#my hair is brushed and i have a little bow because i can

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

If you’re willing could you maybe write a little thing (idk the word for it sorry 😭) about replaced God MC getting annoyed with Gabriel and choosing to get energy from Michellel instead??

Yes! I love this, I was thinking of cucking em with lower demons but it would get their heads turning if you chose one of them!

(I really hope you like it I feel like I messed it up!)

Wrong Move (Gabriel)

Cw: technically c*cking?, pining, one sided relationship, angel energy exchange, slight edge play,

-

Gabriel knew you wouldn’t forgive him easily for…branding you…liking your best friend and charging a war against Hell, then kidnapping you…

Gabriel sighs as he watches you tremble as Michael Carrie’s you to your room for some…angel energy….he wished you’d give him a chance! He’s gotta be better! No angel has done…such activities until you came around so they all have the same experience level…

It hurt since it wasn’t just once…this is the with time…it irked him to know you chose the cry baby to him…he could hear his whimpers and moans…it made his heart ache…

He thought about the brand marking he left on you, it hurt to know…he scared your perfect vessel. But…you gave him no chance to make it up, he could heal it! But…you ordered him to deal with and live with the scars there…

He whimpers as he hears Michael moaning loudly, enjoying himself with you…Gabriel had gotten so upset he even tried peeking in in you two a few times.

Each time Michael just…was so obedient, only doing as you say…even letting you edge him.

“A-aah! M-my Lord…I’m close! Please have mercy!”

Gabriel paused, he’s never heard Michael sound like that, he’s never seen him look like that…

Gabriel’s own body heated up at the thought often of you doing this to him…he can feel his cock throbbing in its cage and as he glances towards the other angels groin, he notices…the lack of a chastity cage….

His eyes widen realizing you took off Michael’s cage.

He sobs in frustration quietly, leaving, trembling in a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He needs to make this up to you…

~

The next day you wake up to Gabriel having made you breakfast. He has your clothes laid out and is smiling to you. “My Lord, I’m sorry…I’ve been very…dare I say inappropriate.”

Gabriel sighs and looks away trying to think of what to say.

“Have I said before? That I love you, I deeply value you and will do all I can to protect my Lord…” Gabriel leans forwards and rest his forehead on yours. “Please, please Master…let me heal the wound I have you, I’m sorry…I regret it.”

You barely seem bothered, making him feel wounded, his smile falters but he gets his hopes up when you brush his hair to the side so you can look in his eyes.

“Gabriel. I knew you were watching.”

Gabriel freezes and lowers his gaze. “I-I’m sorr-“

You interrupt him. “Don’t be a brat, I’m not going to chose you next time because your pride wants it…”

You grab his halo and yank it so he flops on the bed, landing beside you. Gabriel looks to you in surprise but since you don’t key go of his halo he decides to behave and stay down. He looks up to you nervously.

“Maybe next time I’ll let you sit in the room, gagged and tied up so you can sit back and enjoy the sight without bothering us.” You coldly tease, leaning over you pluck a feather from Gabriel’s wings. “Get Michael. I need some more energy.”

Gabriel whimpered as you let go of his halo.

“M-Master please give me a chance! I will prove myself to you! I’ll do anything you want! My entire being is just for your pleasure!” He pleaded…you hated his desperate tantrums whenever you decline him something like this. “Once chance is all I’m asking for please…”

As you sit up on the bed he gets on the ground on your side of the bed and gets on his knees and bow, his head on the ground as he bows to you. You know it’s a sign of respect but you grin and place a foot on his head, pushing his face against the ground.

“What a whiny bitch you are…now get Michael and I’ll let you watch.”

Gabriel held back a whimper and hurried away, trying to hid the tears in his eyes from your rejection…he’s sure he can make it up later…just not now…

#whb #dom reader #sub whb #sub gabriel #sub michael #nsft #what in hell is bad #gabriel x reader #michael x mc #michael x reader #Gabriel x mc

[coloursflyaway]

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 18.000

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The warehouse looks different when it reappears.

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

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

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

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

There is no life left in his eyes.

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

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

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

And he’s crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Edwin isn’t here, is he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually it’s Crystal who stops him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Charles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s red on Charles’ fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they hurt?”

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

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

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

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

It’s not what he is there to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The girls find him eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They get to E.

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

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

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

Not when it’s Edwin.

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

For a moment, nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And silently, Edwin agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saved you? What from?”

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

“Myself, really.”

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

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

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

And then he’s just crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want a pink or a green one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, he walks.

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

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

It becomes a thing between them when they are alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crystal…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And without a moment’s hesitation, Edwin answers.

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were pretty brilliant together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes”, he replies, “it really is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can tell me anything, Charles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Charles. I’m in love with you.”

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

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

“Yes. It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

And he kisses him again.

#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!!!!!!

[the-mushroom-faerie]

today is a good day and I'm not taking any criticism at this time

#im wearing the best shirt evee #my drawing tablet is coming in sometime today #my hair is brushed and i have a little bow because i can #my platonic soulmate ADORED her early Christmas present (thats a fic and ill be posting it in a minute) #i have apple juice #i slept well last night #the person we were going to meet wasnt there so we dont have to go anywhere #i got obsidian in my rock advent calender (a wee bit overtumbled but still cool) #its a glorious day and im going to have chocolate for lunch

[nariism]

neuvillette is aware that he shouldn’t have let you get so close. but he did, and now he’s lamenting the fact that your hands are grasping at his soft horns — his fucking horns, of all places — and he might like it.

uptight and strait-laced, you’ve never known the chief justice to be someone so easily flustered. yet here he is with heat crawling up his neck, so warm that you can feel it against your palms as they ghost over his skin.

you can’t help but laugh at his current situation.

he was vehemently against you coming anywhere near his hair at first, grumbling about how his horns were on the sensitive side and he would rather not have to go into work feeling uncomfortably aware of their presence on his head.

however, you were hard to deny with that little smile on your face and such soft hands grabbing at his arms, tugging him closer. a sweet voice chanting, "please, honey? pretty please?"

neuvillette has never been good at denying you what you want.

it’s how he ends up sitting at your shared vanity. you comb through his long hair, watching him with amusement in the mirror as he huffs and jolts with every brush of your fingers against his horns.

the fact that he was letting you get anywhere near them was surely a testament to his trust in you. he was completely vulnerable here, at your mercy.

“sorry,” you mumble disingenuously, clearly enjoying seeing your usually serious husband falling apart with a simple action. you quickly tie off the end of his hair with a bow and he sighs in relief, thinking that the torment is over.

it's far from over.

he draws a sharp breath when you lean forward and press two gentle kisses on him; one on either side of his head just beside his horns.

neuvillette glowers at you in the reflection, disapproval written all over his face. "stop that," he scolds.

you do, but only because you're worried he might melt into a puddle before your very eyes if you continue.

it becomes a daily routine after that, with him sitting patiently in front of the mirror while you brush and tie off his hair. and you always end it the same way: two kisses, a soft "have a good day at work," murmured against him, and a mischievous little smile that makes him sigh.

he responds everyday with the same two words. "stop that," with a narrow-eyed glare.

the day you do stop, he's confused and irritated.

not only because you have the audacity to throw a wrench into routine again, which you know he hates, but also because he can't figure out why he misses your lips so much.

"what are you doing? i am going to be late."

"hm?" you peer up lazily from your spot on the bed, still half asleep.

"you have to do my hair."

"i thought you didn't want me to, so i slept in today."

your husband is eerily silent for a moment as he mulls over your words. then, he carefully perches himself on the edge of the bed, back turned to you expectantly and still wordless.

no, he would never admit he likes it just a little bit — the vulnerability, the trust, the feeling of your hands threading through his hair, the intimacy of it. hell no.

but neuvillette doesn't have to say a lot of things for you to understand; not when the way his skin heats up says it all; not when you're the first person to touch his horns in centuries; not when he’s saying stop that with such an affectionate glimmer in his eyes.

you give him four kisses that morning, two on either side.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

#— whispers in the wind ✧ #not proofread i'm sorry #neuvillette my beloved my BELOVED my husband my lover my meow meow #he makes me insane #also idk if i would call those things on his head horns but that's what everyone else calls them #neuvillette #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fluff

[bountycancelled]

OPLA characters reacting to a sweet, girly reader who turns out to be a a ruthless fighter

genre: headcanons, fem! reader, kinda suggestive??, idfk just read it bro

requested: nope, but reqs are open! pls, for the love of god, request for the opla♡

feat: zoro, sanji

a/n: reader's feminine but not female if that makes sense, only witting again because I'm obsessed with the one piece live action. also, this may be a little ooc, since I haven't watched the anime/read the manga, sorry about that! also, if you wanna be added to my perm taglist, pls feel free to ask!

☆ZORO☆

when you first joined the crew, zoro was immediately unsure of what exactly you brought to the table. I mean, they already had a swordsman, a sharp shooter, a navigator, a dumb cook and a captain/motivational speaker. so what were you doing here?

from luffy's explanation of you, he was aware that you were a good fighter, but he had never seen you in action.

the only things he had seen from you were stuffed animals laying around the ship, pastel outfits he could spot for miles, and bows that had been put in his hair while he slept.

he was tolerant of you at best, and straight up apathetic at worst, but finally, there came a time where someone tried picking a fight with you since you seemed like an easy target while you were walking with him and nami.

although he wasn't particularly fond of you (lies), he still felt the need to defend you as a crewmate, but the ass whooping you gave the stranger made him freeze in place.

there was blood splatter on your pretty face, deep red sploches of your cute clothes, and a look of pure hatred in your eyes. and you had never looked more beautiful in zoros eyes.

that was the first time zoro had ever smiled at you. sure, he had slightly smirked at your cuter tendencies, but in that moment he was truly smitten with you.

from that day, zoro wanted to train with you. what you lacked that he had in experience, you made up for in absolute cruelty when fighting. you were quick, agile and you weren't afraid to make zoro hurt, and he loved every second of it.

zoro would sometimes smile when he saw bruising on his body from his time training with you but catch himself and go stone faced immediately. no, he was not falling for you, absolutely not.

except he was, and the next time you showed up by his side with a slight limp, some tears in your cotton candy coloured clothes, blood all over you, and a sadistic smile on your face, he would tell you as much.

SANJI♡

sanji is unsurprisingly, enamoured by you the second you join the straw hats.

I'm talking, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, cheesy and constant compliments like "you're cuter than any of your stuffed animals, yn-swan~" and even brushing up on his baking skills to bake you aesthetically pleasing sweet treats that always put a smile on your face.

if I'm being completely honest, it doesn't bother him that he doesn't know exactly what your strengths are, you could be amazing at everything like barbie or you could literally not know night from day and he'd still admire you all the same.

one day, you're wearing bottoms that are on the shorter side not that sanji minds at all and you're out exploring the island you're at with him by your side, holding all your bags because in his words "angels don't do hard labour when he's around" when someone decides to hit on you.

you reject them politely, but when they make a less than appropriate comment about your outfit, you click your tongue and shake your head, readying yourself to hospitalise someone.

sanji's mood switches to one of being happy because he's around you to one of murderous intent the second this rando tries you, but you already have them wheezing on the floor with broken nose before sanji can even lift his leg off of the ground.

you're back to usual self, fixing the bow on your hair while complaining about how fucking hard it is to get blood stains off of your clothes, while sanji is thinking about how fucking hard he is

safe to say that this heartless, terrifying side of you makes sanji fall even harder and question whether or not he's a masochist.

he'll still insist on doing things like carrying you anywhere (most of your shoes you impractical as fuck, but style>functionality always) lifting things for you and treating you like a piece of fine china because that's exactly what you deserve, no matter how badass you are.

only difference is, now he'll never come to aid when it comes to kicking ass, because he enjoys seeing you take people to heaven and back more than anything.

he compliments now range from "omg you are the most adorable, lovable, doll-like angel I've ever seen" to "please punch me, step on me, make my nose bleed, choke me-" and he's now ten times more annoying about you than he was before, which no one thought was possible.

believe me when I say that images of you in frilly outfits with your eyes gleaming like diamonds eveytime you make someone bleed occupy 90% of his thoughts. (the other 10% is all things cooking, of course.)

#opla #one piece x reader #one piece live action #x reader #reader insert #roronoa zoro #zoro live action #zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji live action #sanji x reader #one piece #one piece headcanons

[h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3]

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔟𝔬𝔴

𝖍𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

summary [henry let's you play with bows and you get carried away]

warnings [smut, mouth stuff🎀, bimbo~ish ig, no p in v, pet names, soft dom henry🎀]

being the type of girl you were you loved ribbons and bows. they weren't something you indulged in often as a child, growing up in the country and all, but once you got older you feel in love with them.

you'd put them everywhere, in your hair, on your clothes, there's even some on your walls and others tied around stuffed bears.

