant once you’re laid gently on the mattress though, idly watching Minho as he wraps the duvet around your shoulders and fluffs your pillows just the way you like. This is awfully domestic, he notes, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to your forehead, not when he’s absolutely endeared by the way your tired eyes try to keep themselves open just so you could look at him.

When his lips leave your warm skin, he thinks he might’ve imagined the blush that colors your cheeks.

But he blinks, and you’re still flushed, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him, mild surprise evident in your drowsy gaze.

Something passes over the two of you, a kind of silence that he isn’t accustomed to when he’s with you. It isn’t bad, it’s just… strange.

One beat, then another. “Want me to stay with you?” he asks.

He knows you’d say no, and yet he can’t help the disappointment when you tell him, “You don’t have to. Go home, Min. Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“You sure? I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure. Chan and Jess said they’re coming to check on me in the morning.”

Minho lets out a hum, and purses his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you look like you want to.”

“Just… y’know,” he starts, gauging your reaction all the while, for any signs of physical discomfort or otherwise, “I like you like this. You’re not hiding when you’re like this.”

“You like me frail and on the verge of death?”

He rolls his eyes, pretends to flick at your forehead. “You know what I mean.”

When you giggle, it’s immediately followed by a wince, like the movement is hurting your sensitive throat. “Do I hide when I’m with you?”

“Sometimes.” He moves his hand to caress your face, gentle fingertips tracing the apple of your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him, if only for a little while. “It feels like you’re always ready to leave.”

“Are you worried I’m gonna run away?” you ask, covering your hand over his to move it away, but you still let his touch linger when you only lower his hand to your neck, where he starts twiddling your hair between his fingers. It feels like you want him close, close enough that it matters, close in a way that still lets you have control over how it matters. “I physically can’t. I’m sick.”

“Does that mean you’ll run away when you get better?”

You seem to ponder the question for a moment. You’re holding onto his wrist and Minho is almost certain that you can feel his pulse. He would do so many things for you if only you’d let him.

When you answer him, you keep things light but your tone is soft, gentle in a way that tells him your sentiment means more than the words you cherry pick on the surface.

“No, I have finals in two weeks.”

The first time that Minho gets to wake up next to you, nothing feels real. Not the pleasant scent of your shampoo greeting him the minute he opens his eyes, not your soft breath fanning his bare collarbone where you lay with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, not even the feeling of you in his arms, safe and warm, as though this is where you’re meant to be. None of it seems like anything other than a dream.

When memories of the previous night come rushing to the surface, it also brings back the annoyance he felt watching Yeonjun openly flirt with you at the party, and the bitter feeling that accompanied the reminder that Minho couldn’t even really do anything about it but stand idly by.

But you stir in his arms, and all of the annoyance and bitterness goes away. Because you’re here with him and not anybody else. There’s a certain ego boost knowing that he’s the one you kiss, the only one you allow in your most personal space. To know you is a privilege, and it’s one that you grant no one else but him.

Last night, something happened. Something changed, he felt it when you were the one who asked him to stay. You let him put his shirt on you, let him hold you as you slept, even welcomed his embrace and snuggled further into his body in a way that you’ve never done before.

How you kissed him just hours prior, how you looked at him… God, he thinks he could just spill all of his secrets if you did it again.

But when you open your eyes, Minho is already pretending to be asleep again. How would you react? He’s curious to know. Would you scramble away the second the realization kicks in that you let him break your rule? Would you leave his side and act all nonchalant about it when you inevitably have to face each other later? He’s willing to bet that you would.

But you surprise him again. He feels you watching him for a moment, then your touch ghosts upon his features. It almost makes him falter in his act, your gentle fingers tracing his temple, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose down to his lips. There’s a sigh that you exhale, and he misses your touch the very second it leaves his skin. He itches to bring you closer to him again.

So that’s what he does. Minho keeps the facade going, pretending like he’s now just waking up with his limbs stretching out. You stiffen when he hugs you tighter, but you soon relax after he starts stroking your hair.

Nothing has changed for him, but can you say the same?

“Dude!”

Minho flinches into action when a voice calls his name right by the car window, loud enough to startle him even through the thick layer of glass. When he turns his head, he finds Changbin’s face all pressed up against the window, struggling to hold three bags full of supplies that are threatening to spill out. “Help me with these!” his friend says.

It’s the week of Jisung, Felix and Seungmin’s birthdays; you lot tends to go all out for the quadruple birthday bash every year (Chan’s birthday is only 11 days later after all). Seungmin’s family has a lakeside cabin a couple hours from the city, that’s where everyone goes to unwind for a long weekend with plenty of food and even more drinks. This year, it’s no different.

Minho and Changbin are on drinks duty, tasked with picking up all of the alcohol and refreshments for the weekend ahead. He doesn’t really know what the rest are doing, just that you and Jeongin are babysitting Hyunjin to make sure the latter doesn’t deviate from the proposed budget and go way overboard when getting snacks and decorations. You sent Minho a text a while ago, a video of you facepalming and rolling your eyes before you flip the camera over to show Hyunjin and Jeongin bickering like children over a mega pack of chips.

Once everything is in the car – cases of beer safely loaded into the trunk, bottles of water and soft drinks set in their designated plastic bags in the backseat, Changbin comments from the driver’s seat, “You looked weird. You were smiling.”

Minho only stares at him for a moment, a neutral expression on his face as he blinks those typical Minho blinks, before he turns his head to the other side to lean against the window.

He was thinking about the first time your tradition started, the first year Jess had to drag you on the trip. She used to do it often; you were shy in the beginning.

He’s got a favorite memory of you, and it wasn’t you and him sitting together on the bank of the river during the sunset, while the others were in the water, splashing around and having the time of your lives (you two were the only ones who couldn’t swim, but it was okay, you didn’t feel like you missed out on anything because at least you had each other).

His favorite memory of you wasn’t running into you in the middle of the night when he went into the kitchen for some water and you were out by yourself on the adjacent balcony, sitting with your chin resting on your folded knees and the crescent moon for company. He stayed there for a moment, dazed, wondering if he was still dreaming or if it was just you. When Minho finally made his presence known, you told him you couldn’t sleep and he suggested that you break into Hyunjin’s secret ramyeon stash, because going to bed with a full stomach always made him feel better whenever he was restless. 1:58AM, you ended up almost burning your hand on the stove, too busy trying to keep your giggles down when he made a stupid joke.

Minho’s favorite memory wasn’t of you falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back either, with you squished in the backseat between him and Felix, and your light snores reminded him of Soonie whenever the cat would doze off on his chest. It wasn’t any of these moments, even though he thinks he might’ve loved you in every instance.

His favorite memory of you was the evening before that trip had to come to an end, the last night you all spent together before you had to leave your safe little bubble. It was after dinner and some drinks, everyone was buzzed and the air was crisp, chilly every now and then. When you were gathered on the dock overlooking the lake, each holding a sparkler that Jisung had prepared, you were laughing. Everyone else was laughing too, but yours was the only sound Minho could focus on.

“Be quiet. I’m gonna take a nap,” he tells Changbin, ignoring the comment entirely as he closes his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Chan’s.”

The lights, and your friends, and the moon hanging high up in the sky like a guardian angel back then.

You were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. He was watching you.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

His question hangs in the awful silence as you stare at him. Minho can see your nails digging into your palms where your fists are clenched, your glassy eyes and the frown between your brows, like you’re trying your hardest to hold back tears. Why else would you be so upset?

He’s known about it for a while, or at the very least, he’s had an inkling of how you feel about him. He knows he isn’t in over his head when he says there’s a certain glow that radiates from within you when you’re together, a side of you that’s tender and at peace, one that he’s never seen you show anyone else. The way you look at him, it’s the same way that he looks at you even if you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it out loud.

It hasn’t been one sided for at least some time now, he knows it.

But it’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to fight it. He’s the only one holding on, and you’ve been willing to let go at every turn.

“See what?” you challenge.

This isn’t how he planned to ever say these words, but the moment is here whether he likes it or not. It’s staring at you both in the face even if you are doing your best to hide from it.

Minho holds your gaze for a few seconds before he steps toward you again. This time, you stand your ground.

“You asked me if things changed for me and I said no. That was the truth, I never lied to you. We’re friends but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you as something more from the beginning.”

He pauses there, watches your eyes and how you take it in. They soften a little, filling up some more as you process his words. There’s surprise in the look that you wear, sure. A little confusion, yes. But most of all, you just look sad. When you call out his name, he can tell by your tone that it’s a warning, that you’re about to run away for real this time if he presses on, and yet he can’t stop until he says his piece.

“If you want me to spell it out for you, I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you, and it drives me crazy that you don’t see any of it. The thing that makes me even crazier, do you know what it is? I think you feel something for me too, but you won’t admit it to yourself and you always resort to shutting down instead of facing your feelings. How much longer are you going to run away from me?”

When the first tear unintentionally spills over from the corner of your eye, Minho knows he’s struck a nerve. He wants to reach out and wipe away the tiny stream that rolls down your face but you beat him to it, wiping at your cheek in angry motions.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is tight when you tell him, “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s the only thing that you address.

Sometimes, he searches for your answer at the bottom of a glass, or on the other end of looks that seem to linger just a beat too long. But as he’s standing here, right now, he finds it in your hesitation to speak, in the lie you give him when you finally do.

It’s the answer he’s always wanted and yet, the knowledge brings him no satisfaction at all. It only lodges a lump in his throat, an overwhelming sense of dejection when he sees how hard you’re trying to fight this.

“I know you,” he sighs after a moment, a little defeated. “I know when you’re lying.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well after all.”

You’re stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn.

Minho takes another step forward. It feels like it’s a step closer to the end as you both know it, because how else is your relationship going to come back from this? He sees the slight shake in your shoulders that you try to suppress, but he’ll always be the one to notice.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he says quietly, his final resort. A challenge but it sounds an awful lot like a plea. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that things can take a turn for the worse in just two weeks’ time. The last time you both were here, you’d kissed his endeared smile and held him so impossibly close to you. Now, everything is falling apart, the seams coming undone one by one. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Minho meant what he said, about how loving you drives him crazy sometimes. Even when you’re breaking his heart, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. A noticeable sting settles in between the cracks of his ribcage at the sight of your quivering bottom lip, your balled up fists and his own reflection in your glassy eyes.

“Do you want me to say it so badly?” you ask, and he can only stare at you when your voice comes out harsher than it was before, though it cracks toward the end as you try to keep up with the facade. “Fine, I’ll say it.”

It’s not what he asked, but it’s confirmation nonetheless. It’s acceptance but not how he wants it to be. Acceptance that you do love him, and yet, you say it in a way that he’s never expected to hear from you.

“I don’t want to love you.”

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teaspoontarot · 1 month ago

Text

Mini Playlist From Your Beloved 🎶

This is a mini playlist straight from your beloved! Open up a see what’s inside. While focused on love there’s a little something for everyone.

These messages are meant to sweeten your day and be a teaspoon of fun! You will always know yourself and your situation the best, therefore everything written here is just to give you a little nudge!

💖 Teaspoon

Pile 1 ✨

You 🔮

Four of Cups - “Wanting anything except the nice thing you have”

Oracle Message

Now is the time to be straightforward with your desires. What is that you want? You desire? This applies to love and romance but to other aspects of your life. You may be a “go with the flow” type of person and mainly wish for things rather than ask. It seems like someone is waiting on you to address the elephant in the room? Will you? Conversations are always scary but this one at least could lead to a path that you could only ever dream. Open yourself up and be seen.

Them 💫

The Hermit - “Beware of self-inflicted loneliness: reach out”

Oracle Message -

They are in waiting/hiding. Hoping for someone to connect with or pull them away, a dreamer and someone who wears their heart on their sleeve. They’ve been vulnerable and fear what the consequences have done. There’s an energy of being left out in the cold, a grand gesture or a heartfelt one has been made and they are waiting. They see two paths ahead and hope you can join them for one.

Mini Playlist #1🎶

Perfume Genius - On The Floor

“Out the door

I pace, I run my mouth

I pray to change

I cross out his name on the page”

Remi Wolf- Wave

“You said you miss me but I swear I miss you more

My baby's gonna buy me a big boat for my birthday (My baby's gonna buy me)

But all I really wish that he would do is keep me company

(Keep me company)

Oh, God, I forgot, long distance, what a bitch

Listening to Timberlake without you, it doesn't scratch the same itch

My baby's gonna buy me a big boat for my birthday (My baby's gonna buy me)

But all I really wish he that would do is keep me company”

Caroline Polacheck - Doors

“You open the door

To another door, to another door

And I'm running through to you”

“Back in the city

I'm just another girl in a sweater

Back in the city

Everything's different when we're not together”

Kendrick Lamar ft. SZA - Luther

“I can't lie

I trust you, I love you, I won't waste your time

I turn it off just so I can turn you on

I'ma make you say it loud

I'm not even trippin', I won't stress you out

I might even settle down for you, I'ma show you I'm a pro

I'ma take my time and turn it off”

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Pile 2 ✨

You 🔮

The Star, Five of Shells (Cups), Three of Candles (Wands), The Hanged One

“Is it so crazy to hope that your wish comes true? The trick is to recognize and appreciate when it does. Spread and share your love”

“There is no point in dwelling on previous actions as mistakes. See them as a turning point towards a new route”

“Stay determined to remain adventurous. Take your ideas for a walk.”

“Beware of an uncomfortable limbo. Of being stuck in a role”

Oracle Message -

Be bold and bright! A shining sun on the horizon bringing warmth from the coolness of night! Don’t shudder yourself away due to what somebody else has said. Even when you tone yourself down, you can’t help but shimmer. Those who see you for what you are will embrace the warmth, and those who can’t will simply be blinded. Take care of yourself and your magnificent joy.

Them 💫

Five of Feather (Swords) - “You can learn humbly from this again…Don’t bite off more than you can chew”

Oracle Message

Sweet and gentle and looking for their own truth. Something bubbling up that they can no longer contain. A smile and a jokester that wants to give you more. Not very good at vulnerability but wants to grow and build with you. They may not know exactly who they are yet but they do want to be with you. An open door and arms.

Mini Playlist #2 🎶

Robin McNamara- Lay A Little Lovin On Me

“Ever since we kissed that night

Ever since I held you tight

I just don't want nobody else

So put your lips on mine

Leave them there 'til the morning time

Lord don't leave me by myself”

Floweroflove - Breaking News

“It's such a headache how you got me in knots

How you're up in my thoughts

Sound like, "Bla-bla-bla-bla" (Bla, bla)

It's so dramatic how you're all that I've got

How you love me non-stop

And your hair is so hot”

Sharon Van Etten & Angel Olsen - “Like I Used To”

“Lighting one up like I used to

Dancing all alone like I used to

Giving it up like I used to

Falling in love like I used to

Open my heart like I used to

Making out long like I used to

Holding hands openly, rights to

Taking what's mine like I used to”

Remi Wolf -Toro

“We're waking up the people down the hall

You're a bull, and I can't help but saying, "Toro, toro"

And when they buzz me for the lobby call

I don't show 'cause I'm too busy saying, "Toro, toro"

The things we do are so deplorable, horrible

Yeah, I'm too busy saying, "Toro, toro"”

Note: If you liked it feel free to leave a tip ✨

Pile 3 ✨

You 🔮

Eight of Roses (Pentacles) - “A regular and reliable arrangement or resource: sometimes we just want someone who can comfortably deliver”

Oracle Message -

Bearing the weight of everyone’s pain on your shoulders. The ever mature and sturdy one. Locked into a position of authority that is unwanted. Looking for somewhere to rest and lay easy. Hard-working and talented but often overlooked for the more glamorous. As difficult as it is, take the time for you. However that shows up, ignore that text message, take that day off, go on that date. Your life is for you. You can only provide so much before you burn yourself alive.

