#followed by several days back to back with family to force a more normal sleep schedule to lock in

[swoopyswish]

okay call me delusional it may be valid, but my sleep schedule is currently so fucked up that i genuinely think the best idea is to not go to bed and just shower and head to the airport for my crack of dawn flight

[0vergrowngraveyard]

It wasn’t a very long nightmare, but it was enough to make him jolt awake, chills running down his spine and panic filling his chest.

Sonic wasn’t a stranger to having bad dreams, but they didn’t happen very often. Dreaming in general just wasn’t a very common occurrence for him. He usually just closed his eyes and woke up hours later, there was nothing in between.

But there were times after an adventure, a particularly close call, or just having a rough day that his usually peaceful sleep would be interrupted by nightmares that would force him back into the waking world. Images of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t acted in a situation that more often than not ended in death, either his own or someone else’s.

That someone else was usually Tails, which was what he was dealing with now.

Their latest encounter with Eggman had gotten a little too dicey for Sonic’s liking. Not for Sonic himself — the more danger he was in, the better — but Tails had almost gotten hurt. Really hurt. A bot nearly self-destructed right next to him when he’d gotten caught on something and it was by sheer luck that Sonic spotted it when he did.

If he’d been too late, even by a second…

The next thing he knew, he found himself standing in Tails’ room, watching over the kit’s sleeping form. Sonic didn’t remember getting out of bed at all, but whatever. He was here now and he didn’t really want to leave, not yet at least.

Tails had gone to bed at a reasonable time tonight, but that was only because he’d been awake for almost forty-eight hours beforehand. Whenever Sonic was out on a run, Tails would forget to take care of himself. He’d barely eat, sleep, and he only drank water when he felt a headache coming on. It worried Sonic to no end, yet he’d get brushed off when he brought his concerns to light.

Sonic didn’t need to question where Tails got that from.

He sat down on the kit’s bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He simply watched the kit, observing how his ears and muzzle twitched in his sleep. Unlike his big brother, Tails always seemed to have very vivid dreams. Sometimes, he’d tell Sonic all about the story that played out for him overnight in such excruciating detail, it was like he just watched a movie. It sometimes made Sonic a little jealous if he was being completely honest.

However, vivid dreams also meant vivid nightmares and Sonic had definitely heard about a fair share of those, so maybe he wasn’t that jealous.

A sigh broke through his defense as he turned to look down at his hands. It was times like this when Sonic began wondering how life would’ve been different if he’d gone through with his original plan when he first took the kit along with him. If he’d actually found a family to look after him and love him and keep him safe; a family that would keep him away from Eggman instead of letting the kit nearly get blown up by him.

Life would’ve been much lonelier for Sonic, sure, but at the very least Tails would’ve been able to have a normal childhood, whatever that meant for a kid like him. He would’ve had two parents to look up to, maybe other siblings to play around with. He would’ve gone to a regular school, probably skipped several grades because that's just how smart he is, made friends closer to his age and who shared his interests.

He could’ve had a normal and stable life.

But things didn’t end up going in that direction. Tails’s role model and only family was a guy who threw himself at danger whenever he could. He didn’t go to school and most of his friends were much older than him and struggled to follow along with his ramblings whenever he explained something he was passionate about. His life was always at risk, whether it was working with dangerous chemicals or helping Sonic save the world from whatever ancient deity Eggman awoke that month.

With Sonic, his life was anything but stable. Chaos, they’d been homeless for years. Living off the land and whatever people gave them to survive. Sometimes they wouldn’t eat for days at a time. Sometimes one of them got sick and there were no hospitals in the immediate area, leaving the other to play doctor. There’d even been times where Sonic lost him either in a town or he didn’t notice the kid falling behind until it was too late.

Even now that they had the Mystic Ruins workshop, Tails was left alone for days at a time. No big brother to monitor him and make sure he properly took care of himself. No one home to stop him from working himself to the point of exhaustion just so he could prove himself useful.

As if his presence alone wasn’t enough to fill Sonic with the confidence that they’d get through whatever was thrown their way.

There came a point where Sonic just couldn’t let the kid go, as selfish as the choice may have been. He just couldn’t. He’d fight to keep his little brother by his side, he did fight. He went to freaking court so he could get legal guardianship over the fox. And if, for whatever Gaia forsaken reason, the system ruled that he was unfit to be Tails’s guardian, he still wouldn’t let them take him away. He made the decision long ago that this kid was his, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.

Sonic had gotten attached, but sometimes he wondered if that attachment had been a mistake. He hated thinking about it because this little fox kit truly was the light of his life, his best friend, and his little brother who he loved dearly, but he couldn’t help it. The thoughts would just creep their way into his mind from the dark crevices of his room at night.

What if Tails got hurt trying to protect him? What if Sonic failed one day? What if Sonic had failed yesterday? What if this was a dream and his nightmare was what really happened? What if—

“Sonic?”

His brain screeched to a halt immediately as he looked over his shoulder and caught two sleepy eyes looking up at him. “Wha’re y’doin’?”

The hedgehog just blinked at him for a stupid second as he tried to regain his composure. “Just checking on you, bud.” He eventually responded, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he reached over to scritch behind his ear.

Tails leaned into the touch with a hum, “Y’need somethin’?”

Sonic shook his head, “Nah. Just go back to sleep.”

Tails gave him a confused look but ultimately let it go, snuggling further into his covers. He closed his eyes and Sonic was sure he’d fallen back to sleep. With a sigh, he stood up, taking in one last look over the kit’s face.

He looked peaceful.

Sonic frowned and turned away, making his way towards the door and being careful about avoiding any creaky floorboards. He didn’t need to keep the kid awake longer than he already had.

“You can stay if you want.” Sonic jumped, not expecting to hear Tails’s voice again. “If you had a nightmare or somethin’. I don’t mind.” The kit shifted over, making room on his pillow for his big brother. He looked at Sonic over his blankets almost expectantly.

Sonic considered the offer, a small smile tugged at his mouth as he put his hands on his hips, “Are you trying to comfort me or do you just want something to latch onto?”

Tails gave him a half lidded stare—or he was just barely keeping his eyes open—before he shrugged with one shoulder and laid back down, “It’s your choice. If you wanna go back to your room and deal with your nightmare alone instead, be my guest.”

A knot formed in Sonic’s stomach. It was the same knot that formed whenever Tails tried to comfort him. He appreciated it, he really did. Sonic was so lucky to have this kid in his life. A kid who cared so much about him and who’d do anything to make sure his big brother was happy, or at least not as sad. Tails was always successful. Just being near the fox seemed to always be enough to soothe whatever negative emotions were worming around in him at the moment.

If Sonic was upset, he needed his best friend and little brother around.

But that’s where the knot came in. Tails shouldn't have to worry about his emotions. Sure, he was the smartest and greatest kid Sonic had ever met, but that didn’t change the fact that he was, well, a kid. He already had so much on his plate, way more than he should. His big brother being upset shouldn’t be added to that.

Sonic sighed, turning towards the hallway and away from any kind of comfort. The air around him felt colder as he walked out of the kit’s room, it felt heavier. He stole one last glance at Tails snuggled up in his blankets before shutting the door and making his way back to his room.

He paused in his doorway. His room was much darker than Tails’s, much emptier too. Sonic wasn’t afraid of the dark by any means, nor of what was in it, but simply walking over to his bed and laying down felt like such a daunting task. Exhaustion weighed him down and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep and wake up the next morning like nothing had happened.

Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to move forward, just like he always did. One foot after the other. There was no need to stop until he reached his goal, no reason to look back.

Sonic flopped down onto his bed, the mattress bouncing under his weight. He rolled over onto his back, limbs sprawled out as he stared up at the ceiling. Unlike Tails’s ceiling which had little plastic glow in the dark stars attached to it, Sonic’s was blank. Just an empty void staring back at him.

The void began whispering to him the longer he looked so he closed his eyes, determined to fall back to sleep. He wasn’t about to let a stupid nightmare of all things keep him from getting his precious sleep, even one as terrifying as the one he’d had that night.

He was Sonic the Hedgehog, for crying out loud. And Sonic the Hedgehog didn't get caught up on dumb nightmares.

He could ignore the sheer terror that flowed throughout his body, the heart shattered scream that burned into itself his memory and the thick red liquid that shouldn’t have been there. He could ignore how broken his baby brother’s body looked, the wide eyed and lifeless stare pointing directly at him, and the all too familiar laugh reverberating around him, saying that it was all his fault. That it will be his fault.

When that time comes, it will be all his fault.

He could ignore the tears threatening to slip out of his eyes as the words sunk in, but he couldn’t ignore the sudden feeling of something—or someone—landing down on his stomach hard.

A winded oof escaped him as he quickly tried to sit up, only for his efforts to be in vain as the weight on him refused to move. His gaze turned unimpressed as his hand settled on the culprit’s back, “So. Did you forget how to knock or something?”

The only response Sonic got was muffled by his sheets, which managed to get an amused snort out of the hedgehog, “I can’t understand a thing you’re staying, lil bud.”

Tails lifted his head up with a huff. “I said your door was wide open.” His head promptly flopped back down onto the bed.

“My door was wide open.” Sonic repeated.

“Mhm.”

“So you took that as an invitation to jump on me and wake me up?”

“Mhm.” Tails lifted his head up again, “Also you weren’t asleep.”

“Oh yeah? And how did you know that?” Sonic asked, hand moving to scritch behind the kit’s ear.

“Just did.”

Sonic just hummed. That was probably the best answer he was gonna get, no use in questioning further. If there was anything else, he’d say it on his own. With a content sigh, he closed his eyes and focused on the fox kit laying across his stomach. Whatever darkness had crept into his mind slowly disappeared as Sonic continued to pet his little brother’s head.

He could hear the faint sound of Tails’s purring, its vibrations sending an almost calming sensation throughout his system. Eventually, the kid moved so he was snuggled up against Sonic’s side, his paw curled up into a fist as it rested on his tan chest. Sonic looped an arm around him, keeping him as close as possible.

They laid there in silence for a while, Sonic gently scratching the kit’s back as his own breathing began to settle. He could feel himself finally starting to drift off to sleep and assumed Tails already had. That is, until he felt the small fist on his chest tighten.

“You sounded sad when you were in my room,” Tails finally admitted, “And I know I said I didn’t care, but I didn’t really want you to be alone. And I knew you’d tell me to go back to my room if I told you that so I just jumped on you. That way you couldn’t send me away.”

Sonic’s eyes slowly opened as he stared at his ceiling once again. The darkness that looked back wasn’t as intense as it was before, but it was still there. Before he could respond, Tails added one last thing, “And before you say you wouldn’t have, last time I checked on you when you had a bad dream, you just told me to go back to bed. You tell me that every time.”

“I wouldn’t have this time.”

Tails scoffed, “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

Sonic couldn’t bring himself to respond to that because, as much as he hated to admit it, Tails was right. He probably would’ve told him to go back to his room tonight too; would’ve sent him away for just trying to help.

“I just don’t want you to waste your time worrying about me, kiddo.” He said, “You’ve already got a lot going on, way more than someone your age ever should, and my dumb issues don’t need to be added to that list.”

“I can’t help worrying about your dumb issues, Sonic.” Tails huffed, “You’re my brother. Of course I’m gonna worry about you. ‘S what family’s for.”

“Bud—“

“No matter how many times you tell me not to worry, I always will and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A fond smirk tugged at Sonic’s mouth, “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Tails confirmed, “Now go to sleep. ‘M tired.”

Chaos, what was he going to do with this kid? “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Goodnight, little bro.”

“Mmm g’night…love ya”

Sonic simply hummed in response, but Tails got the message all the same. The hedgehog stayed awake as the kit’s breathing evened out almost immediately. The kid really was that tired, huh? Made sense considering he was woken up from what appeared to be a pretty deep sleep. His breaths had a little whistle to them, making it so that Sonic could hear every time Tails breathed in and out, in and out, in and out.

He’d also be able to tell if his breathing stopped.

His eyes closed tightly as the unwanted thought bounced around. Tails was fine. Sure, he’d been rudely woken up because Sonic wasn’t able to get a handle on his fears, but now he was right next to him. Sonic could keep him safe if anything happened. He would always keep him safe.

Whatever happened in his nightmare would never become a reality. Sonic wouldn’t let it.

He rolled over and curled around the little fox to the best of his ability, pressing his forehead against Tails’s. Sonic forced himself to copy the rise and fall of his chest as his quills raised instinctively, ready to protect them both from the non-existent threats in the dark as they slept.

Apparently they hadn’t stayed raised for too long considering he woke up to Tails holding onto him, arms wrapped around his middle with a grip that he wouldn’t be able to escape from without waking the kit up. Fondness squeezed his heart just as tightly as he chuckled softly, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax a little longer.

He could tease him about it later.

[gina103]

First Meeting Part Two!

This is a continuation of the last one! Warning, Ember is not having a good time. Also, I'm planning on having Ember meet the rest of the roommates, but I haven't quite figured out how yet. If anyone has any ideas for that, y'all are welcome to let me know!

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Ember was in so much pain.

Even though the adrenaline coursing through her body numbed her ankle a bit, it was still extremely difficult to limp her way back home.

She was sure her ankle was badly sprained, and that honestly scared her a little more than being seen.

Since she was on her own, with no family or support system to help her, she had to provide for herself, by herself. Meaning, if she was severely injured or sick, she had nobody to help her, nobody could go borrowing for her. How was she supposed to provide for herself if she couldn’t even walk? She would suffer all alone, and most likely starve since an injury like hers would render her out of commission for weeks.

As she arrived back at her home, she tried not to let the monumental consequences of everything that just happened overwhelm her. But it was too late, her thoughts felt so loud in her head, and everything was just too much. Her families’ absence was felt. All she wanted was her mother to kiss her on the forehead and tell her everything would be ok. She wanted her father to give her one of his big bear hugs that would always make her feel so safe and protected. She wanted her brother to crack a joke, which he always did in moments of stress to make her feel better. All of a sudden, Ember could not catch her breath no matter how hard she tried, her heart was pounding, her hands were trembling, she felt like she was being smothered by the air around her. In her state, she put her back against the wall, and slid down into a seated position. With her ankle causing her so much pain still, she waited for her breathing to slow down, and for her heart to stop pounding. When she was finally able to control her breathing again, all she could do was keep sitting on the floor, doing her best to process the day’s events, and her next course of action.

Jamie still didn’t know whether he was hallucinating or not.

Ever since he saw that miniscule girl hanging from the kitchen cabinets, his mind has not known peace. In the days following that encounter, he found himself unable to have a single thought that was not about her or related to her. He found himself zoning out during his classes, daydreaming about seeing her again. He zoned out during conversations with others, unable to focus on their words. The truth was, Jamie now found everything un-interesting. How could he possibly think about statistics homework when he had seen something that he believed to be impossible? How was he supposed to live normally when he couldn’t tell anyone else about the girl who occupied his thoughts constantly? Sleeping was even harder than usual, he was even trying to go to bed earlier, but all he did was toss and turn, thinking about her.

What was she doing?

What was she thinking?

Who is she?

What is she?

Where was she now?

Will I ever see her again?

These were all thoughts which permanently occupied his brain in the days following the encounter. It was insane to Jamie how such a quick moment left such a humongous impact on him. He couldn’t help but be afraid, what if he never saw her again? What if he was cursed to forever think about her? Forced to know about her existence, and carry her with him in his memories, yet never be able to do anything about it, spending sleepless nights thinking of her forever, driving himself insane. Jamie got chills just thinking about it.

Overthinking was Jamie’s specialty as if it wasn’t obvious enough.

But one thing was for sure, he needed to see her again.

Ember was not having a great time.

With only one ankle fully functional, just maneuvering around her own home was a challenge. She had tried to keep it elevated as much as possible, but her ankle was still quite swollen and purple.

It wasn’t all bad however, she remembered the time when her big brother also hurt his ankle. Her father, being the caring father he was, carved her brother his own crutch to use out of a piece of wood. Ember had managed to find this handmade crutch in her home’s storage, among the many other wood carvings her father had made. Her mobility vastly improved using the crutch, she didn’t have to hobble around on one leg anymore.

With this improvement brightening her mood, Ember could sort of go back to borrowing again. She had enough food stored to last around a week, but since her injury, it had dwindled quickly, meaning it was time to get back out there.