Henry had recently gotten you these really cute ribbon bow clips and you were currently sitting beside him putting them in his hair. he's not really paying attention to you, he's used to this kind of treatment and just sat scrolling on his phone. you dropped one of the clips from his hair and in to his lap. as you go to reach for it a thought flashes in your mind. 'can I put a bow on your dick?' you ask your boyfriend after retrieving the clip.

you see the way henry freezes and hurriedly say 'not these, like ribbon' you clear up. he lets out a breath and laugh before looking at you 'I was scared for a sec baby' he says tucking a peice of hair behind your ear making you smile. he returns your smile and leans in for a kiss. 'of course I'll let my pretty girl dress me up' henry says sitting back up with the clips still in his hair.

so excited you jump up and let out a squeal 'omg yay' you scream about to go into you and Henry's shared room for some ribbon. turning to him before you go saying 'don't get hard' which earns you an eye roll as you leave 'you wanna do it or not' he mumbles as your walking but you hear.

in the room your trying to figure out what color ribbon you wanted. you got it down to pink and purple, so you bring them out to henry. 'which one do you want?' you question, you sit beside him on the couch, getting comfortable with your upper half mostly on his lap. 'whatever matches my hair' he says as he scrolls through something.

you go with the pink since he had pink in his hair. unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out your really happy to see the he wasn't hard. it might sound odd but you liked playing with his soft cock. cutting the ribbon to length before throwing everything on to the floor. you start to tie the ribbon at the base of his dick, humming to yourself as henry continued on his phone, you could care less.

looking down at the pretty pink bow you made your so proud in your self. you let out a giggle in excitement and notice the way Henry's cock twitched when you laughed. your mouth begin to water. trying something else you lightly blow making it twitch again.

you mouth became the ocean and you desperatly needed to taste him. opening your mouth and letting droll drip onto the head of his cock before lowering your head and licking it up. 'ohh fuck baby' henry moans out at the unexpected pleasure, finally placing his attention on you.

you take the tip of this cock in your mouth savering the taste of him. opening your mouth wider you take his full soft length in. feeling the bow brush against your lips. feeling him swell you come up for air letting out a little whine at the fact that this is the first time he's ever fully fit in your mouth, and it's because hes never let you suck it soft. and it's not gonna last much longer, but you'll enjoy having him in your mouth either way.

looking up to meet his gaze he grips your jaw and squeezes your cheecks together. sticking out your tounge he roughly brings you up for a sloppy kiss, gripping the back of your scalp. he breaks the kiss to leave kisses all over your face before letting you go back down to his cock, which is now fully hard.

bow intact.

you lick from the base to the tip repetadly. bringing your focus more to the head of his cock you bring one hand to the base and the other to his balls. 'fuck baby you know daddy likes that' he moans out as his hips buck forcing the tip of his cock all the way into your mouth. you gag a little before you adjust to it returning to your pace.

henry looks down to the ungodly display infornt of him. you desperatly sucking his cock, pretty hands playing with his balls with a pretty pink ribbon rapped around his cock, your eyes are watery, the floor beneath you full of droll and pre cum. your looking up to him eyes glossed over moaning every so often telling him just how much you love his cock.

'ahh- fuckk, baby im gonna cum' he moaned out. forcing the rest of his cock into your moth and down your throat henry couldn't hold back any longer. his cum being forced down your throat and falling from the sides of your mouth around his cock getting your bow all dirty. removing him from your mouth with a giggle and a smile so happy that you grew into loving bows.

[a/n: this randomly came to me and I wrote it right away so if it's bad blame it on that. 🎀]

#henry cavill #clark kent #bimbo reader #black fanfic writer #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x black reader #x black fem reader #clark kent x reader #henry cavill smut #bd/sm kink #bd/sm daddy #smut #clark kent smut #coquette #girlblogging #daddy's good girl

[darknight3904]

Blank Space

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴍᴀʀᴛᴇꜱᴛ ʙᴏʏ ᴀᴛ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ 10ᴛʜ ᴀɴɴᴜᴀʟ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴀʟʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇx, ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʙᴏᴏʙ ᴍᴀɴ. ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʙʏ ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ!

You could feel his eyes on you, it had been like this for months. Coriolanus Snow's eyes followed you nearly everywhere you went. From your class presentations to where you sat in the cafeteria with your peers, those strikingly blue eyes were always watching. Arachne had called it "unnerving" and "downright creepy" but what she didn't know was that you loved it. Knowing that you had the smartest boy in the class wrapped around your finger felt empowering, it also helped that you had been in a relationship with said boy for months now.

It had been sudden, the beginnings of the relationship with him. Sejanus was the one who pointed him out to you. Perhaps he was just trying to put in a good word for his friend but before you knew it Coriolanus was bringing you white roses and brushing your hair from your face. He'd present you with little folded pieces of paper, made to look like swans or butterflies and you cherished each one, your desk drawer at home was filled with his gifts. You and Coriolanus had agreed not to walk around the academy flaunting your relationship and opted for a much more discreet version of boyfriend and girlfriend when in public. That promise of secrecy didn't exactly stop hushed gossip and rumors that flew around the school. You'd deny any ideas of dating but you knew so many of your peers saw right through this act. Of course, all this secrecy, just meant he was all the more touchy in private. Even now, as you sat in his lap at your desk, trying to focus on the essay that was due tomorrow.

"It's perfect. You always get good marks anyway."He said, his fingertips dancing around your waist trying to get you to pull your attention from the paper before you.

"Easy to say when you have the highest marks." You pointed out, squirming when his fingers brushed a particularly ticklish spot.

"True, but you've always been a better writer than me. Don't you want to eat some of that food your maid brought in? It smells wonderful." He nodded to the large cart of food that had been sitting in your room, ignored for the past ten minutes.

One thing about your charming boyfriend was that he was always hungry. Coriolanus never turned down any of your suggestions of what to eat and was constantly eager to try whatever your family's cook whipped up when he was visiting you. His explanation for this constant hunger was that the Snow's cook was simply terrible but they couldn't fire him since their grandmother loved him so.

"I guess we can eat." You sigh placing your essay neatly into a folder, and standing to let him up from your desk chair.

You carefully helped your boyfriend place some of the food on your oversized bed. Another thing about him was that he highly enjoyed eating while sitting on your bed with you, of course, you couldn't blame him your bed was irresistibly soft.

"Do you honestly think that Arachne has the best hair in the class?" He laughed

"It's always pinned so neatly! Not to mention how her hair bows always compliment her makeup!" You point out

" I personally believe that there's another who has the best hair." He says, popping a grape into his mouth

"Oh really, who? And don't say Sejanus or Festus because we both know you'd be lying." You laugh, taking another bite of the chicken on your plate.

"It is obviously me." Coriolanus says "Have you seen my curls?"

He's dead serious about the statement but you can't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" He asks, reaching over to poke at your stomach as you giggle at him

"You're just so confident, it's kind of funny." You smile

"Oh please, you act like my looks aren't the whole reason you were interested in me in the first place." He points out.

"That is not fair." You groan, knowing it is true. Coriolanus' good looks had definitely helped him get the girl. It didn't help that his words were equally as charming.

"Don't worry, I know your hundreds of ex-boyfriends don't compare to me." He smirks, pulling you to his side

"It's not hundreds." You snort, sure, you dated quite a few boys in the past but, so far none of them have ever held a candle to your Coryo.

Coriolanus found himself fully enraptured by your presence. From the way you'd double knot your shoes to the soft cherry red lipstick, you wore when he'd take you out on dates that he made sure were cheap yet incredibly tasteful. He felt incredibly reckless whenever he was with you, the way he'd find himself blurting out the craziest things in your presence was simply uncanny. Even now as you sat, awaiting him in bed, he knew you were going to somehow drag some crazy statements out of his mouth even when he swore he wouldn't blab on about god only knows what.

"Hope you didn't miss me too much." He teases when he exits your bathroom, slipping under the covers with you

"Don't get cocky." You laugh, pulling the covers up to hide your chest.

Coriolanus hated that you did that after sex. He had just been inside you, and yet you insisted on hiding what was probably his favorite part of you under the silky sheets that adorned your bed. Sure, he wanted to respect your boundaries and all, but he also wanted to be able to use your chest as his personal pillow.

"Stop staring at them." You scold, trying to wiggle away from his arms that were wrapping around you under the blankets.

"I can't help it, they're so soft." He says, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.

"You're so strange." You laugh, running a hand through those wonderfully curly locks

"You love it." He sighed into your skin.

Months later, one day before the 10th Annual Hunger Games

You couldn't believe it. Coriolanus had blown you off. You had planned a date, a simple one really just a little picnic with some of his favorite foods and he never showed up. He had been acting strange ever since reaping day but when he had agreed earlier to your picnic idea you had been elated. You initially had thought he was just nervous since he got stuck with the District 12 girl but now you could see why he was acting so oddly. The moment you saw him standing in that damn cage at the zoo next to her, holding her hand, you knew exactly what was going on, he was interested in a girl who would be dead in days. His songbird was pretty, she'd give him that but what the hell did Lucy Gray have to offer your Coryo that you didn't already possess? Sure, she was a good singer that was obvious but other than that what did she have? Certainly not riches or manners to win your boy over and yet she was doing it anyway, she was singing her songs and casting a spell over your Coriolanus. You wondered if she was even truly interested in him, what if she was just trying to survive and Coryo was falling for it like an idiot?

It took quite a bit of self-control not to toss something at his head when he entered your room.

"I'm sorry...I know I missed your picnic." He said, crossing the room quickly

"You're only sorry for missing my picnic?" You ask, not rising from your seat

"What are you talking about? I'm here to apologize for standing you up. I was with Lucy Gray she needed food and I wanted to talk to her about strategy for the games." He said

"Really? You were talking strategy with her?" You roll your eyes, pointing to the television in your room which was paused on the broadcast Lucky Flickerman had done earlier that afternoon. Lucky was the focus of the shot but in the background, anyone with eyes could see Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray overly close to one another.

"I don't think talking strategy requires wiping her tears for her Coryo." You say

"She's just scared, I felt bad for her." He lies

"So you were just comforting her?" You ask

"Yes. Nothing more." He says

Jealousy reared its ugly head and set a bitter taste in your mouth. Did he honestly expect you to believe that?

"You're a man of many talents, Coryo but you're not a very good liar." You point out before clicking a button on your remote to show him the next thing you want him to see.

You want to laugh at the way his eyes widen at what you're showing him.

"She kisses you here, Coryo. I'm sure you would've continued too if you weren't so caught up in your own desires for that Plinth Prize." You point out, letting the footage play of him and Lucy Gray in the dark at the zoo which had to have been not even an hour ago.

"Are you spying on me?" He asks, offended

"You forget my mother's position in the Capitol, Coryo. She pioneered the advanced cameras The Hunger Games uses each year. Did you honestly think that there wouldn't be cameras watching the Tributes through the night?" You laugh

"So you're watching me?" He asks, clearly upset that you caught him red-handed

"You're the one skipping out on a relationship that is more important than anything that Songbird could offer." You coldly say

"You're crazy," Coriolanus says backing away from you and your camera footage

"You're one to talk, Coryo. Have you looked in the mirror recently?" You laugh, standing up

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you." He says

"And cheating isn't a good one on you." You counter

"That wasn't cheating." He says

"Really? And what do you call kissing another person who isn't in your relationship called?" You ask

"I don't need to explain my actions to you." He says

"You don't have to." You say "I hope she's worth all your trouble, considering she could die tomorrow."

"She'll win." He assures himself

"If she doesn't I'm sure you'll be quite sad, given you're so taken with her." You say, walking over to your desk where a vase of white roses sits, he gave them to you the day of the reaping. You pull them from the vase and walk towards him.

"What are you doing?" He asks as you get closer

"Returning your gifts." You say sharply before tossing them at him "Give them back to Grandma'am I'm sure she'll be glad to have them back in her greenhouse."

"You're acting insane." He says holding the roses gently

"I'm not. I'm just responding to everything you've done." You say coldly

"You know all those past boyfriends of yours, one of them said you were insane. I should have listened." He says, pointing an accusing finger at you

"Oh please. I'm insane?" You laugh

"Yeah, you are. And this," He points to himself and then you "Is over."

You watch as Coriolanus tosses his roses on the floor before storming out of your room, and presumably out of your family's home. From your window that overlooks the front of the house, you see him cast one more glance at you from the front yard.