Them 💫

Two of Shells (Cups), The Devil

“Mutuality, merging and a precious meeting of hearts. To the exclusion of others”

“Play! Does it feel good?Does that mean it’s good? Tailor your preferences to the perfect fit; find your own way”

Oracle Message -

Emotional and always open, nearly a complete opposite, but always on your side. Teary eyes and talking about their feelings but their house is always warm. They like things you can’t conceive but they love that it makes you laugh. Unwittingly glamorous and needy but still kind. My struggle with the practical of life but seem to have figured out how to enjoy it.

Mini Playlist #3 🎶

Elton John- Candle In The Wind

“And it seems to me you lived your life

Like a candle in the wind

Never knowing who to cling to

When the rain set in”

“Your candle burned out long before

Your legend ever did”

Steven universe - I Need A Little Change

“And it's a full-time job admiring

All the ways that you're inspiring

If I had my way, I'd do it all day

The only problem is it doesn't pay”

SZA - Ghost in the Machine

“I just wanna fuck, eat, sleep, love happy

Can you make me happy? Can you keep me happy?”

“Everybody wanna be beautiful, scared of the unusual

Scared of givin' mutual respect, all that you hate

You reflect all that godlike, you forget how to love somebody”

Beyonce- Bodyguard

Sometimes I hold you closer

Just to know you're real (Ah)

Tell me your problems (I got you)

I take how you feel (Mm, huh)

I show you an exit (Ah)

When you're restless I take the wheel”

“I could be your bodyguard

Please let me be your Kevlar (Huh)

Baby, let me be your lifeguard

Kendrick Lamar ft. SZA - Luther

“In this world, concrete flowers grow

Heartache, she only doin' what she know

Weekends, get it poppin' on the low

Better days comin' for sure

If this world were—

If it was up to me

I wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy

I'd take away the pain, I'd give you everything

I just wanna see you win, wanna see

Note: If you liked it feel free to leave a tip ✨

Pile 4 ✨

You 🔮

The World, King of Roses (Pentacles), Three of Roses (Pentacles)

“What have you learned from your experience? Are you ready to start a new adventure?

“Feel satisfied with what you’ve achieved thus far, but hopefully it’s only the beginning”

“Being grounded is a good thing, but give yourself permission every now and then to break free and do something different” - Biddy Tarot

Oracle Message -

A mind and a heart feeling conflicted. Feelings of a broken heart and a confused spirit. A path fought for and yet feeling like it hasn’t rewarded you. This is not the end but now is the time to let it be. Something has happened that feels like it can’t be walked back. Be honest and kind. This does not have to be a messy ending but a healing one.

Them 💫

The Empress, Knight of Roses (Pentacles), Eight of Feathers (Swords)

“Take time to allow the situation to develop”

“Don’t get so caught up in the routine that you lose sight of the adventure”

“Prior disappointments preventing present action…Unforeseen difficulties”

Oracle Message -

They are looking for a home. To be grounded and feel whole. They feel consumed by something or overwhelmed. Committed to a decision they didn’t realize would take so much. They want to provide and be honorable but they feel scared. Something isn’t clicking within them. There isn’t any malice involved but their actions still hurt. Miscommunication and missed opportunities.

Mini Playlist #4 🎶

Peter Brown - It’s True What They Say About Love

“Asking for more than they've given before in return

Growing as one is a lesson they promise to learn

And it's love that is found in the silent embrace

Close our eyes so the darkness will hold us in place

And they say love is lasting, time will never erase”

Kendrick Lamar & SZA - Gloria

“Said you gon' see other people if I didn't grow with you

Wasn't no more holdin' them pistols in front of stores with you

You want reality, not tragedy, for sure, I get you

To tell the truth, I been pretty used to what open-minded people do

In 2014, I went to Africa, baby, you was my passenger

My eyes and ears for all the years the neighborhood had baffled us

Of course I had to wrap it up, I didn't fully trust you

Fabrication, I disgust you, then you blocked me, I said, "Fuck you"”

Beach Bunny - Good Girls (Don’t Get Used)

“Say you miss me, say you wanna kiss me

I liked it better when you improvised the story we had

If you adore me, why do you ignore me?

I liked it better when you sent me "sorry" when I was sad

Stop saying, "It's my bad"

You're acting like your deadbeat dad

I know, you know you're better than that"

But you can't respond when you react”

Mitski - The Only Heartbreaker

“If you would just make one mistake

What a relief that would be

But I think for as long as we're together

I'll be the only heartbreaker”

“So I'll be the loser in this game

I'll be the bad guy in the play

I'll be the water main that's burst and flooding

You'll be by the window, only watch"

Note: If you liked it feel free to leave a tip ✨

#pick a pile #tarot #tarotblr #kpop tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a card readings

108 notes · View notes

newyearseve1979 · 24 days ago

Text

Cool Niece, Cooler Aunt

Or, Lilia and Alice spend some time together.

Content warnings, brief mentions of death and grief, allusions and mentions of malicious drug use. It’s pretty tame, generally

Lilia stared at the boiling teapot. The stove glowed gently under it, the sun lit up its shiny metal surface, but the water itself seemed unchangeable. If her stare bore into the kettle hard enough, the water would boil faster (or something like that.) “You could just use magic,” Alice said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Her hair was still messy from sleep and the orangish red streaks in her hair definitely needed re-done. She had an old Le Tigre band shirt on. Lilia vaguely remembered going to one of their concerts.

“It's the little routines that keep a girl together,” Lilia shrugged.

Alice nodded, smiling. She could appreciate the sentiment.

Lilia’s own robe was burnt orange and one of softest things she owned. Sun streamed through the window, lighting up the spacious kitchen. It was a far cry from her old apartment, Lilia knew, and she wouldn't have been able to afford it without the rest of the witches. After the road, after she’d fallen, she’d been stuck in a weird kind of Limbo. Alice had been there too, but that's all they could remember. Turns out the road had been made up so they didn't really die, even though Rio has still arrived to take them to that little inbetween world. Lilia didn't want to think too hard on that, because they’d gotten out when Jen completed her trial. What mattered was that she and her fuck ass coven (as described by Lilia herself) had bought a house together, roughly an hour’s drive out of East View, in the woods. It was close enough to other people for the working witches to keep up with their lives, and far enough away for Agatha to… what was she up to again? While the two waking witches assumed everyone else was asleep, Agatha had already gone out for a walk in the woods before the sun rose.

The teapot whistled, and Lilia took it off the stove. Alice had already set out two mugs and the honey pot. The house was quiet. Lilia and Alice were the only ones in the kitchen, and since it was a Sunday, no one had work. Not that there was much to do; Jennifer’s business was largely remote until she felt like returning to her shop, and Alice was still on the job hunt. Agatha was… well Lilia didn't need to touch that until she felt like it.

The quiet was interrupted by the music Alice had switched on. Bikini Kill, Lilia recognized it, Reject all America. “Good band,” she said, turning off the stove and mixing honey into her cup. Alice only looked slightly surprised. “I saw them live a few times.”

To Alice’s credit, she didn't let her jaw fall all the way down. “You Lilia? Really?”

Lilia smiled to herself. “Oh yeah,” she pointed at Alice’s shirt, “them too.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!” Lilia insisted, amused. She hugged her soft rope close, and sipped on her tea. Riot Grrrl had attracted plenty of witches in her area, and yeah, Lilia had been pretty into it. Alice shook her head, still smiling.

“I'm trying to picture you at a punk concert.”

Lilia rolled her eyes. She thought about a time when she’d straightened her hair and her old thrifted jacket. “Get me that leather jacket of yours, doll,” She smiled. Memories of stitching protection runes into the inside of her jacket came back to her. “I'll try it on and that’ll give you a pretty good picture.”

Alice gave Lilia a once over. Her robe was snug and secure, her curly hair was piled on her head, and an amulet hung from her neck. Lilia looked like a classy broadway star, not a Riot Grrrl fan. Still, she could almost picture it. Lilia with a shaggy haircut, leather jacket, and punk shirts, cursing out some moron. “Come on, don't tell me you think I'm too old,” Lilia huffed, half kidding.

Alice waved her off. “I’d sneak into concerts when I was younger. My um, well you know my mom died when I was thirteen? I wanna say that was the same time the movement was getting traction.”

Lilia nodded. “The years blended together for me after a bit. All my big losses happened -oh god- forever ago.” She finished her tea and put the cup in the sink. “How long did you keep up with it?”

Alice hummed, and hugged herself. “Till college. It kind of fell off a bit after I graduated you know? But freshman year was intense. I dated this girl who I thought was big into Team Dresch, so we’d gone to a few concerts. Turns out she’d been more into the story about my mom. That wasn't the whole reason we stopped going out though. But the movement had been this part of my life, in a massive way after mom died. She’d made sure music was always important to my life. I needed away from the magic shit, and it was a good place to be angry. I really needed to be angry; you know I stayed that way for a long time.

But after a few years, when I'd put in my old cd’s and records all I could think of was how… upset I was as a teenager. You know I didn’t deal with my grief until recently, so, I guess that’s something else. ” Lilia watched Alice, nodding at the right times. She definitely knew. She wasn't about to forget Alice’s trial on the road, or what she’d said later.

“Sad is better than angry.”

Alice’s head was tilted down, but Lilia saw her eyes getting misty. She moved over to Alice’s side of the kitchen. She put a hand on her shoulder. “I got back into it recently,” Alice added, "the music. It's way easier to find the old music on the internet, especially when Jen pays for my subscription.” Lilia knew what she meant; she was also on the plan.

“Well I don't know how to tell you this, but punk attracts all kinds of outcasts, witches included. Even if they tended to uplift white middle class girls over other groups.” Lilia patted Alice’s arm before stepping back again. “Trust me doll, you were where you needed to be.” The speaker had switched over to Dyke March by Le Tigre. Their singer was the same one from Bikini Kill. “I met her once,” Lilia mused, tapping on the speaker,“Kathleen Hanna.”

Alice wiped at her face. It was early enough that she hadn't put on her usual makeup yet. “Yeah? Do you think she remembers you?”

She chuckled. “No, probably not. But I know she’s touring right now with Bikini Kill again.”

“I saw that.”

Lilia didn't hesitate. “We should go see them. Tonight. They’ve got Eastview stadium for the week, and it's cheapest tonight.”

“Lilia Calderu is inviting me to a punk concert?”

“Lilia Calder is offended at this disbelief,” Lilia huffed, “you know twenty years ago I was getting more comments about my age when I was getting pins and patches than I bet your thirteen year old ass was. Compared to me, you’re practically a child. I should be asking if it's past your bedtime.”

Alice swatted Lilia’s arm. “You’ve been around Harkness too much.” Lilia shrugged. The pair made plans to go to a punk concert once the sun went down.

That evening, Lilia went through the boxes in her room that she still hadn't unpacked. “I know where it all is, there's no point in reorganizing!” She’d say, but it was really because part of her still wasn't certain the roommate situation would last. Either way, she found some dark, flowy clothes that were probably more Stevie Nicks than anything, but honestly, who was going to care. Lilia dug around for a few protection rings; the ones she always took, and the few extras she took to this kind of scene because she’d been around long enough to see some messed up shit.

A vision flashed to Lilia. Crowded room, packed venue. Sweaty bodies pushing her around. Someone yelling, Piss off Lilia! And harsh hands jerking her to the side. Too loud, too loud, too loud, so loud that it blurred her vision. She swayed. She dropped her drink; the mussels in her hand betrayed her. Was it the crowd or was it- no shit shit not again. When is this? Last time-

“Lilia!” Soft hands shook her gently, and Lilia put her own up in self defense, pushing back against a pink clad body. Soft hands held her in place as she pushed, letting Lilia have something to physically resist.. She found herself sitting, then, black skirts piling around her, grey curls falling in front of her face. Lilia was coming back to herself when Jen said her name again. “Hey? Kooky?” Lila looked around. She'd knocked over the box she’d been rifling through. Bobbles scattered around the floor, thrown about like whatever timeline was trying to speak to Lilia. Alice stood in the doorway. Lilia’s brow produced little beads of sweat as she tried to determine if she’d visited a vision or a memory. Jen nudged her again. “Lilia?”

Lilia shrugged Jen off. She rubbed her temple. “I just…”

“You went away for a minute,” Jen nodded. She tilted her head, with a rare Kale smile. “Anywhere good?” Definitely not.

Lilia chuckled dryly, using Jen to help her to her feet. “Somewhere loud.” She looked over at Alice. “You look… concert ready.” She nodded approvingly. Alice’s orange streaks had been re-dyed, with the help of Jen earlier that day. Her outfit was pretty close to what she wore the first time Lilia had met her. Only this time, it was a slightly different jacket with a list of different feminist punk bands painted onto the back. Her makeup was a bit bigger too. She tossed Lilia a pair of ear plugs.

“We’re good to head out in ten?”

“Give me twenty,” Lilia said. It wasn't a question. Alice nodded and went back downstairs. Jen smoothed out the shirt on Lilia’s shoulders. Then she went over and sat on Lilia’s bed. Lilia settled herself into a plush chair she’d picked up back in Vienna, right in front of her mirror.

“Where did you go this time?” Jen asked when Lilia didn't ask her to leave.

Lilia pursed her lips. “A concert.” She flexed her hands in front of her face. They did not fail her as she applied lipstick and mascara, or when she clasped talismans around her neck and wrists. They would not fail her again, and they hadn’t that night. It had been a close call, Lilia remembered, but that's all. She didn't tell Jen and Jen didn’t push. Oddly, she’d stopped pushing since the trial. But she had started watching Lilia. She’d stay in the same room a little longer, stay up a little later, all little things Lilia noticed, but wouldn't ask about yet. What right did she have to anyway, to tell her to leave. Not after she sent Jen down the road without her, and Lilia knew that.

Alice had the car running and music already playing. “What’s this?” Lilia asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Mommy Long-Legs,” Alice smiled. They pulled out of the wider part of the driveway and started down the road that wasn't necessarily a private road, but might as well have been because of how long it was, and the fact that there were only two houses on it, both perfectly crafted for woodland semi-isolation. As far as Lilia knew, their neighboring building was largely uninhabited. She’d never seen it though, as it was hidden so far back that the trees blended together into black before you could hope to see a house.

“What else do you listen to?” Alice asked, breaking Lilia from her thoughts.

Lilia hummed. “Jazz, older Italian songs, but seventies and eighties rock was a pretty good time for music too, I suppose. Stevie Nicks is wonderful.”

“Mom performed with her and Fleetwood Mac.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I was pretty young, but I remembered it being a huge deal.”

“I remember that,” Lilia reminisced, “that was a good show.”

They got themselves out of the woods and started driving along a series of fields. Houses slowly started showing up, becoming closer and more clustered the longer they drove. The lights of civilization began to shine down on them, and suddenly the road was a bit less empty. When they made it into Eastview, approaching the venue, Lilia could start to guess who was on their way to the concert. She smiled-

Fuck off Lilia! She’s pushed to her knees, or has she fallen on her own. Help! Who needed help! The picture is fuzzy. Wrong. It’s not as clear as it should be. She’s inebriated. No, she's… she’s…

Her body slumps down, and before she can catch herself, Lilia hits her head off the dashboard. She curses herself, looks at Alice who drives calmly, and sits back up in her seat. “Um,” Alice starts slowly. She turns into a parking spot and shuts off the music. “Are you… back?”

Lilia looks at Alice, searching. Who’s voice had told her to- “Say something,” Lilia said.

“Something? Lilia are you ok? Do I need to call Jen or…?”

Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter, baby. I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. Time was not linear and she was actively jumping around. She couldn't hold herself, couldn't find where she needed to be like she had on the road. She looked at Alice. She needed to ask for help. She needed her sisters for the craft.

“I dont…” Alice bit her lip, “I don’t know how to help you.”

“Well I'm sure that's really hard for you,” she snapped. She rubbed her temples. In the vision… she couldn't get a grip on reality. It was like something was infecting her.

“I’m not taking your shit old woman,” Alice snapped right back, not missing a beat. Lilia barked out a humorless laugh. She nodded approvingly. It confused Alice.