She could manage to gather small amounts of food, but climbing and descending ropes was basically impossible for her.

A particular issue was also arising.

She began to notice small piles of broken chips sprinkled by the entrance behind the microwave. She knew immediately who was behind it, it had to be the human who saw her, Jamie. She would take the food, the human already knew of her existence, and he hadn’t done anything to try and uncover her location so far. No pest control was called, no traps were set, the human seemed to be trying to leave her alone mostly, or Ember was just incredibly lucky.

Ember’s luck would not last.

While she could manage to gather food with her injury affecting her, getting water was an entirely different story. Her only water source was the kitchen sink, and she needed to fill up her cannister of water every week.

One night, a week after her initial injury, Ember had to once again perform her weekly task. It was around five in the morning, and everyone in the dorm had been asleep since two. She exited the wall using the entrance by the microwave. With her empty cannister in one arm, and her crutch in the other, she slowly stepped onto the skinny border that separated the two sections of the sink. Then, she placed down her cannister so that it was lined up directly under the faucet. With extreme caution, she moved back off the border and turned the faucet on so it would drip the water right into her cannister. When the container was full, she turned off the faucet, it was now time for the tricky part. She moved back onto the border to go get the full container, inching along with her crutch under her arm. Just as she could almost reach her water, her luck decided that now was the perfect time to run out.

Ember’s crutch slipped.

She did her best to recover her balance, but it wasn’t enough, and Ember went tumbling backwards into the sink, landing with a thud on her back. As she lay sprawled out at the bottom of the sink, her crutch beside her, a painful bruise forming on her back and tailbone, she knew it was over.

There was no escaping.

No way out.

She had no climbing gear, and even if she did, it would be impossible to climb out due to her stupid ankle, which still had the audacity to throb like there was no tomorrow. Never in her life did she feel so weak and useless. Couldn’t even get water by herself. Her water cannister was still sitting up on the border of the sink, she felt like it was laughing at her.

Tears sprang to Ember’s eyes, all she could do was lay there and wait for the humans to eventually discover her, she would be fully at their mercy, and all she could do was wait.

Jamie couldn’t sleep.

He was once again, awake and staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of his roommate, Jesus, snoring.

Deciding that he needed a drink of water, Jamie got up out of his bed and shuffled into the kitchen. When he got there, he turned on the light that lit up the countertop space only, he grabbed a cup, and just as he was going to turn the faucet on, he saw it.

He saw her.

All Jamie could do was freeze in absolute shock as he laid eyes on the girl in the sink. It was the same miniscule girl he had seen a few days before, but something was different about her.

He remembered when he first saw her, how wide and scared her dark brown eyes were. He put down the cup, and as he looked down at her small form, those same eyes had something worse than fear, it was pure and utter defeat. His heart broke in that moment, she had utterly given up. She hadn’t moved an inch when their eyes met, all she did was let out a deep sigh. He saw the tiny handmade crutch lying beside her and he saw that she was injured. Guilt flooded through him as he realized she was injured trying to escape him.

Ember was done.

The last couple of days had been so miserable for her, she had officially given up as she lay at the bottom of the sink, staring up into the human, Jamie’s eyes.

“Just get it over with,” she said miserably. She shut her eyes and waited.

“Um,” She heard, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.”

Ember opened her eyes to look up at him. His eyes were pouring with concern and sympathy.

“Do you need any help?” Jamie asked.

Ember was very confused, this human looked genuinely sincere. It didn’t line up with the stories she grew up hearing.

Blinking in bewilderment, Ember slowly nodded to his question.

“Ok, I’ll have to pick you up, is that ok?” He inquired.

This confused her even more; he was asking for her permission? She nodded again. At her response, Jamie reached towards her. Ember watched his car-sized hand creep closer and closer, until she felt his fingers gently wrap around her waist. It was an incredibly strange feeling, her life was in his hands, literally. She felt herself being lifted up out of the sink, she observed that Jamie’s face looked so focused and concentrated, like he was lifting a precious gem out of its case. He set her down by the edge of the sink.

“Oh!” he grabbed her crutch too, holding it between two fingers out for her to take, “I’m guessing this is yours?”

“Y-yes,” she replied weakly. She took her crutch back from his massive fingers.

“And this?” He effortlessly picked up her water cannister.

She nodded; his arm extended above her as he set the container down close to the entrance behind the microwave.

“T-thank you,” Ember uttered, not really knowing what to think.

“You’re welcome,” Jamie said softly with a gentle smile on his face, “What’s your name?”

“Ember,” She felt her face warming, why was he looking at her like that?

“That’s a pretty name,” Jamie observed, he was now leaning in closer, “My name’s Jamie, and if you ever need any help with anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask, ok?”

“Ok,” Ember found herself a bit lost, he was looking at her with such gentle kindness that she felt the fear almost melt off of her. Slowly, she walked back towards her entrance, now reunited with her crutch. After she entered the wall, she had to take a minute to process how she was certain that her life was going to end, and now she wasn’t sure what to think at all.

It was certainly an eventful day.

Jamie was ecstatic.

It seemed the universe or whatever higher power had listened to his wish to see her again.

It hurt his heart the way she must have expected him to do something horrible to her, but the way her little body felt in his hands was one of the most electric sensations he’d ever felt. He tried to be as gentle as possible, he could feel her little heartbeat pounding when he held her. His heart almost melted completely when he saw her blushing a little, and even in the darkness, he could tell she was just as pretty as when he first saw her. Even her name, Ember, was pretty. He felt like a giddy schoolgirl as he walked back to his bed, the sound of Jesus’ snores once again, becoming the ambience.

He got back under the covers with a dumb smile on his face, completely forgetting what he went to the kitchen for in the first place.

[cursivebloodlines]

❝ don't worry, I'll be here when you're awake. ❞ - zoe

✷ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; FLUFF EDITION ( . 01 ) | @overnightheartbeats

❝ don't worry, I'll be here when you're awake. ❞

Even with his comforting words, Zoe couldn’t quite settle just yet. What kind of person invites their semi-not-quite-ex boyfriend to come over after persistently demanding space? Especially so late at night…but she didn’t know who else to call at the time. The only person she could think of was Eric. He plagued all of her thoughts, every morning, noon, and night. “I’m sorry…” she murmured, her fingers fiddling with the duvet, her eyes fixated on the broken clock ticking out of time on the wall. A loaded statement coming from her. After realising she never quite finished her train of thought with her apology, she cleared her throat awkwardly, a sigh escaping her lips. “Sorry for…” The words caught in her throat, like something was fighting her, weighing her tongue down heavily to stop herself from blurting out her pathetic apologies: Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for being the way I am. Sorry for ruining us. Sorry for all…this. Sorry for it all. Sorry for everything. “Sorry for getting you out of bed at this time for something that was nothing after all that messing around.”  

It was embarrassing, really. It had been at least two days since she’d managed to get any sleep and it was starting to make her irate (more than she already was) and paranoid. She could chalk it up to several different things but there were several times where she thought she was being followed… and when she came home from a late shift to find the door unlocked, it shook her up. Normally, she was ready for a fight, always ready to defend herself (something she could thank her ever shitty ass parents and the people they dragged in and out of her life for before she finally found her escape) at any cost but this had completely caught her off guard. After searching her place top to bottom, including every hidden nook and cranny, all of her hiding spaces and the hiding spaces within those hiding spaces to make sure nothing was removed, she sat there trying to devise her next moves listening to every single sound in the vast quietness and darkness of her home. Her place wasn’t very big, just small enough for the basics, really. It was only her after all. Since being back, it felt way too big. It was eerily silent, and the Eric shaped gap in her life forced by her made it only worse. It felt so very wrong after being accustomed to his place, after she moved in so they could stay together and ensure each other’s safety with the danger stemming from what was going on with Eric’s family. In the dead of the night, that was when it dawned on her - why this could be happening. A distraction, perhaps? If either one of them were in danger… being separated from him… the rush of panicked realisation was what had her scrambling for her phone, his number on speed dial. As soon as he answered, a sigh of relief escaped her and normally able to sound detached in her tone, she couldn’t conceal the concern. Quickly uttering things like ‘I just needed to check…are you okay?’ and ‘Me? Yeah, I’m fine… actually. No. Things really aren’t right around here. Can you come over? It’s okay if you can’t. I don’t even know what I was thi-you can? Okay then. See you soon. Thank you. I lo-See you soon.’ Why she felt the need to invite him over was another question entirely. She spoke to him…He was okay. And yet still something persuaded her to ask him over. A fresh pair of eyes, that’s what she convinced herself of in the end. Someone who wasn’t her…Problem was, there weren’t a lot of people she trusted. As for Eric, he was at the top of the list of those she did. Not that it was a very long list… then again, the list may have begun and ended with him. Even with their relationship tangled in knots, there was nobody she trusted more than she did with him; they couldn’t even come close. As expected, he arrived within minutes, he was here and Zoe tried her best to give him the rundown. The worry engraved into his features tugged at her heartstrings and instantly she wished she hadn’t bothered him. The words she once told him in desperation and anguish bitterly reminded her of the word she’d once inflicted: I’m not a damsel and I’m not in distress. Tonight was proof that those words couldn’t be further from the truth.

It was a relief to see him, to see him up close and real. Not just the familiar voice over the phone, or a text message here and there. It felt like an eternity had passed since she last saw him and seeing Eric again stirred up all of the emotions she tried so hard to burrow down deep inside her. He didn’t look like he’d been sleeping much either. Like he was feeling just as rough as she had. His hair a bit out of place, the shirt he was wearing slightly rumpled up from what she assumed he’d been sleeping - or trying to - sleep in. And yet he was still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

It was like he’d literally jumped right out of bed to see her, which both warmed and broke her heart at the same time. How willing he still was even after everything she put him through. In the dead of night, they had a second look around to make sure nothing was out of place or that nobody happened to be lurking around. They searched every room from top to bottom, two pairs of eyes on everything this time. When they were both satisfied that all was well, and that maybe Zoe was running on fumes due to overexhaustion and that maybe - though Eric never explicitly stated it - she was well and truly paranoid. Which led to this moment, Zoe sitting up, her body under thick blankets with him perched at the edge of her bed, close enough she could reach out and touch him but it wouldn’t be enough. “I just feel like an idiot,” she muttered under her breath, “Getting you out of bed in the dead of night for nothing but to prove that I’ve finally lost it and...” Finally, she looked at him, rushing her words out a little before he had the chance to reply. Judging by the look in his eyes, he disagreed with her, about being an idiot at least. She shook her head in silent protest, a sigh combined with a yawn escaping her lips. Funny, how despite everything, they could still have a conversation without words. 

That was the problem though, wasn’t it? When words weren’t involved, they could communicate perfectly. It was just words that were difficult. But not even that… the problem was Zoe’s inability to handle problems like a normal person. Her problem was not being forthright and as open as Eric had been with her. And immediately jumping to the defense over the smallest thing, which inevitably landed them in their current predicament. Which was why she was trying to sleep - and failing - in her own damn bed and not his/formerly theirs anymore. At a loss of anymore words, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, like he might evaporate into thin air the second she averted her eyes. Even though he literally just promised her he would stay until she was awake. He deserved so much better. Those wretched thoughts of self hatred racked her brain once more, begging to swallow her whole. It was like trying to walk through the fog but never reaching the clear. But Eric was like the light that would lead the way, guide her to him. 

“You should sleep with me.” The words were out before Zoe had a chance to word them in a better way. What she said never even clicked until she saw his face contort with confusion, mouth opening and closing a few times like he was scrambling for something to say because he hadn’t expected it either. “Oh. I didn’t mean…” She could blame the exhaustion seeping in. She hadn’t slept in days. That was a perfectly acceptable excuse, right? “I meant…you said you’d stay until I woke up and I know that shitty couch is uncomfortable as fuck from my own experience. You’ll get a bad back, so…” She paused, clearing her throat as her memory brought her back to their last moment as a them, involving a couch - his - and how less comfy hers was compared to that one. Being snuggled up in his arms, his hands on her skin, both love and despair brought on by her own wrongdoing and misunderstanding. The last time she felt whole. Back to reality. “So, um. You’re not sleeping there. I know we’re not…but you can sleep here. Much comfier. Just…take off your shoes.” A slight hint of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she shuffled over, pulling the duvet down for him and patting it in an attempt to beckon him. 

It was then, and only then, Zoe felt like she could finally settle down. The calmness his presence brought to her, the sound of his breathing put her at ease and quietened all the noise in her head. She faced him as he settled down beside her, watched how he had no problem getting comfy, but it was like he was somewhat trying to keep a distance. She couldn’t blame him for that, she ended it after all. But instinctively, she urged slightly closer. It was selfish, really, but she couldn’t help herself. Sighing softly, she let her eyes close as she sank down into her pillows, into well needed rest. “Thank you, for being here, for coming here,” she murmured like a hushed secret, like the darkness would hold her secrets close to her chest. “And for what it’s worth, I really have missed you,” she trailed off as sleep called out to her, unsure why the words slipped out but it was the truth. If she’d been less exhausted and more lucid, she probably could’ve stopped herself. It was selfish, it was unfair of her to say this to Eric after all she’d put him through. But it was the last thing she’d uttered before she fell asleep, and by the time she woke up, she probably wouldn’t remember. 

[voidsumbrella]

ough now im thinking about my/my family's pets. it seems to be a running trait of spontaneously adopting exotics and frantically having to go all out for their care and keeping. we have some. wild vet bills.

this post is. a lot longer than i thought i would be jfc im putting this under a cut.

childhood list:

lucy, ella, and snowflake were our birds- lucy was older than me by several years and hated my guts for stealing my mom's attention from her, ella was the world's sweetest conure who we adopted approximately 5 seconds after meeting her at the rescue she was at, and snowflake was supposed to be my first pet but asking a 5 year old to socialize a bird who's species is notoriously skittish was kind of a tall ask, so he was more or less my mom's.

maddie and bleu were our pygmy goats, we ostensibly got them as livestock for brush clearing purposes, but they were pretty much pets.

2 fishtanks, one of which was my mom's and one of which was mine (for realsies this time). my mom veers towards schooling fish, but i had a bigass goldfish named diamond who i loved despite him being boring as fuck.

i also had sole responsibility over two gerbils, dos and ashey. not at the same time, i got ashey a couple years after dos died. they didn't like being handled much, so aside from some affection after weekly cleaning they mostly just hung out and made scuttling noises while i was trying to sleep.

fred was a tree frog who was accidentally brought up with my grandma's orchids when she moved from florida, and like, what were we supposed to do, let him die?? so we set up a tank.

all of them have since died- bleu died of old age at a respectable 13, as did the gerbils (though those were on the lower end bc 9 year old me didn't have as much access to proper small animal care resources, and mostly just followed pet store advice which is by and large: fucking useless). snowflake lived to be quite elderly, but got cancer and i think that's what did it. fred lived a year or so after moving in, but we don't really know what happened there, he just was dead one day.

diamond im still kind of mad about- my neighbor petsat while we were on vacation, and she ignored the instructions and overfed him badly, which tanked the water quality, and we returned to a fish actively suffocating. she didn't mean to, she was incredibly upset and super sorry, but like. she still killed my fish.