"Oh, Coryo, you'll come running back."

Part 2

In case anyone reading this is wondering I do not hate Lucy Gray in any way so don't come after me.

The teaser for Part Two can be found here

#coriolanus snow #young coriolanus snow #fanfic #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fluff #tbosas #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #tom blyth #rachel zegler #Spotify #Youtube

[theragethatisdesire]

aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

#ok i'm actually quite proud of this bc its really cute #headcanons #aot headcanons #aot x reader #aot imagines #levi ackerman #levi x reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman headcanons #levi scenarios #reiner scenarios #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun headcanons #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger headcanons #eren jaeger #eren x reader #jean x reader #jean kirschstein x reader

[itsonlydana]

"Flower On My Skin" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

Thranduil gets his hair braided and thinks too much.

warnings/tags: bittersweet, more fluff tho, swf, King Thranduil needs a break

words: 1,9k

an: this is a gift for the lovely @tigereyesf who always comments on my posts on ao3 🤍 the lyrics are from Noah Kahans song "Your needs, my needs'

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil understands that permitting you to be near him might not be wise. It could very well rank among the least advisable decisions he's made in ages.

But he did, he invited you again and again, sending horses and carriages to transport you ever since he found out you traveled all the way from Dale by yourself whenever he sent a letter.

Until he didn't need to anymore.

Not because you wouldn't come, but because you didn't leave.

Never in a million years would anyone have guessed that the stoic Elvenking would invite a human to his palace on more occasions than his own kind and surely no one would have ever thought that he would start courting them.

Yet here he was, sitting in one of his many blooming gardens, swatting away the hand that was currently trying to gather his hair.

"Stop this," Thranduil's stern voice would've had any other shiver in fear of losing their head, though it only makes you giggle.

"Please, let me braid it again," you stable yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lean over, chest pressed against his strong back.

"No, you little nuisance. I shall not! You know of the meeting I will attend later, we do not have the time."

Even though he can't see your face, he knows you roll your eyes at him, he can feel it in the huff you let out before letting go of him. The warmth of your body disappears as you stand up from the bench and throw one challenging look over your shoulder.

Thranduil watches how you lift the skirts of the gown you're wearing, the finest of silks that you've adorned with little handmade bows from the village, and flop down into the grass. There is not one care on your face that the hems will surely stain and that there are perfectly suitable marmor benches all over the garden and only one of those occupied by Thranduil himself.

You seem to ignore them every time you two spend time out here, he noticed you are much more content with your naked feet buried in the high grass and your hair intertwined with the flowers that grow here.

At first, he couldn't understand the fascination you harbored with nature.

Of course, he had a deep appreciation for the forest surrounding his kingdom, the strong resistance of the trees had been an inspiration for the winding halls, the water flowing through the roots and gifting life and the ever so steady wind reminded someone who lived a thousand years that some things, though they change, never completely disappear.

You, on the other hand, could not be separated from nature in any way whatsoever. There had been the flowers, first only on your side of the bed when he'd invited you to sleep next to him, and one day he woke up to find a vase filled with Astilbe flowers on his nightstand and on his vanity as well.

You also spend most of your day either wandering through the woods (which left him restless and worried until you accepted the sword he had his blacksmith forge for you) or meeting him here in the gardens. He would never tell you but before you, he hadn't walked or maker-forbid, sat there for decades.

Now, he found himself soaking sunshine more days than not, reading Elvish poetry to you while you rested curled into his side with one of his hands brushing your hair, or, chasing you on his Elk through the forest, following the sound of your horse and your laughter.

Your infatuation with nature and the stubbornness of pulling him along made him fall for you, deeply and most ardently and he knew that one day he would need to survive the sight of forests and gardens and flowers without the urge to burn them to the ground for outliving you.

As he watches you examine the colorful flowers and gather them in your lap, he isn't sure if he will be able to contain that anger against the gods if the time comes.

You are oblivious to the dark clouds hanging onto his thoughts, he makes sure that you'll never see the heartbreak he lives through while loving you because he knows, he knows that you would do everything in your power to make him happy.

This is who you are, a human that lives and loves and pours all that you are into those around you, he sees it in the gentleness of your hands cupping the flowers before plucking them, in the way your tongue learned a new language for you wouldn't accept not studying it for an answer if you lived here.

You live to love and love to live.

Thranduil shifts, forgetting that there are guards stationed around the gardens who could see their King doing the unthinkable but he doesn't care.

Not with you sitting a few feet away from him, your dress spilled around you, a full smile on your face as you collect the flowers growing there for you, their little heads turning to you as if you are the sun for them as well, and not just for Thranduil.

If you notice him standing up, you give no sign, you don't even stop humming, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at this stubbornness is far too strong to stop it.

"Melethril nîn," he says quietly and his shadow falls over your body. The symbolism and fear of him taking away the sun from you has him clench his jaw. His pain is impatient as if it doesn't know he's going to live longer than he wants to and that it has all the time to break him down.

He quickly shuts those thoughts away behind the sight of you tipping your head back to smirk at him.

This is not the time to dwell on the future, not if he can exist in the moments he shares with you instead of fearing the time when he'll have to think back on them.

"Don't tell me you missed me," you tease.

He scoffs and –surprising you enough to let out a squeak– lowers himself onto his knees next to you.

Eye to eye, he feels much more comfortable, despite the stains that he knows now graze his robes.

"You know," he starts and lets his gaze wander over the flowers in your lap, however, you managed to collect this many of them in such a short time awes him, "the meeting can wait."

You catch onto the meaning instantly, your eyes lightening up even more. The golden rays of the setting sun reflect in them and he reaches forward to cup your face in the palm of his hand and gently leans towards you, capturing your lips in a long kiss that has you gasping.

"Now," Thranduil swipes his thumb over your lower lip, as you separate, tugging playfully at it and giving into another kiss before he continues, "Have your way with my hair, my love. I know you did not collect those flowers for any other reason."

You gasp ingeniously. "You are by far the wisest Elf I've ever met," you say and scoot –maker, he makes a note to get another dress just like this made because surely this will be ruined by the time you leave the gardens– behind his back.

While you gather his hair in your hands, this time without him trying to stop you but relaxing into the soft tugging, you mumble: "So wise, they should make you King."

He chuckles at that. "Ah, but I would need a Queen by my side. Do you know where one could find on–ahhh," his teasing words get swallowed by a sigh as your fingers collect some fine hairs on the side of his head and surely completely on accident run over the shell of his ear to the delicate tip.

"Ooops," you sing and just as his body calms, you repeat the action, even have the gall to scratch the skin with your nails and he melts into a puddle.

His ears burn, not just the one your breath hits but the other one as well and he can feel the blood shoot into his face as well, crumbling the stoic and straight-laced composure of the King who is already on his knees.

"You witch," he presses out between his clenched teeth and hears you giggle. "I should have never told you about that," he murmurs more to himself, trying to regulate his heart beating inside his chest like a wild rabbit on the loose.

You laugh once, a "Pah!" while you tug on his hair, "You didn't tell me," you say and he feels something get pushed inside the braid you are working on, "I found out all by myself."

Thinking back to the night that started this completely outrageous behavior trait of you fiddling with his ears whenever he doesn't pay you enough attention or he says something that teases you a bit too much, he can't tell if you are right or him.

A few years ago he would have shut you down completely because the King would never be wrong but now he grumbles under his breath, agreeing that you must be correct.

Then again, there are many new things that you brought into his life.

He laughs more freely, and not just out of spite of viciously.

He cares more, for you, for his son, for nature and sometimes even for the dwarfs he trades with.

He is formed by you, shaped by your untamable ways of never letting a rainy day ruin your mood.

He is nothing but wax in your hands.

Here, sitting in the gardens and letting you weave flowers in his precious hair, he is no King, he is just a soul yearning for your touch, a flower reaching to bloom in your golden light.

Thranduil's eyes flutter shut as you braid and weave and run your hands over his scalp and through his hair.

He may have fallen asleep, lulled into a trance by the warm sun caressing his face and your voice humming a melody as sweet as any words that you speak, because when you let go of the delicate braids and let them fall into the rest of his hair, he opens his eyes to a pink and purple sunset.

The birds sing their last song and the trees rustle, shaking their branches and leaves as if they would ready themselves for the animals coming to rest in them.

There is a pleasantly chilled breeze that comes with nightfall, one that brings the smell of flowers and grass.

"There," you press a gentle kiss to the skin right behind his left ear, "all done."

For a moment Thranduil is disappointed that you are finished but then he turns to find your smile and all is right.

"Thank you, meldanya," he says, already closing in to express his gratitude with a soft kiss.

You nudge your nose against his, eyes shut in contentment. "Thank you, for letting me. Le ni meleth," you say quietly.

"Always," Thranduil's gaze wanders over you, bathed in rosé and golden hues, the cheeks flushed from the air, your hair wild and untamed, and flowers all over your lap. He grabs a few of them, inspecting the stems and probing them with his sharp nails.

"Let me repay the favor," he effortlessly lifts you, smiling wide at the laugh bursting out of you as he sets you between his legs and onto his robes.

"I want my Queen to wear a fitting crown."

#thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #lotr fanfiction #lotr x reader #lotr x you

[xxsabitoxx]

Pretty Witch | Kinktober

Kitsune Hybrid Giyu x AFAB Witch Reader

Warnings: fucking a stranger, human/kitsune hybrid, brief talk of witchcraft, raw sex, pussy eating, creampies, dom/sub themes, mentions of mating, biting

A/N: ohohoho kinktober is here and I'm stressed, not that that matters lol, enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 5.8k | Dividers are from @benkeibear

You swallowed, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as you stared at the creature you had summoned. You had every intention of getting a cat familiar, a furry little friend to keep you company since it was just you out in these woods. It wasn’t often that clients came by to get medicines from you, so the presence of another living creature would be greatly appreciated. “W-who the hell are you?” you nearly shrieked, watching as the man standing across from you, just beyond your caldron straightened. “Who the hell am I?” he quipped, dark brows creasing as he observed you. “You’re the one that summoned me, you should know who I am.” 

You swallowed, eyes trailing over his features. He was undeniably handsome, whoever the hell he was, but that didn’t answer your question. “I-I didn’t summon you.” you stated lamely, hands clasping the wooden stirring spoon. “Oh really?” he eyed you, navy eyes roaming over your body before focusing on your face again. “The cauldron says otherwise, little witch.” You stiffened at his tone, a gentle purring was the only way you could describe it. “W-well I did try to summon a familiar but I wanted a cat not… you.” You choked out, face warming as you realized it was rather insulting when you put it like that. “So you’re a newbie witch that managed to summon an ancient guardian for yourself instead of a cat?” Your face grew even hotter. 

“A-an ancient guardian?” You watched his arms fold, the smoke finally clearing enough for you to see the fluffy black ears perched at the top of his soft looking hair. “The name is Tomioka Giyu, no witch or warlock has been able to summon me successfully over the last millennium… yet you managed to do it by mistake. What a curious creature you are.” you were still clutching the spoon to your chest as Tomioka began walking around the cauldron. You knew he wouldn’t harm you, but it didn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest as he closed the distance to stand right before you. “I am at your service, pretty witch.” He bowed to you, blue eyes locking with yours as he straightened again. “O-oh well thank you I-uhh-I suppose.” 

He flashed you a soft smile, one that just barely curled the corners of his lips as he stuck his hand out for you to take. Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, face burning hot as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed your worn knuckles. “Let’s sit and talk, I’d like to get to know my summoner a little better.” You nodded, half in a daze as Tomioka brushed your knuckles softly. You couldn’t lie, the guardian was rather beautiful with his fair skin and sharp jawline, pretty blue eyes as such long fluffy hair. You found the heat that had been bubbling in your cheeks was  now spreading its way to the rest of your body. “I take it you live alone.” he commented as he motioned you to sit beside him on your couch, books and papers spread over your coffee table. 

You nodded, suddenly self conscious of how cluttered your little cabin was. “I do live alone, I have no lover, if that is what you are trying to ask, Tomioka.” You weren’t sure where your bluntness came from, nor were you sure of why it made your body throb. Suddenly the room felt way too small and way too hot, but that was likely all in your head, all because of the mythical being sitting beside you. He huffed out a laugh, thumb still gingerly brushing your knuckles. “You’re turned on.” His voice was quiet but it seemed to shamelessly echo between the four walls of your living room. “Wh-what?!” you squeaked, hand nearly flying out of his grasp. 