“You’re into punk, right doll? Right. So why the hell are you a cop?” She gave Alice a hard stare. Alice didn't flinch, but regarded Lilia with suspicion. “I’m not, ok, that sounded judgemental. It was.”

“I wanted-”

“To help people? That wasn't intuition, that's common sense. The Protection Witch wants to protect people. So why not get into security? And don't give me that mall security bullshit, that wasn't your choice.” Lilia had successfully deflected back onto Alice. For now. Divine Mother, she really was spending too much time around Agatha. That thought made her shiver, so she softened. “You could be anything, baby,” She reached over for Alice’s hands, “embrace it.”

“Oh fuck off Lilia,” Alice groaned, “fuck that. I’m glad you had your enlightenment moment on the road, but you’re not ok!You still haven't even told me what happened after I died, so unlike Jen, I still don't have a damn clue what's wrong with you! And that's fine! But how am I supposed to protect you?”

“Don't protect me then!” Lilia shouted, “Protect yourself, baby! I’m not senile, I don't-”

“Need a babysitter! I know! You’ve fucking said Lilia, youve fucking said.” Alice slammed her hand down on the horn of the parked car. A group of punk girls, in their early teens, late twenties, cheered. “You’re smart and you can take care of yourself because you've been doing it for centuries. You and everyone else in the house, ok, I've got it. No one taught me how to be a witch. I never made a habit of spending time with women literally centuries older than me.” Her eyes welled up with tears, even as her face contorted back to the familiar anger she’d lived with for so long.

Her mother holds her hand, showing her how to spread the tarot cards. How to read people like reading cards. She will see her mother’s death, and her mother may not see the truth in it. “Please Mama, please won't you listen? Let me help, let me help,” and then in the dark of the night after vision after vision-

“Just let me help you! Don't leave me alone!” Lilia cries out, her hands flying to her hair and pulling her curls out of place, like she’d done as a girl. She shakes as her lungs try to puncture themselves on her ribs, expanding against the shell of her body. She looks back to Alice, ashamed. “That wasn't,” she started, “that wasn't for you.”

Alice nodded. She had unbuckled her seatbelt and was sitting against the inside of the door, her feet pulled up to her knees. Her head was tilted on her arms like they had been at the campfire on the witches road. Alice wasnt smiling though, she was waiting. Lilia handed her a ring to fidget with.

“My mother,” Lilia confessed quietly, “well. I lost her too. I couldn't protect her.” Lilia glances at herself in the side mirror. Her hair had been pulled into disarray. Her makeup should just be wiped off at that point. “I do not want to talk about it. Jen knows. But I knew it would happen, and I couldn't stop it, and I was alone and no one wants to be around a woman who sees their deaths-” her voice cracked, “so I was run out of everywhere. I apologize if I don’t know how to fix you, doll-”

“So don't try to fix me,” Alice said. She started out firm, then paused. She reached over for Lilia’s hand. Lilia took it- hesitantly. “Don’t try to fix, try to help. Advise. Ok?”

Lilia nodded. She pulled the curls out of her face and readjusted the neck of her shirt., fixing her posture. “And you don't need to protect me… just, oh Divine mother, just, support me. Sometimes.”

Alice nodded. A silent agreement passed between them. They did not, in fact, hug it out. They didn't go to the concert, either. With a peace made between them, Lilia saw a worse future. Her abilities were not deteriorating, she was visiting a time where she was drugged. Roofied. After Alice would tell her to fuck off, again, the protection witch would be separated from her. Neither would reach for their powers in time, because they would both be incapacitated. So instead, they went to an old vinyl shop. They left with some Grateful Dead, Billy Joel, and Alice turned Lilia onto the Crane Wives.

The shop owner, an older man, didn't peg them as mother and daughter, like his assistant had asked Lilia. Of course, Lilia said no. The shop owner, who knew and sensed more than his young apprentice, immediately saw them as Cool Niece, Cooler Aunt.

Sisters of the craft. He charged them extra.

They had yet to really understand each other, but certainly, they were getting there.

#agatha all along #lilia calderu #alice wu gulliver #fanfic #writing #aaa marvel #agatha harkness

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themattress · 4 months ago

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The Shitennou in the 90s anime are fantastic because each one of them is a specialist of some sort and it makes their evil operations distinct from one another, keeping things fresh.

Jadeite - The Illusionist

When it comes to Jadeite, deception is the name of the game. For his energy harvesting schemes he creates fake businesses, has his youma pose as humans, and he himself dons all sorts of disguises: radio DJ, fitness instructor, stage manager, academic professor, shrine assistant, amusement park security guard, and captain of a cruise ship. He will also utilize illusions to intimidate like when he showed a vision of Tokyo in flames, or to trick his enemies like when he had illusionary cops force the Sailor Senshi to transform so that he could learn their true identities. Unfortunately, Jadeite's pride in his capabilities means that he was stubbornly unwilling to adapt and take a more direct approach, leading to his downfall.

Nephrite - The Manipulator

Nephrite is a manipulator in all senses of the word. He manipulates people, objects, events and even the stars themselves in order to achieve his villainous goals. Using the single disguise of Masato Sanjouin, he gets close to victims, then will usually give them an item he curses to amplify their innate negative energy until it matches the energy of the star they were born under, creating a special youma in the process. He eventually singles out a key victim in Naru Osaka, who has a crush on his Sanjouin persona, and manipulates her in plans to destroy the Sailor Senshi or find the Imperium Silver Crystal, and uses a special tool of his own creation known as the Dark Star Crystal. However, his cold heart ends up warmed by Naru's innocence and devotion to love, leading him to his tragic demise defending her.

Zoisite - The Cheat

While Zoisite had aid from Kunzite in strategizing, let's not sell him short when it comes to the moment of truth - Zoisite frequently prevails because he is willing to do absolutely anything to win. No method is too dirty, cheap or cowardly for him to embrace. He'll threaten someone's loved one to coerce them into doing what he wants, he'll sucker-punch his enemies out of nowhere after having previously retreated from them, he'll physically bully whoever is smaller and weaker than him then blind them to make an escape if they prove more formidable than expected, he'll pretend to surrender and then strike, he'll sic a monster on his enemy while taking his prize and running, and when all else fails a good old-fashioned stabbing in the back will suffice. Zoisite got far on dishonesty, but success went to his head and he overreached.

Kunzite - The Trap Master

At first Kunzite was a skilled tactician, but then after Zoisite died the writers made him stupider at crafting strategies without even seeming to realize it. What he remained very consistent on, however, was his brilliant and deadly traps. He engineered a fake hostage situation leading to the Sailor Senshi getting caught in a dark, ever-compressing forcefield, he cut the power in Tokyo to obstruct the Sailor Senshi's efforts and cause Mamoru and Usagi to get stuck in an elevator, he had a great idea for a DNA scanning device to catch Sailor Moon with that his youma sadly screwed up, he held a princess seminar where the target was the overall failures save for in a frisbee-tossing challenge since it reflects Sailor Moon's tiara throwing ability, he had a giant snowy chasm created for his enemies to fall right into and be unable to climb out of, he rigged an ice skating rink temperature control device to blast an obscene amount of icy coldness down on everyone and nearly freeze them to death, he played on Sailor Venus' friendship with another person to almost obtain vital information from her, he turned the Sailor Senshi's own attempt at a trap back on them because he saw right through it, and were it not for the Silver Crystal's interference would have trapped them all in time-space limbo. Of all the Shitennou, he came closest to victory on the most occasions. Additionally, he was a powerful warrior, with his power and pride sadly being his undoing.

#Sailor Moon #Dark Kingdom #The Shitennou #Jadeite #Nephrite #Zoisite #Kunzite #Evil #Villains #Awesome #Analysis #Comparison #I love all these bastards

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lila-lou · 2 months ago

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✨His true fate - Part 31/?✨

Summary: Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Slight!Smut, Language, age gap, angst, fluff

Word Count: 8459

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

It was late November, the air crisp but not too cold, and you sat on Jared’s porch in the backyard, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the scene. Jared’s wife and kids were out of town, leaving the house quiet except for the low murmur of conversation and the occasional sound of Jensen pacing in the yard below. Jensen was on the phone with Danneel—again. The tension in his voice was unmistakable, even though you couldn’t make out the exact words.

You took a sip from your beer, your shoulders slumping as you let out a sigh. It was the same story over and over. Danneel had promised to sign the divorce papers weeks ago, and yet here you were, nearly at the end of November, and nothing had changed. Every time it seemed like progress was being made, something would come up—some excuse, some new argument, and the papers would remain unsigned.

Jared, who was sitting beside you on the porch, glanced at you, clearly noticing your frustration. He took a swig of his own beer, his eyes drifting over to Jensen, who was pacing the backyard, his voice rising and falling as he argued with Danneel. It was hard not to feel the weight of the situation. This whole thing had been dragging on for far too long, and it was taking a toll on everyone—especially Jensen.

“Seems like it’s never gonna end, huh?”, Jared said quietly, breaking the silence between you. He leaned back in his chair, watching Jensen with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance. "I hate seeing him like this. He deserves better".

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. The frustration and uncertainty had been building up inside you for weeks. You knew how much Jensen was struggling, caught between trying to do right by his kids and wanting to move forward with his life—and with you. But as long as Danneel kept dragging her feet, it felt like you were all stuck in limbo, waiting for something that might never happen.

“I just don’t get it”, you finally muttered, your voice tinged with frustration. “She said she would sign. What’s she waiting for? It’s like she’s doing this just to keep him tied up in knots”.

Jared let out a soft grunt of agreement. “That’s exactly what she’s doing. She knows what she’s doing, keeping him on edge like this. It’s about control, and she doesn’t want to let go of it”.

You sighed, resting your elbows on your knees as you watched Jensen continue to pace. You hated seeing him like this—so stressed, so caught up in a situation that seemed to have no end in sight. You knew how much he loved his kids, how important it was to him to be a good father, and that made everything more complicated. Danneel knew exactly how to push his buttons, and she wasn’t afraid to use the kids as leverage.

“He can’t keep living like this”, you said softly, more to yourself than to Jared.

Jared nodded, his gaze still fixed on Jensen. “No, he can’t. But until Danneel lets go, I don’t know what else he can do. It’s like she’s holding him hostage, and there’s only so much he can push before it affects the kids even more”.

You knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. You took another sip of your beer, trying to push away the gnawing feeling of helplessness. This wasn’t how you’d imagined things would be when you and Jensen started this relationship. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but the constant back and forth with Danneel, the endless waiting, was starting to wear you down.

After a few more minutes of pacing, Jensen finally hung up the phone, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He walked over to the porch, his face a mix of frustration and exhaustion. He didn’t say anything at first, just dropped heavily into the chair beside you, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s still not ready to sign”, he muttered, his voice tight with anger. “Every time I think we’re making progress, she pulls something like this”.

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, offering him a small squeeze of support. “I’m sorry, Jensen. I know how hard this is for you”.

Jared leaned forward in his chair, his expression serious. “You can’t let her keep doing this, man. She’s dragging this out for control, not because she has a good reason. You’ve done everything you can to be fair”.

Jensen nodded, but his eyes were distant, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. “I just don’t know what else to do, man. I don’t want to make things worse for the kids”.

Jared sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get that. But you deserve to move on with your life too. She can’t keep you trapped like this forever”.

You sat there in silence for a moment, the three of you watching as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Jensen stared off into the distance, his expression unreadable, before he finally ran his hands roughly over his face, letting out a long breath. Then, without saying much, he stood up and held out his hand toward you.

“C'mon”, he mumbled, his voice low but insistent.

You looked up at him, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion, then glanced toward Jared, who gave you an equally puzzled look. “What?”, you asked quietly, unsure of what he had in mind.

“Just.. come”, Jensen urged again, wiggling his hand for you to take it.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he was planning, but there was something in his eyes—a mix of determination and vulnerability—that made you reach for his hand without question. Little did you know, Jensen had something significant planned. He’d been holding onto a secret, undecided, but now, in this moment, it seemed like he was ready to show you something he hadn’t even mentioned yet-.

As you stood up, Jared, clearly intrigued, followed suit. “Hold up, I want in on this too”, Jared said, grinning as he stepped beside you and Jensen. “I mean, if it’s something dirty or crazy, I’m definitely not missing out”.

Jensen gave a small, exasperated smile, shaking his head slightly but not giving away any details. “Trust me, it’s neither. But you can come if you want”.

Jared feigned disappointment, crossing his arms in mock frustration. “Well, that’s a shame, but I’ll still tag along. Can’t have you two going off on some mysterious adventure without me”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Jared’s playful attitude, but your curiosity grew.

The three of you walked toward the driveway, and Jensen didn’t say much as he led you to your car, but his grip on your hand was steady, as if he was gathering his thoughts. Jared hopped into the backseat as Jensen opened the passenger door for you. Once you were all settled in the car, Jensen finally spoke up, his voice calm but a little uncertain.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about”, he began, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the driveway. “Something I haven’t told you yet”.

You stared at him, still puzzled by the silence. Jensen hadn’t said anything more since he’d mentioned having something on his mind, and with each passing second, your curiosity and anxiety grew. You could feel the weight of the unspoken words, but it was the uncertainty that really got to you. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at Jared through the rearview mirror before turning back to Jensen, who was focused on the road.

“Just tell me, Jensen!”, you finally burst out, your voice a little more tense than you intended.

Deep down, a familiar fear had started to bubble up—one you had felt before, especially after the times Jensen had been slightly dismissive or distant following another argument with Danneel. The uncertainty always left you feeling like you were bracing for something worse, something you couldn’t control.

“Please”.

Jensen glanced over at you, his eyes soft but determined, as if he could feel the worry creeping into your thoughts. He shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I want you to see it first”, he mumbled.

That didn’t help the knot in your stomach, but you tried to push the fear aside, trusting him. He wouldn’t lead you into something bad. He wouldn’t do that, right?

Jared, sensing the tension, leaned forward from the backseat and made an exaggerated groaning sound. “Man, you’re killing the suspense! If you’ve got some big secret, just spill it already. We’re dying here!". His teasing tone cut through the heaviness in the air, making you chuckle despite yourself.

Jensen shot him a quick look in the mirror, shaking his head again but with more amusement this time. “It’s not like that, Jared”, he said, though there was a slight grin on his face now. “Just be patient”.

You exhaled, trying to settle your nerves as the car continued down the road. Whatever this was, it had to be important, and Jensen’s tone didn’t carry the weight of something negative. But still, after everything with Danneel and the constant uncertainty of where things stood, it was hard not to let your mind wander to darker places.

"Don’t worry”, Jensen mumbled, though there was a slight nervousness in his voice that you couldn’t ignore. He placed his palm gently on your thigh, squeezing softly as his eyes flicked over to meet yours for just a moment before returning to the road. The brief glance was filled with reassurance, but there was still something in his expression—a vulnerability he hadn’t shown in a while.

You tried to relax, the warmth of his hand grounding you a little, though the tension still lingered at the back of your mind. You trusted him, but the unease from the past weeks, with Danneel’s constant presence in his life and the uncertainty about where everything was headed, made it hard to fully let go of the worry.

Jared, clearly sensing the unspoken tension, shifted in the backseat, trying to break the silence with his usual humor. “Well, whatever it is, it better be good, man. You’ve got the both of us on the edge of our seats here. If it’s not some grand romantic gesture, you’re in trouble”, he teased, winking at you in the rearview mirror.

Jensen let out a small chuckle, though it was clear his mind was still focused on whatever was coming next. “I think you’ll both like it”, he muttered, his voice softer now, as if he was gathering himself before revealing what he’d been holding back. His thumb traced light circles on your leg, an absentminded gesture that soothed your nerves just a little.

A few minutes later, Jensen turned down a quiet street, lined with trees that cast soft shadows on the road.

He continued down the private, tree-lined road. As the trees thickened, the houses became more secluded, each hidden behind dense foliage, with small, private driveways.