(this did result in a moment that i think defines my dad- he constantly protested how many pets we had and how much of a hassle it was to take care of them all, but while my mom and i were frantically changing the water and cleaning the tank, he got a tupperware of fresh water and gently moved diamond back and forth in it to force clean water into his gills. he gave cpr to a fish he didn't really like because my mom and i cared about it. i love my dad a lot.)

maddie actually died after only a couple months- we had followed the advice we had gotten for putting them on a runner, like, attached to a cable so they could wander around a set area but wouldn't run off into the street or anything, bc it wasn't viable at the time to fence a large area in, and we didn't want to use like shock collars or anything. her a bleu got into a scuffle, which is super normal goat behavior, and the cable got wrapped around her neck. we did not use the runner again. bleu got kind of doted on after that.

lucy died of tuberculosis. fun fact: birds can get tuberculosis. we spent months driving her back and forth to the only decent avian vet in the area getting her treatment or at least shit to make her more comfortable. in the middle of all that, ella choked on a piece of food and died extremely suddenly. then lucy died like a week later. im still kind of upset about it.

we did say we were Not getting any more pets after that, especially no more parrots- we had mom's fishtank, bleu was still alive at the time, and that was it we were done. this lasted about 8 months.

second group:

ike, the rose breasted cockatoo, who is the darling of the household and the reason why none of us are allowed to hold any birds at any pet stores unless we are actively shopping for a bird.

quincy, bibi, and kiwi, three budgies who were ostensibly my sister's but my mom was fully aware going in that these were not going to be the 7 year old's responsibility.

angel, who was given to us by a neighbor- she had belonged to her mother in law, who could no longer take care of her, but she was not Remotely socialized bc her father in law thought it was funny to wave his hands at the cage to scare her, so she was terrified of hands, which made her a bit hard to train. my mom is very good with birds, tho, so she wound up coaxing angel into liking her. only her, tho, the rest of us got bit.

we got a flock of guinea hens somewhere in here, but those were genuinely livestock instead of pets.

karma and nermal, our first cats! karma was from a litter of kittens a local feral cat had under one of the outbuildings, and got left behind when the mom noticed us monitoring her and ditched. nermal (young but an adult) showed up a year or so later, and my dad (who is allergic to cats, doesn't want cats, loudly protested the adoption of karma,) was like I Must Tame The Feral Cat. so then we had two cats.

theo, george, and tessa were our second go around for goats, because we do have a lot of brush to clear out, and used goat bedding makes really good compost. they were netherland dwarfs this time, not pygmies.

this ran through late high school, which means that some of this shit can probably be fact checked in my tumblr archive if you look really hard lmao. the pet lifespan timeline is going to blur a bit when i was at college, but:

we still have ike and he is still the household beloved!

kiwi died shortly after we got her and i don't actually know what happened there. bibi and quincy lived through old age, and only died a couple years ago. angel died due to egg laying complications, after yet another round of "hour long drives back and forth to the bird vet for several weeks."

karma was the runt of her litter and had some problems with her organ functions, and we had to put her to sleep a fewyears ago when her kidneys failed- i think she was 9 or 10. nermal died a couple years after we got him, we don't know why. he wasn't injured or visibly sick, but he was an outdoor cat please do not outdoor cat discourse at me, trust me, i know so like. it could have been anything tbh.

theo george and tessa got killed by a bear. we do not usually have bears in the area, and thought the fencing we had was sufficient. apparently not. we have also stopped keeping guineas after losing the bulk of the flock to what we suspect was a tag team of a weasel and a fox- we couldn't manage to get their house secure enough to keep them out, so birds are on hold until we get a new setup entirely.

modern group:

achilles and patroclus, adopted barn cats bc karma spent 90% of her time lounging in the sun and didn't do any hunting, which meant the mouse problem came back after nermal died. also my sister is weak to the charms of kittens and makes very good puppy eyes at my parents.

camille (cami), the first bird i got after moving out of my parent's house for college. she was fucking perfect.

the button quail- this was a mistake, we unanimously fell for the trap of cute videos on the internet because the babies are tiny and the adults are also very small and cute. we incubated 26 eggs with an estimated 25% hatch rate, and got 24 birds out of it. we managed to adopt out 17 of them, i kept four in my apartment, and my parents kept 3 at home.

latte and sybil!! latte was the first pet i adopted with my wife, after they went "i would love to have a holland lop" and i went ok we can do that. get in the car there's one at a shelter 3 hours away. lets go. sybil was adopted from the same shelter after i got an urgent call for fosters because they had something like 30 rabbits dumped on them and the larger shelter they partnered with fucked them over. we had been looking into getting a companion for latte anyway so we fostered her until she was old enough to get fixed and then adopted her fully.

dionysus, who was a betta fish and hallmark of a fun lack of impulse control on my part. i got gripped with the need to rescue him from the stack of shit-tier cups at petco because he still looked healthy enough to recover. wonderful dude tho, i hand fed him bloodworms with tweezers :)

rupert, my sister's corn snake, who is a flawless specimen. 10/10, no notes.

latte and sybil are, of course, still around, as are rupert and patroclus. we think achilles got electrocuted somehow, we literally don't know how. dionysus had chronic fin rot- don't buy fish from petco- which i religiously treated and he died of old age a few years back. my four button quail died after a year and a half, partly because i had all girls and their life expectancy is only like 2 years, partly because i was too depressed to be taking care of that many pets and also handle college. lessons on knowing your limits. my parent's three- hamilton, burr (parent's choice- the musical had just come out), and hinata (sister's choice, she really likes sports anime)- all lived past the standard maximum lifespan, and hamilton is still alive and kicking. today!

cami flew out the window and i never found her. im still upset about this.

which brings us to contemporary era:

cleopatra, a cat we adopted from a shelter after achilles died because patroclus was being concerningly listless. we were told she was too unfriendly to be an indoor pet and could really only ever be a barn cat, and that is not remotely the case. im trying to convince my dad to let my sister take her when she moves out, she would be miles happier indoors.

buster, baby, and buddy, 3 whites tree frogs we got for my sister that mostly belong to my mom. baby and buddy got a fungal infection and after another run around of frantically trying to get to an exotics vet who would treat frogs and learning how to give medication to amphibians via injection, both died. we still got buster tho, and we're trying to find a frog roughly his size as a companion.

percy and mary shelley, two african giant millipedes my wife got! they're neat, they're also nocturnal and i almost never see them.

fishtank that was planned to have cherry shrimp, neon tetras, and kuhli loaches, but presently only has kuhlis and a fuckload of snails, because all my shrimp died for unknown reasons, and i stalled long enough on getting the tetras that my loaches started breeding, and i will Not be fucking up my chances of seeing baby noodles on the regular.

my mom still has her fishtank as well! she's setting up a quarantine tank so she can add angelfish.

robespierre/robi/bastard of my life, my green cheek conure who my mom got me after cami left because she was worried about my mental health. he spent half the time i was writing this trying to burrow under the laptop, and then pulled the esc key off and i had to put him back on his cage. he stayed there for like 15 minutes and then walked across the floor back to the bed and i am actively having to shoo him away from the keyboard as we speak. i love him so much.

[sillysurrealwriter]

Beady Eyes

It was nighttime, in a small little town in Britain. Snow was falling from the sky, as everyone was either asleep or scrolling through social media, even this late at night.

Good kids were behaving and would stay indoors, resting for the day and to not make any noise in the slightest.

But....one kid was awake.

Said kid was in the Montgomery Orphanage on Leicester Avenue. Said orphanage was opened in the 80s and had been home for many poor kids, ever since. Now, contrary to the fictional description and depiction of most orphanages, this one was not horrible or abusive.

The staff was nice. The food was delicious. The rooms were beautiful.

Seriously, you couldn’t really complain. Because if you went to Montgomery’s Orphanage, you’d find a real family. One way better than the one that left you behind on the doorstep, whether the mom forgot to take the pill, was financially unable to raise you or happened to die, while you were born. No shame on you by the way. If your mom happened to die, because of your birth that is.

Ahem.

So, everyone in Montgomery Orphanage was sleeping soundly in their bed. Many kids shared a room together, at least 4 per room. It was a bit crowdy at times, but oh well.

At least, you were safe. And you were home.

However....one boy was not quite asleep to say the least. A young boy with ginger hair, a scrawny figure and a pair of blue pyjamas just couldn’t sleep at all. Which was strange for him, considering how easy it usually was for him to fall asleep.

Yet......the last days, have been far from easy. Strangely enough.

It wasn’t because of school or any kind of mental issues.....No.

He was scared. A lot.

See, recently kids began to disappear. It started out small, with only a single loner blonde boy being swallowed by the face of the earth. At first, no one really realised what was going on. They all just assumed that he was just hiding somewhere, reading his little manga books and playing with his dolls. It’s only after he didn’t show up for dinner in the evening that the police got involved.

Strangely, the boy was nowhere to be found. And there wasn’t any sign that someone either murdered or kidnapped him. No sign of forced entry, nor any signs of murder. The police eventually left and began to look for the boy, as the others in the orphanage continued their normal life. For a few days that is.

Because then, someone disappeared again. This time, a young girl. Unlike the former loner, this one was much more noticeable, because she had quite a lot of friends. And according to the others, she was last seen going into the cellar to get herself some ice cream, because a fridge was stored there. With tons of sweets hidden.

And that’s the last anyone heard from her. The staff searched through the entire cellar and yet, nothing. They didn’t find a single thing there. Again, it looked like the girl just suddenly vanished. Again, the police got involved.

And again, their investigation was for naught.

Normalcy resumed. But this time around, for an even shorter duration.

2 days later, another boy disappeared.

Then a girl. Then a boy. Then several boys....

This had been going on for a month now and so, this boy and his friend remained. The orphanage staff had begun to install some security cameras, in order to find the perpetrator. This happened a week ago.

Casper had not disappeared yet, ever since then.

The redhead, let’s call him Casper, was too anxious to fall asleep. He was worried that the Boogeyman, the nickname the kids gave the kidnapper, would come for him and his friend, to snatch them away too.

So far, things were calm. Yet Casper was restless.

His best friend had been the recent victim. He didn’t know how he suddenly disappeared, only that he heard him leave his room a few nights ago. Casper didn’t follow him back then, figuring that he’d just get himself some cookies from the cookie jar, in the kitchen downstairs.

But....he didn’t come back. And all cookies remained in place.

Now, Casper was shivering. Only two more boys were remaining and he was afraid that if he were to leave his room during the night or when none of the caretakers were watching him, that this would be the end.

How the orphanage was staying in business just now, remained beyond him.

He moved to the side and frowned, as he saw a picture of all of his friends.

Now....it was only him. The Boogeyman, had taken them.

And....Casper wanted to make sure that the Boogeyman, would never target anyone else. But he was too afraid to act.

As his heart began to beat faster, he heard a crack outside. The light that was shining through the door frame, suddenly shut off and Casper watched in horror, as the cameras turned themselves off too.

“What the....”, Casper mumbled to himself terrified, as he got up confused. “Wh...what just happened? Did...someone just turn off the power?”

He glanced to the door. He didn’t want to leave, but at least he should talk to the caretakers. Maybe they’d resolve the issue?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the dark hallway. The walls, colorful like a rainbow during the day, now looked pretty lifeless during the night. Through the window, he saw the snow falling from the sky, shining like little crystals in the moonlight.

Right....In two days, it was supposed to be Christmas.....

He shook his head.

He....needed to find the caretakers. To his knowledge, they were on the floor above him.

But....strange. Why did he not hear anything from up there? They could be asleep, but at least one caretaker, Mr. Barklin, was known for snoring very loudly. Like a bull.

For him to remain quiet...

He shook his head.

He....needed to check on them.

Thus, he began to move, his bare feet sliding over the floor, careful to not alert anyone’s premise. As he walked through the hallway, he turned to look back tons of times, to see if he was being followed.

But alas.....He wasn’t. Thank the heavens....

After a while, Casper reached the staircase. He watched, as the stairs above him lead into a darkness that he was still terrified off.

The darkness.....it terrified him. Which is one of the reasons, why Casper usually never left his room after midnight. A justifiable and common fear, especially for a twelve year old.

But...he needed to alert the caretaker. That...was the best course of action...

He...needed to do it.

He....

“Casper....”

Casper gasped and turned around in horror, his eyes scanning the darkness.

Was....was that?

“Casper....”, the voice croaked again, so distant yet so near. The redhead couldn’t believe it.

It belonged to his best friend, and recent victim. That being, Isaac.

“I..Isaac?”, Casper asked hesitantly, feeling relief growing inside of him. “Where are you?”

“Casper....”

For a while, there was not another word from his friend. And then....

He heard steps....but they were not coming to him, but away from him. Finally, Casper realised it.

His friend...he was downstairs!

Without a second thought, he rushed down the stairs quickly, somehow not slipping in the darkness and-

Nevermind. He slipped, when he reached the ground floor and fell onto the nose. Annoyed, Casper got up and listened in.

“Casper.....Come....”

The gingerhead turned his attention, to the stairs downstairs.

The...cellar....

Isaac....he was coming from there? But....why was he running away from him?

“Isaac...”, Casper muttered nervously. “Don’t worry....I am going to find you...I’m going to find you...”

And so, he ran downstairs yet again.

The only source of light by now, from the moon himself, was getting dimmer and dimmer. Until, there was a complete and utter darkness, surrounding Casper from every corner.

He saw a flashlight, being placed in front of him. Casper gasped.

It....belonged to Isaac.....

He was here!

With a quick motion, our protagonist picked it up and turned it on. What he saw, surprised him.

One of the doors....the one on the right...Was open.....even though, it shouldn’t be. According to Mr.Barklin, this door would lead to an underground freetime room, with all kinds of games and wonders. However, 10 years ago the room below collapsed, because some workers accidentally hit a pipe nearby, causing a gas leak and for it to explode. Ever since then, the orphanage sealed away the path, to make sure no kid would go downstairs and risk injury.

Yet....Isaac was there. Somehow, he got access to the room.

The Boogeyman...he got him....and....Isaac got away....And lead him to the lair....Presumably....

Casper peaked inside. There was a long set of stairs, leading into the darkness.

This was dangerous.....He...he should call the police....

But....how? The only working phone here was a landline phone and without electricity, it couldn’t work at all.

“Casper.....”

Isaac was calling him. He had to save his friend.

And so, Casper walked downstairs....

...but the moment he entered, he slipped and then fell. With a loud scream, he tumbled across the stair, before landing into a puddle of water. His flashlight somehow didn’t leave his grip, during the fall and so Casper forced himself to get up. He didn’t mind the pain, at all. His old father made him used to it.

Suddenly, he heard something moving. Casper quickly aimed his flashlight at the spot....

..but it was just a mous-

Wait.....

The mouse.....was actually dead....and rotting, as flies surrounded it too feast on it. Casper resisted himself to scream, as he aimed the flashlight up ahead.

There it was. The door leading to the freetime room, with tons of rubble in the way.

“Casper...”

The voice came from the inside. Our protagonist wasted no time at all and rushed towards the door, jumping over the rocks.

When he was in front of it, he took a deep breath....

And then, opened the door.

The inside was dark and messy, with football tables, board games and..... blood littered around the corner.

More rats....all dead. Flies buzzing above them, their insides missing vital organs. Casper felt himself getting nauseous, just by looking at them.

Calm down....focus...

“Casper...”

Casper gasped and turned to the source of the voice, which happened to come from a closed box. He tightened his fist.

“Isaac.....”, he muttered to himself and rushed forward quickly, opening the box up. “Isaac, I am-”

But what he saw, disturbed him beyond belief.

There....were dolls. Tons of them, all looking pretty cute and child-like......

....and all looked like the missing kids. And....did one of the dolls just squirm?

Casper widened his eyes.

What.....But....But.....

He stared at the Isaac doll and picked it up. He saw the horror written in its face, forming an empty scream.

“Is...Isaac...?”, Casper asked himself, horrified. “But....But...what’s going on...”

“Casper....”, the doll he was holding croaked and Casper felt something vibrating in his grip. He turned the doll around...

...and saw a long string.

“Casper...”

The string moved again and Casper felt something move behind him. Horrified, he slowly turned around and felt the string move in his hand, as it came from the darkness....

...someone was holding it. Someone a bit smaller than him...

Suddenly, the stranger tossed something on the floor.

A pair of fake blue eyes.....and a blonde wig.

Isaac gasped in shock, as the manga kid revealed himself. His appearance shocked Casper beyond belief.

His face...had stitches...he had no hair whatsoever....he was frowning and his hand had tons of scars, which had been hidden by his gloves.

But....the most horrifying part, was where the eyes were...or weren’t.

There were no eyes. Where eyes should have been, there were two holes. The kid looked at him, albeit missing him slightly. He was holding the string in his hand and held the string to his mouth.

“Casper....”, he said, mimicking his friend’s voice perfectly. Casper walked back in horror.

“Wh...What have you done to my friend?!”

“Don’t worry....”, the kid replied, still speaking in Isaac’s voice. “We....are friends now....We....all are....FRIENDS...”

The moment he said that, he suddenly held several strings in his hand, his voice sounding like an amalgamation of all the kids. Casper screamed in horror and rushed to him, in order to give him a punch.

But...the kid....poked his fingers into his nose. The redhead stopped surprised and then began to notice a few things.

One....the kid was smiling a bit.

And second...his nose began to tingle.

And then....his limbs shook.

Casper stared at his arm and gasped in horror.