“I can sense it, pretty witch. You’re very turned on right now… how odd.” there was a teasing tone to his voice, and for the first time you noticed three tails shamelessly swaying side to side just behind him. “You’re… you’re a kitsune?” you commented offhandedly, trying to desperately ignore the fact that he had just called you out for your own horniness. “I am, but that is beside the point. What has occurred over the last five minutes – give or take – that has caused you to become so bothered?” He hummed, all of his focus was on you and your raging hormones. But you wouldn’t dare admit that you haven’t been intimate with another in quite some time. 

“I-I…” you stammered, unable to formulate a lie under his intense blue gaze. “There is nothing wrong with it. I don’t mind if you find me attractive, pretty witch.” the kitsune nearly purred, hand still holding yours. “... I am at your service” he repeated, but this time his tone was implying much more. “Whatever you desire from me, I will do, without question or hesitation.” You blinked, tensing a bit as you shook your head. “Tomioka I… that’s not the reason I summoned a familiar… or at least tried too. I just… wanted company… I don’t desire to use you for my own… pleasure.” You choked out, quite positive your face was neon red at this point, but the ancient guardian didn’t seem to care. 

“You’re stuck with me until the end of your days, pretty witch. You’ll have no time to go out and find yourself a lover… you already have me.” You felt your heart rate quicken, somewhere in the back of your mind you had to wonder just what he had been summoned for in the past. “But—I…” you stammer, losing the battle quickly as the kitsune licks his lips. “Pretty witch, I can promise you endless days of bliss. So long as you keep me by your side, you’ll never desire another, you’ll never feel the loneliness you’ve got festering inside of you… nor will you ever have to satisfy yourself using your hands…” you swallowed, squirming a bit in your seat as he drew a little closer. “I can be your everything.” 

“Tomioka, we’ve just met.” You regain a little of your composure, thighs squeezing to try and alleviate the throb between your legs. His words had done a number on you, reminding you of how much you missed being intimate with someone… but still. “And we will have plenty of time to get to know each other over the course of your mortal life… why waste time on such trivial things when I can clear your mind for you here and now.” He urged you, still drawing closer as you inched away. “Tomioka…” you tried again, knowing if he got any closer, you would immediately give in. Though, somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew giving in to his desires was inevitable.

That was the thing you failed to remember about Kitsune… they were clever creatures who enjoyed mischief. The ancient guardian before you had over a millennium to perfect his craft, that much was clear. “Pretty witch, I am devoted to you and you alone. What more could you ask for?” In truth, nothing. He was presenting you with everything you could ever desire and yet your stupid morals were still holding you back. “Tomioka… I don’t want to rush you into anything… we just met…” the fact that you had quite literally just met was the only thing holding you. You would likely continue to sound like a broken record even after you gave in. 

“We’re not rushing anything, pretty witch. I’ve spent years alone with nobody to hold, not a single soul has been successful in summoning me and yet you did it by mistake. It would be my honor to serve and satisfy your every need… so please… pretty witch… let me taste you.” he had you completely entranced now, noses nearly bumping as he had managed to move closer without you realizing. “Please, pretty—” you stopped him easily with one word “yes…” you breathed out, watching his lips part in surprise before a real smile curled his lips. “Wonderful.” 

You made a noise of surprise as his lips roughly crashed into your own. His hand was still holding yours, fingers intertwining now as you used your free hand to cup his jaw. Tomioka’s free hand came up to hold the back of your head, as if afraid you would change your mind and pull away. He already couldn’t get enough of your taste, tongue sliding past your parted lips to sweep into your mouth and collect every drop of your sweetness. You must have had something with honey, a sickly sweet taste he hadn’t gotten the chance to experience in centuries. You whined as he groaned, lapping feverishly at your mouth and your docile tongue. 

It wasn't long before he was pushing more of his weight onto you, causing you to fall back into the armrest of your couch. Tomioka reluctantly untangled his hand from your own, mumbling something into your mouth as you whined from the lack of contact. That changed the moment you felt his now free hand sliding to push your dress up, the skirt had already bunched a bit around your knees and now he was pulling it up the rest of the way. You tore yourself away from his lips, ignoring his disgruntled growl as you gasped for air. “It’s been far too long since I've had my fill of a pretty mortal, but truly none of them could ever compare to you… pretty witch.” he sighed, lips slightly swollen from the force of your kisses as he watched your legs part for him. 

“You’re so turned on…” he smirked now, watching your hips squirm a bit at the comment. Your hands were twitching at your side, unsure of what to do with them as the kitsune observed the wet mark on your panties. “Gods I’ll give you everything your heart desires…” he breathed out, stealing the air from your lungs with the intensity of his words. “T-tomioka…” you choked out, watching his slender fingers dip between your thighs to press on the wet mark. You gasped, one hand reaching up to grip his bicep as the other dug into the material of the couch. “Sensitive…” another offhand comment that had your face glowing with heat, eyes struggling to stay open as he dragged his fingers along your covered slit. With each movement, the wet mark only grew. At this point you were convinced he just wanted to see how badly he could ruin the garment. 

“You smell so good…” he breathed out again, voice raspy as he brought the two fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply. You audibly gasped, legs instinctively trying to close out of embarrassment as he inhaled the scent of your arousal. “Ah-ah pretty witch, there is no hiding from me now… or ever.” he parted his lips and stuck the two digits between them, swirling his tongue around them before pulling them out again. Slick with his saliva, he brought them down to your cunt again, slipping them under the material to run through your slit. Your head fell back at the feeling of his bare fingers on your cunt, a desperate plea for him to take your underwear off slipped past your lips before you could stop it. The kitsune only huffed out a laugh, a single clawed nail ripping the material from your body. The sensation was oddly fascinating, especially as you pulled your head up to watch the claw return to a human nail. 

Tomioka felt a sense of satisfaction at the wonder mixing with arousal in your eyes, you were already wrapped around his finger. “Pretty witch, tell me what you want me to do. Whatever your heart desires… I’ll do it.” he did nothing to hide the way his cock was throbbing between his legs, watching you lazily look down at it before meeting his gaze. “Finger me… please.” Something about his aura caused you to lose your filter, you had never said such things with such a desperate tone before. “As you wish.” You moaned loudly as he shoved the two fingers he had been using to swipe along your slit inside of your dripping entrance. Tomioka made a noise with you, the warmth of your cunt enveloping his fingers was sending the kitsune into a spiral. “I forgot how warm you mortals can be…” he gritted out, three tails swaying wildly as he tried to ease the racing in his chest. “T-tomioka…” you whined, walls fluttering around his slender digits. 

“Tell me what you want me to do.” his chest was rising and falling in rapid succession as he panted, he had never felt like this before, and he was quickly becoming addicted to it. “M-move them please… pump them in and out… like this…” you reached down and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, moving it back and forth the best you could until he started doing it on his own. Tomioka knew how to do it of course, but he loved the sound of your voice, how needy it was when you instructed him so sweetly on what to do. It made his cock throb, the aching desire building in his gut was dizzying as your sticky arousal coated his fingers. It wasn’t long before your head fell back again, every moan was accompanied by a slick squelch as the kitsune fucked you on his fingers. “T-tomioka… please…” he knew what you were asking without even saying it, but the kitsune had other things in mind. 

You gasped as the kitsune maneuvered himself lower, mouth moving to hover over your pulsating clit as his fingers continued to pump into you endlessly. “Please!” your whine turning into a wail as his lips suctioned to the sensitive bud. You couldn’t recall the last time someone had made you feel this good, especially with just their mouth and fingers. Tomioka sucked harshly, tongue flicking across as his fingers curled within your heat. You felt it now, your orgasm building at a much steadier and much more reachable rate. He could feel your thighs begin to tremble as he worked, the hand that had been holding his bicep was now hazardously scratching at your own thigh. Your mind was far too dazed to even process what you were doing until the kitsune brushed over that one particular spot.

Your hips left the couch, a loud gasp of “there!” leaving your lips as your hand now found its home in the kitsune’s hair. He groaned as your fingers scratched at his scalp, three tails swaying excitedly as it sent a chill straight down his spine. The kitsune continued to rub against that one spot on the front of your walls, not stopping even after a considerable amount of your arousal started leaking steadily down to the couch below you. Judging by the way your noises only grew louder, the way your cunt only grew wetter, and the way your nails were digging into his scalp, you were close to coming all over his face and fingers. That edged the kitsune on, groaning against your sloppy cunt as you cried out his name over and over. It hit you like a ton of bricks, an orgasm ripping through your body in a way that had you seeing stars. 

The kitsune worked you through it, pulling his mouth away after a moment but continuing to rub circles within your walls until your body relaxed again. You blinked up at him, tears pricking your eyes as you tried to calm your racing heart. “T-tomioka…” You whispered, not able to make a noise any louder at that moment. He merely hummed, pulling his fingers out of your drenched core to shamelessly suck on them. “I’m not done with you, pretty witch.” he spoke after licking his fingers clean, wasting no time to bend down and slot his lips sloppily against yours. Your noises of surprise were swallowed by him, tongue licking into your mouth again but this time you were the one tasting something you hadn’t in a long time. Your own arousal was coating your tongue, making you whine as the kitsune moved to press his hips against yours.

It was an odd sensation, his covered hard-on pressed right against your slick heat, surely you’d make a mess of him. Though, the kitsune didn’t seem to mind, hips stuttering against yours as he rolled them tentatively, eliciting a soft groan from his lips as he pulled away from you. Salvia connected you still, his fair complexion flushed a shade of crimson as he tried to regain what little composure he had left. “Tomioka… please… my bed.” You watched him nearly sag, nodding wordlessly as he quickly climbed off of you just to bend down and scoop you up again. You grabbed ahold of him, not expecting such strength considering he seemed to have a slim build. You yelped as he dropped you onto your plush mattress, quickly climbing over you once again. 

Your legs spread wordlessly for the kitsune, moaning against his lips as he got more handsy. You couldn’t quite pay attention to his movements, but it wasn’t long before you were fully bare. Part of you figured you should feel some sort of shyness, but the way his eyes devoured you whole made you feel like you were the only woman on earth. At this point, you may as well have been. Nothing could pull the kitsune’s gaze from you, his lips parted as he admired your chest. “Pretty witch…” he murmured, one hand coming down to caress your breast while the other began hastily undoing his pants. You whined, back arching into his touch as he gingerly kneaded the pliant flesh. Your nipples had long since hardened, scraping against his rough palm in a way that had more arousal leaking from your center. “Please… fuck me.” 

Your moral compass had completely gone out the window, all you could think about now was what it would feel like to get speared on the kitsune’s cock. “As you wish, my pretty witch.” he breathed out, letting go of your breast to roughly shove his pants down to his mid-thigh. The ancient kitsune had no patience to fully undress himself, too focused on entering your body and claiming you as his own. That was all it would take, to claim you as his and his alone, his mouth was filling with saliva at the very thought. “Can you take it?” he murmured, hand gingerly wrapping around the pale length of his cock, the tip an angry pink and leaking with precum. “Yes, fuck just… please Tomioka…” the kitsune squeezed himself, whining as he listened to you beg for him. “Please… fuck I want to feel you…” you pushed yourself up on your elbows. 

“Again. Say it again.” you felt your own face grow warm before uttering “fuck me, Tomioka.” but the kitsune shook his head, tugging roughly at his own cock. “Giyu.” was all he said, watching your face morph into confusion. “My name… call me Giyu.” The realization dawning on your face only made his fist move faster, something about the innocence of it had him melting. “G-giyu… oh fuck… Giyu please.” The kitsune’s name felt right coming from your mouth, and by the look on his face, it felt right for him too. “Promise me, pretty witch, promise me you can take it.” You nodded, fingers digging into the sheets below you as you remained partially upright. “I can take it, Giyu.” The kitsune gave in, angling the head at your entrance, one knee digging into the mattress while his other leg was planted firmly on the floor. You had a feeling that position wouldn't last. 

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, eyes trained on where he was pressing the dull head against your entrance. One push was all it took for your cunt to envelop him, your body quivering as he didn’t give you much time to adjust. He wasn’t going to go easy, you had told him so sweetly you could take it, so he would deal you everything he could offer. You whined his name loudly, the sound echoing off of your bedroom walls as the kitsune bottomed out. “So good…” he uttered softly, panting as his nails dug into the flesh of your hips. He was completely entranced by the way your walls fluttered around him, hugging every inch he had stretched you open with. Your arms had quickly gone limp, forcing you to lay flat again as you panted and waited for the mild ache to disburse. He had gone in all at once, but you were thankful he was holding himself still. 