Jensen’s grip on your thigh tightened for just a moment before he turned into the driveway at the very end of the road. The tires crunched softly over the gravel as the car slowed to a stop in front of a beautiful, secluded house. It was large, but had a cozy, inviting feel to it. There were tall trees surrounding it, offering both shade and a sense of seclusion, making it feel like a hidden oasis tucked away from the rest of the world.

You stared at the house, a mix of surprise and awe filling you. It was stunning, with a modern but homey design—clean lines, big windows, and a porch that wrapped around the front, giving it a warm, welcoming feel.

Jensen turned off the engine and exhaled deeply, his hand slipping from your leg as he leaned back in his seat, glancing at you.

“I got the keys yesterday”, Jensen admitted, his voice quieter now. “I haven’t even taken a look inside yet. An old friend of mine did me a favor—said I could come by, take a look, see if it feels right”.

He opened his door, the sound of gravel crunching under his boots as he stepped out. “Alright, kids, let’s get out”, he mumbled, clearly trying to lighten the mood, though the nerves were still there, evident in the way he kept flexing his hands.

You stared at Jensen, still not fully understanding what was happening. “What?”, you mumbled under your breath, feeling slightly out of the loop. Jared’s eyes, on the other hand, went wide with realization. Without a second thought, he stepped out of the car and gave Jensen a rough shove on the shoulder, catching you by surprise.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”, Jared exclaimed, shoving him again, this time with even more excitement.

Jared’s enthusiasm was infectious, and it quickly became clear that whatever Jensen was revealing was big—bigger than you had initially thought. Jared, obviously thrilled at the prospect, looked like he couldn’t believe his buddy was moving back Austin.

Jensen just chuckled softly, sticking one hand into his jeans pocket and raising his other hand in a mock surrender. “I haven’t bought it yet”, he said, his voice calm but tinged with that same nervous energy that had been there earlier. The weight of the moment hung between you all.

You stepped around the car, your heart beating a little faster. “Bought?”, you asked quietly, the confusion in your voice giving way to realization. Jensen was talking about buying this house.

Jensen’s gaze softened when he looked at you, but you could see the nervousness in his eyes. This was a huge step, one he clearly hadn’t expected to take so soon—or at least, not without talking to you first. “Yeah”, he admitted, his voice lowering as he took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about it. Moving back, finding something stable. And this place… I don’t know. It feels right. But I wanted you to see it first”.

Your heart skipped a beat at Jensen’s words. The idea of him moving back to Austin, especially so soon, wasn’t something you’d fully wrapped your head around. And now, standing here in front of this beautiful house, he was asking for your opinion, your involvement in the decision. The weight of it all hit you at once—this wasn’t just about a house. This was about him wanting to build a life with you.

You looked up at him, still trying to process what this all meant. “You really want me to help you decide? You want me to… move in with you?”. The question slipped out quietly, almost as if you were afraid to ask it, unsure if it was too soon to even think about something so serious.

Jensen’s gaze softened even more, and though he was clearly nervous, his determination never wavered. “Yeah”, he mumbled, his voice low but steady. “I can’t buy it until the divorce is finalized, but no matter what happens, I’d love to come back to Austin. To start fresh… With you”.

The sincerity in his voice hit you like a wave, making your heart race. He wasn’t just talking about the house—he was talking about a life, a future, one where the chaos of everything with Danneel and the divorce could finally be behind him, behind you both.

You blinked, glancing between him and the house, the realization settling in. “You really want this?”, you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jensen nodded, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as he held your hand. “I do”, he said softly, his eyes locked on yours. “I want this for us. I know things are complicated right now, but this… this feels right. I want to build something here. Somewhere that feels like home”.

Your heart swelled with emotions—hope, love, fear, all swirling together. The thought of making such a huge step, of really committing to this new chapter with him, was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. But there was no denying the way your heart responded to his words. You wanted it too, even if the idea scared you.

Jared, standing to the side with his arms crossed, broke the moment with a playful grin. “Man, you’re really going all in, huh?”. He nudged Jensen with his elbow. “But hey, if you’re coming back to Austin, you know I’ve got your back”.

Jensen chuckled, though the nervousness hadn’t fully left him. “I can’t buy anything until the divorce is finalized, but I’m ready to make the move".

You looked back at Jensen, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions. “What if things with Danneel get worse?”, you asked quietly, the lingering fears bubbling to the surface. “What if she makes it harder for you?”.

“No matter what Danneel does, I’m moving forward. I’m not letting her hold me back anymore. I want to come back to Austin, and I want you with me”.

He was choosing you—choosing a life where you were central to his future, despite the uncertainty.

You took a deep breath, the emotions swirling inside you almost too much to handle. Despite everything Jensen had said, the weight of the decision still lingered. You wanted to be absolutely sure, to hear him say it again, to erase any doubts that might still be lingering in the back of your mind.

“Jensen”, you whispered, your voice wavering slightly, “are you really sure? Do you really want me to move in with you?”.

For a moment, he just looked at you, and then, to your surprise, a wide grin spread across his face. He rolled his eyes in that playful way that told you he wasn’t annoyed, just amused by your persistence. “You´re for real right now?”, he asked, his tone light but full of affection. “How many times do I have to say it?”.

He squeezed your hand again, pulling you closer until you were standing almost chest to chest. “I want this, alright? I want you. I want us. This isn’t just some spur-of-the-moment decision”. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, the sincerity in his eyes unmistakable. “I’ve thought about it, and yes, I want you to move in with me. I want to build a life together here. You’re a part of my future, no matter what happens”.

The warmth in his words made your heart race, and for a moment, everything else—the divorce, the uncertainties, the complications—seemed to fade into the background. It was just you and Jensen, standing there in front of this house that could very well become your home.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, laughing softly at your own emotions. “Okay”, you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want this too”.

Jensen’s grin only grew wider as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He kissed the top of your head, murmuring, “Good, because I’m not doing this without you”.

Jared, who had been standing to the side, watching the whole thing unfold with a soft smile on his face, finally spoke up. “Alright, lovebirds”, he teased, clapping his hands together. “Are we gonna check out this house or what? Because I’m dying to see it”.

You both laughed, and Jensen loosened his grip on you, his hand still firmly holding yours as he nodded toward the front door. “Let’s take a look inside”, he said, his tone lighter now, filled with excitement.

And with that, the three of you walked toward the front door, stepping into what could be the start of a new chapter—a home, a future, and a life together.

Jensen led you and Jared through the large front door, and as soon as you stepped inside, the house took your breath away.

The entrance opened into a grand foyer with towering ceilings and polished, dark wood floors that gleamed under the soft, natural light filtering in from the oversized windows. The walls were a warm shade of cream, and the space exuded a modern yet welcoming feel. Above you, a large wrought-iron chandelier hung, casting soft light that filled the room.

Immediately to your right, a formal dining room stood, framed by large archways and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in abundant sunlight. The dining table was modern and sleek, made from rich, dark wood, with plush, cream-colored chairs. French doors led out to the side yard, offering a private outdoor dining space.

The heart of the house was the expansive living room, which flowed seamlessly into the kitchen. This open-concept space had a stunning blend of modern luxury and comfortable design. The living room had towering windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, giving you a clear view of the stunning backyard and the Colorado River just beyond. The focal point of the room was a modern stone fireplace, embedded into a wall of rich wood paneling, and surrounded by a large L-shaped couch with oversized, plush cushions.

Above, the gallery on the second floor overlooked the living room, creating an impressive open space that felt both expansive and connected. The high ceilings, clean lines, and modern furnishings gave the room a sense of understated elegance.

The kitchen was a damn dream. With sleek, custom cabinetry painted in a soft dove gray and expansive white quartz countertops, it was both practical and beautiful. A large island sat at the center, big enough for several people to gather around with its high-top barstools. The island was topped with a waterfall edge, the quartz cascading down the sides in a beautiful, smooth finish. The appliances were top-of-the-line stainless steel, seamlessly integrated into the cabinetry, and there was huge stove, double ovens, and a built-in wine fridge.

The kitchen flowed into a cozy breakfast nook, complete with a round table that looked out through large windows to the backyard.

And what a backyard it was.

Through the oversized glass doors, you stepped out onto a wide stone patio that extended the entire length of the house. There was an outdoor kitchen with a built-in grill, sink, and refrigerator. The patio opened up into an immaculately landscaped backyard. A sparkling pool was the centerpiece, with its sleek, modern design framed by stone and shaded by large oak trees. The pool had a built-in hot tub that flowed seamlessly into the main swimming area, the water cascading over the edges in a gentle, soothing sound.

Near the pool, a stone fireplace sat surrounded by a circle of comfortable outdoor lounge chairs, creating a cozy space for gatherings on cooler evenings. Beyond the perfectly manicured lawn, you could see the Colorado River glimmering in the sunlight. A small path led down to a private pier, where a few lounge chairs and a small dock were set up. It was the perfect place for fishing, launching a kayak, or just sitting by the water, enjoying the peaceful surroundings.

As you made your way back inside, Jensen led you upstairs to the second floor. The gallery overlooked the living room and kitchen below, and the sleek iron railing contrasted beautifully with the rich wood floors. Upstairs, there were four spacious bedrooms, each designed with large windows that brought in natural light. The master bedroom was the best, with a private balcony that offered sweeping views of the backyard and the river. Inside the master bedroom, there was an oversized walk-in closet with built-in shelving and enough space for even the most elaborate wardrobe.

The bathroom was pure luxury, with a deep soaking tub set beneath a large window that looked out onto the treetops, offering a serene view. The large walk-in shower was framed in glass, with modern tile and a rainfall showerhead.

Two of the additional bedrooms shared a bathroom, each with its own vanity area but connected by a shared shower and tub. The fourth bedroom had its own private bathroom, perfect for guests or a teenager seeking a bit of privacy.

Downstairs, there was another guest bedroom with a private bathroom, ensuring that any visitors would have their own space. The laundry room was large and functional, with plenty of counter space for folding clothes, built-in cabinets for storage, and a deep sink. It was tucked away in a quiet corner of the house, making it both convenient and out of sight.

The house was a perfect blend of modern luxury and comfortable living. It felt like a home designed not just for show but for a life filled with love, family, and friends. The balance of open, inviting spaces and private, cozy areas made it ideal for both intimate moments and large gatherings.

Jensen walked behind you as you wandered through the house, your eyes soaking in every detail. His hand rested gently on the small of your back, a reassuring presence as you moved from one room to the next. You could feel his anticipation, the way he waited for your reaction with every step, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

As you reached the spacious living room, you stopped for a moment, taking in the incredible view of the backyard and the river beyond. It was perfect—almost too perfect, like something out of a dream. The kind of house that felt like it could hold so much life, so much love. You turned back to Jensen, and he was already watching you, his eyes searching yours for some kind of affirmation.

“What do you think?”, he asked quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of nerves and hope.

You blinked, your mind racing as you tried to put your feelings into words. It wasn’t just about the house—it was about the life he was offering you, the future he was imagining for the two of you. And that future was starting to look more real, more tangible, with every step you took through this house.

“It’s…”, you paused, trying to catch your breath, overwhelmed by the gravity of it all. “It’s beautiful, Jensen. I mean, it’s perfect. I don’t even know what to say”.

Jensen’s face softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I wanted something that felt right for us”, he said, his hand still resting on your back. “Somewhere we can build a life. And… I wanted you to be part of that decision. I didn’t want to do this without you”.

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice making you realize just how serious he was about this—about you. You turned to fully face him, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you.

Jensen's gaze softened even more, the nervousness giving way to something deeper—an earnest vulnerability. He stepped closer, his hand brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as he spoke, his voice quiet but filled with intent.

“Even though I can’t buy it just yet”, he began, his thumb gently tracing your cheek, “if you like it—if you can see us here—I’ll take a hold on it. I want this place to be ours, but only if you can see it too”.

You felt your heart skip a beat. The house was beautiful, but it was more than just a place—it was a symbol of everything he wanted to build with you. The life you both dreamed of but hadn’t quite dared to fully imagine until now. His words hung in the air between you, charged with the weight of what this meant for your future.

You looked around once more, taking in the expansive living room, the warm sunlight filtering in through the tall windows, the view of the Colorado River in the distance. It was everything you could have imagined, and more. But what made it truly perfect wasn’t just the house itself, but the idea of sharing it with him—building a life here, together.

“I can see us here”, you whispered, turning back to him, your voice thick with emotion.

Jensen’s face lit up, his relief and happiness so palpable that it made your heart swell even more. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you could feel the tension he had been holding onto melt away.

“Then I’ll make sure it happens”, he murmured against your skin, his arms wrapping around you. “I’ll put a hold on it. This will be our home, I promise”.

You couldn’t help but smile wider at his words, your heart racing with excitement and love. The future suddenly felt less scary and more like a promise—one you were both ready to keep.

As the moment between you and Jensen hung in the air, Jared, who had been lingering quietly in the background, finally decided it was time to make his presence known. He cleared his throat dramatically, stepping into the living room with an exaggerated grin plastered on his face.

“Well”, Jared began, clapping his hands together with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Look at you two, playing house already. I knew I was tagging along for something juicy”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Jared’s playful tone, while Jensen rolled his eyes, clearly anticipating the teasing that was about to come.

Jared walked around the room, spreading his arms wide as he admired the house. “I mean, this place is ridiculous. I’m talking perfect. You guys will have to fight me to keep me from moving in. I can already see myself in that pool, cocktail in hand. You’ll never get rid of me!”.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Yeah, well, if you show up uninvited, I’ll be sure to have the pool drained”, he teased, earning a chuckle from you.

Jared put a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Oh, come on! That’s no way to treat your future houseguest slash best man slash live-in nanny for the kids”, he joked, winking at you.

Jensen chuckled at Jared’s antics, but the lightness in his laugh was fleeting. You could sense the shift in his mood as the reality of everything else weighing on him began to creep back in. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing between you and Jared before letting out a soft sigh.

“There’s something I haven’t mentioned yet”, Jensen started, his voice a little more serious now. “Danneel’s been talking about moving back to Austin too, once we sell the house in Fairfield”.

You could see the tension in his jaw as he spoke, the uncertainty of the situation hanging in the air.

Jensen glanced at you, his hand finding yours as if he needed that grounding connection. “But.. Even if she doesn’t move back here, though… I’ll figure it out. I’ll move here no matter what. I want to be close to the kids, and to you”, he added, his eyes softening as they met yours. “But if the worst-case scenario happens and she decides to move somewhere else entirely, I’ll find a way to make it work. I’m not going to let her or the situation keep me from living where I want to be, and who I want to be with”.

You felt a wave of relief mixed with the weight of the situation. The fact that Jensen was so determined to move forward, to make Austin home, was reassuring, but you could also sense the strain of it all—the endless negotiations with Danneel, the logistics of parenting, and how it all weighed heavily on his shoulders.

You and Jensen took one last slow walk around the house. The house, with its stunning design and the potential it held for a new beginning, suddenly felt even more significant.

Jensen’s hand remained firmly on your back, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles as the two of you stepped out into the backyard. The sound of the river flowing softly in the distance mixed with the quiet rustling of the trees. The setting sun cast a golden glow across the landscape, making everything feel peaceful for just a moment.

As you reached the edge of the yard, standing by the path that led down to the private pier, Jensen stopped, turning toward you with a contemplative look on his face. He pulled you close to his side, wrapping his arm securely around you as you leaned against him.

“I know it’s a lot to take in”, he murmured, his voice soft. “But I want you to know that no matter what happens, this is where I want to be—with you”.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. There was still so much uncertainty with Danneel, the kids, and the logistics of everything, but in this moment, all that mattered was the decision you were making together.

Jensen pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as if he needed the closeness. “We’ll make this work”, he whispered against your hair. “Whatever it takes”.

You nodded, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. “I believe you”, you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his waist as you rested your head against his chest.

Jared, who had been quietly watching from the patio, finally broke the silence with a lighthearted chuckle. “Alright, are we done with the heartfelt stuff? Because I’m getting emotional over here”.