His entire arm was shrinking, losing its flesh and skin. He screamed in horror, as he tried to free himself, but the fingers were stuck into his nose. Screaming horrified, Casper then saw how the same happened to his legs.....and how strings wrapped themselves around him, ensnaring him....

Soon, his eyes left their home and Casper wanted to scream....

...but for that, you needed a trachea...and not one made out of strings at that.

It..was over.

The Boogeyman smiled, as he gently placed the Casper doll into the chest, next to the caretaker dolls.

Again...he made friends. He had so many friends now...About 120.....

He giggled and then grabbed the box, closing it tightly and then pulling it from the side grip.....

And suddenly, the box itself was a wooden doll too. Somehow.

With that, he disappeared from the property a few minutes later. Police arrived in the morning, but couldn’t find anyone. And for some reasons, the power box was full of strings...

Strange...

Boogeyman Strikes Again

The Montgomery Orphanage had been yet another victim, of the Boogeyman. Tons of other orphanages had been victim of him, kidnapping or possibly killing children and adults alike. No one had any idea, where he is or what his possible motives are. No evidence was found at the scene of the crime and the police is actively looking. If you know something, please contact us through our mail: Wallace/Chatt@w-mail.com.

[angry-geese]

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

[husbandohunter]

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

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Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

[cinnamonest]

Xiao - Yandere Profile

Y’all big horny for yaksha boi too??? Excellent.

Remember how I said Kaeya and Diluc were like a game on hard mode? Xiao is Dark Souls on the 6th stacked difficulty of New Game Plus.

I really like Xiao on an analytical level because he's an excellent candidate for the debate some have as to the nature of selfless vs selfish love... He's a good one to analyze for that debate bc holy fuck does this man have some of the most selfish, inconsiderate love out there. He's brutal as fuck. I feel like his would be such an interesting balance of wanting returned affection and being really obsessive, yet being so uncompromising and not really at all hesitant to wreck your shit. This is the longest one I've made, too, I had a lot of thoughts lmao.

Fun fact, when I first heard his name was Xiao I assumed it would be the hanzi for "dawn" since I've seen that used in Chinese given names sometimes... Nope, I'd never seen the hanzi for his name before so I looked it up and it's like an impish demon creature lol

I had a dilemma between to go for tsunyandere or kuuyandere, but I was in a dark content mood so I kinda went kuuyandere route.

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tws: mentions of mutilation (on reader), mentions of violence and torture (on rivals), kidnapping, Xiao is very lacking in empathy and borders on sociopathic behavior (which can be triggering to some people), mentions of misogyny bc I'm just gross like that, generally dark and awful

tws (below cut): noncon, more mentions of mutilation goddammit Xiao, forced submission, also generally dark and awful

This is probably the darkest one I've written, so, that's a fair warning.

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Aware, over time, and very irritated by it, really. He's above... Feeling things. He changes with time. He starts off a bit irritated, flustered even, which is something he's never really experienced before. Honestly exemplifies the "boys are mean to you because they like you" trope, he will go out of his way to be harsher and colder towards you because how dare you make him... Feel things. He'll be exceptionally harsh in how he speaks to you, even more than others. But... once he realizes it drives you away, he'll realize that he actually wants you around him.

But that's the thing - Xiao doesn't normally go out of his way to do anything to anyone, really. He's cold and a bit aggressive because he's bothered by or just doesn't really enjoy people, but if they leave him alone, he leaves them alone. You're different - he feels a weird, uncomfortable feeling in your presence, but he still wants your presence anyway. It's a lot of new sensations for him, and it's overwhelming. So many new feelings.

One, he doesn't understand why his stomach flutters when you smile at him, why chills run down his spine when you accidentally brush your hand across his. Well, he understands what it usually means for humans - but he's not human, surely, there's no way he could possibly experience that same "love" humans do, right?

Love is horrible after all - he's seen how humans obsess over it, how much tragedy it can bring to their lives, and, in particular, how much of a fool of themselves humans often make when "in love", especially the men.

He thinks he's above the human feelings, so he'll deny it to himself at first. It will likely be some kind of breaking point for him, particularly one in which you're in danger. Normally, he couldn't care less about people in danger - if someone isn't strong enough to protect themselves, they die, that's just how the world works. But he sees you shoved down, another human looming over you with murderous intent in their eyes, he sees the fear on your face and the tears streaming down and something in him snaps and bursts and gives way to the intense emotions he's tried to shove down. He'll go wild, and make quick work of the offender. And you'll thank him for saving you of course, even if the display was a bit horrifying to see.

It's not only that intense nervousness in the others presence, but an enjoyment of their presence. It's so contradictory and he hates it - he feels so nervous, so jittery around you, yet at the same time, something about your presence, your smiles, your voice is addictive to him and he needs more of it. He enjoys spending time with you - a new sensation.

Over time, as he becomes aware of how he feels, he becomes less flustered, more stone-faced and matter of fact about it. He accepts that he feels a sense of affection, now his concern is how to handle it. He just has no idea how to begin going about it. Does he just try to suppress it? Act on it? He acknowledges the possibility of rejection, what then? Of course, rejection wouldn't make him stop wanting you with him, it wouldn't even really deter him, but it would make things more difficult than if you accepted it. He spends a while contemplating, just trying to make sense of it all.

He ends up laying awake at night with you in his mind - it's pathetic, it irritates him. No human is important enough to occupy his mind. And yet, even if he tries, he can't stop. And, as much as it disgusts him, he finds himself feeling very physical sensations when thinking about you. That's the most irritating part, to him. He's always viewed humans' drive to copulate as disgusting, and really a pathetic weakness - again, he's seen the absolutely foolish things human men do and the extensive lengths they go to for just a spare crumb of sex. So the first few times he ends up getting a physical reaction to those late night thoughts, he'll try to ignore the throbbing and just go about his night, but eventually it starts to get painful. That's the point at which he decides he can't just sit around and do nothing.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Unavoidable. But not the absolute fastest. He's far too confused by his feelings at first, and doesn't understand why he has the urge to do so. He'll experiment, spending time around you, trying to figure himself out. His prideful tsundere nature comes out then -- it's not like he enjoys your presence, no. He feels something very strange about you, and one of the possibilities in his mind is that perhaps he's being drawn to you because his subconscious perceives you as an enemy, perhaps. Something in him knows that you're up to no good, so he has to follow you, maybe. Those reasons are far more likely than actually enjoying being around you, he thinks.

As he comes to understand it better and is forced to acknowledge that he feels an affection for you, he begins to feel a darker urge. One of the things that forces him to recognize said affection is how much it irritates him to see you talk to others. He rationalizes this, as it is perfectly normal for humans to feel jealousy, isn't it? ... But are humans this upset when they see their beloved talk to their own family? Is it normal? Is it a thing with just the males, and that's why he feels that way? Surely the humans don't get this upset, or else they wouldn't let their beloveds have friends and speak to others, right? He doesn't really feel guilt for the urges, but he does feel bothered by the notion of having some abnormal desire, wonder if there's something wrong with him.

Well, he starts thinking back to history, and all the things he's witnessed, and that gives him... an idea. Teyvat has been around a long time. There have been several cultures and societies that did keep lovers... restrained. Confined to a house... forbidden from speaking to others... and that idea sounds nice, he thinks. Back in those days, no one would bat an eye at his desire to keep you away from the world, right? So really, it's not abnormal or weird at all. Things just change with time, but there's nothing abnormal about him, it's perfectly normal to want to prevent you from ever speaking to anyone else ever again. Sure, those cultures never went that far, but... it's the same idea, right?

So, he decides, there's nothing wrong with him, and in that case, he doesn't have any guilt or concern for your desires to hold him back. He's another one to take a fairly barbaric route -- he'll be one to show up while you sleep, clamp a hand over your mouth, gag you and tie you up, before leaving right out your window. He'll find an isolated, quiet, well-hidden place to reside, one with an enclosed, windowless room to keep you confined.

He doesn't like it, but he's not completely lacking in understanding human psychology. He wouldn't like to be in your shoes, wouldn't like if someone did to him what he's going to do to you, so he understands why you'll be upset, he prepares for it, even. He's not a delusional. So, from the beginning, he's already planning out how to make you compliant and love him. He settles on a simple tactic: utilize what he knows to force your human nature to love him.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

Once you do get kidnapped, it's pretty tight security. Kind of like Albedo, he'll take you far away from society. Again, he's not super concerned with your desire on the matter, since this is about keeping you with him, it's about his imperatives. He doesn't really want to harm you, though, so there is a slight consideration. He's stuck on a balance of wanting to keep you agreeable and obedient, but keeping you confined is most important, so he'll try to keep it a bit comfortable. He'll get you a nice bed, very soft things. He's so nice, he'll even get you leather cuffs instead of metal ones. But you will be getting restrained, and no amount of begging will get him to take them off. He'll also give you nothing to do, and probably nothing to wear. Clothes are a waste and totally unnecessary when no one but him sees you. And the boredom will make you compliant. You'll be so unbearably bored that talking to him will be like a privilege. You'll start to look forward to it. You'll bond with him. He'll be your only source of mental stimulation. He's smart enough to figure that out when he's in the planning stages of your confinement, and already has this planned out.

Because he... struggles to feel high amounts of empathy when it's about what he wants, it's doubtful he'll ever really lighten up without incentive. Sure, he could lighten up on your restraints, but why should he? Sure, it would alleviate your suffering, but it would present the slightest chance of an escape. Your comfort isn't worth the insecurity and worry he'd have throughout the day. Why would he be so foolish as to feel that it was?

Escape attempts are an ultimate transgression to Xiao. He understands your stubbornness and anger to the extent that they don't hurt him too much, but an escape attempt is one of the few things you can do that make him feel genuine hurt. You won't get away for long, he will hunt you down in no time and he will ensure you're discouraged from ever attempting that again. He's not very hesitant to be brutal. Really, he doesn't want to hurt you just for the sake of it, but he knows how powerful fear and pain are. He'll make sure you are strongly dissuaded from another attempt. If you're, miraculously, brave enough to try again, he'll have to take a step further and make sure you can't.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Don't. He's not stupid, he tells you, the moment you try anything. And you really, really, really should be trying to avoid making him mad. Honestly, if you're at this point, you'd have to be either incredibly unafraid of pain, or just crazy to try and do anything that could result in his anger. He'll shut it down almost immediately, and tell you exactly that.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows you need food and all that, so he'll generally get you whatever you want to make for yourself. He's got a limited list of things he's willing to eat so you'll quickly find yourself asking for the privilege of getting different foods please I'm begging you for something other than almond tofu, and he'll get you whatever you ask for, at least in that regard. He's not going to starve you or anything. But you'll find it's probably one of the only things you get much of a choice on.

If you want any relief from the harsh restraint and boredom, you have one option: succumb.

No amount of disobedience or disagreeableness will have him letting up on you. You might think you can hold out and be stubborn long enough to get him to cave, but you'd be wrong. You will crack before he does, and he knows it. He'll simply punish your disobedience, and wait out a bit more. And wait, and wait, and wait, because you won't last long. It's inevitable that you will succumb to him, start to crave him, start to be sweet and affectionate, and bond with him. At that point, maybe he'll let you walk around - hey, getting your muscles back to normal from the atrophy can be a bonding activity. And he might give you some approved tasks or books or the like. But at the first sign of a regression, the first sign of disobedience, the first sign of rejection from you, that will be gone, and you'll have to earn it back, starting back at square one.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Don't run away. Obey everything he says.

He doesn't make a rule against fighting him, really, and he doesn't need to. You'll be far too terrified of him to try, and even if you did, it would be like swatting a fly, he could disarm and incapacitate you in seconds.

And now, we get into one of the darker yanderes. Once again, Xiao doesn't really get emotions too well, and doesn’t understand his own all that much. His brain thinks in actions and results. If you're trying to run away, he'll simply have to make it so that you can't... ever again. He is one of the most likely yanderes to be open to truly, permanently incapacitating you to a severe degree to keep you with him. He understands why you're upset, but surely you knew the consequences, right? You tried to run away, it only makes sense that he would do something like this, you should understand that, even if you don't like it. You're foolish to try and talk him out of it, what, do you think he's going to be persuaded by you crying? If you were that opposed to it, you shouldn't have tried to run. Really, he doesn't understand why you humans do things as if there's no consequences.

Xiao... doesn't feel guilt. When it's something unintentional, something he didn't mean to do, he can, but when it's about what he wants? There's none, really. He usually goes on what works best for him, and for the most part, that's keeping you happy. But when your happiness goes against keeping you with him, his imperative takes priority. You'll get over it eventually, and he'll help you. He can carry you wherever you need to go, you don't need to walk.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Eek.

Yeah it won't be pretty. He gets mad about rivals, and he perceives everyone as one. He's another one that doesn't really distinguish between romantic rivals and rivals for attention - your family and friends are just as much of a problem as any love interests, because you smile at them, you pay attention to them, you like them, and just that knowledge makes an unbearable rage boil inside him.

He's desensitized to violence, and doesn't really understand how it affects normal people - he won't think of how it might affect you to see it, so slaughtering people in front of you comes naturally to him. He's actually one of the ones who might get angry enough to make it slow, making sure they know what they did wrong, even if that consisted of simply being a stranger who smiled at you. If you react negatively, he won't really understand. He has some, but doesn't possess a lot of empathy. He'll chalk it up to you being a hysterical, emotional human with your incapacitating aversion to violence. He's glad he doesn't have such a strong aversion. Would make his job rather difficult.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

He's pretty easily set off. He gets frustrated because he thinks you're being unnecessarily difficult, and frankly he's very used to getting his way with things immediately. In his life, most of the things he wants are either given to him very easily, or are easily obtainable with a simple exertion of violence. Usually he can just, well, kill and slaughter and maim his way to any result he desires. This is one of the first issues he's dealt with that violence won't solve. Well... maybe not the extent he's used to. But nonetheless, perhaps a bit of controlled violence can solve his problems, at least to an extent.

His anger is, as you can imagine, terrifying. Sure, he'll reassure you that he won't kill you, but you can't get out of your head the images of the things you've seen him do by that point, the people you've undoubtedly seen die and suffer at his hands. He snarls and speaks in a deep, booming voice when he's at his angriest, and it's enough to make you panic. If he's angry enough, he knows he can't be around you, because he fears hurting you further than he means to, so he'll likely leave. If it's enough that he feels he can control it, though, it's not pretty. He's one to hold something in his hands and squeeze it to alleviate anger so hard it breaks. Just hope that doesn't happen to be your hand, arm, shoulder, or any other part of your person.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He doesn't... really care? I'm tempted to say far below, but really, the whole concept of relative value of humans and status and the like holds no meaning to him. He thinks it's foolish and pointless to even ponder such things.

As for his superiority in certain things, it's different. He's smarter than you. He's stronger than you. He's faster, he's more perceptive, he's more capable, he's wiser, he's more skilled. These things are just facts, they are the undeniable reality, he thinks. However, he doesn't really assign these things as having any ties to the relative value of an individual, and in his mind, humans don't really, either. Didn't they prioritize the lives of children? Children are far lesser in every way, but humans treat them as most important, even if they rightfully see them as inferior in every way. So it's the same with him, he thinks. In every field, you're inferior, but that doesn't really matter, worth and relative position are worthless human ideas.

As for treatment, however, he treats you as lower, which is all that really matters. He wants obedience and submission, and he'll get it, no matter what extent he has to go to.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's in the middle - one of the ones that would LIKE for you to love them, but in the end, even if they feel like you never will, they still want you anyway. He'll never stop trying, though.

He's got a lot of pride and wouldn't resort to groveling and desperately trying the way some would. Like a few others, he kinda automatically feels like he deserves the things he wants, including your love. But his unfamiliarity with human emotions leads him to be a little confused and unable to read you. He knows humans play "hard to get," and may assume that's what you're doing. And he recognizes that by kidnapping you, he is removing you from your friends and family, so he concludes that you're only mean to him because you're mad. And anger settles down with time, right? He also knows that, even if humans don't like someone, if they're forced to spend time around them, they'll form a bond. So what he concludes is that simply time is needed. Time to let anger simmer down, time to forget about those others, time to inevitably come to depend on him.

With his experimentation, what he discovers is that even if you aren't affectionate, he is still happier with your presence than without. So he'll keep you no matter what, he decides. You'll come around eventually. And gradually, even if it's ever so slow, you will. You will, no matter how hard you may fight it, the effects of such isolation are ultimately inevitable.