“Tell me… pretty witch… what do you want now…” his heart was in his throat, beating at the same erratic rate his cock was twitching inside of you. Truthfully he hadn’t moved yet because he had nearly blown his load while entering you. “Kiss me, Giyu. Please kiss me.” Your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace, his eyes drawn to the way it moved before he shifted your positions. As the kitsune bent down to kiss you, he pushed you further into the mattress, using the new space to crawl on top with you. You whined, a pretty and high pitch noise that made Giyu’s head swim as his lips met yours again. The kitsune moaned with you now, happy to feel your tongue fight back against his. The kiss turned sloppy, melting into shallow thrusts of his hips against yours as he lost himself in you. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, keeping his lips pressed to yours. You needed something to keep yourself grounded, the shallow drag of his cock was not nearly enough to satisfy the ache in your gut. The kitsune knew this, of course. His slender fingers were dragging down your skin before sinking into your thighs. You took the hint, legs wrapping around his waist as if to encourage him. Yet, the ever teasing kitsune kept his thrusts shallow, just barely pulling out of you before sliding back in. It felt more like a slow rock, just barely moving enough to feel it. You knew what he was doing, purposely holding out just so he could hear you beg again. Any other partner and you may have been more defiant, but you couldn’t explain in words how badly your body craved the mythical kitsune above you. “Giyu…” 

You struggled to speak, his lips still slotted over yours. He heard you, ears perking as he pulled away from you. “Yes? What do you require?” he was grinning a sly smirk, the devious glint in his eyes made you feel hot all over, walls clenching around him tightly. That simple movement wiped the grin clean off his face, a whine slipping past his lips as you clung to him. It was nearly painful, the force of your walls suctioning down on him felt like pressing into a fresh bruise. It sent a chill up his spine, pale flesh erupting in goosebumps. “Fuck me like you want me.” you choked out, the full feeling starting to make you antsy as he had yet to properly move. A look of pure desire passed over the kitsune’s face, any ounce of restraint he had was truly gone now. “Careful of what you wish for, pretty witch.” though, you had never been one to be careful anyways. 

The kitsune’s hips drew back until nothing but the tip was left inside of you. Just as quickly as he had pulled away, he was thrusting his hips back into you. Your head fell back, exposing your neck to him as he repeated the motion again and again. It took him a minute to find his rhythm, rough and fast but not nearly as forceful as the first few goes. Your nails were digging into his clothing, wishing desperately that he had taken the time to undress. Especially considering he had wasted so much time teasing you like he had. “G-giyu please… your voice bounced with each slap of his hips against your own, eyes watering as molten pleasure ebbed through your core. He was managing to drag along all the right places, the slight curve of his dick pressing into your sweet spot with every thrust. You felt your orgasm building already, dangling just out of your reach. 

“Hmm? Wh-ah-at is it?” he tried to keep his voice even but your cunt was far too sinful to not elicit pretty whines from the kitsune’s lips. “Take your clothes off…” you pleaded with him, eyes shining with tears as you yanked weakly at the haori he had been wearing. You had been so utterly engulfed in him that you failed to even notice the clothing he was dressed in. Not that you cared at this moment, you just wanted them off of him. “I don’t think so, pretty witch.” He grounded out, head dipping lower to drag his nose along the column of your neck. “W-why not.” you would have pouted if his nose dragging along your skin didn’t make goosebumps follow in its wake. “Because you haven’t earned that yet, my pretty pretty witch.” he cooed, voice cracking just a bit as he buried himself deep again. 

“E-earned it? I haven’t earned it?” you nearly cried, hands coming up to hold your own breasts as you tried to push away and alleviate the pressure of his cock head pressing harshly into your cervix. “You have to cum on my cock in order to earn such a sight… I may be desperate for you, pretty little witch, but I have my standards.” You fought back the urge to call the sly kitsune a whore, but if he was a whore so were you. “O-oh whatever! Just keep going, please. I’ve been so good for you… you swore to do everything I wanted.” You whined, letting go of your breasts to reach up and hold his cheeks. The kitsune smiled, a little softer than his other ones. “Don’t you worry, my pretty little witch…” he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “... for I am only teasing you. My heart and body belong to you and you alone.”

“Giyu…” his name left your lips in a quiet, wonderstruck plea. Your heart was thumping erratically in your chest again, warmth blossoming behind your ribcage and spreading all over. The kitsune’s teasing demeanor changed, lips lowering to yours in a soft kiss as he shouldered off his haori and tossed it to the side. His hips found a new rhythm, slow and deep, dragging along your velvety walls until he was panting into your mouth. You parted again as he whined, forehead pressing to yours as his eyes closed, inhaling deeply to calm himself before it was over too fast. “G-giyu this doesn’t get you out of not stripping for me…” you teased as he tried to concentrate, his cheeks flushing red as he tried to pretend he didn’t hear you. 

“Have I really not earned it, my pretty kitsune?” you pressed him further, batting your lashes as his eyes snapped open at the use of the nickname. “...” he blinked, lips parted and hips shallowly thrusting again. “Answer me please… am I not worthy enough?” you urged him on, feeling a little bad about guilting him into an answer but you were desperate. The kitsune sighted, head dropping a little lower so he was speaking more to your neck than your face. “I’m…” he mumbled the rest, between the racing of your heart and the ache between your legs, you couldn’t decipher what he had uttered. “Giyu, my sweet kitsune, you need to speak up.” Your fingers threaded in his hair, ankles still locked behind the small of his back to keep him from pulling out and leaving you all together. “I said…” he swallowed, moving to whisper in your ear instead of your neck. 

“I’m shy.” your hands tightened in his hair a bit, eyes wide as he slowly lifted his head to reveal a pout on his pretty lips. “Oh… oh…” you smiled a bit, legs pulling him a little closer. “My pretty, pretty kitsune. You have nothing to be shy about, it’s me.” You encouraged him, lost in the haze of your lust, brain working on autopilot because he was still buried balls deep inside of you. You wanted to sound sincere, not lust driven, so you cupped his cheeks again and brought his lips to yours. You kissed him once, twice, three times, quick and soft, watching his eyes flutter shut as he relaxed into you again. “You do not have to shed your clothing if you are not ready, but know I will never judge you for your body, my pretty kitsune.” He swallowed,  eyes shifting away from you as he inhaled deeply. “Stop calling me that.” He wasn't angry, rather he was embarrassed of the way it made his stomach swirl with butterflies. 

You only smiled, watching him regain a little bit of composure as he pushed himself up on his hands to hover over you again rather than lay on you. Giyu sighed, hips drawing back finally before pressing into you again. “You have to learn some respect.” He drawled, jaw clenching as he focused solely on moving his hips in and out of your tight cunt. He straightened further, until he was sitting on his knees and his hands no longer needed to support him. This allowed the kitsune to bury his fingers in your pliant flesh, holding you still as he rutted his hips into you at a brutal pace. Every ounce of sanity you had left fled your body as the Kitsune began punishing you for flustering him so thoroughly. “Maybe I’ll mate you, would you like that, my pretty witch?” You choked out an incoherent, strangled noise, eyes nearly rolling back as each thrust hit your cervix. The kitsune would take that as an attempt at “yes”. Though, it wouldn’t happen just yet, considering kitsunes only had one mating season per year, one rut that wouldn’t arrive till winter. 

Though, he didn’t mind practicing until then. 

Giyu’s head fell back, hands now moving to force your hips to meet each of his thrusts. You were only growing wetter, now that he had found a steady rhythm with no interruptions, a slick squelch could be heard each time you connected. “Giyu please…!” you gasped, your orgasm was within reach now, you just needed that extra push. The kitsune only panted in response, one hand leaving your hips to rub rough circles on your clit. “Oh fuck…” you croaked, head tossing back against the mattress a the kitsune brought you to your second peak. He never slowed, working you straight through until you were overstimulated and clawing at the sheets begging him to ease up. The kitsune was too focused now, his end in sight as he fell forward to bury his face in your neck again. His hands left your lower half, instead moving to cradle you against him as he placed open mouth kisses on your neck. “G-giyu please oh fuck please…” you pleaded again, pain returning to pleasure as he fucked you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

The kitsune mumbled something against your neck, not that it mattered. You couldn’t think, not when he was still rutting into you so intently, canines dragging along your neck. He was close, so close he felt his body may give out before he could reach it. It had been far, far too long since he had been able to do this. The fact that he had managed to last as long as he had made his pride swell in his chest, especially when you were a wreck beneath him. “Come for me, please!” you gasped, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you as the kitsune sunk his teeth into your flesh. Your back arched into him, his hips meeting yours three more times before he was burying himself deep and spilling his load into your awaiting womb. The kitsune collapsed on you, really knocking the wind out of you this time. Nothing but panting filled the room, your ears ringing mildly from the new silence that seemed louder than anything you had just done. 

“Are you… alright?” His head lifted after what felt like an eternity, stormy eyes focusing on his teeth marks on the junction where your shoulder met your neck. “N-never been better.” you wheezed, tapping his shoulder a bit until he realized he was nearly crushing you. “Oh… well…” he cleared his throat, moving to draw his hips away from yours. The feeling of him slipping out of you caused a shiver to go up your spine, the ache between your legs spreading to your hips and thighs. He had done a number on you. “Are you really okay?” The kitsune looked nervous, cheeks flushed red as he watched his cum slip out of your cunt. “I’m just a little sore… and sticky.” you chuckled, watching him turn a deeper shade of crimson before flopping beside you on the mattress. “I’ll clean you up, my pretty witch. Just… give me a second to regain feeling in my legs.” he confessed, hand coming up to rub his face as you laughed a little harder. 

“Best mistake I've made in a while.” You commented with a grin, head turning to meet his eyes as he blinked at you. “I better be the best mistake you’ve made, period.” Giyu shot back, a smirk dragging the corners of his lips up. “I guess you’re right.” you faked your exasperation, surprised when a small laugh left the kitsune beside you. “We can discuss that later… for now…” he pushed up again, rolling onto his side and resting his hand on your abdomen. “I apologize for not asking your permission.” this time you were the one to feel your face grow warm, hand raising to wave him off. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine really!” You squeaked, watching him sigh before moving to grab your hand and bring it to his lips. “I’ll do better next time, pretty witch.” 

You nodded, finding it useless to try and ease his worries, he was set in his ways. “Thank you.” you sighed as he let go, moving to get off of your bed to find something to clean you with. 

“Why don’t we just take a bath? Easier than you rummaging around my bathroom.” you pushed yourself up, grimacing as the ache was starting to spread to your muscles. 

“If a bath is what you want, a bath is what you’ll get.” 

You had to admit, he was certainly better than the black cat you had initially tried to summon. 

@monster-october-kny-2023

#kinktober 2023 #kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer smut #demon slayer headcanons #hashira #kny smut #tomioka giyu smut #giyu smut #giyuu tomioka imagine #giyuu smut #giyuu imagines #giyuu headcanons #giyu x reader #giyuu #giyu #tomioka x y/n #tomioka smut #tomioka giyu #giyu x you

[fbfh]

makey makeover - rodrick x hyperfeminine reader

wc: 1.5k

pairing: rodrick x gn hyperfeminine!reader

warnings: rodrick isn't used to being taken care of but only briefly mentioned at the end, rodrick does not know what hyaluronic acid is

summary: rodrick can never say no to you, but if it means having you straddle his lap while you use all your skincare products on him and listen to music together, he wouldn't want to say no anyway.

song recs: makey makeover - crazy ex girlfriend cast, jesus of suburbia - green day, perfect day - hoku

a/n: I started writing a kids book yesterday?? like I finished the first chapter and outline in one sitting???? it wasn't at all planned but when the muse strikes yk. Anyway I don't think it will take me as long to write so if you wanna read a chapter book about magic and girlhood and unicorns and other mythical creatures with bella sara vibes that's probs gonna be ready reasonably soon lol

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @kiara7777 @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @followingthefanfiction @2220825 @Maggzsworld @xiaos_crustytoenails @ionlymadethisaccountbcihadto @strawberryjen124 @Isaentremundos @hxnbah

Rodrick likes to think he's a pretty tough guy. Between being born and raised on the rebellious messages of pop punk music, and the nonconforming ideologies of emo and other alt subcultures, Rodrick knows in his bones that he'll never let the man break his spirit. He'll never bow down to someone just because they want him to do something. He's had countless opportunities to stand by these beliefs at school and at home, and he has never - not once - come close to doing anything for someone simply because they want him to. Rodrick has been confident in his ability to never give into other people’s orders, no matter how much they demand of him. 

Until now.

“Pretty please, Roddy…?” You pout your glossy lips at him, blinking up at him and batting your doll like eyelashes, and that’s all it takes to make him fold.