As the three of you walked back toward the car, Jensen kept his arm around you, his presence steady and reassuring. Jared kept a light atmosphere as he teased you both, but there was an unspoken understanding between all of you.

Once you all settled back into the car, Jensen started driving, the familiar sound of the engine humming as you headed back to Jared’s place. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows on the road, but inside the car, the mood was light.

Jensen glanced at Jared through the rearview mirror as they drove, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “So, you told Gen about me and her?”, he asked, keeping his voice casual, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind it. He wanted to know how much Jared’s wife knew.

Jared grinned in the mirror, clearly enjoying the shift in conversation. “Oh, you mean have I told Gen that you’ve finally got your head out of your ass and found someone who’s way too good for you?”, Jared teased, his tone light but affectionate.

Jensen rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, something like that”.

Jared leaned back in his seat. “Of course I’ve told her”, he said, more seriously now. “She’s happy for you, man. She’s always rooting for you. But you know she’ll want to meet her again”. He nodded toward you with a grin. “Sooner rather than later”. His grin widening as he continued, "Gen knew something was up from the beginning. Right at my birthday party". He gave a knowing glance to Jensen through the rearview mirror, clearly amused by the memory.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, but he already seemed to know where Jared was going with this. "Oh yeah?", he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"Dude, Gen figured it out that night. I mean, come on—since when do either of us invite a random person we met while buying alcohol for a party?". He shot you a wink, his grin widening. "You weren’t just some random guest. Gen clocked it right away, knew there was something going on".

You chuckled softly at Jared’s playful tone, feeling both flattered and slightly embarrassed at the revelation. You hadn’t realized that it was so obvious from the start, but Jared clearly had a knack for reading people, and it seemed like his wife was just as perceptive.

Jensen laughed, shaking his head slightly as he kept his eyes on the road. “I thought I was being subtle”.

Jared let out a scoff. “Subtle? Please. You guys had the whole ‘secret glances across the room’ thing going on. Gen saw right through it”. He paused for a moment before adding, more seriously, “And honestly? She wasn’t surprised. She knew for years that things with you and Danneel weren’t working. It was only a matter of time”.

There was a quiet shift in the car after that. Jensen’s expression softened, and you could feel the weight of those words settle in. Jared wasn’t wrong. Jensen’s marriage with Danneel had been rocky for a long time, and now, as everything was coming to a head, it felt like a natural, if difficult, progression.

Jared leaned forward again, his tone more thoughtful now. “Gen’s always said that you deserve to be happy, man. We’ve all seen how hard you’ve worked to make things right with Danneel, but sometimes… it just doesn’t work out. And that’s okay. The important thing is that you’re doing what’s best for you, and now… well, you’ve found someone who makes you happy”.

Jensen glanced over at you for a brief moment, his hand squeezing yours gently before returning to the wheel. "Yeah", he murmured, his voice low but filled with emotion. "I have".

Jared’s grin returned, and he leaned back in his seat, clearly pleased with how the conversation had gone. “Just don’t screw it up, man”, he teased lightly.

As December rolled into town, the colder morning outside was forgotten in the warmth of your shared bed. You lay on your stomach, feeling the soft sheets beneath you, tangled around your legs, while Jensen hovered above you, his body radiating heat. He was slightly between your legs, his hands gripping the mattress tightly on either side of your head as his lips moved lazily down your bare lower back. His touch was soft but firm, sending tingles up your spine as he explored every inch of your skin.

His hips brushed against your buttcheek, and just as his teeth gently bit down, causing you to giggle softly, the sound of his phone rang, shattering the intimacy of the moment.

Jensen groaned against your skin, his forehead coming to rest against the small of your back as he let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course", he mumbled, the frustration clear in his voice.

You couldn't help but smile, turning your head slightly to glance at him. "You going to get that?", you teased, your voice still breathy from the closeness of the moment.

He huffed, his lips brushing against your back one last time before he lifted himself off you, reaching toward the bedside table where his phone buzzed insistently. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing slightly.

"It's probably something that can wait", Jensen said, sounding more annoyed than concerned, his thumb hovering over the decline button. He looked at you, his lips curling into a small, mischievous grin as he leaned down again, his lips ghosting over your shoulder.

You turned your head back into the pillow, chuckling. "Are you sure?", you asked, knowing how quickly things could shift, especially with all that had been going on in his life lately.

Jensen hesitated for a moment longer before finally pulling back again, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, it's nothing that can't wait", he murmured.

His hands slid back down to your hips, his body resuming its position above yours, the closeness and warmth between you quickly reigniting the spark of intimacy. "Now, where were we?", he asked, his voice low and teasing as he nuzzled the back of your neck, his hips pressing closer to yours.

You giggled softly, your body relaxing back into the moment, the world outside once again fading away.

As the quiet moment stretched on, Jensen's closeness grew more intense. You felt the firm pressure of his arousal against you. His breath was warm against your ear, his groans soft but laden with need as he kissed along your neck, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

Jensen's hands gripped your hips gently, his movements deliberate as he pressed closer. His lips traced a path from your neck down to your shoulder, each kiss deepening the connection that the morning laziness had already fostered.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, seeing in his eyes a mix of affection and desire that mirrored your own feelings.

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat as you pressed yourself back against Jensen, your bodies fitting together in a way that felt natural and intoxicating. His soft groans in response made your heart race, the tension between you building with every touch, every movement.

But then, his phone rang again, the sound breaking through the intimacy of the moment like an unwelcome intruder. Jensen groaned in frustration this time, burying his face in the curve of your neck as the phone continued to buzz insistently.

“Seriously?”, he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. He kissed your shoulder before sighing deeply, clearly reluctant to let go of the moment.

You giggled softly, feeling his irritation, but part of you was just as frustrated. “You should probably get that”, you whispered, your voice a mix of amusement and disappointment.

Jensen sighed again, reluctantly lifting himself off you, his hand brushing your back one last time before he reached for his phone on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted from annoyance to something more serious.

He hesitated for a second, his fingers hovering over the screen before he finally answered. "Yeah?", he said, his tone immediately changing, more alert now.

As much as you wanted to stay lost in the moment with him, you could sense the shift. Something was happening.

While Jensen continued talking with his manager, you tried to quietly slip out of bed, swinging one leg over his hips, intending to get up and make some much-needed coffee. You’d spent way too long in bed, lost in each other, kissing, teasing, and now the morning sun was filtering in through the curtains.

But just as you started to move, Jensen’s hand shot out, gripping your thigh firmly. His touch sent a jolt of warmth through you, and you froze in place, one leg still draped over him, the other half out of bed. His hand brushed up to your hipbone, fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. He pulled you gently closer to him, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp as your body followed his lead, your most intimate part mere inches from his face.

Jensen’s eyes sparkled with amusement, a slow grin spreading across his lips as he watched you, fully aware of how flustered you had become. His phone was still pressed to his ear, his voice steady and composed as he continued the conversation with his manager. But his free hand was anything but composed. It moved deliberately, fingers brushing over your hip, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin.

Your heart raced as his thumb began to trace slow circles near your clit, the touch almost too light to be real, yet sending waves of electricity through you. You blushed furiously, your breath catching in your throat. The contrast between the casual way he spoke on the phone and the intimate attention he was giving you sent your mind into a whirlwind of sensation and anticipation.

Jensen's grin widened as he noticed your reaction, his thumb pressing just a little harder, brushing directly over your clit. He kept his eyes on you, his gaze dark with desire, even as he continued speaking in that smooth, calm tone, completely in control of the situation while you were quickly losing yours. The combination of his teasing touch and his playful, confident grin made it impossible for you to think clearly.

Every nerve in your body was attuned to his touch, and as his thumb continued to move in slow, deliberate circles, you could feel your body responding despite the presence of his phone conversation. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the sheets as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was a losing battle.

As you hovered over Jensen’s chest, your breath shallow, you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. He licked his lips, his gaze flickering between your flushed face and the intimate space between your legs.

Without breaking eye contact, Jensen dipped his thumb inside you, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes darkening with desire. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp, your body reacting instantly to his teasing.

Jensen’s lips curled into a grin as he watched you, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

His thumb moved with a purpose, circling and retreating in a way that was maddeningly perfect. Each motion was calculated to draw out the moment, to intensify your desire without granting the final release.

As you struggled to maintain composure, the sound of Jensen's voice mingled with the sensations he was eliciting. He continued his conversation with his manager, his tone professional despite the intimate situation. "Yes, I've reviewed the schedule for January", he said, his voice steady. "We need to ensure that the production aligns with my current…. commitments. Can we possibly push the filming start by a week?".

His manager’s response was inaudible, but Jensen's slight nod indicated he was listening intently. "Understood", Jensen replied after a moment. "But let's try to negotiate for a bit more flexibility. It's crucial that the dates don't clash".

Throughout the call, Jensen’s thumb paused occasionally, his attention momentarily splitting between you and his professional obligations. Each pause left you anticipating more, the slow burn of need growing with each second of delay.

"Alright, send me the revised schedule once you've had that conversation", Jensen finally said, concluding the call. As he set his phone aside, his full attention returned to you. His grin broadened, aware of the intense state he'd left you in.

"Sorry about that", he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. "Let´s get to the important thing". His thumb resumed its slow, deliberate dance, pushing you closer to the brink this time, his gaze locked on yours, reading every reaction, every tremor that coursed through you.

"Focus can be a tricky thing, can't it?", Jensen teased, his words a velvet caress that matched the physical ones. His touch became slightly more insistent, promising that he was now fully present, committed to taking you all the way.

An hour later, the morning had settled into a comfortable rhythm. You sat at your small kitchen island, eating your bowl of cereal, the soft clinking of your spoon against the bowl the only sound in the quiet space. Jensen stood nearby, leaning casually against the counter, a mug of coffee in one hand while his other scrolled through emails on his phone. Every now and then, he'd glance at something on the screen, his brow furrowing slightly as he responded to work-related messages.

Despite the quiet, there was an easy, intimate vibe between the two of you. Occasionally, Jensen would lean over toward you, wordlessly opening his mouth as if expecting you to offer him a spoonful of your cereal. You chuckled at his unspoken request, shaking your head but obliging him nonetheless. You scooped up a bit of cereal and brought the spoon to his mouth, which he took with a playful grin.

"You're like a child sometimes", you teased, rolling your eyes as he chewed thoughtfully, clearly enjoying the bite.

"Well, you picked a good cereal", Jensen quipped, his voice casual, though there was a soft affection in his tone. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes returning to his phone, though you could tell he wasn’t completely absorbed in work—there was still a lightness about him that hinted he was still mentally with you.

"So, anything exciting in your emails?", you asked, resting your chin in your hand, watching him as he scrolled through his inbox.

"Just more scheduling", Jensen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trying to make sure everything’s set for January when filming starts again. There’s always something". He put his phone down for a moment and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. "But I’d rather be here with you than thinking about work".

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It was these little moments that made everything feel so easy and real between the two of you—simple mornings like this, where the world outside the kitchen didn't matter much.

"Well, if you keep stealing my cereal, you’ll definitely be here a while", you joked, pushing the bowl slightly toward him.

Jensen chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Good thing I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, then". He took another sip of coffee, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer, the weight of his words settling between you both in a way that was both reassuring and meaningful.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 32

Taglist: @cheynovak @chriszgirl92 @jenniferr0323 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @muhahaha303 @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @viviandarkbloom06 @jassackles @evasmlp @acklesaddict67 @mostlymarvelgirl @emma1998sblog @mishaesque @headinthemoon87 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @impala67rollingthroughtown @manicjk @kr804573 @zaratahir @djs8891 @winchesterwild78 @jamerlynn @whimsyfinny @libby99hb @deansimpalababy @deans-queen @kawaii-arfid-memes @faephoria @stoneyggirl2 @fitxgrld @luvr4miya @yikeschoices @lyssalvus @soab1967 @luvr4miya @didi0666 @impala67rollingthroughtown @cheekygirl2309 @kamisobsessed @deansimpalababy

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen fucking ackles #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles the boys #jensen ackles x female!reader #his true fate

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skykidsam · 6 months ago

Text

Shard Memory: Shattering (and lots of unhinged rambling about lore implications)

Long read ahead - some Sky: The Two Embers spoilers in the block of text toward the end.

I really wanted to get more shots but I literally clipped into Tsadi's cape and couldn't escape ;-;

Anyway, here we go:

From left to right: Sa, Mekh, Lamed, Teth, Daleth, Tsadi (barely visible in the darkness on the bottom right), Ayin, and floating in the center above everyone else and directly above the shattering stone, the upside-down mask and fading silhouette of King Resh.

I got this closer shot of the mask. I should have gotten a screenshot while I was actually on it because the details don't translate from far away. The best description I can give is this: it seemed like mostly just the mask, no real substance to the head or body; the mask was two stars stacked on top of one another, the bigger being a four-pointed star with the longest point being the top (but in this case, with it being upside-down, the bottom), and the smaller star having many more points and resting directly on top of the bigger star. And in the eye of both stars is a single spot (a diamond, if I remember correctly), that looks like a small darkstone.

I find it really interesting that all of the elders were present for the Shattering. I can only assume they were there to stop it - but I wonder how much they were aware of. Darkness was already spreading through the realms for some time. The King had been corrupted. Was the Storm on the horizon? Was the stone already glowing red and showing its cracks? Could they tell what a monstrous catastrophe they were on the brink of experiencing? Or were they there simply to intervene and stop the King?

And then these guys. I know we still don't fully know what Winged Lights even are. But with the new extended preview of Sky: The Two Embers out, there's one scene in particular that this makes me think of. (I'll save hard spoilers for the end and will give warning beforehand.)

So, my take?

I think we're seeing the moment Resh sacrificed himself to save everyone. We're also seeing that it was too late.

We also know from devs that Elder cutscenes exist in a place outside space and time, but that they still have an effect on the world. I think we're seeing why. The moment this stone shattered, all those present were killed, but were also locked in their own limbo, living out their most notable moments over and over again across probably infinite dimensions (like watching the same scene over and over in the reflections bouncing off shards of broken glass... or crystal). They're stuck. Not here in Sky, not in Orbit, not with The Light - but somewhere In Between. Purgatory.

But... why? How?

Well, the path to Orbit was still blocked - both by the shattered crystal itself, and by the now-demolished castle infrastructure that was previously seated on and above the mountain peak. Even aside from that, most, if not all of the Elders had already been corrupted; aka, depleted of their natural light and/or filled with darkness - who knows if they even had enough internal light left to participate in the natural light/life cycle, even if they had survived.

What about the King?

We also now have confirmation in the art book that, "The Ruler would sacrifice themselves to share light back into the skies, and the light souls would then return as Descendants."

With that information, I have a few theories. He was certainly corrupted, and very likely the most corrupted of all the Elders. So, my first question is, what was his act of sacrifice?

We clearly see him upside-down, seemingly disintegrating or dissolving, with nothing but his (presumably darkstone-imbued) mask remaining.

Was his sacrifice the thing that destroyed the crystal? Had it absorbed too much light, started glowing red and attracting Darkness and Storm to it, and so the crystal is what needed to be stopped?

Or was the shattering itself the cause of the Storm?

Three things we know for certain:

There was already war, darkness, corruption, and pollution before the stone shattered.

The shattering itself caused immense structural damage.

The stone was harnessing light/souls directly from the sacred migration to The Light.

So my theories are:

A) The stone itself had been corrupted and had become volatile, so the King sacrificed himself to shatter the stone and make way for light to enter back into the light/life cycle.

B) The sheer density of light/souls was too much for the stone, causing deterioration over time that eventually allowed darkness to manifest, and that structural deterioration led to the Shattering. The King sacrificed himself to try to contain it/minimize the damage.

In either case, the Elders and King would probably be able to see visual cues that warn them things are about to get bad. In situation A, it would be a change of color from blue to vibrant, violent red. In situation B, it would be the progressive chips and cracks in the stone that would probably let them know when it's close to exploding. In either case, the Elders and King are likely gathering to decide how to handle it, when the King decides that it's ultimately his mess, so he ought to be the one to deal with it. He uses the last of his power to try to destroy or contain it (in whatever way he can), and then it shatters.