Some yanderes might be upset by the notion that they have to mentally deteriorate their darling to obtain love - they want you to love them "organically" and feel like love born from mindbreak and isolation isn't "real." You might think he'd be like that, due to his tendency to be prideful, but he's actually not. Xiao doesn't understand emotions well enough to distinguish little differences like that. Sure he had to use a strategy, but it's still love, isn't it? It's the same thing, so why should how it came about matter? It took a little bit of extra work, is all. And although he won't say so, he thinks you're worth it.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Is somewhat reluctant to confess to you and may try to come up with some other reason as to why he did it, but it's kinda obvious when he's so concerned about you, so blushy and flustered in the beginning and the way he runs his hands through your hair when he thinks you're asleep. But yeah, initially he might try to think up some way to explain why your kidnapping is for some other weird complex reason he made up, and not just because he really REALLY wants you all to himself.

He's also very matter-of-fact about things. He says things with a straight face, no matter how horrifying, sweet, or inappropriate they may be. Doesn't matter if he's finally confessing his love, talking about how he wants to keep you locked away forever, or threatening to break your legs, it'll all generally be carried with the same facial expression and tone of voice. The only difference is the eye contact and slight blush if it's one of the former.

You may be able to catch moments of vulnerability, especially late-stage, months into your new life. If you've been highly affectionate, and he trusts you, he might seek some reassurance every now and then, in a soft, quiet voice, for a few precious moments of gentleness that don't come very often.

As aforementioned, Xiao has little to no sense of empathy nor guilt when it comes to obtaining the things he desires. What he does feel is wanting you to be happy... because it makes him feel good inside. In a way, you could say his love is incredibly selfish, because it's entirely about his happiness when it comes down to it. Normally, seeing you happy makes him happy, so your imperatives line up. And he's willing to maybe change some things to make you happier -- ok, fine, sure, he won't torture them to death, he'll just kill them. But he has limits to how much he'll compromise for you. Ultimately, when your imperatives don't align with his, he won't even consider yours for a mere moment. His brain just can't really consider anything but acting for his own desires. When he gets mad at people for hurting you, it's because it's an insult to him. It's part of why he's one that will settle for having you - ultimately, what he wants matters more than your happiness... but that's because he wants you, and loves you so, so much, you know? Don't think it's not love, though. It's incredibly selfish, self-serving, and inconsiderate, but it's hard to say it's not love.

Somewhat relating to the above, he realizes pretty quickly you're likely afraid of him, especially after what you've undoubtedly witnessed by that point. He doesn't want that, really. He wants a healthy level of fear, just enough to avoid running away, but he doesn't like seeing you cry and tremble because you're so afraid of his brutality. He doesn't help, though, because he thinks you fear death, and death alone, and in his lack of understanding, he will go through a very specific list of exactly what he will do, which frankly would only serve to make things worse.

"It's alright... I won't kill you, you know. You're foolish if you don't understand the difference... They only died because they wanted to take you away from me. You're the reason they died, so, I wouldn't kill you... I've already decided what to do at certain points. If you try to run away once or twice, I'll just break your legs, and if you try a third time, I can just take your legs off. That should prevent any further attempts, so I have no reason to kill you. So you shouldn't be so upset... don't look so afraid all the time. What? No, I don't mean your whole legs... just at the feet. Why are you still crying? I can just take off one if it's that upsetting... It's only if you run away."

You should probably know that he doesn't make empty promises, either.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Boy has no idea what to do. He's only ever jerked off and always feels disgusted when he does, he only has anatomical knowledge of female bodies from medical diagrams he's seen once or twice.  Not that he'll tell you that. But you'll know, I mean, once he forces your legs open he's just staring in both awe and confusion, probably just sits there for a moment slightly flustered because?? Where's he supposed to put it in?? How does he do this? He'll figure it out, but it might take a few rough thrusts of him just rutting against you.

Drive goes from non existent to highish, he's got what you call a reactive sexuality. Really, he used to just jerk off only to relieve the buildup, because he found it gross whenever it would happen in his sleep. Reactive sexualities are when a person doesn't have a super high drive on their own, but will react to stimuli from persons or sights around them, and will get significantly higher when around someone they love. Before, he never had anything to react to, so he rarely got horny, but now? He has you. And you... Trigger some reactions.

And that being said, he's so unfamiliar with horniness and sex that it's constantly an exploration process for him too. He'll spend some time just... learning. Touching here and there, figuring out what makes your breath hitch and toes curl. It's a fascinating thing to him, really.

He doesn't talk about it much, nor during, he just kind of... acts. You don't get much of a verbal warning, he'll just kind of pick you up and move you around to however he wants.

Pretty decently sized, but isn't aware of it. He hasn't had the opportunity to be around too many other people to know. If you try to tell him it's too big for you, he'll just be incredibly confused, isn't your body literally made to be able to do this? He's actually not going to get particularly smug or anything, he just sees it as an irritation that you're so reluctant and try to fight because of it, but he does like watching you convulse and squirm once he's already in you.

He's actually not that much of a sadist, so much as he likes power. Pain is par for the course, it's a part of every aspect of life and he's essentially desensitized to it. But power and control, now that does something for him.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Not particularly concerned with it. Once again, he's decided to utilize what he knows to maximize your acceptance and love. He knows that orgasms release a bunch of feel-good chemicals, that they cause bonding, that they make you more complacent, and, for the sake of submission, that it'll humiliate you and make you unable to really defy him, as he can hold it over your head, and with time you'll accept him. Over time, he knows, you'll come to crave any physical touch you can get. And while he's more than willing to hold you and sleep curled up with you, he'd be lying if he said this wasn't his favorite and preferred form of physical affection.

Besides, he's been fighting off the urges for forever at this point, he's not going to wait around. Pretty much will be ready to do it as soon as you wake up, and you'll probably already be bound up and lacking any clothes by the time you do. He's not very hesitant. It's yet another case of wanting what he wants and getting what he wants. He's one that will bound you up pretty heavily, hands tied above your head, legs pulled back and tied to the headboard, so it's not like you can do much against it anyway. He understands your hesitancy, be it out of anger or fear, but he's also hard and fast enough that you can't really form a lot of words, so it's not too discouraging.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He's not really familiar with any at first, and he has to experiment around. You would think normally an inexperienced boy would want the female to take the lead, but noooo, he's way too proud for that.

Oral fixation

The most shameful one to him. It's disgusting, he thinks, it's unnatural, it goes against the very purpose of sex to procreate, but he knows it exists, he's heard of how it goes and God when you talk and smile he desperately wants to see your mouth wrapped around his dick. When you're laying under him he just has an uncontrollable urge to just buy his face between your legs and lick at everything he can, and eventually he'll cave to both of those urges. The latter will be very unprompted and unanticipated, probably you're not even getting it on at the moment - something like you're sleeping, you're just laying there, your legs open a bit and he just rips off whatever you have on and stuffs his head between your legs - he's not skilled by any means, but works with such an intensity and speed that you'll cum on his face anyway.

If he's mad, he can get rough with the former. Hearing you gag and choke, watching the tears run down your face helps satisfy his anger quite a bit. Unfortunately for you, he can last quite a while, and will grab your hair and force your face down, or really, he's one to lay you on the edge of a bed on your back and really fuck your throat out. And he won't let you spit it out either -- he'll hold your mouth shut with his hands and force you to swallow every little bit.

Finger-fucking

He was once told the trick of putting your fingers inside and curling them, and that's an easy instruction to follow. He'll try it out, and once he watches how it makes you gasp and whimper, he'll get addicted to it, moving his fingers harsh and fast. He likes it because he's not too distracted by his own physical sensations, other than the throbbing hard-on, and can really take in your faces, noises, and really watch you come undone. As an added bonus, he's definitely not going to just leave it at that, no, and he discovers very quickly you're particularly sensitive immediately after one orgasm, reacting with extra loud squeals and harsh clenching when he presses against your extremely sensitive insides. And he likes that quite a bit.

D/S dynamic / bondage

It helps him restore his damaged pride from his embarrassment over the fact that he even has sexual urges in the first place. He deserves to be worshipped, he deserves to have you on your knees in front of him. In particular, he loves to give you commands, see you follow through with them. It's empowering. It's reassuring. Probably the type to want to be called master. He feels its appropriate. And he'd definitely be one to make it an all-the-time, 24/7 sort of dynamic too. He can be gentle about it, too, and will reward you for being well-behaved. The dynamic, the rewards, the praise, all makes you all the more slowly, but surely, succumbing to him, giving in, and finally accepting him.

Tying you up prevents you from moving around too much, and that's the initial reason for it, but he realizes very very quickly that something about seeing you that way is very, very pleasing to him. It gives him a sense of power and control in addition to what he already has established. It also helps alleviate a bit of his nervousness surrounding the whole thing. When you're all tied up, probably blindfolded too, he can just run his hands up and down, stare at your body, figure out what's where and see everything without you squirming around.

Masturbation instruction/voyeurism

Something about just watching you touch yourself drives him up the wall with horniness. It also helps give him an idea of what the fuck he’s supposed to do (again, not that he’ll tell you that). But more importantly, it’s yet another control thing. He won’t just let you go at it, no, he’ll be very specific with his instructions, and expects you to follow them perfectly. He’ll make you edge yourself and even overstimulate yourself, demanding you keep going even after you cum, and even if you can’t, he’ll just swat your hand aside and do it himself.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He's... Not sure if it's even possible? If so, the whole idea makes him feel a bit odd. Small little beings, ones that look like him, ones that share his blood? The whole concept is so strange. He'd probably want to find out if such a thing is even possible, considering your differences, but he would likely be somewhat opposed to it, as it feels weird to him. He would become more accustomed to the idea with time, though. And one thing he neglects to remember, even if he knows, is that you have to pull out to avoid that, and he definitely doesn't.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Overstimulation is a go-to, as is forced orgasms. Tying back to his finger-fucking tendencies, he learns how sensitive orgasms make you, and how torturous it can be. Even if he can't keep going, after he fucks you a few times, he can still go with his mouth, fingers, over and over and over again, until you're sobbing and begging from the overstimulation. He thinks there's something weirdly beautiful about how something can bring you so much pleasure and pain, be so good yet so unbearable. Seeing you cry while you convulse, hiss from the pain when you're so sensitive that even the lightest touches are painful. Just watching it gives him an electrifying feeling. As a bonus, it will just make you more bonded, the overload of the positive chemicals in your body will bind you to the very person inflicting such a torture on your body. How ironic.

He'd be one for impact pain too, potentially with his hands, but he's one that's more likely to invest in something like a riding crop, or just a belt. He likes the fear of it, too, seeing how you wince and whimper just by hearing it crack before he even does anything to you.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Hips and thighs. He likes grabbing, pulling you back onto him. Running his hands over them. He likes that when he's rough enough, his hands leave bruises on them. It's really pretty to him, and just an ever so blatant reminder of your place... to him, and, he knows, to you.

[cali-holland]

Under the Stars- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: When you invite Tom and Harrison to go to a cabin in the woods with your old college friends, Tom devises a plan to finally confess his feelings for you. Little does he know, the cabin belongs to your ex-boyfriend, and he’s also seeking your attention this week.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: slow burn (ish), swearing, sexual themes (jokes/references), the reader kinda gets sexually harassed (nothing actually happens), fist fight + some blood, tom being a simp

A/N: this was a nine month process, so i hope you enjoy :) also thank you to @duskholland​ for being so supportive and reading through this fic and editing it. love you hannah! + Also reposting this because the tags didn’t work the first time :/ and tag list will be in a reblog!