“...I guess, if you really-” He’s cut off by an excited squeal from you, and he’s glad that you’re too distracted to notice him blush. Rodrick has never felt his willpower give in so fast, but as he watches you rush around your room and smile, delighted that he’d agreed, he realizes that he’d do pretty much anything you tell him too. Ben and Chris would call him a pussywhipped simp, but… no, that’s pretty much it. He chuckles a little at the thought, watching the pile of stuff grow. He recognizes nail polish and tweezers, but that’s about it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You say, rambling happily as you settle down on your bed across from him. “I’ve been wanting to do self care stuff but I’ve done so many everything showers and self care nights there’s nothing left for me to do on myself. But you…”

You take his face in your manicured hands, moving him around to inspect more closely.

“You are in serious need of a facial.”

Rodrick doesn’t really process what you’re saying, he just loves when you touch his face like that. 

“...Uh, yeah totally.” He mutters absentmindedly, distracted by your sweet smell. After a moment, he processes what you said, and chuckles, leaning back into your silky pink pillows. “Babe, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime.” 

You giggle, feeling your face flush a little as you get all your stuff organized. Rodrick runs his hands up and down your waist, fidgeting with your soft fluffy pajama shorts and big loded diper shirt you wear all the time. He sees the little burn marks and worn out hems and realizes it’s the one you stole from him. He smiles softly, loving the way you look in it even more now. His attention is pulled back to you when you push something over his face, brushing his hair back. You adjust the fluffy cat ears on the headband, making sure you have access to his whole face. Rodrick giggles a little, knowing he must look a little out of place wearing a pierce the veil shirt and fluffy kitty cat headband. 

“I don’t think my forehead has been this exposed since like, 4th grade…” he chuckles.

“That’s good, you’ll have less sun damage that way.” You smile, putting some micellar water on a cotton pad. It’s a little cold to the touch, but after a moment, the feeling of you gently wiping over his face and neck ends up being way more relaxing than he had expected it to. You throw it away, and he hears it land in your trash can with a crinkle. 

“I’m gonna mist your face now, okay?” You say, and he nods. You spray rose water on his face, and Rodrick can’t get over how considerate you are to give him a heads up like that. Rodrick smiles a little as he adjusts to the subtle floral smelling facial spray he’s used to smelling on you. He basks in the quietness of your room, opening his eyes as he watches you sitting on his stomach and looking for the next product. You hesitate for a moment. You feel like something’s missing, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“Oh,” you say, reaching for your phone as you remember. You open up Spotify, and put your favorite playlist on shuffle - the one you and Roddy share. It’s full of both your favorite songs, mostly boiling down to early 2000’s pop punk and trashy pop. It’s chaotic but really does suit you both perfectly.  Rodrick smiles suddenly as he instantly recognizes the opening notes of Jesus of Suburbia begin to play. You take out your favorite serum, jasmine and blackberry hydrating jelly, and place a few drops around his face. 

“What’s that one?” Rodrick asks, picking up another bottle. 

“Hyaluronic acid.”

Rodrick looks at the little dropper bottle.

“Does it, like, melt the flesh right off your bones?” 

“No…?” You chuckle, massaging his cheekbones and jawline with your fingertips.

“Then why is it called hydroponic acid?” He asks rhetorically, “Acid is supposed to melt shit.”

You laugh again, and he makes a mental note to sample your laughter for a song at some point in the future. He doesn’t know which one yet, but he knows it will be his best one yet. 

You rub some cooling aloe vera gel into his skin, then take out your rose quartz gua sha stone. You tap your fingertips against his chest, and he looks at you with an amused smile.

“What does that do?”

He watches you work, eyes locked on you. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and peaceful. 

“I’m prepping your lymphatic drainage system.” 

That clarified absolutely nothing for Rodrick, but he trusts you implicitly. You’re so good at so many things, but Christ, you could write a book on all that girly beauty stuff. It’s way more hardcore than people think it is. You know about all these acids and drainage systems and the pink rock thing, and even though he’s impressed, he’s not at all surprised by how good you are at all this stuff.

You begin gently gliding your gua sha over Roddy’s skin, working from his forehead down to his neck and jawline. He stops talking as you work, and it’s like you melt all of the stress out of his body through his face. He could fall asleep with you touching him so gently like this. After a while you rub some more cream into his face, then place something under his eyes that feels like thinly sliced jello.

“What the fuck?” He asks, bringing another laugh out of you. He watches you take two more of the weird jelly things and put them under your own eyes.

“They’re under eye masks.” You answer with a chuckle. “They hydrate your skin, depuff, and get rid of dark circles.”

“Huh…” he hums in response, playing with the patches as they sit on his face. 

Once you’ve used half your arsenal of skincare products on him, you peel off his sheet mask and let him sit up. You hand him a mirror, and as he sits up and stretches a little, kind of wishing you had more to do, he feels like he just woke up from the best sleep of his life. 

“So? What do you think?” You ask excitedly. He can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are. Rodrick takes the mirror you offer him. When he sees his reflection, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. 

“Oh my god…” he says with a soft smile. He’s glowing. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this soft and moisturized and… cared for before. He doesn’t even have any crusty eyeliner from yesterday smudged around his eyes. He can never get it off all the way, but one wave of your magic wand, and it’s gone. He laughs again, touching his cheek. He looks up at you in surprise.

“My face is so smooth…” “I know!” You exclaim in delight. “So, do you like facials after all?”

You have a feeling you already know the answer, but Rodrick looks up at you anyway.

“Yeah,” he states, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips soft and exfoliated, topped with your favorite strawberry lip balm. You think Rodrick is right, it does taste better in a kiss. After he pulls away, it takes him a minute for his brain to stop short circuiting. 

“So… uh, are we doing this again next weekend?” 

You laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, how he raises his eyebrows a little. 

“Yeah.” You nod, taking him in for another kiss. You take his hands in yours, looking at the stick and poke tattoo he got of the heart you drew on his hand in chemistry class, his little calluses from drumming. “Next week I can do something about your cuticles.”

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick #rodrick x reader #rodrick x hyperfeminine reader #hyperfeminine reader #diary of a wimpy kid #diary of a wimpy kid x reader #doawk #doawk x reader #yeah no idea where the book thing came from #i literally wasn't even a horse/unicorn kid growing up #i was more into faries #like i liked the horse girl aesthetic ig but i never really got into it #but it's fun #i almost accidentally named a character after a member of paramore so im glad i caught that lol #stay tuned

[yanfeisty]

⠀⠀⠀꒰͡ ⠀ ִ ♡ kisses headcanons. ׅ ׄ ⠀ ͡꒱

Their way of kissing are so special that it’s more than a simple romantic gesture from first glance, and you should know it as their lover, especially when you are the reason of what makes them special in the first place. This includes Argenti, Blade, Childe and Alhaitham from Honkai Star Rail and Genshin. Content warnings: small mention of death in Blade's part.⠀⠀Have a great time with your husbandos!⠀⠀ ︵ ⠀⠀ ̼

⠀‣ Argenti

How often: Nearly every day, if he doesn’t then he is away. How can he resist the need to embrace you, when his heart beats at a fast pace and he's at a loss for words each time his eyes lay on you, the only way he can communicate is by locking your lips and moving them together. Moreover, since it is his duty as a knight of beauty to make every creature know their true beauty and value, what a better way to show it to you than a kiss, one that makes you feel like the most treasured creature in the cosmos.

Types of kisses: The one that is like a promise. It’s such a typical gesture of him to bow to you with a kneel on the ground and sometimes, a hand on his heart as a sign of his devotion to always be your knight. While his other hand envelopes yours, approaches it to his lips, and delicately brush the back of your hand with his thumb like it is made of glass, before leaving a small peck on it.

The lovey dovey one, where he reaches for your hand but this time he grabs it to pull you close to him, and leaves a trail of kisses from your wrist to your face in a quick pace, you don’t even have time to speak before he reaches your mouth and shush your words. It always catches you off guard because you can’t see his heart skipping a beat whenever he remembers why he loves you so much.

The gentle and most frequent one. His fingers find themselves under your chin, deviating your eyes from whatever you were focusing on to his sparkly light green ones, “May I have this kiss?” He will always ask first the permission like a gentleman, because he would hate to force his love upon you. It’s neither too light nor overly passionate, just enough to make you flustered by the delicacy of his lips.

Kissing in public: He has no problem to do it in public, it became a natural habit of his to kiss you, and there’s nothing that’s going to stop him from it, not even the eyes of other people watching you like they're watching a romantic movie, although you’re being hidden by his voluminous hair. It doesn’t help that he stands out of the crowd with his unique and charming look. However, he’ll understand your discomfort if you tell him. “Forgive me, my love. I do not see the crowd when I’m being mesmerized by your beauty.”

Extra: It’s also the way he holds you, one of his hand holding your face while the other envelopes your waist to get you closer, it feels neither oppressing nor dominating, but comforting like he'll always be with you. He also smells like roses, which adds to the experience, you’ll definitely have his scent on you after being this close to him.

⠀‣ Blade

How often: Rarely, Blade doesn't display much emotion nor does he feel a lot of them, so don't expect to get a lot of affection from him. Though sometimes, when the burden becomes too much to bear and a wave of agitation hits him, he finds some comfort in you. Despair and violence used to be his only solutions to deal with it, but you somehow make him feel a bit better, he is not sure why, but your lips do pacify his illness a little.

Types of kisses: The desperate one, where you can feel all his emotion he puts in it, maybe his lips will taste bitter because of the feeling of revenge or sloppy when he is distressed. It's not perfect but it's no less true. He shouldn't be able to rely on someone this badly and show his moments of weakness, and yet, he is unable remove his lips from yours until he can’t breathe anymore and forgets the pain.

The shut up one. You’re talking too much. This irritates him. He just wants to silence those unnecessary ramblings of yours before he goes crazy. So, he forcefully brings your mouth to his for it to stop moving. “Will you shut up now, or do I need to do it for you?”

Kissing in public: It would be showing his weaker self, you’re the only one allowed to see it. He doesn't like when you try to kiss him, because he would rather not be the subject of teasing from his colleagues, even if he knows it's already the case and he can't stop it. It's so weird for everyone, especially for those who know him to see this cold and scary heart letting someone this close to him, and having his cheeks showing a small hint of embarrassment because of them.

Extra: Kissing his scars, it somehow heals them, not that he feels any physical pain, but when he sees his body full of stitches it reminds him how he should be dead, but you deviate this thought from him to a more pleasant one. His body is like a walking corpse, pale and cold, and yet, by feeling your lips on his brings some... warmth. Feeling life surging through his veins doesn’t feel so bad for once. “Please... Don't stop.”

⠀‣ Childe

How often: Since he's often sent on missions, he makes the most of the time he spends with you. Plenty of kisses you'll receive a kiss as a reminder that his heart will always be with you, no matter the distance.

Types of kisses: The kissing ambush, you’re just so adorable sometimes, he can’t help but squish your face with his palms and peck it without stopping. You’re stucked between his hands who hold you dearly, and you aren’t able to say a word because he’ll cut it off with a kiss. “Haha… Don't look at me like that, love. You're the one being too cute here.”

The eskimo kiss. The freezing cold of Snezhnaya isn't merciful, especially for those who aren't used to it. Childe is always here to warm you up when you need it, and one of his greatest technique is to rub your nose together. The skin contact and his melodious laugh which lets out a hot breath brings heat to your face, and erases completely the cold from your skin.“Perhaps it worked a little too well, your cheeks are burning.”

Kissing in public: He isn't one to be ashamed to show that he loves and cares for his loved ones, and you're no exception. However, when it comes to more 'passionate' kisses compared to the light ones or if you feel shy, he'll always find a good place to hide in when you'll be left alone, and it would be lying to say he doesn't like the risk of getting caught by someone, to the point you can feel that his actions are too bold for the place you’re in.

Extra: When inflicted by minor or deadly injuries, he claims that the only way to heal them is with a kiss, and he won't take any medicine before he gets one. You might be irritated by his stubbornness and childish behavior when he is on the edge of dying, but for him who had plenty of injuries before that his body became indifferent to them, he can’t miss the opportunity to tease you when your face is painted with concern, which honestly melts his heart at the sight of it.

⠀‣ Alhaitham

How often: Alhaitham is more affection than someone might think, just not publicly. It's frequently that you'll share small affectionate moments together, he doesn’t kiss a lot though, he prefers other skin contact like having your body on his or him having a hand on you, it feels relaxing and honestly he can’t think of a better situation than have you close to him.