And then what happened?

Well, we know that unnatural deaths leave remains, as seen in Forest, Wasteland, and Vault. There are no remains.

Natural deaths mean your light gets recycled back into the soul cycle and you cease to exist as you once did, but that's not quite right either. This certainly wasn't a natural death. We also still see the Elders - not as memory projections like the mantas in Vault and not like the Spirits of our Ancestors - but as actual, tangible Memories, just like the Shattering Memories. When we meditate at their shrines, they still visit us and give us their warnings - the same warnings - time after time.

Like I said earlier, they're stuck somewhere Between, living out those key moments over and over for the rest of eternity.

They even both take place in seemingly the same type of greyed out void space. I hesitate to call it "a void" because Void could very well be its own entity. But also, there's a real possibility this is that entity. (Something like "The Empty" from Supernatural.)

And the King?

Again, I have more than one theory.

He could be trapped in the stone. This isn't my theory, I don't know where it came from, but even this theory has two sub-theories. 1a being that his consciousness is trapped in the Eden crystal, forever shattering and killing the Descendants who attempt to free the souls trapped in the cycle; 1b being that he's the Season of Shattering crystal, that he's reliving those memories and sharing them with us in a similar limbo as the Elders. (My thought, if this is true, is that it's both. I believe the Season of Shattering stone would be the largest piece of the King's consciousness, still capable of memory, and perhaps thought, but not much else - but that that stone is still stuck in the center of the ever-shattering crystal in Eden, simultaneously experiencing the Memories and the Shattering indefinitely.)

He sacrificed himself and returned what was left of his light, and that light became the Descendants. (Also not my theory, the idea that we're fragments of the King has been around a while, I'm sure.)

HOWEVER, upon re-reading the quote, some phrasing stands out.

"The Ruler would sacrifice themselves to share light back into the skies, and the light souls would then return as Descendants."

So... who did the Ruler sacrifice? Does "themselves" refer to both parts of the Ruler (Prince Alef/King Resh)? Or does it refer to himself and the Elders, who were all conveniently present? That theory gets dark fast.

If it's the Ruler sacrificing their own "selves", it may explain the two hugging WL on top of the crystal. Two halves of a whole, re-uniting in a post-mortem act of forgiveness. But that leaves the clip from recent leaks a mystery.

Regardless, I read that hug on top of the stone as a heart-wrenching "I forgive you" moment.

Another theory that I don't know how to neatly fit into all of this text:

The quote explicitly states that the Ruler sacrifices themselves to share light back into the skies.

It does not say whose light. If it was the King's light, you'd think they would have specified that (unless they intended for it to be vague, which would also make sense.)

We know the King and Elders hoarded light. One place we know they hoarded light was the powerstones/darkstones, so it's not a stretch to consider that by sacrificing himself to shatter the massive stone, he was then sharing the light (from within the stone) back into the skies and that light became Descendants.

Another place they could have potentially hoarded light is within themselves. (What if that's the reason they're so tall compared to all other Ancestors?) Especially if they were corrupted, their bodies may act a lot like Dark Creatures in the sense that they have an insatiable hunger for light. In this case, maybe it makes sense for the King to try to sacrifice himself and all of the elders. (Then the question becomes... did they know they'd be sacrificed? Honestly, probably. I suspect they understood their role in the way events were unfolding by that point. It's another question entirely whether they all went willingly.)

And FINALLY, what about those two hugging Winged Lights??

Well, I'm sure it won't surprise you that I have more than one theory. Both include at least one of the kids being the King's "soul."

Theory 1 is that both of the kids are the king, like I alluded to earlier. Two halves of a whole, reuniting and hugging in an act of self-forgiveness. Simple. Sweet. Only a little confusing.

- Hard Spoiler Territory -

The second is based solely on The Two Embers and the scene in Orbit, where a dark child that looks like Alef hugs a golden child that looks like Hopeful Steward.

Another moment of forgiveness, but between friends who shared a common interest. They both wanted life, light, and prosperity for their world - but they had different visions. One sought prosperity through community; the other sought prosperity through power and greed. Ultimately, they both paid the price.

But why is Alef dark in the video if, in this memory, he is light?

Well, it depends.

If the first scenario is true, where it's his own two halves becoming whole again, my assumption is that his light/soul was returned from the crystal once it was shattered. If this is the case, his soul likely returned to the soul cycle and we are all little fragments of him. (Which leaves me a little salty about the fates of the Elders, I can't lie.)

That scenario may explain the split between Alef (Prince) and Resh (King). Perhaps his childish innocence and sense of self was absorbed into the stone at some point, only to be freed in the Shattering.

If it's the second scenario, a forgiveness between friends, I believe the Hopeful Steward was the one to return his light - mirroring the scene of skykids in Orbit.

And if THAT'S the case, where is the King now?

I guess we'll just have to find out. Maybe he and the Hopeful Steward merged and were reborn as the first Descendent? Or maybe his soul stayed to contain the ever-shattering crystal, while Steward's soul went on to guide Descendants in their journey.

One thing we can say for certain is that they all die. Lovely. (But we already knew that.)

And we can also see that the Steward somehow found (or made?) Aviary, that they have some authority over/relationship to the Descendants, and that other Ancestors regard Steward with a lot of respect.

I know most of this will be answered in time, but I can't help it, my mind is still reeling with all the possibilities 💭

#sky spoilers #sky lore #sky cotl photography #sky children of the light #skyblr #that sky game #sky children of light #sky game #sky cotl #sky: the two embers #I'm being so normal about this #I swear

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crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf · 4 months ago

Text

“Are you hungry or not?”

Crosshair x F!Reader One Shot

Summary:

Prison life is already unfair as it is, but when a clone guard ends up being your solitary warden you may have no choice but to do what ever he says.

WC: 4405- Read on Ao3

*this is just my general "mature rating" specifics:

Content Warning:

Smut. Coercion/Questionable consent, Uneven power dynamic, Unethical Dom Crosshair, Oral (f receiving), Orgasm denial, begging, humiliation (?... sure), Unprotected PiV and creampie, Light restraining, mind games. Rough all around.

Authors Note: I was not able to make in universe swearing work with this one, so FUCK it is. Also, I took all of One Shot Cross's ethic points and gave them to Disgrace Crosshair so now this one is just an utter menace. Hope that helps.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Hours had passed.

Normally, there'd be an orderly with a food tray, then the inquisitors with their scowling guard, but today…

You sprawled on the bunk and looked at the clock in your plain cell and your stomach growled. Hours since the usual meal time.

Are they trying to starve a confession out of me?

It wouldn't help, you weren't an insurrectionist. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn't stop them from locking you away. They had no intention of letting anyone suspected of treason see trial anytime soon. Stuck in holding limbo while they questioned you day after day... Till days became months.

But not today.

You jumped as the door swished open without the usual warning clamor of boots or the rattle of the food cart. Bolting upright you turned on your bed to face the door.

A single clone trooper was framed in the doorway holding a tray of food casually in one hand.

This one was odd; Overly tall, slim with narrow features and a shock of white hair. He was a familiar sight, usually standing behind the Lieutenant that was leading the questioning for the day. He was the one that snickered when you suggested your inquisitor eat his own testicles.

The light glinted off the ominous black armor as he paced through the harsh white room and set the tray on the metal table in the middle with a sharp clatter. Then he stepped back, twirling the toothpick between his lips as he observed you,

“Well?”

“Well… what?”

“Are you hungry or not?”

You were, but you eyed the soldier suspiciously,

“Where’s everyone else? Why's it just you?”

He smirked,

“Seems they forgot about you… guess that makes you my problem,”

You weren't sure what that meant, but it looked like the best answer you'd get for now. Standing, you cautiously crossed the few feet to the table and perched on one of the attached metal seats by the tray.

It had the usual: protein gel, fresh piece of fruit, portion of hard grain bread and water… and…a dessert.

That's new…

You eyed the small canister of sweet custard before flicking your gaze to the soldier.

“You… sticking around?”

“Mm”

You picked up the utensils on the tray and poked at the jelly mass that represented most of your daily calories. With only him standing there it felt… awkward.

“If it's just you, why don't you sit?... This feels too… watched.”

It wasn't just the situation. He was watching you. Intently. You could feel his eyes boring into the top of your skull every time you looked down. You offered again,

“Sit.”

“You're in no position to be giving orders…”

…

He sat. Elbows on the table, hands folded under rested chin, eyes… focused on your face.

You gave up trying to eat the undignified nutrient paste under such scrutiny and picked up the stone fruit instead, biting into its soft flesh to fill your mouth with tangy juice that ran down your chin.

He watched.

“Seriously… What are you doing here, Trooper?”

“Commander.”

“Commander trooper.”

“Crosshair.”

You glanced over the tattoo around his eye.

Yeah, that makes sense.

“You still haven't answered me Commander.”

“I already did. They. Forgot. You. Fallen between the cracks.”

“But you didn't?”

His cheeks tinged the most subtle shade of pink. He didn't answer.

“So, now I'm your problem…”

“Indeed. No one will be coming to feed you, No more questions, Just you, this cell… and me,”

There was a growl to his voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You didn't want to guess at what he was implying, though you didn't need to. He stood leaning on his palms against the table top, a devilish look in his eyes.

“Do you want to keep eating, inmate?”

You gulped, taking in his posture, his expression, his eyes boring hungrily into you.

“You're not suggesti-”

“I am.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

You sat straight, shifting uncomfortably. There wasn't denying you had looked at the soldier before, even had the intrusive thought to ask him to stay behind once or twice… but this…

“This is an abuse of your position, soldier…”

He snatched out, fingers digging into your cheeks as he roughly turned your face up to look at him.

“It's a risk, sneaking food down here, what's a little… mutual benefit? I bring you food, you give me whatever I want,”

He leaned in breath hot against your ear,

“You get to eat… and so do I.”

Your breath caught as an unbidden heat warmed your inner thighs… those long months of isolation making you easy to tease. This was unfair and you bit your cheek in indignation.

“Think about it. I'll be back tomorrow… but if I stick around after that… that's up to you.”

He moved from the table, punching a code into the door and slipping out in a fluid motion leaving you to stew with what might possibly be your second to last meal.

~~~

You sat at the edge of the bunk, leg bouncing in distress as you looked over the dirty tray from yesterday. No one had come for it. The automated lights clicked out and then back on again and no one had come to get the tray. They always came to get the tray.

The door swished open. Crosshair, laden with food, scanning till he saw your jittery form on the bunk.

“Hey, asshole, what's the big idea?”

They can't have really…

But he just shrugged,

“I told you the deal,”

He placed the tray on the table, more carefully than before, and lowered himself to the bench opposite it. Elbows up, chin on folded hands… watching you.

“Eat.”

…

“And if I do?”

His lip twitched into that mirthless smirk again,

“Then I'll take it you've come to terms with your… predicament.”

You stifled a shiver, already feeling naked under his intense gaze.

“Wh-when… how soon… after?”

Your voice wobbled slightly and his eyebrow rose, like he wasn't expecting you to play along so easily. You flushed and turned from his staring.

I can't believe I'm even-

“Tomorrow.”

Your heart fluttered, confusing you, and you turned back to him.

“I'll be back tomorrow… be ready for me,”

He left quickly, leaving you with your conflicted thoughts and lackluster meal.

You could swear this was… anticipation.

Your thighs clenched against the warmth pooling through you.

~~~

Your heart was in your throat. You could feel it, you knew that if you just opened your mouth in the mirror you would see it beating there. So you stared at your reflection with your jaw clenched, hair dripping cold rivlettles down your skin.

You looked at your last pair of clean prison scrubs and wondered what it was gonna cost to get a fresh set from your new clone warden.

Speaking of,

The door swished open, and you looked up to catch his eyes in the open fresher mirror. He was looking bemused over your toweled, dripping visage.

“I said be ready but I wasn't expecting you so… eager,”

You flushed, snatching the scrubs and slipping them on over the towel, dropping the damp cloth once you were properly clothed. He snickered, and you spun back to face him. Crosshair took a measured step towards you but hesitated, turning instead to gesture at the tray that had appeared on the table.

“This… is your half,”

“I'm not exactly hungry, right this second…”

He shrugged, then rushed you. You felt the cold panels of the walls against your back as you were pinned to them.

“My half then.”

“Wait!”

He rocked back, letting you slide out from under him to catch your breath.

“Don't just… come at me like that,”

His hand closed on your wrist, tugging you back around.

“The food is for you, inmate. This,”

He tugged you into him squeezing your ass through the rough fabric,

“This is for me, My pleasure. Don't mistake that,”

You were tossed roughly into the bunk, the matress hitting the back of your knees to buckle them and you sat with a thump. He loomed over you, tugging off his gloves, a dangerous fire in his sharp eyes.

“The only thing you decide is who gets theirs first,”

You trembled, looking up at the man knowing with all assuredness that he was going to take you. You knew it would be rough. You knew from every little intrusive thought you had when your eyes would meet his over some suit shoulder or another the past few months.

…

“Take yours,”

A wicked smile broke his intensity, and he stripped off more armor. You noticed he hadn't brought a gun today… Clever.

His outer shell dropped away, leaving him in his tight black under suit and boots.

“On your knees,”

You made to protest but he caught your jaw, hooking his thumb between your teeth to hold you by your pallet.

“Not your decision, On. Your. Knees. ”

You made a noise in your throat, all you could really manage. He nodded your head for you with a flick of his wrist before releasing you to position yourself, tugging you by your hair when you made to angle your ass to him; instead, he positioned you parallel to the edge. Pressure on the back of your neck and you collapsed, cheek pressed to the sheets and ass high over your knees.

“Perfect,”

He purred. The mattress dipped as he sat behind you, firm hands brushing over the fabric guarding your rump to rest on your pelvis just before the small of your back. Fingers toyed with the hem of your useless scrubs, before slipping into them; feeling your hips, he traced them down your navel till he could feel the heat of you. You gasped as he brushed against the tender lips at the apex of your thighs. He ventured further, dipping his fingertip into the warmth of you to slide the evidence of your arousal back over the petals.

A groan escaped him when he felt how wet you were. Dipping into your again, too shallow, but you wouldn't admit you needed more even as a small moan played across your lips.

“Have you been wanting this?”

You didn't answer, hiding your flushed cheeks against the mattress.

His hands withdrew and the bottoms were yanked down to your knees.

You couldn't see him from this angle, just his legs casually sitting behind your exposed thighs… and his fingers, gripping those thighs hard. You could tell he was looking you over and you flushed even hotter. This was no good, it had been too long…

The muscles of your sex twitched in need, and you could feel slick fluid drip down your heated cunt to fall from your lips onto the sheets. You were growing more sensitive with your increased pulse alone. Not good.

You felt him reach for your wrists, pulling your arms to fold behind your back. He held them like that one handed, and you could feel him shift closer to you, sitting on your calves to pin them, legs draping over yours and face almost even with your raised buttock. You felt his breath stir against your quim and you whimpered.

“Remember, inmate,”

He had sensed your eagerness for what he was possitioning himself for.

“My pleasure, not yours.”

His leg wrapped around your arched back, bringing the distinct feeling of a boot sole against the back of your head. You almost turned to look but your head was pushed back down, ground under his heel. You whimpered again, unable to move with him restraining your body so efficiently with his own.

“My pleasure.”

And then his tongue plunged into you, making you jerk and gasp as the sudden intrusion.

He worked his tongue in and out of your cunt with slow, even drags that had you moaning weakly into the sheet. Groans rumbled through the sensitive skin whenever your walls would clench around his flexing muscle and he’d push deeper, digging his nose and teeth against you as he attempted to reach fully into your depths.

Anytime you jerked too violently his boot would crush you down again, arms tugged tighter together to pull your hips firmer against his face. His lips moved lower, sucking your sensitive bud into his mouth with a whisper of satisfaction that made you squirm. A soft sob choked from you.