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Moodboard is mine, pics used are not *

~~~

When you walked into Tom and Harrison’s house, you weren’t expecting to hear odd grunts coming from the living room. You’d heard many strange noises made in that house— a good amount of their sources were still unknown, but you’d never heard such aggressive grunts. For a moment, you considered slowly backing out of the house and knocking on the door. It would be easy to pretend like you didn’t have a key so you didn’t have to walk in on anyone doing anything gross in the other room.

But then Harrison walked into the entryway, smiling at you as a greeting, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” You replied, closing the front door hesitantly behind you. You pointed towards the living room, “Do I wanna know what’s going on in there?”

Before he could reply, there was a loud bang from the living room, followed by a string of curses. Forgetting all worries of what may or may not have been the cause of the noises, you hurried into the other room with Harrison trailing behind you.

Tom laid on the floor, groaning in pain as he clutched his foot. Tessa, who had been checking up on her owner, popped up happily when she saw you, rushing over to greet you at your feet. Tom looked up at you and Harrison in the door, forcing out his best smile. You stared at the large tent that was currently taking up most of the space in the living room, questioningly.

“Why do you have a tent set up?” You asked. Tom hopped up off the floor, standing beside the tent.

“Well, our camping trip is this weekend, so I thought I’d make sure it’s still durable.” Tom said proudly. He put a hand against the tent in an attempt to be smooth, but the tent came collapsing down, making Tessa bolt behind you from the sudden loud noise.

“And he wanted to make sure he could actually set up a tent, which clearly he can’t,” Harrison stated, and Tom glared at him in response.

“Were you going to tell him?” You laughed, turning to the blond beside you.

“And miss the opportunity to see him struggle setting up a tent for forty minutes? No, I didn’t tell him.” He smirked, only making Tom more frustrated and embarrassed.

“Tom, it’s a cabin. You don’t need a tent unless you don’t want to stay with everyone else.” You explained. “I just said camping because it’s easier to call it that.”

“Fuck you, mate.” He grumbled to Harrison, flipping him off before starting to put away the mess of a tent. You stepped in to help him, and Harrison just laughed to himself before leaving.

“I really thought you would’ve known. Did you really think I’d invite you and Harrison to spend several days in the woods with me and my college friends in tents?” You joked, “Besides, I didn’t think you’d come if it was actual camping.”

Tom paused his movements, but you continued to undo the poles, taking no notice of his action, “Why wouldn’t I go if it was actual camping?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, looking at him with your usual charming smile, “You’re not the outdoorsy, camping type. You don’t exactly go out and rough it in the woods on the weekend, like Will or Tyler; you play golf with Harrison and your dad.”

While your words were well-intended and teasing, Tom couldn’t help but take them to heart. He took everything you said to heart.

It was hard for him to be so helplessly in love with you, his best friend (besides Harrison) from BRIT school, for the past few years while you were completely blind to it. Normally, he’d do little things to impress you because he still wasn’t sure if he wanted you to know about his feelings— if you knew, there was a chance you’d reject him, and Tom wouldn’t know what to do with himself if that happened. Recently though, he’s started to feel like his heart was going to explode if he didn’t tell you soon, but that didn’t mean he knew how to tell you.

So when you asked if he wanted to go on a camping trip with you, of course he said yes right away. His mind told him that, no, he really wasn’t the outdoorsy, “roughing it” kind of guy, but his heart told him it was a chance with you. He was a sap and thought that maybe he’d pluck up the courage to tell you how he felt under a moonlit campsite, maybe even the two of you could share a tent, maybe he could kiss you in the lake— god, did he want to kiss you.

That had all come crashing down when he’d realized it wasn’t a romantic camping getaway. You’d invited Harrison and a few college friends, friends that neither Tom nor Harrison had ever met. And there was one friend in particular who Tom never wanted to meet— Will, your ex-boyfriend. You two ended things mutually, but Tom couldn’t stop himself from feeling like he needed to compete against Will, especially when he discovered it was Will whose family owned the land you’d be camping on; Will who took you on hikes all around your college town; Will who taught you how to fish and how to kayak with the lakes nearby; Will who one time got bitten by a rattlesnake and sucked out the venom himself; Will who could climb any mountain and come back unscathed. Will was an outdoorsy “roughing it” badass fucker that Tom despised.

And now, you had just furthered proved that Tom was a delicate flower compared to the lumberjack prick that was Will. He didn’t care about being compared to Will’s best friend, Tyler, who (from what you’d told Tom) was in a serious relationship with your other friend, Jane. Besides Jane, the other person accompanying you all to the cabin was Rose, your best friend and Will’s sister. Needless to say, Tom was very grateful that Harrison was coming along too— he didn’t think he could handle a Will-centered week alone.

“We can just leave this for now. I know I promised you Nando’s before we leave.” Tom said, getting up from his spot on the floor.

“Are you sure? We can just get it on the way to the airport.” You said, looking at the tent mess before you.

“Come on, it’ll be fine.” He held a hand out to you and you took it, so that he could pull you up. Before you two could make it out the door, Harrison arrived downstairs with a loaded hiking backpack in hand.

“I know you’re not trying to sneak to Nando’s without me.” He said, and Tom glared at him from behind your back. Harrison was very well aware of Tom’s feelings for you— everyone was except for you, and he took every chance he could get at being a little shit about it, which included ruining quality time for Tom to spend with you.

The three of you left to grab your last meal in the UK before heading back to their house. Tom finished putting away the tent, and Harrison loaded up Harry’s car with your bags as well as his and Tom’s. Harry (through bribery from Tom) drove you all to the airport for the first step in your camping trip.

Since you went to school in the US, all of your friends would be meeting you across the pond. Will’s family cabin was located in Maine, so the flight wasn’t too bad for the three of you— though Tom wished it was longer so he could devise a more accurate plan to impress you this weekend. He had to prove that he could be the outdoorsy badass guy you wanted. He had to outcompete Will.

“Why would you have to outcompete him?” Harrison asked Tom after hearing his dilemma. Fortunately, you were getting the rental car for the three of you to make it to the cabin.

“Because it’s clearly a competition.” Tom stated, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he looked over at you across the way. “She told me I’m not outdoorsy like Will- that makes it a competition and I have to beat him.”

As much as Harrison loved to see his friend fail at keeping it together around you, something felt wrong about telling him, ‘yeah, it’s totally a competition, so go beat up her lumberjack ex’. Instead, he tried, “I don’t think that’s what Y/N meant. You do golf more than you go camping.”

But Tom took no notice of his advice, “Just watch. I’m going to be the manliest man this weekend.”

“Hey guys,” You smiled, coming up to them, making Tom jump very unmanly-like in the process. “You ready to go?”

The journey to the cabin was a fairly long one. After a couple of hours of driving, you parked the car in one of those reserved parking lots off the side of the road. Tom and Harrison both looked around in confusion, spotting nothing but trees and a gas station.

“Why are we stopped?” Tom asked you as you got out of the car. Tom and Harrison followed you out of the car.

“We gotta hike in.” You replied. “The cabin’s down by the lake, so there’s no actual road to get there. It’s only about a mile and a half hike in. Be ready for lots of hiking. I think tomorrow we’re going to hike 12 miles.”

By the time you three got to the little a-frame cabin, it was already dinner time, which was great because that meant you three could sleep soon. The five hour time difference was already starting to hit. Before you could even step inside the cabin, your best friend met you with a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re here!” Rose smiled, stepping out of the hug after a moment.

“We made it.” You laughed. Your other friend, Jane, stepped up next to hug you. “I missed you two so much.”

“We missed you too.” Jane replied. You caught their eyes trailing over to Tom and Harrison behind you, and you remembered that they hadn’t met before. 

“Oh, girls, this is Tom and Harrison; guys, this is Rose and Jane.” You introduced the two parties with a smile. After a polite exchanging of handshakes, you looked at the two girls curiously, “Where are the boys?”

“Will wanted to get in a light swim before dinner.” Rose laughed, and Jane made her way back to the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll show you your rooms.”

Rose gave the three of you a little tour of the cabin. The front door had placed you all in a little entryway room with a simple, wooden staircase taking up most of the room; a fireplace sat beside the stairs with a small loveseat across from it. Besides a rather large bookshelf, it was relatively empty, but elegantly simple nonetheless. There were four doors downstairs, all intricately designed with the same light wood color as the stairs. The first door on the left was explained to be Will’s room, and the second was Tyler and Jane’s. The third stood as the main bathroom, as Rose described it. The fourth door led to Tom and Harrison’s room.

It wasn’t very big— neither of the rooms were according to Rose, but that was the a-frame style of a quaint log cabin. A bunk bed sat on the side of the room with a small wood dresser across from it. There was enough space for the two boys to coexist, and Tom was just grateful he didn’t have to bunk with Will of all people; he was glad he had his best friend with him.

The upstairs of the cabin held the open space of the kitchen and the main living room. With large glass windows covering one of the walls, the living room had a magnificent view of the woods outside, and three couches were set in place to overlook it. Under the couches sat a large bear rug, one which both Tom and Harrison eyed suspiciously at first before Rose laughed it off, reassuring them that it was fake. Behind the couches, the dining room was situated beneath a beautiful antler chandelier and set for eight places, completing the rustic vibe of the cabin. The kitchen, while it was small, seemed to be just as well put together as the rest of the cabin, complete with a breakfast bar. The smell of Jane’s favorite lemon salmon filled the air, making you even more excited for dinner.

Next was your own room, which was just past the kitchen. A queen bed was pushed in a nook with only the foot of the bed accessible. Unlike Tom and Harrison, you and Rose didn’t mind sharing a bed, which is why they got the smallest room downstairs. Right beside your bedroom door was another bathroom.

“You brought stuff for s’mores, right?” You asked Rose as you walked with her, Tom, and Harrison off the cabin’s porch to the nearby shed where they kept all of their hiking and lake gear.

“Yes, absolutely!” She eagerly replied, a happy skip in her step.

“S’mores are a real thing?” Tom questioned in disbelief.

“Of course! You can’t camp without—” You let out a shriek as you felt cold, wet arms wrap around your waist, picking you up and spinning you around. You laughed, immediately knowing it was Will. “Oh my god, Will! Put me down! You’re all wet.”

Will chuckled, setting you back down on the solid ground, “Well, if it gets you wet.”

“Fuck off.” You scoffed, smacking his chest playfully. It was then that you realized he was shirtless— shirtless and dripping wet from the lake and gloriously tan and somehow more built than the last time you saw him. Tyler, on the other hand, was still Tyler; still an attractive young guy, but not attractive to you and that most likely has to do with him dating Jane for as long as you’ve known him.

“Ty!” You smiled, hugging him tightly, not even caring if your clothes got wet and gross anymore. You’d just change later when you could.

Tom straightened up a bit, already feeling uneasy about Will’s presence. Will looked like the lovechild of Zac Efron and Chris Evans, with a hint of Scott Eastwood; he was perfect, there was nothing wrong with him. It made Tom question why you two broke up. Even though Tom knew you’d said it was mutual, he also knew it took a lot for girls to walk away from guys that look like that. Meanwhile, Harrison just bit his lip to keep from commenting on his friend’s ridiculous territorial issues. 

“So, you two must be Tom and Harrison.” Will held out a hand to them, smiling politely. Tom took his hand, trying to subtly shake it sternly as if to prove he was better than Will— childish, Tom knew it, but he already hated this guy with his six pack abs and perfectly white smile. Will didn’t back down though, squeezing Tom’s hand equally as hard. Noticing both guys tensing up, you looked between them awkwardly, having never seen either of them put on the tough guy act.

With introductions out of the way, you all trekked back inside the cabin. While Will, Tyler, and even you changed into dry clothes, Rose helped Jane finish dinner, leaving Tom to frustratedly rant to Harrison in their room.

“God, he’s so annoying.” Tom scoffed.

“He said two words to you.” Harrison stated, “Try to play nice. I don’t think Y/N wants you two to keep having a ‘my dick’s bigger’ contest.”

“But mine is and I know it!” He exclaimed, before realizing he didn’t know how thin the walls were- and how odd that implication was, “Whatever. He’s stupid. This trip’s stupid.”

Harrison was too busy laughing  to even attempt a response to his friend. Instead, there was a knock on the door, pulling both of them from their conversation. Tom opened the door and immediately softened when he saw you, clad in one of his old sweatshirts that he didn’t even realize you still had. It gave him a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to worry that much about Will this week.

“Nice shirt.” Tom commented with a smile.

“Thanks,” You smiled back, “I’ve actually been meaning to give it back to you.”

“What? Why?”

“Is dinner ready?” Harrison asked, cutting off the two of you and reminding you both of his presence. As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly.

“Yes, it is.” You laughed, almost embarrassed from forgetting why you had been at their door in the first place. You tugged on Tom’s hand, pulling him out of the room. Harrison grumbled something dejectedly, but you paid no mind to it. Tom sent his friend an apologetic look, though he made no attempt to make Harrison any less of the unofficial third wheel on the journey upstairs to the dinner table.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom how you sat beside Will, even if Tom got the free seat beside you. Harrison slipped into the seat next to him with Rose to his right. The dinner of salmon with potatoes, salad, and bread seemed simple enough, but it was still quite possibly the best fish you’d ever had.

“Did you get a bone?” You asked Tom, seeing him awkwardly moving his mouth like his tongue was fishing out a hard piece of salmon. Blushing from you calling attention to his struggle, he held up a napkin to cover his mouth, trying to spit out the bone without it looking too gross.

“Yeah,” He admitted sheepishly, muffled by the napkin.

“I thought you got them all out.” Jane said, looking at Tyler expectantly.

“Don’t look at me, that was Will’s job.” Tyler laughed as he used his friend as the scapegoat.

“Must’ve missed one.” Will shrugged, before joking, “You’re still welcome that I caught these.”

“You caught this salmon?” You said, “I thought you only did catch and release?”

“I still do, for the most part, but this salmon was too good of an opportunity to pass up.” He explained. Tom was already boiling with embarrassment, and now he had jealousy bubbling over- of course this perfect fish was caught by the perfect outdoor man beside you.

“So, Tom, Harrison, we were talking about going for a run around the lake tomorrow morning. Want to come?” Tyler asked.

“Sure. How far?” Harrison replied, and Tom nodded in agreement.

“The loop’s about five miles.” Will answered.

“Are you going to run with us?” Tom asked you, knowing back home in Kingston you’d sometimes join Harrison on runs. Tom wasn’t the type to just go out for a casual run like his best friend was, but he wasn’t about to back down from this.

“Nah, you two can keep up with the cross country runners.” You joked, “I’d much rather save my energy for the hike.”

Once dinner ended and no one choked on any more fishbones, you all migrated to the couches. Much to Tom’s chagrin, you sat in the middle couch between Will and Rose, while Tom and Harrison sat on the couch opposite a very cuddled up Jane and Tyler. The fireplace in the corner crackled, keeping the room comfortably warm. When Rose suggested you all play charades, the entertainment for the evening was decided, especially considering the cabin had very weak cell-signal and no television.

“What are the teams?” You asked, sitting dead in the middle of everyone with three friends to your left and three to your right.

“Let’s do 3 against 4, so you choose who you wanna be with, Y/N.” Jane suggested as Rose stood up to get a boxed set of charade cards from the game cabinet near the kitchen. You looked between the two sets of friends. You wanted to lean towards Tom, Harrison, and Rose, because the two boys were incredible at charades, and Rose was your go-to partner for Password at least.

“Come on, you know you wanna be with us.” Will teased, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Just for that, nope.” You laughed and took his arm off you. You stood up from that couch and squeezed in between Tom and the arm. To make room for you and to mock Will, Tom casually put his arm on your shoulder and you made no effort to take it off.

Rose returned with the box of cards and the game began with you and Jane pantomiming first. The words ranged from silly ones like centipede to more inventive ones like lapdance; either way, you all were laughing and enjoying the evening. Tom was highly appreciative of the humor because more than once, you laughed so hard that you fell into him, clutching his knee or completely falling over into his lap. It wasn’t anything out of the usual for him to see you so effortlessly happy, but he enjoyed all the little touches.

“Okay, okay.” You breathed out, doing your best to compose yourself. You stood up from the couch with Tyler so that you two could read the answer and continue the round. Reading over the card, “Catch 22”, you began to think about what you could do to act out the card. As if it wasn’t impossible enough to describe it with words, you had to act it out. But then the lightbulb went off- you had a secret advantage and he was sitting right in front of you, as long as he could figure it out.

“Ready?” Tyler asked you nervously, and you nodded. Tyler started with the usual way of beginning: how many words and what it is. You immediately pointed at Harrison.

“Me?” Harrison spoke in confusion, and you nodded before pointing to your stomach, doing your best to act his death from the series.

“Catch 22?” Tom offered, and Harrison looked at him dumbfounded, still trying to connect how it was him as your main clue.

“Ah, thank god.” You smiled, cheering as he guessed it right. Tyler and the others sighed.

“How the fuck did you get that?” Jane questioned.

“Haz, here, was in the show.” Tom replied, proud of his friend. You were surprised by your college friends’ collective shock, but you were most intrigued by Rose’s reaction.

“Oh my god, I thought you looked familiar.” She said, impressed.

“Wait, you actually saw it?” Harrison asked.

“Yeah, I think I might have cried when you died.” She admitted, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, and that’s when it clicked for you- she was totally into Harrison.

“And you’re an actor too, Tom, right?” Will spoke up, casually taking a drink of his beer. You eyed him skeptically; he knew Tom was an actor. Back when you two were dating, you’d talk about your best friend’s accomplishments, so why was he now asking? Your only answer was it would clearly get a rise out of, at least, you, if not Tom as well.

“Yeah, only been in little indie movies. Nothing anyone’s heard of.” Tom played it off jokingly, causing you to smack him on the arm a little, your hand resting on his bicep.

“My mom loves that movie you did with Ewan McGregor.” Rose commented.

“Ah yeah,” Will laughed, “The one where you’re like 12.”