Types of kisses: The goodnight one. It's regularly that you're reading together, very close to each other. The most comfortable position is when you put your head on his torso, and you both hold each side of the book. And each time, the relaxing atmosphere plus the lullaby made by his heartbeat doesn’t fail to drive you slowly to sleep. When Alhaitham notices it that you fell asleep when you still haven’t turn page, he'll plant a small kiss on the top of your head before stroking it as a way to say goodnight. It’s a habit that he’ll never get tired of.

The one he uses to silence you. Alhaitham doesn't like meaningless noises, he may tolerate your voice more than he does with any person, but not when it says things that are straight up wrong or disturb his peace. Without any warning, he'll pin you against the closest wall. The action makes you stumble over whatever you were saying, it doesn't help that your breathing gets reduced as he approaches. You finally stop trying to when your lips are seal by his before, he leaves you stunned without any words.

The lazy one. Alhaitham likes a comfortable lifestyle, and you can feel it in his kisses. He doesn't do much effort, his hand is loosely holding the back of your head while his lips brush yours gently, and eventually lean into it. “It's not essential work anyway, you can stay here until you regain the energy needed for it”. Always the same excuse for him not move and still keep you in his arms, but it’s always working.

Kissing in public: He doesn't necessarily want to have your relationship become a subject of chatter that is mixed with opinions he didn’t ask for. Not that he cares about what people think, but it can create rumors or even problems that he'll be forced to resolve, and also make him become the center of attention, which isn’t something he desires. He prefers doing it at home because it’s a more comfortable place anyway.

Extra: It's such a weird coincidence that Alhaitham suddenly wants to kiss you each time Kaveh enters the room. Kaveh who's first flustered because he feels like an intruder, and quickly shuts the door. Then he becomes frustrated when he notices that Alhaitham does it purposefully to annoy him, he shouts things like “Oh my God, have some decency and get a room!”, now Alhaitham could riposte by telling him to get his own house first… but honestly he prefers to save his breath when he’s kissing you.

‘𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓔𝐍𝐃  Please don’t copy/translate and don’t reblog with yand3r3 tags, also if you’re a yand3r3 blog/reblog account, or you’ll be blocked. Besides that, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. 

Taglist:⠀@avensuersa <3

#honkai star rail x reader #argenti x reader #blade x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #alhaitham x reader

[dotster001]

Househusband Au HC'S

Summary:Crewel/Crowley/Vil/Rook/Malleus/Idia x gn!reader

Requested by @stygianoir

A/N: my tag list is still packed so hopefully you guys find this 😂

CW:sus gardener Rook, discussions of Idia's depression and fear of death, but I think that's it

Part Two. Part Three

Most well dressed parent at the PTA meeting. Puts everyone to shame, and makes all the other parents and teachers jealous.

Cooks five star meals exclusively , and makes sure you get your proper intake of nutrients. He can't have his favorite pup lacking in proper nutrition!

One hundred percent coordinates your outfits for you everyday. You're the best dressed worker, all because your husband hand sews you outfits designed to blow the competition out of the water.

Pretends he's not snuggly, until nighttime, then he gets pouty. He'll be aggressively folding laundry, and not speaking to you until you come to bed and let him hold you.

You own twelve dogs. Each dog has an individual diet it is on, that is hand made by him everyday. He knows exactly what every dog needs, and makes sure to memorize what each dog needs.

If you want kids, you will adopt/birth at least three. He likes a full house. Majored in alchemy before he settled down as your househusband, and is more than happy to tutor not just your kids, but also their friends, in alchemy.

Sings like Roger from 101 dalmatians because I said so. Also he plays the piano like him. Because I said so. I'm weak okay!

They say he had an illustrious career as a model, then he met you. That's only half true though. He was planning on retiring anyway, and just happened to meet you around that time. He likes to let the tabloids believe it was all your fault. It makes him laugh. Vil Schoenheit bows to no one! Now drink your smoothie!

Healthy meals constantly. He somehow managed to make them all taste good though. It's a little suspicious honestly…what does he put in that smoothie? You never liked smoothies for breakfast before…

He likes to do your nightly routine for you. It's his love language. At 7 pm sharp, he clears his throat, and gestures for you to sit down. Then he brushes out your hair, does your skin care routine, dresses you in pajamas, and tucks you in, making sure to give you a kiss on the forehead before he joins you.

If you aren't home in time for your nightly routine, he goes to bed early, turned away from your side of the bed. He will not speak to you, even though you know full well he is awake. He knows deep down it's not your fault, but he has simmering rage and no one else to take it out on.

That said, when you do fight (which you do a lot) he'll storm out before he can be particularly nasty. But you'll wake up to a single rose on the pillow next to you, and a new pair of shoes to wear to work.

You have one fluffy white cat, or one child. It's one or the other in Vil's pristine house. This isn't a barn, for seven's sake.

Cooks, cleans, gardens…. he's made for this life. You don't even know where he gets the time for it.

Rook prides himself on having the best garden in the neighborhood. Your neighbors asked him what fertilizer he used, and he wrapped an arm around you and giggled about how it was "the most organic around". Considering the last time you had to do laundry there were red stains on his clothes, you choose not to ask questions.

If you have kids, there are three of them, each two years apart. He makes the perfect paper bag lunches for them everyday, with little french notes in them (raising bilingual kids in this family). As he drops them off at school he kisses each one on the top of the head, and jovially waves them off.

You have two dogs that he takes hunting with him on his solo weekends (they aren't often, because he can barely stand to part from you!) But you also have a rabbit. He gave it your name, and likes to tease you by saying how he "caught his lapin" and never saying whether he's referring to you or the rabbit.

Another one who makes sure you look your best at work. But his favorite thing is when you forget your lunch, and he "has" to bring it to work for you. This is when he is at his most dressed up, and your outfits compliment eachother the most. He loves the gazes of envy that come his way as he kisses you and hands you your lunch.

When he's not doing chores at break neck speed, he wants you to either be in his arms, or him in yours. He doesn't care which! Please, his poor heart needs you!

Trust fund baby. Born rich, then married you. Tried to convince you not to work, but you wanted to, for whatever reason, so he "allows" it. (Who is he kidding? He could never deny you anything, what a simp) he sulks all day though, moping like a lovesick teen until you come home. Heaven forbid you forget something and have to come back in before you actually left, because he has your boss on speed dial, and will call you in sick. Oh, you just left your wallet? Too late, he assumed you had fallen ill and had chosen to stay home with him! 

He's a little clueless on cooking and household chores (Lilia is no help) but he tries! Boy does he try! And it's not half bad. Not stellar, but not bad. You've only gotten food poisoning once, and he's only ever burnt a hole in two of your shirts with an iron.

Loves to serenade you with his violin on special occasions. You know the evening is going to be wonderful when he pulls it out. Oftentimes, it's a song he wrote for you, and sometimes he even sings along.  His deep timbre will often have you so relaxed that you start to drift off. He's fine with that! More time to cuddle!

Speaking of, he starts the night out by laying on his side of the bed, and by the end of the night he is wrapped around you like a koala. He also gets very hot at night. You often don't need a blanket. You asked him about it once, and he said something about "draconic internal temperature regulation", whatever the fuck that means.

You had to put him on a budget because he buys you every shiny thing he sees. He always goes over budget, and always insists it's the last time and it will never happen again. This, friends, is what we call a lie.

He's only a househusband in name, really. He still has an income/job in the form of streaming and YouTube videos. But he stays at home, and likes it when you call him your househusband. He gets all blushy and smiley. He likes the idea of being the one you look forward to coming home to.

Ortho lives with you both, obviously. And he does all the cooking and cleaning. But he and Idia have an unspoken agreement that if you ask, he helped too.

Calls you at work at least once a day. It's always during your lunch break though, so that you can "eat lunch together" You know his mental health difficulties are acting up if he calls you more than once though.You don't have to come home, he'll be alright, he just needs to hear your voice.

His stream only knows you as player 2. When you get back from work, he'll say "Oh player 2 just got home!" And get so excited. He'll run off stream to give you a kiss, and won't come back until you remind him he's streaming. His followers have been there through the whole progression of your relationship, and despite not knowing what you look like, and only hearing your voice off screen every once in a while, they adore Gloomy Samurai and Player 2.

You always have two cats at a time, usually the ones at the shelter or humane society that are bonded or siblings. He doesn't want to separate a family, and also gets nervous about the inevitability of death. So you always have two cats. That way if something happens you always have one.

Yes. You get him to start telehealth therapy, and medication. Why do you ask?

He tries, bless his heart. His cooking is not bad, but his cleaning skills are subpar. To be honest, he's not cut out for the househusband life, but you've heard horror stories about how he handled his previous jobs. So for the sake of the world, you do your best to ensure he stays here.

"He's so generous" 🙄 Any time he goes a little bit above what you expected from him, he drops that line. A particularly good dessert? How generous. He actually folded laundry today? So magnanimous. But it hurts his pride if you don't agree, and you married him for some reason, right?

He has an allowance, and usually spends all of it. Sometimes it's gifts for you, but a lot of times it's for him. Which, it's his allowance, so that's fine. But he buys the weirdest stuff and doesn't use it. It just sits around your home.

If you have to work on something on the home computer, good luck to you. Home is for loving him, not working! He'll slip into your lap, give you a sexy pout, and start caressing your cheek, and tracing shapes into your neck. Then he'll start talking about how you're neglecting him, just put the work away and come cuddle with him. 

Where he shines though, is if you guys end up with kids. He's a surprisingly good father, making sure they all are clean, safe, and well fed. He helps with homework, and is surprisingly good at it, he's good at seeing what their needs are, he knows immediately when one of the kids is sick, and is at the doctor right away… you don't know where these skills came from. But the second the kids are in bed, he's back to being your needy husband.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #rook x reader #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt #twst rook #dire crowley x reader #dire crowley #twst crowley x reader #twst crowley #crewel x reader #divus crewel x reader #twst crewel #divus crewel #idia shroud x reader #idia #idia shroud #idia x reader #twst idia

[washeduphazbin]

Could I get a one shot of, y/n is like Adam’s life ex gf she left after getting tired of his shit.. ended up falling in love with Lucifer.. (Mr. Steal yo girl thrice) and during the Adam and Lucifer battle Lucifer taunts that he stole all three of his lovers

YES. YES. I'm in love with Lucifer. Your wish is my command.

Sorry it's so short if we like maybe part 2

Also, poly luci x reader x Lilith (sorry, not sorry)

———

“Little duck?” Lucifer asked softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You were holding onto one of his plush ducks rather tightly,

"I can't help but think...that this extermination is my fault." Lucifer let out a gasp and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, "Lulu-"

"I won't have that negative self-talk in my house." Your brow furrowed in distress,

"But-"

"No buts."

"Lucifer! Adam's absolutely moved up the extermination to spite Charlie and us!" You argued, "I...what if I go back to him."

"Excuse me, what?"

"I don't want to!" You moved away from him to the portrait of Lilith, you and Lucifer hanging in the corner of the room. "I really don't want to..." You raised your hand and brushed against Lilith's horns and Lucifer's staff in the portrait. "You know I don't belong here; I'm not a demon, a sinner, or an angel either. I'm just a human who fell because I fell in love with you and your family." You smiled sadly over at him, holding out your hand. Lucifer squeezed it tightly, "What if I can solve all of this by just going back with Adam."

"That's not happening; I'm not letting you go back to that fuckwad;" He scoffed, brushing a hand through your hair, "Do you think you'll be happier with him? Without us? Without Charlie?"

"No." You laughed bitterly, "Of course not, Charlie would kill me."

"She absolutely would. You're like another mother to her; she wouldn't let you go back to that hellscape without a fight. Neither will I; I have a few words I'd love to share with Adam."

"Oh yeah? What would you say?"

"I'm sure you'll get to hear it eventually," he mused, leaning closer to kiss your cheeks. "Just stay safe and stay away from the Hotel until Charlie or I give you the okay, okay?"

"Okay." You whispered softly, bending down to plant a kiss on his lips,

"Did you really have to bend down like that," He huffed, hitting you gently with his cane.

"Oh, absolutely."

---

"Stay home? STAY HOME?" You roared, grabbing Lucifer's shoulders, "Everyone dying, and you want me to stay home!"

"For your safety and everyone's safety. Yes." He squeezed your shoulders tightly, "If it's between you and Charlie, I-"

"You choose Charlie every time."

"I love you-"

"I know. I love you too." You smiled softly, "Kick Adam in the dick for me?"