He held you tight as he flicked his tongue against your clit, making you jolt and tremble. Your legs began to shake as the mounting pressure started to build up to a crescendo…

And he pulled back, eliciting a pathetic whine from your lips.

“You'll come when I want you to.”

Teeth sank into your ass and you cried out only for it to be muffled by his boot shoving your face into the mattress. Then he was working your cunt again, lapping at the dripping petals to make you gasp.

Torture.

They had sent him to torture you.

The seemingly endless cycle of being licked to an edge just to have him stop cold, lean back and watch as you shook and squirmed for some semblance of relief… it was torture.

You're not sure when you started to beg, but as another climax was yanked from you a choked pleading tore from your throat.

“Please, Crosshair, let me cum!”

Boot. Mattress. Then his mouth back to your folds, lapping hard against your swollen and sensitive clit.

You groaned lustily against the sheet without that pesky dignity from before, he wasn't gonna be able to keep you from going over for long. Every brush, every lick felt like it could be your undoing.

You felt weak, trying to twist your wrists away from his grip but it was useless; his hand closed over them like a vice. Your body had started to shake and wouldn't stop. He pulled away again and you bucked against his hold,

“Krriffff, Crosshair, please,”

He chuckled, drawing his tongue across the length of your slit from front to back making you sob and your pelvis to clench.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want t-to cum… please,”

He pressed his thumb to your entrance with his free hand, adding the smallest hint of pressure to make you moan.

“Be more specific.”

“Please, I want to cum… make me cum,”

It wasn't exactly coherent, the words spilling from you,

He clicked his tongue,

“If you just want to cum you can do that yourself,”

Another jolt of pressure, his thumb pulling your lips open slightly to expose your opening more clearly.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

You whined under his boot heel, trying to wiggle your ass to push against his thumb, desperate for any contact.

“I want you to make me cum, Crosshair, please make me cum! Kriff, please?”

He made a contented noise that rumbled through his chest, sliding his thumb forward to spread your petals, lifting the hood over your clit… and blew.

Your senses exploded, all your muscles going tight at once and he lunged, sucking your button roughly, nipping his teeth against the bundled nerves driving the climax deeper through your brain. You came, rigid against his firm hold, unable to even cry out as your lungs were crushed by your own spasming. Fluid ran down your legs, chased by his tongue. There were sparkles in your vision, your synapsis on fire… and then you were spent, falling limp and gasping against him.

He kissed your ass cheek, then bit it lightly before pulling your bottoms back up and untangling himself from your numb limbs.

Crosshair rose from the bed, stretched, then reached for his discarded armor… confusing you,

“Was that really all you wanted?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, now sprawled prone over the bed, and smirked. A triumphant look danced behind his eyes.

“What else might I want?”

Your gaze roved over his tight muscles, barely hidden under the tight black fabric of his under clothing. Down his shoulders to his hips, the tight buttock and thighs. Your appraisal wasn't unnoticed and he turned slightly, letting you look at him more. His chest, his abs… your eyes darted down to the straining fabric at his groin and a small, needy moan escaped you as your pussy twitched.

“Don't you want to fuck me?”

A slight smile played across his lips, dancing behind his eyes.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Stars yes…”

There was no use denying it. Now that he was here, partially stripped and hard for you there was no way you were letting him leave.

“Fuck me, Crosshair,”

He turned fully towards you, stroking himself thoughtfully through the fabric of his pants.

“I suppose I could fuck you, How ba~dly… do you want me to fuck you, inmate?”

“Badly… awfully, Please take me, Crosshair,”

You ground your hips into the mattress, watching him standing there, stroking himself lazily…so nonchalant…

Damn it…

“Take your close off, inmate.”

He stepped back, leaning himself against the table.

You obediently say up, tugging the hem of your shirt up.

“Slower.”

The command hit you in your core, and your breath came shaky as you, slowly, tugged the shirt up over your breasts, then head… and it was off. Your nipples hardened at the sudden cold air, having dressed too hastily to find under things. Next came the pants, and you hooked your thumbs into the band.

“Stand for those.”

You stood with a wobble, legs still feeling more like jelly than flesh and bone. The waistband slipped down your hips, your thighs, then fell to the floor.

He palmed his covered cock as he took in your nudity.

“Be a good girl and give me a little turn,”

His fingers made a spin motion and you swallowed, waiting for a sense of indignation, an urge to stop this that never came. You obeyed. Turning slowly, letting him see your back and ass, then facing him again.

“Very good… now get on all fours, facing me,”

You flushed, but did as he said, lowering yourself to your hands and knees to look at him from the floor.

“Come here, like that. Crawl to me, sweetheart.”

You balked for the first time in this new routine, flushing a deep red at the humiliating command. He cocked an eyebrow,

“If you don't want to I could always leave…”

You gritted your teeth, knowing you weren't likely to deny anything he asked from this point, and crawled forward. The bare panel flooring was hard against your knees but you closed the distance, coming even with his legs casually leaning against the table.

“Now tell me… what do you want?”

You gulped, your vision completely dominated by his visage poised over you. Relaxed, in control, slowly stroking the outline of his length to tease you more than himself.

“I-i want you to fuck me, Crosshair,”

“You can do better than that… what exactly do you want?”

He gripped himself pointedly through his blacks and your vision blurred with need. Lips trembling, a hint of pleading back in your voice,

“I want your cock…”

“Where do you want it?”

…

“Inside me.”

Flushing, you looked away, his knee nudged your chin to meet his eyes again.

“All together now, from the top…”

“I want you to fuck me, Crosshair, I want your… cock inside of me.”

Your eyes stayed obediently on his, his knee still pressed to your cheek.

“You can be nicer than that,”

Exasperation forced a frustrated sigh from you, causing his eyebrows to raise again and your jaw to clench.

“Please, fuck me, Crosshair… I want your cock inside me… please…”

As the first plea left you a shiver went down your spine, a small thrill from the submissive action. You nuzzled the knee pressed to your chin, forcing his eyes to widen for a brief second.

“If you want it so badly, darling, why don't you just take it then?”

He slid to sit on the bench proper, legs spread wide to either side of you, crotch jutted towards your eager, lustful expression.

“Why don't you fuck yourself on my cock?”

He smirked down, rolling his hips subtly to challenge you into action.

Perhaps he didn't expect you to take the invitation, but as your hands lashed out to hook his waistband, the fasteners pulled open with a sharp snap… he stilled. Elbows on the table behind him, still leaned in a relaxed posture, but frozen in a temporary trance. You tugged the fly the rest of the way open and his heavy cock sprang free, bopping you lightly in the nose making you flinch involuntarily.

This broke the spell as he failed to repress a snort of amusement. You narrowed your eyes at him and he composed himself as well as he could with that glint in his eye.

“Sorry, go on,”

You nipped at the head of his bobbing member making him hiss between his teeth. A hand roughly caught the back of your neck pulling you up off your knees and into his lap.

“I believe I told you to fuck yourself, inmate,”

His free hand grabbed your hip, grinding your bare sex against his shaft for emphasis eliciting a needy groan from your chest.

You decided to comply, tucking your feet over his thighs for leverage, you angled your torso up over him. He rested his arms back on the table once more as you balanced your hands on his shoulders. His length slid along your folds as you moved and you shivered, poised with him resting against your entrance. Rivulets of arousal trickled down his velvety skin to catch in the soft brush of pubic hair nested around its base.

“Well, I'm waiting…”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath counting a heartbeat before opening them again. Meeting his eyes you couldn't help but think his features seemed softer from up here.

Easing your thigh muscles down, you carefully pushed him into yourself, slowly… an inch, then withdrawing, dropping an inch further, making sure he was lubricated with you from base to tip. When he was fully docked inside you ground your hips into him, feeling his hard length pushing deep against your inner limit and you moaned in satisfaction.

Finally,

He was biting his lip, keeping his reactions to a minimum as you began to move on him. Desperate little hops with your hips to bounce yourself. He seemed to enjoy you doing all the work, eyes dropping to watch how your breasts bobbed in front of him. A sliver of his tongue darted across his lips but he didn't move, didn't react, as he watched you ride him, desperately using him to get your self off.

You were frustrated, wanting it harder but knowing better than to ask for help. That wasn't what you were told to do. So you rolled your hips, bucking against him to find that bliss yourself.

Leaning back, you put your hands on his knees, tightening your pelvis and putting more power into your hips. His calm veneer broke and he grabbed onto your hips, keeping you anchored on his shaft as climax started to cloud your vision. Your motions and breathing became erratic, taking his guiding force on your hips as permission to let go you ground against him with reckless abandon, hurtling yourself over the edge,

“F~u~...”

Your voice cut out with a strangled cry and he pulled you down on him, sheathing himself in you with an ecstatic groan as your muscles convulsed and clamped down on his shaft.

He lifted you up, carrying you back to the bunk, plunking your ass against the mattress before pushing you over to lay on your stomach.

Your arms were grabbed and held behind your back once more as he angled himself back into your warm cunt. His weight dropped onto your back and you were pressed flat under him. His hips started to pump into you, quick and sharp as he grew comfortable with your shape under him and he started to ramp up the force.

A vulgar clapping of skin echoed through the room as he pounded into you, grunting from exertion as he took you hard. His free hand turned your head to look over your shoulder at him before dropping to grip your neck.

“Do you like this, sweetheart?”

All he got for an answer was a series of sharp, high pitched gasps from the rapid snapping of his hips.

“Getting wet for me like that…”

He groaned in his throat, grinding deeply into you making you sob in pleasure.

“You like the thought of being my cock slave?”

“Yes… kriffs sake yes…”

“That's right.”

Your breathing went ragged as he pushed himself up on his knees, pulling your waist with him. He moved his arms and hips in tandem to pump his full length in and out of you and you broke, orgasm driving your walls to slam around his thrusting rod until he couldn't take it any more himself.

He pulled your shoulders up, arms sliding around your chest and hand cupping your jaw hooking fingers into your mouth. You were held against his chest as his cock twitched violently inside of you, a throb for every spurt of seed he shot into your warmth.

He nuzzled into your neck breathless, tone softer than it had been,

“You were so good for me, darling… so good…”