“I wasn’t 12, but thank you.” Tom replied sarcastically, and you could tell he was biting back a scoff. 

“Well, we’ve all seen the Marvel movies so you can brag a little about those.” You teased, making him blush.

“I know I cried when everyone was getting dusted.” Jane stated in a way to poke fun at Rose’s previous words.

“Never saw them.” Will shrugged carelessly.

“Yes, you did.” You corrected him immediately, and you felt Tom tense a little under your touch. While Tom liked that you were being supportive about this, he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

Will acknowledged Tom’s clenched jaw and decided to press it a bit further, “Babe, if you’re talking about Infinity War, then, no, I didn’t pay attention.” He chuckled, “Don’t you remember we were in the middle of something?”

Tom wondered, at first, what he meant exactly. You dropped your hand from Tom’s arm and covered your face in embarrassment, but before you could comment, Rose let out a whine, “Gross, I was right next to you two.”

“Not like you’ve never gotten it on in a movie theater.” Tyler joked.

“Can we please not talk about this?” You groaned, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Jane stated as she stood up with a yawn. You closed your door, escaping to the privacy of your room, not wanting to think about how your ex just told everyone about that night- in your defense, you’d already seen the movie before so you weren’t missing anything.

Tyler and Will followed after Jane, leaving Tom, Harrison and Rose as they cleaned up the few cards that were left out. Feeling the awkwardness radiating off of Tom, Rose delicately spoke up, “Will’s just being a dick.”

“It’s fine.” Tom reassured her.

“Did you really cry when I died?” Harrison asked her the question that’d been on his mind since the second she’d made the comment. They started talking about the show, and Tom took that as a sign to leave. He thought for a moment about knocking on your door and checking in on you, but then he realized it might be too uncomfortable for you to talk about. There were times, like tonight with charades, that Tom considered maybe you liked him back, based on all your little touches here and there, but then, with Will’s comments floating around his mind, his thoughts were plagued by the doom of the friendzone. Tom didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep tonight knowing that you and your annoying ex ‘got it on’ in the theater during his own movie- what if he was dying on screen but you were too enraptured in Will to cry like Rose had cried over Harrison dying?

Tom only had a few minutes to himself before Harrison came back into their shared room, asking him, “How’re you feeling about the run tomorrow?”

“It’s going to kill me.” Tom sighed, and Harrison shrugged before climbing into the top bunk.

“Should’ve been running with me.” He laughed, “It’s not even that far.”

“I haven’t run five straight miles since Jake nearly killed me at the gym.” He replied, tidying up his bag.

“Why are you cleaning?” Harrison asked, looking down at his friend. “Are you worried Y/N’s going to come into the room or something?”

“Shove off.” Tom grumbled. Harrison took off his sweaty socks that he’d neglected to remove before getting into his bed and threw them down at his friend. One missed Tom completely, and the other clung to his shoulder. “That’s fucking gross.”

“If you’re cleaning, then clean them up.” He snickered. Tom threw the sock back at his friend, but it missed and weakly fell to the ground. A knock came from the other side of the door, and Tom opened it, smiling when he saw it was you, his absolute favorite person on this godforsaken trip. While you looked rather cute in your casual summer pajamas, he frowned when he saw his sweatshirt in your hands.

“Are you returning it?” He asked, and you laughed.

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” You said quietly, hoping Harrison didn’t hear your words. You held it out to Tom, “I figured I can give it back to you for a time, and then steal it once it smells like you again.”

“Wait a second.” Tom took the sweatshirt from you and disappeared into the room, rummaging through his once neat backpack to grab out another sweatshirt. He handed it to you, “Maybe this could suffice for now?”

Smiling, you sniffed it a little before tugging it on, “Thanks. It’s so cold upstairs, I don’t know how I’d sleep without it.”

“You could always bring your own.” Harrison said from the top bunk. Tom turned and chucked the other sweatshirt at him. You rolled your eyes at his words.

“Watch it, Osterfield, or your mattress is going to end up in the middle of the lake with you still sleeping on it.” You playfully threatened.

“I’m quaking with fear.” He laughed, laying down on the bed out of sight.

“Well, I should go.” You told Tom, “Thank you for the sweatshirt. Good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He smiled softly at you. As you walked away, he slowly closed the door, pleased with himself and his choice in sweatshirts. He turned to finish getting ready for bed, just in time for Harrison to throw the sweatshirt back at him.

“I will kick you out of this room.” Tom grumbled.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You didn’t sleep well that night. Even with Tom’s sweatshirt, your room was unbearably cold, and it didn’t help that Rose snored. With only a few hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up the next morning to the sun streaming in through the large window behind the bed and Rose already up and out of the room. You padded into the kitchen, making yourself some tea with the rustic teapot that was set out on the counter. Spotting Rose and Jane standing out on the balcony, you made your way outside.

“Good morning.” You said through a yawn, coming to stand beside Rose.

“We were wondering when you were going to wake up.” Jane teased. You looked at your two friends quizzically, taking a sip of your steaming tea.

“You already missed part one of the gun show.” Rose joked, sitting up straighter to look over the edge of the balcony, “They should be back any second.”

“Oh God.” You laughed, remembering the boys and their run this morning.

“I know I’m with Tyler, but damn, Y/N.” She teased, and Rose nudged you playfully. “Here they come.”

Seeing motion through the trees, you looked over at the runners. It was obvious they were racing the last bit of the run, considering how triumphant Harrison looked when he arrived first with Will right on his tail. And then came Tyler, and finally Tom. There was probably only a few seconds between their arrival, but it was still amusing to spy the looks on their faces. They were all shirtless and glistening in a layer of sweat, and they hadn’t noticed the three of you on the balcony at all- not that you were complaining. You’d rather not have them catch you all checking them out so unabashedly.

“Look at that. 24 abs right there.” Jane let out a small sigh. While her comment was for all four boys, her eyes stayed trained on Tyler. Rose, on the other hand, had her eyes on Harrison’s figure, which you noted to tease her about later. But you, you couldn’t help but check out Tom’s bare torso- there was a reason you didn’t watch either Spider-Man movie with him- you always ended up a little too focused on his shirtless scenes.

“Enjoying the show?” Tyler called up to the three of you, a cheeky smirk on his face, as they all made their way up to the cabin. You could’ve sworn you saw Tom blush a little when he met your gaze before Harrison playfully shoved his friend, making Tom lose focus on you and shove him right back.

“Boys.” Rose laughed quietly to you. You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t miss part two.”

The boys made their way into the kitchen, seeking out some water and gatorade as you and the girls went back inside to greet them. The sweet smell of salmon from last night was gone, overthrown by the ever lovely smell of sweaty men.

“It smells like a gym in here.” Rose gagged in disgust.

“I would’ve gone for sweaty ballsack, but yours is much nicer.” Jane laughed.

“Janie would know.” Will teased, clapping Tyler on the shoulder as he drank from his water, making the other choke a little.

“So how was the run?” You asked Tom as he and Harrison came over to you, Tom’s bottle of gatorade almost gone already. The other four got engrossed in their own conversation.

“Just a small workout, nothing too bad.” He replied, brushing it off.

“He was dying.” Harrison stated, making you laugh. “I told him he’s got to run with me more.”

“Well, you won, Haz, so congrats.” You replied.

“How did you know we were racing?” Tom asked. His ears turned pink from thinking that you knew he came in last.

“The four of you act like teenage boys; of course you’re going to make a race out of a casual run.” You teased.

“We should probably go stretch before our muscles tighten up again.” Harrison said, already backing up towards the stairs. Tom made his way to follow him, and you spoke up.

“I’ll come with.” You offered, setting your mug of tea on the counter. You followed them downstairs and out to the patio, feeling like you might as well spend some alone time with your two closest friends.

“You two think you can make it on the hike today?” You teased, already seeing Tom walk a little funny.

“Yeah, yeah, we got this.” He reassured you, sitting down on the solid ground to start stretching his legs. You started to stretch with them, and Harrison looked at you funny for it.

“Why are you stretching?” He asked with a laugh.

“It helps with flexibility.” You shrugged, switching legs as they did, all three of you mirroring the same poses. “How was the lake?”

“It was nice. We weren’t exactly looking at it though.” Tom replied with a chuckle.

“I don’t know, you were going so slow, I thought you were.” Harrison joked and Tom kicked his foot out, hitting Harrison in the leg.

“It’s shit like this that made me believe you were racing.” You laughed.

“I don’t do long distance running. I like focusing on my abs a lot more.” Tom defended himself. You flicked your eyes down to his abs, nodding a little, but Tom was so focused on his stretching that he had missed your small action, whereas Harrison fully caught it. He laughed, sending you a wink, and you flipped him off. Tom caught that exchange though, “Did I miss something?”

“Nope.” You replied quickly, only making Harrison laugh harder, “He’s just being a dumbass. Onto hamstrings.”

The three of you laid down to stretch your hamstrings, and you heard Tom let out a small groan from beside you. “I can’t do this. I fucking hate leg day.”

“Need help?” You offered. Before he could protest, you were already on your feet. He held his leg up as high as he could, and you pressed on his foot to stretch his hamstring even more.

“What if I need help too?” Harrison pouted, even though he was stretching his leg just fine.

“Sorry, Haz, it’s just you and your hand.” You joked, making Tom laugh.

“I see how it is. Ha ha, it’s me and my hand, and Tom and your hand, Y/N.” He sarcastically replied, as you dropped Tom’s leg and he bent his knee for you to lean on his shin. You helped him to deepen the stretch through his leg.

“Someone’s jealous.” Tom said, before grimacing a little.

“Was that too far?” You asked, loosening your hold on his leg, not wanting to overstretch his hamstring.

“A little.” He replied.

“God, Y/N don’t be so rough on him.” Harrison piped in, still having no issue stretching on his own.

“Haz, if you’re going to be a pouty baby about not having a stretching buddy, talk to Rose. She was totally checking you out earlier.” You stated, trying to change the conversation off of Harrison’s unnecessary innuendos. You let go of Tom’s leg and reached for his foot to stretch his other hamstring.

“Wait, really?” He asked, dropping his leg to peer at you with a serious look on his face.

“Yeah, why would I lie to you about that?” You laughed, “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her read a book, so I think she was lying about Catch 22.”

Flustered, Wide eyed and blushing, Harrison mumbled something about grabbing a shower before bolting off. You exchanged a curious look with Tom, but he followed after his friend.

You made your way inside after them and went to fix yourself another cup of tea. When you saw Will alone in the kitchen, you momentarily considered changing your mind and going to your rook, but it was too late, as he had already seen you.

“Want a cup?” He asked, holding up the coffee pot after he finished pouring himself a cup.

“No thanks.” You replied and made your way to the kettle.

“Enjoy the show earlier? Tyler and I started this new training routine that’s supposed to help with bulking up.” Will said. It took everything in you to not roll your eyes at his words.

“And how’s that working out for you?” You asked, not even trying to hide your disinterest. You still hadn’t forgiven him for his immature comments last night. Plus, the more you saw Will interact with Tom, the more justified you felt with your annoyance.

Will stepped closer to you. Slowly, he took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his abs, and you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t feel every part of his toned stomach. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt like you were falling under his trance again. “There’s more where that came from. Why don’t you come by my room tonight?”

He dropped your hand, and you were pulled out of your foggy state. You stepped away, turning away from him to continue getting yourself some tea. You felt his body envelope yours from behind. His head rested on your shoulder and his hands smoothed over your waist. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he murmured, “I miss you.”

At his words, something inside of you snapped and you jolted away from his embrace, slapping his hands away. Firmly, you said, “I don’t miss you.”

Will left the room without another word, and you were left to ponder what the hell just happened as you stood alone in the kitchen.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you all left on the hike, trailing through the towering trees to make your way to a nearby peak. You all stopped a few times for water and some food, and to even just enjoy nature. Between Jane’s ornithology degree, Tyler’s botany background, and Will’s forestry knowledge, identifying the different birds, plants, and trees around you was relatively easy.

“Can you imagine if we studied something environmental too?” Rose joked, nudging you in the shoulder as Jane mindlessly went on about the bird that had flown past nearly ten minutes ago.

“God, it would never end.” You laughed.

“What did you study?” Harrison asked Rose, making you look at Tom and roll your eyes at your friends.

“I’m a nurse.” She replied, and the two got swept into their own conversation.

“You sore yet?” You asked Tom, poking him in the side as you all continued the hike uphill.

“Me? Sore? Never.” He laughed. He shook his head to try to hide the slight hurt from the question. First, you didn’t think he was outdoorsy enough and now you think he can’t handle doing some mileage. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Oh sure.” You smiled at him. Tyler pointed out a specific plant as you all passed it, talking about the intricate properties of the shrub.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused about nature.” Tom mumbled to you quietly. Since you two were far enough behind Tyler, Jane, and Will, they couldn’t hear his comment.

“Don’t worry. I have no clue what he’s talking about either.” You reassured him before letting out a small yawn.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” He asked, looking over at you in concern.

“Someone was snoring a bit too loud for me to sleep.” You said, loud enough for Rose to hear. She stopped and spun around to face you, face red in embarrassment.

“It’s a nasal condition! You know how I get when it’s cold!” She defended. As much as she tried to sound angry, she still had a small smile on her face.

“Love you, Rose.” You blew her a kiss, laughing at her reaction. She and Harrison turned back around and continued their conversation about who knows what.

“I think Harrison’s got a nasal condition too.” Tom whispered, making you stifle a laugh to not draw attention back to the two of you.

“Rose doesn’t even snore that loud.” You admitted quietly, “Even with your sweatshirt, I was still too cold to sleep.”

“I can give you another one when we get back. You can double up.” He offered, “But it was pretty cold last night.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably take you up on that.” You smiled softly at him. “You know, I’m really happy you came.”

“I’m happy I came, too. Thanks for inviting me.” He replied, and you nodded in response. Tom paused after a moment, stopping his tracks to look at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Wait, did you not expect me to come?”

You looked at him in confusion, before answering, “I mean I did, but-“

“But I’m not outdoorsy, so you didn’t think I’d actually be here.” Tom grumbled in agitation, beginning to walk again quickly to catch up to the group. You ran up after him.

“Is that what this is about?” You questioned, your voice unintentionally raised, “That I said you weren’t the camping type back home?”

Harrison and Rose turned to look at the two of you, and Tom just bit his tongue to keep from exploding about the sensitive subject. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but he just felt so inadequate with Will going on and on about trees and shit.

“What is going on with you?” You questioned with a huff of frustration.

“It’s nothing. Let’s just keep going.” Tom stated, shaking his head.

“I’m not going one more step until you tell me what the hell is up.”

“What’s the hold up?” Will called back when he noticed the stop in your hike. Tom went to step forward to continue the journey, but missed his footing on a particularly slick patch of leaves. 

A collective, concerned shout came from you and Harrison as Tom hit the ground. He groaned in pain, and Rose came to his side. All frustration at him slipped out of you as worry flooded your system.

“Tom, oh my god- are you okay?” You asked.

“I think I rolled my ankle.” Tom said, cradling his ankle in his lap.

Rose looked at it briefly, no noticeable swelling or bruising yet. “Can you stand on it?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He replied before pushing himself to his feet. He bit back a grimace, standing on his ankle as normal, and you didn’t seem to be the only one to notice it. “Let’s finish the hike, yeah?” 

“You’re not hiking on that.” Rose shook her head with a small laugh.

“I don’t want to hold you all back. I can manage it, really.”

“It’s fine. We’ll continue on. Y/N can lead you back.” Jane spoke up, a little smirk playing on her lips.

“I’ll go with.” Harrison offered.

“As the house nurse, I feel obligated to walk back with him.” Rose added, and you caught the blush that touched her cheeks.

And just like that, it was settled. You, Rose, and Harrison would walk back with Tom, who was doing his best not to limp, which everyone saw through. Rose and Harrison made conversation the whole walk back, while you and Tom just stayed awkwardly silent. By the time you all made it back to the house, he still hadn’t spoken to you. You went to put away your hiking gear and found Tom a few minutes later, sitting on the porch as he looked at the forest before him, an ice pack on his elevated ankle to help with potential swelling.

“I meant what I said.” You spoke up quietly as you sat in the chair beside him. When he just continued to look straight ahead and not physically acknowledge your presence, you continued, “I am really happy that you’re here, Tom. I didn’t say that because I didn’t think you’d want to come. The only reason I wouldn’t expect you to come is because you’re always busy. I guess what I really meant was that I’m grateful you were able to make time for me this week, especially because I know the countless other, more fun things you could be doing right now. It really means a lot.”

After another brief silent moment passed between the two of you, he looked over at you with a small frown on his face. “Why would you think I wouldn’t make time for you?”

“Like I said, you’re busy. You do one movie after the other, and I feel like we hardly see each other anymore. It’s,” You trailed off, searching for the right word, “comforting that you’d want to spend your free time with me.”

“You’re my best friend. Of course, I’d want to spend time with you.”

You knew his words were sweet and that he meant every single one of them, but you still felt a small, subtle twist in your gut.  Another unnatural silence fell between the two of you until Rose came outside like a true savior.

“We’re planning on making s’mores tonight, are you down?” She asked, a cheery smile on her face.

“I’m offended you’re even asking me that.” You stated, and she rolled her eyes at you. You turned to Tom, smiling, “You’re going to love them. Just don’t burn yourself.”

“Burn myself?” He looked at you as if you were crazy, making you laugh.

“Don’t scare him.” Rose teased, “Besides, my money’s on Harrison burning himself first.”

“I heard that!” He called from inside the cabin through the screen door.

Just as Rose was about to leave to go back inside, Tom spoke up, raising his hand a little, still confused, “How do you burn yourself on s’mores?”