"It would be my pleasure, my lady. Here," Lucifer handed you his phone, "It'll live stream the battle; I hacked a VoxTech drone." He puffed his chest out proudly, and you beamed, taking his phone from his hands.

"I can't wait to see Adam get dick punched in HD!"

"There's the bloodlust I love so much; if I didn't have to go save Hell, I'd totally fuck you right now."

"Then you better leave now so you can come back and fuck me as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am!" He gave the dorkiest salute before teleporting out of the room.

---

"I am going to FUCK you!"

"It's fuck you up...dad."

Your face palmed, curling up on the bed, Lucifer's phone in your hand, watching the live stream.

"What? What did I say? Oh Shit-" Lucifer burst into laughter as he transformed into a snake to avoid being hit by Adam, "So this is what you've been up to since Eden, huh? I gotta you really let yourself go, buddy."

"Are you judging me?" Adam snarled in a disbelieving laugh, "You're the most hated being in all of creation!" Lucifer snickered as he turned into a bird,

"Well, your first wife didn't seem to hate what I had to offer, or the second bow chica. Wow, wow!" He splayed his fingers out in a V shape and stuck his tongue in between his fingers, "Not to mention your third."

"I'm sorry what!" He snarled,

"Oh, you didn't know? (Y/n)'s a doll, the tightest pussy Lilith and I've EVER shared!"

You made a horrified sound at the phone, wanted to absolutely curl up into a ball and die, Charlie didn't look any better.

"Dad!"

"You are so dead!" Adam shouted, "And I'm gonna find that bitch, and I'm going to make her pay!"

"Sure you are," he snorted, "I'd like to see you try."

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader hazbin #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x y/n #writing requests #romance #fluff #hazbin hotel imagine #reader imagines #short hazbin imagine

[desperate-gay]

Scary Talks At Midnight

Alex Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: just a small random blurb to my criminally underrated wife on this app

“I’m gonna get you!” You taunt, chasing the energetic little girl around the house, trying your best to tire her out.

“Mama, help me! Mommy is trying to get me!” Charlie yells, jumping into Alex’s arms so she feels safer and can see from a taller height.

When you turn the corner, you notice the little girl looking at you with a smile, so you begin to tiptoe tauntingly toward her, crouching lower to look like a monster. All of a sudden you run at her, making her shriek and giggle when you start nibbling at her leg.

“Mama, help me!”

“I told you I’d get you!” You state, letting out an evil laugh when you take the little girl out of your wife’s arms and head into your shared bedroom.

Throwing Charlie gently on the bed, you pin down her arms and continue on your nibbling fest, tickling her all over and making her laugh loudly. Alex watches from the doorway with a wide grin at the two of you together. When you first started dating three years ago, she was scared you wouldn’t be able to handle a kid, but boy did you prove her wrong.

Three years dating and one married, and she wouldn’t change a thing about you, your marriage, or your little family. She’s brought down back to earth when she hears that the giggles have stopped and you’re both now catching your breath, backs laying against the bed.

“Okay you two, you had your fun but now it’s time for bed.” Alex claps her hands in encouragement even though it still results in a whine from the little girl. “I know, bedtime is the worst!” Your wife fake agrees, shooing the little girl to her room so she can lie down.

“C’mon, Mommy! You gotta tuck me in!” Charlie shouts from down the hall which makes both you and Alex chuckle from different rooms.

Alex says her goodnight and waits out her doorway, bowing down and gesturing for you to go in dramatically. “You have been summoned.”

You shake your head at her antics and head into the room, kneeling beside the now-exhausted kid. Brushing her hair to the side, you press a kiss on her forehead and mumble, “Sweet dreams, I love you.” When you start to stand up, a tiny hand grabs yours, pulling you back down.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweety?” You ask, stroking her hair to soothe her to sleep. You expect her to ramble just so she can stay up longer, but what you don’t expect are the next words to come out of her mouth.

“I want a baby sister.”

Mouth falling open, you turn around to see if your wife has heard it but she’s not there, must have already gone back into your bedroom. You’re quite thankful though because you have actually been thinking about this all on your own and you don’t want to freak her out.

“We’ll see.” You whisper to Charlie’s sleeping form, pressing one last kiss to her hair before getting up and sneaking out, shutting her door quietly on the way.

Soon after you go through your nightly routine, you head over to the bed where your wife flings open the covers, patting your spot with her arms wide open. With no hesitation, you slot yourself into the brunette’s arms and snuggle up to her chest. Alex looks down with a loving smile and places a tender kiss on your forehead before grabbing the remote to start another episode of your nightly show.

You watch about four episodes and then decide to call it a night after looking at the time. Lying on your stomach, your head is turned towards the bedroom door and away from Alex. You try your best to go to sleep but with the thoughts of earlier tonight, you start wondering if Alex would even want another kid. Maybe she’s too busy with her career or maybe she just thinks one is enough.

With a slight huff, you turn your head, facing your wife’s peaceful state. A twitch of a smile crawls up on your face, so you decide to snake your hand under her shirt and scratch her stomach to which she replies with a satisfied hum, signaling she’s still somewhat awake.

Running your eyes down her face, all your worries leave your body and just positive thoughts overcome your mind. Alex, you, Charlie, and a baby having a picnic at a park, laughing and playing around, or you and the kids cheering on Alex at one of her games. Maybe you should bring it up now before you chicken out and never bring it up.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” She hums, raising her eyebrows slightly but keeping her eyes closed.

“Can I talk to you about something?” You bite your lip and nervously twist your foot around in the sheets, causing Alex’s eye to creak open from knowing your tell.

“Of course, darling. What’s going on?” She rasps, shuffling closer to you so your noses almost touch, and loops her leg into yours, trying to remain as close as possible.

“You know I love you, Charlie, and our little family,” you stop to clear your throat while Alex nods in encouragement before continuing, “but have you ever thought about making our family a little less…little?

“Are you asking me if I want another baby?” Your wife asks with a smile breaking over her face as you nod with your lip tucked into your mouth, holding back your own grin. “Yes! Of course, I want to have another baby with you!” She jumps on you, attacking your face with kisses as you laugh from both the sensation and the overwhelming joy you’re experiencing.

Pulling back, you both have lovesick looks in your eyes, now just staring at one another. Your hand reaches up and strokes her cheek, quickly pulling her down into a very much-needed kiss. Your tongues lazily work against each other, both still tired from the time of night it is.

“I hope you know, you’re carrying.” Alex mumbles against your lips, making you laugh into the kiss.

“I figured. The tougher one’s gotta do it.” You tease, turning away from her, pretending to go back to sleep only to be yanked and pulled into her front. Alex hums softly, relaxing with her arms wrapped around you and the excitement for the future. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, baby. Let’s go to bed.” You murmur.

“Yes we will, and maybe we can start the baby-making tomorrow.” Alex purrs, tugging at your earlobe with her teeth, but soon groaning in pain from your foot making contact with her leg.

“Alexandra Patricia Morgan, it is too late for you to be thinking like that.”

#alex morgan x reader #alex morgan #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #woso

[hxshpuppies]

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask you, neither should you | Luke Castellan x reader

word count: 1.3k

a/n: felt like writing a meet cute. title lowkey doesn’t make sense but i love hozier so….Athena!coded reader. one-shot (probably). no use of (y/n) or (name) because I prefer not to do that. :)

warnings: not edited, not proofread, written in one sitting / not from chicago 😓 / i haven't written in AGES so...

The first time you met Luke, you had barely stepped foot into camp.

You were someone whose arrival had no pomp and circumstance, and--much to your protector's relief--whose journey had been relatively smooth-sailing save for one case of a missing train ticket, which had been a minor setback more than anything. Now here you were, protector-less (they had left to meet some council?), alone--despite the multitudes of campers that flocked to and fro around you--and tired.

Chiron had dropped you off in front of the Hermes cabin, and you passed by countless inquisitive eyes as you entered the building. The humidity of the summer gave your face a sheer glow as you, out of your element and more than a little nervous, padded towards the door with your bag in tow.

The moment you reached for the door it flew open (you yelped), expelling a handful of giggling children who were whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. Upon seeing you, they quieted down, but then like a pot boiling over they resumed their antics and walked away, an sparing an occassional glance at you over their shoulders.

"Sorry about them," A voice cut through the retreating din of the group. You jumped again, whipping around to see a tall boy about your age standing in the doorway. The wind sent the leaves around the cabin rustling as he brushed his hand through his hair, opening the door wider. "Come on in."

You bowed your head, avoiding his gaze, and walked into the cabin, the smell of musk and earth--and plenty of other strange things--wafting through the area as you took in the beds and children running around.

"So, you're the new camper, huh?" You turned back to the boy, who walked past and led you to a vacant bed near a window. You followed, placing your duffel bag down.

"I'm Luke. Luke Castellan." The boy extended his hand to you with a practiced camp counselor smile, curly brown hair highlighted by the sun streaming in through the windows. You introduced yourself to him, soft-spoken yet firm. "I'm the counselor for Cabin 11. You can come to me if you have any problems adjusting to life here. Or if one of these goofballs steals something of yours."

It was his job to make sure his campers were taken care of, that they were comfortable. It was his job to help them settle in.

"It's lovely to meet you, Luke." Your voice was level as you shot him a polite smile, recovered from the whirwind of arriving at the cabin itself. "Thank you for your help."

A silence settled into the gaps of the conversation as you unzipped your tattered duffel bag, reaching inside for the few belongings you'd brought with you. You felt Luke staring at your back and an awkward cough followed. He'd sensed your anxiety.

"So, where are you from?" You gazed back at him timidly, still unsure of anything and anyone around you. He faltered, hoping he hadn't asked a painful question. To his relief, you smiled wistfully.

"I'm from Chicago--Lincoln Park." A picture frame, a little worn, holding a picture of you and your father at a baseball game. The sunlight lit up the photograph as you placed it on the windowsill.

"I've never been." He was straddling the back of a chair now, leaning his chin on his arms, facing you. He continued, voice soft and inviting. "I'd like to one day. What do you like about it?"

You paused packing, settling yourself on the bed as you thought about your hometown.

"The beach--well, the lake--and the White Sox games, obviously. " You hummed, deep in thought and nostalgia, playing with your hands. "My dad and I also used to go to this place, they had the best sundaes, and we'd go every year on my birthday. And then we'd take the train home."

Your smile quickly twisted, going sour as a tear threatened to trail down your cheek, and you quickly caught yourself before it could.

"That sounds fun." He rocked back in the chair, and nodded to the picture you'd put on the window. "Baseball fan huh?"

"Hardly," You chuckled. "I mainly went becuase my dad loved them so much....I'm more of a museum enjoyer."

"Art?"

"I mean yes, but I like science and history ones too. Bones and all." Your lips turned upward slightly at the sight of Luke jumping out of his chair.

"Well you're in the perfect place, given we," he gestured to the cabin around him, leaning on a bedpost. "are partly known for stealing things."

You laughed, a genuine laugh, your sleeve wiping off the the remnants of the tears you'd almost shed. Luke grinned, face beaming. (he'd cheered you up, at least a little).

He straightened up, resuming his camp counselor aura. "Well, I do ha--"

"What about you, Luke Castellan?" You said his name, softly, like you were testing out how it sounded in your mouth. You looked up, hoping he hadn't heard you sniffle, hadn't seen the glistening in your eyes from before.

Maybe it was because you were slightly embarassed that you'd almost cried in front of a guy who you were now beginning to notice was, in fact, very pretty.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm holding you up." Embarrasment, flushing down your body and running through your veins.

"No!" His eyes widened, and he shifted back to face you. "No it's okay, what was your question?"

"Where're you from?" The words tumbled out of your mouth, before you could say what you should've said--a polite 'nothing, thank you'.

He faltered. You'd caught him off guard. Usually newbies didn't ask him about himself--they were too busy asking more questions about the camp itself. You waited, brow raised and eyes gleaming with genuine interest.

"I'm from Connecticut," He watched your eyes light up, familiarity flooding your face. "You been?"

"No but....you ever watch Gilmore Girls?" A soft grin painted your face and you caught your bottom lip between your teeth in excitement. He'd been asked this a few times, but this time he couldn't help but not respond with his usual exasperation, faced with your barely-contained excitement.

"I have." He listened as you spoke, opening up slowly like a flower in bloom. After all, it was his job to make sure his campers were taken care of, that they were comfortable. It was his job to help them settle in.

But maybe he stayed longer than he usually did, maybe he answered your questions about himself because he had a fleeting thought that you were pretty or he liked the way you laughed at his jokes and it was influencing his judgement. Maybe it was how easy it was, the way he fell into conversation easily with you.

Tyche had set your fates spinning.

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