You couldn't answer around his fingers, so you sucked them, sliding your tongue between them as he groaned.

~~~

The last piece of his armor latched on with a click as you dried your hair, thinking about this new arrangement as you looked at the food still on the table… you weren't sure you could complain. Well you could but…

You glanced over at him, adjusting something at his wrist before he looked up, finding you fully dressed as well.

…

“Alright… come on then,”

“What? C’mon where?”

He paced over to the door, tapping at the panel.

“You’ve been released. The doors been unlocked for days,”

“Wha-”

As the realization hit you anger washed through your senses and with out thinking you grabbed the fruit from the tray, chucking it at his head.

He caught it deftly and with a smirk in your direction, took a big bite out of the flesh, letting the juice run down his chin.

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair smut #crosshairxreader #crosshair x reader #ct 9904 #crosshair #star wars fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #imperial crosshair #sniper saturday #tbb x reader #tbb x you #clone trooper crosshair #clonethirst #clone thirsting #Can you spot where TahnyXCross bled through a little? I can't help it deep down hes a silly goose

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shaylogic · 6 months ago

Text

Transcription of the "Layers of Hell" from Edwin's notebook:

Title: Layers of Hell

Illustration of descending levels, to be described with each level transcribed.

Right side of page divides "Upper Hell" and "Lower Hell" (both roughly 4-5 floors)

Left side of page labeling the levels:

Vestibule: Endless(?) Staircase [illustration: spiralling stairs as the top level]

I. Limbo [stick figures stuck in hotel lobby]

II. Lust [stick figures writhing together in a butchershop, hooks and blood dripping down walls shown]

III. Gluttony [stick figures binging and purging food]

IV. Avarice [stick figures seemingly pushing boulders back and forth] Notes to the right: "heavy [workers/laborers(?)], everyone in your way"

V. Wrath [stick figures swept up in what look like currents] Personal note of transcriber: I looked up notes on Dante's version to get a better idea of this, and I quote "Note how the two groups suffer different punishments appropriate to their type of anger--the wrathful ruthlessly attacking one another and the sullen stewing below the surface of the muddy swamp (Inf. 7.109-26)". Link to source.

VI. Heresy [stick figures that appear to be seated around office tables, or perhaps are laying on sacrificial tables? Possibly graves/tombs. I'm afraid this one seems unclear to me.] Personal note of transcriber: I looked up more notes from the same source website as before, and I quote "Dante opts for the most generic conception of heresy--the denial of the soul's immortality (Inf. 10.15)--perhaps in deference to spiritual and philosophical positions of specific characters he wishes to feature here, or perhaps for the opportunity to present an especially effective form of contrapasso: heretical souls eternally tormented in fiery tombs." Link to new source page.

VII. Violence (8-10 subsections are listed for this level, but they are small and illegible) [figures in a flood of blood or being impaled on the sides of the level illustration] Edwin's notes to the right: "trapped, impaled, submerged in blood"

VIII. Fraud [large level depicting giant snakes, dripping blood that reflects Lust's illustration, figures, and something else I can't make out (jutting outcroppings of stone, wings, hands? I am unsure.)] Edwin's notes to the right: "snake pit, gain human form by biting other humans"

IX. Treachery [figures submerged with only head above surface] Edwin's notes to the right: "frozen + stuck + chewed on"

At the very bottom of the page and levels of hell is an enormous creature that appears to be something like a dragon emerging from a dark pit.

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coloursflyaway · 8 months ago

Text

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 18.000

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The warehouse looks different when it reappears.

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

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

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

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

There is no life left in his eyes.

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

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

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

And he’s crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Edwin isn’t here, is he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually it’s Crystal who stops him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Charles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s red on Charles’ fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they hurt?”

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

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

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

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

It’s not what he is there to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The girls find him eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They get to E.

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

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

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

Not when it’s Edwin.

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

For a moment, nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And silently, Edwin agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saved you? What from?”

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

“Myself, really.”

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

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

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

And then he’s just crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want a pink or a green one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, he walks.

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

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

It becomes a thing between them when they are alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crystal…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And without a moment’s hesitation, Edwin answers.

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were pretty brilliant together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes”, he replies, “it really is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can tell me anything, Charles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Charles. I’m in love with you.”

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

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

“Yes. It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

And he kisses him again.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles #i am sooo glad i got this finished before the holiday #because i would have hated to explain to my friends that no unfortunately i wouldn't be able to go to a bar i needed to write gay boy angst #anyway i hope you guys like it!!!!!!

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doctor-dusk · 6 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

when alex (early sias era - MY FAVOURITE BOY) meets you and accidentally falls in love with you.

warnings: none, actually. most angst and fluff, light smut - fingering (f receiving) and piv - but very light.

word count: 4.1k

coming out of limbo to possibly get back to it after posting this. i wrote it while i was bored and melancholic during my criminal procedure law class, so... yeah, enjoy :)

"and if all people were like rain, i would be drizzle. and she, a thunderstorm."

there was something about her as mysterious as an unsolved case. something in her gaze, in the way she spoke, or in the way she walked. something that left alex thinking for hours on end, even though he never came up with an answer that would concretely explain why he felt like a puppet on a string when it came to her.

yes, there was something.

something he couldn't shake, as if it were something that stuck in his teeth and wouldn't let him be still for long. something that started a little over three months ago, when the last thing he wanted was to get involved with someone at that moment, after a somewhat turbulent breakup.

but, it was somewhat impossible when he saw her entering the bar on that exceptionally rainy tuesday night. the white knee-length dress along with the brown leather jacket over her shoulders never seemed to make much sense to alex until he saw this combination on her. the icing on the cake were definitely the motorcycle boots that wrapped around her feet all the way to the end of her calves, even though the place was hot at that moment. or was it just him who was feeling that his drink was warming him from the inside out.

turner is suspected of saying that he watched all of her actions, from sitting on a chair at a table for two and ordering a beer and fries as a side dish to seeing her take a book out of her bag to read.

"The Prince", by Machiavelli.

you might ask yourself: who the hell would go to a crowded bar with loud music to read a book?

and he answers: her.

he wanted to get her attention somehow, and perhaps the worst and most cliché of all was to buy her another beer and ask the waiter to bring it to her. his heart was beating hard against his chest, especially when the waiter served her the beer, exchanging a few words that made her look at alex, analyzing him from top to bottom. he wanted to say that he didn't feel nervous with that look, but he would certainly be lying.

as he told himself, there was something about her that made him feel more foolish than usual. but even though he felt that way, he didn't let the opportunity to sit in the chair in front of her pass him by. that night, he discovered three things about her: that when she felt embarrassed, she pretended to scratch her nose so she could look away; that she certainly left him subtly and quickly enchanted; and last but not least, her name.

and since then, whenever alex was in town, he felt that strange need to be with her even though he had only known her for so little time. for many days he tried to occupy his mind with other things that seemed more important, but he soon accepted the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about the girl with the captivating eyes and radiant smile.

and when he wasn't in his hotel room or in a pub with his friends after a concert, alex preferred to spend his nights listening to her recite some random poems in a restaurant or any other quiet place, or else, getting lost in the ease of her body in the middle of the bed in her bedroom, in the apartment where she lived alone.

she claimed to be a normal person like any other, but alex was far from believing that. he knew that she liked to listen to david bowie when she was studying; that she always puts on her socks before her pants, without exception; that she prefers to read — or pretend to be reading — when everyone around her is talking about subjects she has no interest in, or when she doesn't have a book nearby, she just gives a weak smile so she doesn't have to give her opinion on the subject; that her favorite game is donkey kong country, and she's already finished it four times; that she likes to wear clothes whose colors define her mood for the day.

but as much as alex knew all of this, he still thought there was so much more to know about her. as if she were an addictive book, and with each page turned there would be a different plot twist to surprise him. and even though alex didn't read that often, ever since he met her, he'd become the most assiduous of readers.

and now, after a private show at a pub, alex could barely contain himself with the idea of seeing her after a few weeks away. he texted her during a break just to see if she had any plans after 10pm. even though he knew she knew he was in town, alex wanted to make sure he could see her, even if it was just for a few minutes.

she didn't answer him right away, even after seeing the message. he had a strange feeling, but he let it go when she replied that she would be available to meet him. his heart raced again when he saw her entering the bar. in the same bar where he had met her, and ironically wearing the same motorcycle boots that had caught his attention so much, along with a gray flared dress.

he hurried when he saw her sitting in the same chair at the same table as always, but unlike the other meetings they had had, she seemed more distant, her eyes were empty and didn't narrow their gaze on him for long, even after she had noticed him walking towards her.

"hey, love. how are you?" alex asked, his overly worried expression went unnoticed by her, who was more focused on looking at the window just so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"i'm fine, how was the show?" she replied, looking at him briefly and giving alex a glimpse of the teary, red eyes of someone who was about to cry or who had cried a lot before that. maybe both.

turner felt a pang on his chest. he felt bad for seeing her like that, and he didn't understand why he was like that for someone he barely knew. i mean, you couldn't catch feelings for some... hookup. could you?

‘’c’mon, you're not okay, what happened? maybe i can help-’’ alex said, completely compassionate with the situation that he didn't know how it had started, but wanted to help put an end to it.

‘’forget it, alex. i have a bit of a headache, can we get out of here?’’ she interrupted him abruptly.

alex didn't reply, just followed her outside the pub.

after a few minutes, they were in the hotel room where turner would be staying that night before returning to los angeles. the dimly lit room seemed to become warmer when she took off her boots to lie down on the soft mattress and scented sheets of the bed.

alex lay down next to her, the silence was comfortable and just the sound of their breathing was enough to bring some peace to both of them. but alex knew that she was the master of replacing peace and quiet with something that made his heart beat faster and his blood run faster through his veins, so he wasn't surprised when her lips touched his in a calm kiss, which became urgent at a speed he didn't even notice. it was like a race car, able to go from 0 km/h to 100 km/h in 3.2 seconds. and alex liked that adrenaline.

turner felt submerged in the sensations, the touches, the sounds and the looks under the incandescent light of the lamp. he felt her calm breath beating against his ear when she kissed him on the cheek, a warm and tender kiss that seemed simple, but that left alex in a state of restlessness he had never imagined.

"hmm, i'm in love with the smell of your shampoo." she muttered, running her fingers over turner's shirt-covered back, still giving him a huge shiver.

he had been thinking about her and what they had for a while. and adding all the things he felt when she was around and that she was doing an endless loop in his mind, he was almost certain that he was in love with her.

"just the smell of my shampoo?" he asked, pulling his face away to look at her, to appreciate her red face and the slight curve her lips made to sketch a smile.

at that moment, all he wanted to hear was "and i'm in love with you too".

she laughed, answering him with another kiss while her anxious hands massaged the warm skin of alex's back under his shirt, and soon the piece was on the bedroom floor. the shivers were increasingly uncontrollable as she struggled against the belt of his pants, and as much as alex knew he was completely submissive to her, he didn't want to completely lose control.

he took her hands away just as she was starting to pull down his pants, pinning them above her head and holding them there firmly with his hand, and his other free hand groped her burning flesh in the region of her thighs, trying to get rid of the underwear she was wearing.

turner used to think that he was only able to achieve pleasure when he was completely buried to the brim inside someone, but with her, just a single touch or a finger invading her insides could drive him crazy.

and not only that.

he already felt satisfied seeing her face contorted in an expression of pure ecstasy; her eyes closed tightly; her mouth half-open that did not contain a delightful sigh that was soon stopped when she caught her lip with her teeth; her hands pressing the skin on the back of his neck and arm; and lastly, the smile she showed when her eyes opened and met his.

fuck, that made him crazier than he cared to admit.

he would never get tired of watching her whenever he had the chance, he wanted to do it forever every moment he was with her, even if she wasn't looking directly at him. he wanted to look at her when she was drinking coffee and complaining that it was too hot, when she was reading and making a face like she didn't understand what was happening, when she was watching the sky through the window and asking for it to rain so she wouldn't have to go to college.

he pulled her in for another needy kiss, feeling her legs lock around his waist like an unbreakable lock. alex pushed his body back, standing up only to press her body against the cold wall of that hotel suite, supporting her with his hands on the lower part of her thighs.

and at that moment, he couldn't stop looking at her when he replaced his glistening fingers with his aching length, feeling all the nerve endings in his body active. the flammable desire was capable of burning them both completely, and for a few moments silence reigned as he buried himself completely inside her, his heartbeat was deceitful and showed how euphoric he was, resulting in a voracious flow of blood under his skin. he felt her wrap herself around him, and hugging her was like wrapping herself in an electrified concertina, and oddly enough, that didn't sound bad to him at all.

‘’god, you feel so good. like always.’’ he praised her with a whisper, not caring about receiving a compliment back. when they were like this, at that moment, he became completely selfish with himself.

she wrapped herself around him to the last inch, gasping against his mouth when she felt a slight tingling in her lower abdomen, and another when he lifted her a few inches just to pull out a little and penetrate her again, the moans in his ear excited him more and more.

his hands knew exactly where to touch and how to touch, caressing that shivering skin, and as the intonation of her moans changed, alex knew she was very close.

‘’al, i’m close, so close…’’

‘’i know, baby.’’ he cooed, kissing right below her ear, shivering at the feeling of her clenching around him.

and soon, when he felt her skin almost burning, she let herself melt against him, her last moan likened to a thunderclap that could not be ignored and was particularly pleasurable to hear. he couldn’t help but follow her suit, giving in to the pleasure of yet another climax with her.

the aftermath was embraced by the stillness and the faint trace of smoke from the cigarette that alex was smoking. he knew that she did not smoke, so he made a point of smoking far away, preferably near the window so as not to let the room be filled with that vaporous curtain of nicotine and other substances.

soon, he heard her say in the background that she was hungry, and like any fool, alex would give her whatever she wanted.

alex didn't know where he was going, but as long as he was with her, he didn't care about having a specific destination to go to. the wind blowing against his face and her laughter muffled by the helmet invading his ear gave him a strange thrill and impulse to let the vehicle's speedometer increase, letting the asphalt run under the motorcycle's tires as if they were in a marathon where the only competitor was the idea of being separated at some point.

they stopped at a 24-hour diner, they weren't that far from the city, but not that close. the only establishments nearby were gas stations and 3-star motels. but not that Alex was paying attention to that, quite the opposite. he was too busy watching her as she took a last sip of her soda, her eyes were distant again and alex would really like to know what was going on in that extraordinary mind.

"what's wrong?" she asked without looking at him, the cracking sound of the can being crushed didn't break turner's concentration as he thought about how she knew he was looking at her.

‘’just looking at you. is that some kind of crime?’’ he joked, watching her shake her head and lean a little on the motorcycle's tank, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face in the wind.

‘’nope. i just wonder what has you so fascinated that you can't blink.’’ she replied, tilting her head to the side and staring at him. alex could easily get lost in those fascinating eyes if he wasn't in disbelief at her question.

‘’ah, i dunno... maybe everything. does that answer your question?’’ alex says, she makes a slight grimace as if she's not completely convinced. alex adjusts his posture, not putting all his weight on the motorcycle's seat so he can turn completely to face her. ‘’you are a fascinating creature.’’

‘’define 'fascinating', turner.’’ she replied, seeing alex throw his head back and look up at the sky, make a noise with his mouth. he loved the way she left him speechless with simple questions, and although he is capable of writing several songs with the deepest meanings, he wouldn't know how to define that word applied to her.

in fact, he wouldn't know how to define her. maybe no word or adjective would be able to define that woman. before alex could think of an answer that was even remotely capable of convincing her, she got off the motorcycle, taking two steps to face turner. her body now threatened to press his against the upholstered leather seat and he felt her leg slipping between his, and even under his jeans, he couldn't help but feel a voracious shiver.

"adjective to define something charming that leaves you exaggeratedly seduced or attracted." she said, an amused smile appearing on her lips when she realized that alex was too close and most likely hadn't paid attention to what she said. and he was certainly paying attention in parts, since he really felt tempted to interrupt her just to steal a kiss. "is that what you think of me, turner?"

‘’to be honest, i think a lot about you, miss.’’ alex wet his lips with his tongue, regaining some of his sanity to answer her without taking too long. she raised her eyebrows, another open and comical smile playing on her lips.

“oh, really? tell me more.” she prompted him, her free fingers curling around the belt loops of his jeans and he felt his breathing heavy. maybe she didn’t know that being so close like that left him completely disoriented, her eyes fixed so intently on his easily made him forget even his own name. he felt her hand invade his back pocket, groping until she managed to steal a menthol candy.

“what can i say? you’re… inexplicable.” alex trailed off, since he was too hypnotized by the scene of her opening the package and placing the candy on her tongue, making a popping noise as she closed her mouth. turner felt the night breeze blow against his face, as well as a few fluttering strands of her hair, which she tried to calm down by running a hand over her head. ‘’like an open sea, intensity and calm.’’

“how can i be intensity and calm, alex?” she asked curiously, leaving alex once again at a loss for words. In his mind, she was like a mix of feelings, like that new drink you try and suddenly it becomes your favorite in the whole world; like that song you discover and get addicted to, listening to it on repeat until you get sick of it, even though he knows it's impossible to get sick of it.

‘’it was like i said, it's inexplicable.” he replied, feeling his face burn with the touch of her hand on his forehead to brush away a few strands of his hair, still paying attention to his every word, as if she were a teacher giving an oral test to an intelligent but shy student. ‘’you ask too many questions. like a fusion of a four year old and a philosopher.’’ he joked, making her crack a smile.

‘’and what would you be in the middle of all this?’' she asked, the same hand that was on his forehead went down to the back of his neck, her index finger sliding up and down and finally tangling in a lock of his dark hair. alex relaxed his shoulders, letting out a brief sigh that was lost in the vague environment lit only by the street lamp.

“you tell me.” he said, feeling her hand briefly leave him only to rest on the tense muscles of his thighs covered by jeans. she closed her eyes, pressing her lips together in a moment of reflection, and alex wanted to be trapped in her deep devotion forever.

“taking into perspective what you said about the open sea… you would be a sailor. a brave and solitary sailor amidst the sinuosity of the water. brave, by the way.” she recited, gesturing serenely, simulating the waves of the sea as the wind hit her body. alex smiled, not letting the questioning expression on his face hide, which she didn't miss. "brave because at any moment your boat could capsize and you could drown."

alex didn't need any more words to understand that. he knew that things could change overnight, he knew that one day a simple and brief encounter between the two of them could be the last. he didn't like to think about the possibility, but he also couldn't let it go. in fact, he didn't want them to have one last encounter.

"what if i want to drown?" alex asked, almost letting the words hang in the air. she turned her eyes to him. for the first time, she wasn't sure what to answer him. but that soon passed, and what she offered in return was a shy smile as she approached him again.

"there won't be anyone to save you, alex." she whispered as if she were telling a secret, her mouth was so close that he could almost feel the texture of her sweet lips, but all he felt was her refreshing breath hitting his face with a brief, icy and aromatic touch.

“it’s not like i care about being saved.” he whispered back in the same tone, feeling her vibrant eyes hover over him, and deep down she admired the idea that he didn’t care about the fact that they might not work out, although she felt a little sorry. she really liked him.

“aren’t you afraid of the chaos that an open sea can bring?” she asked, and before he could answer, she kissed him sweetly, as if nothing else there mattered, not even the answer turner was about to give.

the kiss tasted like melancholy and mint, alex felt inert in the middle of a crossfire, but her arms around him and her hands bringing him closer when he felt she was a little far away gave him the feeling of being completely taken and tamed, just like the night does with the day. in a last act, his tongue snakes inside her mouth boldly just to take the candy, feeling her grunt between the kiss before feeling her smile against his mouth.

‘’a calm sea never make a good sailor. and besides, everyone needs a dose of chaos.’’ alex replied, letting the candy run inside his mouth to refresh each area. she smiled, licking her lips and closing her fist around the empty soda can she had drunk and left resting on the handlebars of the motorcycle to throw in the trash later.

she walked away, alex missed the warmth of her body, but was content to watch her walk away, the wind always making a point of making its presence felt and adjusting her dress, giving her serenity with each step as her boots made an almost rhythmic noise on the pavement.

‘’you need to have a little chaos inside you to give light to a sparkling star.’’ she recited in a poetic tone, loud enough for alex to hear and smile as she threw the aluminum can into the trash can attached to the post.

‘’nietzsche,’’ he thought. ‘’she’s really extraordinary.’’

the first lightning flashed across the dark sky long enough to make them both look up. soon, she turned to admire the desert horizon, the night sky being illuminated by the flash of lightning hidden by dense clouds in different spots. she didn't notice that alex was right behind her, since he had gotten off the motorcycle and taken silent steps just to appreciate not only her, but also the scenery of a heavy rain on its way, rain of the kind that makes you take shelter somewhere until it passes completely and makes you think about how powerful nature is and how small human beings are compared to it.

she felt alex's hand pass by her waist, a fleeting shiver when she felt him use two fingers of his free hand to move away the handful of strands of hair that were over her left shoulder, feeling the slight pressure of his lips on the spot. she felt the first drop of water splash on her forehead, opening her eyes and turning to alex with a contemplative smile.

"i hope this rain lasts until tomorrow." she laughed, reaching into his jacket pocket and stealing the motorcycle keys, making alex aware that she would want to ride on the way home, and he wouldn't be able to deny her. alex let out a laugh through his nose, again feeling her move away as she walked towards the motorcycle as the raindrops began to become more frequent.

alex turned around, just as she wanted that rain to last until the next day, he would also like to feel her body next to his when he woke up the next morning. he wondered if she would call him to come into her apartment as usual or if she would just say "see you later" along with a resentful kiss.

but he was convinced that she was like all the sensations that made him feel more and more alive. and he wanted to get wet to the last strand of his hair in the middle of that storm in the shape of a woman.

#doctor says #alex turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner fluff #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you

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