Several hours later, he got his answer.

“Ow, fuck, shit, ow.” Harrison cursed, dropping his burnt marshmallow into the dirt.

“That’s how.” You laughed as Rose clinked her s’more against yours.

“How do you know when it’s ready?” Tom asked, eyeing the marshmallow at the end of his stick. He slowly rotated the stick in his hands just as you had told him to do.

“Golden brown are the best, but they’re tricky to make because you can burn them instantly, which is what Harrison did.” You teased your blond friend beside you before taking a bite of your perfect s’more and turning back to face Tom on your other side. “Burnt ones aren’t bad, they just have a more burnt flavor, obviously.”

“So is it ready yet?” He questioned, but he was looking at you not at his roasting marshmallow.

“No,” You giggled. You finished off your s’more with another bite and scooted closer to him on the log. You placed your hand on top of his on the stick, twisting it so that the marshmallow was a few inches above the flame instead of right by the firewood. “And you just keep rotating it. You can see there’s already a gold hue to it.”

You smiled, looking over at him to find him already gazing at you with a soft smile of his own playing on his lips. The light from the campfire made his brown eyes sparkle with specks of gold.

“It’s burning!” Jane exclaimed, and you quickly retracted the stick and marshmallow, blowing out the fire on the now burned marshmallow.

“Well, it’s golden on one side, but burnt marshmallows are an essential part of the s’mores making business.” You said as you passed the stick back to Tom. You gathered the two parts of a graham cracker as well as some Hershey’s chocolate and set it up for a s’more.

“I think I need help with this part.” Tom admitted with a chuckle.

“So you put the marshmallow here.” You pointed at the graham cracker topped with a piece of chocolate. He moved the stick to put the marshmallow in its proper position, and then you put the other half of the graham cracker on top. Grasping the two graham crackers with the marshmallow in the middle, you finished, “And now pull out.”

“Hah, pull out.” Tyler laughed at the innuendo through a face full of his double stacked s’mores. Tom did as told, his eyes lighting up in excitement when you presented him his very own s’more.

“Ta-da. It’s real rocket science, isn’t it?” You joked, and Harrison elbowed you, still grumpy that he had lost his first marshmallow and burnt his hand trying to catch it.

“Burnt and fallen marshmallows are just casualties of s’more making.” Rose said.

“S’mores have to be the thing I miss most about living here— the U.K. just doesn’t do camping quite as well.” You stated, shaking your head a little in disbelief.

“How could you miss s’mores more than us?” Will asked, a playfulness in his voice, but you could recognize the serious undertones of his words.

“I’d miss s’mores more than I’d miss you.” Rose teased, saving you from having to actually think of a response.

“Hand me a marshmallow. I’m ready to try again for a golden one.” Tom said to you, and you reached over into the marshmallow bag beside you, slipping him the soft treat.

“Good luck.” You encouraged him with a laugh.

Tom’s second attempt ended up burnt as well, and you gladly ate it while he made his third one. By the time it was golden brown and ready to be eaten, Jane, Tyler, and even Will had retired for the night.

“That tastes so much better not burnt to a crisp.” Tom said, impressed by his own marshmallow-roasting skills.

“Camping heaven.” You agreed, finishing off the s’more he’d burned earlier.

Rose stood up with a small sigh, stretching her arms. “I think I might head to bed.”

“Me too.” Harrison stated, getting up after her. Tom looked at him questioningly, and you bit your lip, giving Rose a teasing look. She rolled her eyes at you, smiling to herself as she turned to head towards the cabin.

Noticing how Harrison’s hand caught hers once they were a decent distance from the campfire, you called out to them, “Good night!”

“Night!” They chorused back.

“Haz and Rose seem to have hit it off.” Tom commented once they were inside. Your eyes drifted from the dying fire up to the starry sky overhead. 

“Yeah, they really have.” You nodded, caught up focusing on the twinkling lights above you. Quietly, you admitted, “I’ll never get tired of looking at the stars.”

“I bet your neck will.” He joked, making you shake your head.

“They’re just so beautiful.” You mumbled.

“Really beautiful.” You heard Tom murmur under his breath. Your eyes flickered over to him, noticing how he was definitely staring at you and not the stars in the sky. When he turned to face the campfire, your eyes diverted back up to the stars, trying your best to suppress how fast your heart was racing.

“I used to know all of the constellations too. Will and I used to camp a lot, and I’d just study the stars until I fell asleep.” You confessed, attempting to strike up a conversation to keep you from your thoughts. When Tom said nothing in reply, a small sigh escaped your lips, and your eyes trailed back down to Tom beside you. Staring right into the dying campfire, he looked deep in thought.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked him, nudging him a little with your shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” Tom shook his head, but his attempts to play off his thoughts didn’t work on you. After a moment, he spoke up, barely meeting your eyes as he did so, “Did you and Will really— you know— in my movie—“ he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question. He was already apprehensive about the answer, and yet he couldn’t help himself from asking.

“In Infinity War?” You asked, laughing lightly at his question, or lack thereof. Looking up towards the sky again, you replied, “Unless you count the fastest handjob ever, no, we didn’t.”

Tom was silent, making you look back over at him. His shoulders were shaking as he bit his lip, doing his best to stifle his laughter.

“Shut up.” You scoffed, playfully hitting his arm. “It wasn’t like you were dying in the scene or anything. You weren’t even on the screen.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He insisted, before breaking into a fit of laughter, unable to contain it any longer. In that moment, you felt complete tranquility. Tom’s laughter broke through the silence of the atmosphere, making your heart flutter in happiness. His eyes were shut, and you could count every crinkle by his eyes. With the fire illuminating his features just right, he was positively glowing. If you wanted any moment to last forever, it was this one. Tom settled his laughter, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, but it’s just-” He paused, and his smile faltered momentarily, “It’s a relief.”

“A relief?” You repeated before you could help yourself, and Tom realized his words.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, thinking on his feet of an explanation, “It would’ve been really awkward if I was dying, and you and Will- yeah.” He stopped himself short, and a comfortable silence overcame the two of you.

“How’s your ankle feeling?” You asked, not wanting the conversation to end. If it ended, then that meant the night was over and your precious alone time with Tom was over.

“It’s fine, now. Honestly, it didn’t hurt that much.” He replied with a bit of a nod. You watched as he sucked in a tight breath, “I’m sorry about what happened earlier on the hike. I got frustrated and a little jealous. I was so determined to prove that I could be like Will that I just ended up being a dick.”

His words took a moment to sink in, but you found a small smile breaking over your face as you understood the layers of their meaning. You reached out and touched his knee. Softly, you admitted, “You have no reason to be jealous over Will. I’d never want you to be like him. The main reason that I broke up with him was because, well, he’s not you.”

You could see Tom think about your words for a moment before, ever so slowly, he started to lean in. Tom’s lips seemed to fit perfectly with yours, tenderly moving in sync as you both caved into your suppressed feelings. With one hand cupping your cheek, Tom’s other hand moved to your waist, pulling you in closer to him. You paid no mind to the uncomfortableness of your position on the log, too lost in the kiss to think straight. For the second time that night, you wished that this moment would last forever.

But it came to a quick, bittersweet end as Tom pulled away. His face stayed close to yours, his breath fanning over your face. A smile crossed his lips, “That took us way too long.”

“Way, way too long.” You agreed. He went to pull you in for another kiss, but the sudden cold of the dying fire pulled you two back to reality. Almost reluctantly, you said, “I guess we should probably head inside.”

It was far too cold for either of you to want to stay outside without the comforting heat. Gathering the food and putting out the last of the fire, you two walked back to the cabin, hand in hand.

“Thank you for the s’mores.” Tom said quietly to you, aware that most likely everyone in the cabin was sleeping. He placed the last couple bags of marshmallows and graham crackers on the kitchen counter (the chocolate was all eaten long ago), and you made a mental note to take care of it in the morning. 

“Any time.” You joked softly. Tom leaned in to give you a quick, but just as sweet good night kiss.

As he made his way over to the stairs, he spoke up again, “Don’t get too cold tonight.”

“Good night, Tom.” You laughed lightly, turning towards your bedroom door.

“Good night, Y/N.” 

With one last exchange of soft, sleepy smiles, you both turned to go your separate ways.

When you entered your quaint cabin room, you were met with Rose’s snores, a sharp contrast to your favorite sound that was Tom’s laughter from moments ago. You quietly maneuvered around the room, getting ready for bed. A smile ghosted your lips as you tugged on Tom’s hoodie. The familiar warmth and scent enveloping you comfortably.

You waited for sleep to overcome you on the cold bed; it felt like hours (when really, it was probably only ten minutes) before you finally decided to get up. With a small sigh, you shuffled out of the bed. Maybe the couch would give you more peace than your shared room.

As you made your way out of your room, you heard a door downstairs open. Curiously, you peeked down the staircase to see Tom emerging from the bathroom, in nothing but basketball shorts.

“What are you still doing up?” Tom asked you with his voice just above a whisper. You silently made your way down the stairs until you were in front of him.

“Couldn’t sleep. The room hasn’t gotten any warmer since last night.” You admitted, subconsciously crossing your arms.

“Come here.” Tom slowly uncrossed your arms, taking one of your hands loosely in his. He led you to his room. The door creaked open and shed some light into the dark bedroom. Wordlessly, he brought you over to his bed and dropped your hand to shuffle the blankets.

“What about Haz?” You whispered as Tom slipped into his bed, laying sideways and as close to the wall as possible to make some room for you.

“It’ll be fine.” He reassured you. You slid into the bed, finding comfort under the blankets. You laid on your side facing Tom, and it was then that you realized just how small the twin bed was— you two were close enough to each other that you could feel his minty breath fan over your cheeks, which still made you nervous even though just ten minutes ago he’d kissed you.

“We’re never going to fall asleep like this.” You teased softly. Tom let out a quiet laugh, shuffling so he was flatter on his back, giving you room to lay in his arms. With your head pressed to his bare chest and his strong arms circling around you, you finally found warmth.

“You’re really warm.” You mumbled into his chest, snuggling into his embrace and letting your legs tangle comfortably with his. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had cuddled, but it was the first time the two of you have cuddled on a tiny bed and with him being shirtless.

“Makes me the best cuddling partner.” Tom mumbled, his chest shaking lightly underneath you as he chuckled. You hummed in agreement, a smile forming on your face.

“Do you two ever shut up?” You heard Harrison question from the bunk above you.

“Do you always have to ruin a perfectly good moment?” Tom replied, and you subconsciously snuggled deeper into his embrace.

“I better not wake up in the middle of the night to noises.” He grumbled. The bed shuffled as he flipped over in his bed to get comfortable.

“Haz, that’s just you snoring.” You teased. He muttered something incoherent and you whispered to Tom, “Let’s wait until he starts snoring and then move his mattress to the lake.”

“Deal.”

Unfortunately for you but luckily for Harrison, you drifted off quickly, listening to the sound of Tom’s heart beating underneath you. You couldn’t help yourself; he made for the best pillow and the best heat source.

The next morning, you woke up with a start, hearing a loud thud from right beside you. Blearily, you leaned over the edge of the twin bed to find the source of the sound; when you saw a groaning, half-asleep Tom on the floor below you, a fit of laughter overcame you. The blankets were falling off the bed, all tangled up in his legs.

“Did you fall off the bed?” Harrison asked, even though all three of you already knew the answer, and you looked up to see him peering over the edge of the bunk bed.

“It’s not funny.” Tom muttered, frowning in faux annoyance at your continued laughter.

You held your hands out to him, offering to help him up even though you were in an impossible position to really help, still laying in the actual bed. Teasingly, you asked, “You got an owie?”

Chuckling, Tom reached up and grabbed your hands, pulling you off the bed. You let out a yelp as you landed on top of him, in a similar position to just last night. Your legs subconsciously fell on either side of his to somewhat straddle him, and you lifted yourself up on the palms of your hands to look down at him properly, a smile etched on your face. The familiar intoxicating pull from last night returned; you almost forgot Harrison was in the room— key word, almost.

“Get up before I come down there and join in.”

And with that, you quickly got off of Tom, and he scrambled to his feet. As Harrison came down the bunk bed ladder, you and Tom put the blankets back onto the bottom bed. You pondered where last night left the two of you, and you weren’t sure how to approach the subject. You were clearly more than friends, but were you more than friends in front of the others?

“What’s for breakfast?” Harrison asked, cutting you off from your thoughts. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you tried to somehow be alone with Tom to talk things over. It felt odd how things ended last night— not a bad odd, but odd nonetheless. Between the guys going for yet another run and you all spending time at the lake together, it just seemed like the opportunity would never come.

“God, I can’t believe it took you that long.” Rose teased, a giddy smile on her face as she cut off your recounting of last night. The boys were outside chopping some firewood while you, Rose, and Jane prepared dinner.

Jane winked at you jokingly, “What was it like?”

“What was what like? The kissing?” You asked, and she nodded.

“We want all the details!”

“In all honesty, it was the best kiss of my life.” You admitted, the butterflies you felt last night returning at just the thought.

As the three of you continued to talk, coo, and gossip about the four boys outside, they were hard at work. The late afternoon summer sun was bearing down on them, and they had stripped away their shirts earlier. Tom decided very early on that he didn’t like chopping wood, even if Harrison was somehow worse at it than him. While Tom and Harrison mainly kept to themselves, Will and Tyler had their own conversations going, despite the others clearly within earshot.

“You and Jane— I don’t know how you do it. One girl for all those years?” Will commented, and Tyler laughed with a shrug.

“It’s been so long, I don’t know what I would do without her. Plus, she’s the best fuck I’ve ever had.” Tyler said crassly, making his friend laugh.

“Mine was by far Y/N.” He stated, loudly, as if to ensure that Tom would hear it. At the sound of your name, Tom and Harrison both began to listen in on the conversation.

“It’s been years. Surely, there’s been someone else.”

“Nope.” Will protested, stopping his work to lean on the axe handle, “She was supposed to come over last night, but she must’ve gotten lost.” Tom couldn’t stop himself from scoffing at his words. Hearing the sound, Will turned to face Tom, “Got something to say?”

“Yeah, I do actually.” Tom said, dropping the axe. Holding himself up straighter, he made his way closer to Will. Harrison hesitantly stepped closer to Tom as the brunet continued, “She didn’t get lost, she just had a better option.”

“Better option? You mean you?” He bit back. “Yesterday, you couldn’t even do a simple hike without hurting yourself, and you’re shit at chopping wood. You may think you’re hot shit in London, but this is my turf, movie star. I’m the one who gets the girl here.”

Harrison went to grab Tom’s balled fist, but he was too late as Tom had already swung, nailing the surprised Will right in the nose. Will responded quickly, throwing a punch back at Tom. Tyler and Harrison exchanged questioning looks, silently wondering if they should break up the fight or just let them go at it, but the pair decided the former was probably a better idea.

Aware of sudden commotion outside, you, Rose, and Jane all rushed to the balcony, wondering what could possibly be happening. The fight between Tom and Will was ending as Harrison and Tyler both successfully pulled their respective friends away from the other. Even from the distance, you could see the new bruises on Tom’s face and Will’s bloody nose; it was most likely broken, but you didn’t have it in you to care. The boys were unaware of you and the others, until Harrison looked up at the balcony. He gave you a sad smile, and Tom was next to look up. Ashamed, he didn’t dare to meet your eyes and, instead, grabbed his shirt from a nearby log and trudged his way down to the lake.

Your eyes flickered to Will, and a pit of anger flamed inside you. Just by the look on his face, you didn’t even need to question who was the antagonist. Not bothering to say a word to Rose or Jane, you marched downstairs and out to where Will, Tyler, and Harrison remained.

“What did you say to him?” You questioned Will angrily. 

“Nothing he didn’t already know.” He replied nonchalantly.

“That’s bullshit, Will. This is all just bullshit. Every chance you get, you bring up something to antagonize Tom and embarrass me. And, every time you do that, you just remind me that you’re half the man Tom is.”

“You’re acting like I was the one to start the fight. News flash, princess, your man threw the first punch.” Will said, bitterly.

You stepped closer to him, your eyes hardening, and you swore you saw fear flicker in his eyes. “Believe me, if Tom hadn’t broken your nose already, I would break it myself.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and headed down to the lake. You knew they were all watching you-- Harrison, Tyler, and Will from the ground and Rose and Jane from the balcony. The sun was already starting to line the tops of the trees across the lake, and you felt your anger slowly dissipating as you saw Tom sitting on the dock. With his legs swinging off the edge, he looked at peace, but you knew him better than that; a storm was brewing in his head.

You didn’t say anything, and Tom made no effort to look away from his hands in his lap as you approached. Silently, you sat down right next to him at the end of the dock. Now that you were beside him, you noticed the bruise forming on his eyebrow and the cut on his lip. Will definitely got a few good shots at him, but you could tell Tom had gotten him worse. Your eyes trailed down to his hands; his knuckles were red in agony. Slowly, you reached your hand out to grab his injured one.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Tom mumbled, but you could tell he was holding back the truth. You tenderly placed a kiss on each of his red knuckles before intertwining your fingers.

“Wanna talk about what happened?” You asked him quietly, fearing if you spoke too loud the fragile moment would somehow be ruined.

“He was talking about you like you were just a good fuck and nothing more.” He replied, his voice just as soft as yours.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, your heart fluttering at the thought that he was defending you. You let go of his hand and turned to properly face him. The smile never left your face as you cupped his face in your hands. Confused, Tom asked through a laugh, “What are you doing?”

You kissed his bruised eyebrow before responding, “Well, I’ve got to kiss it better, don’t I?”

“I think you missed a spot then.” Tom pointed to his lips with a cheeky grin. You pressed a chaste kiss to the cut on his lip, before teasingly pulling away. You didn’t get far as Tom’s hand went to the back of your neck, bringing you in for another, deeper kiss. Caught up in the moment, you somehow forgot about his cut; it wasn’t until you nibbled on his bottom lip, accidentally catching the cut, that you remembered and Tom pulled away with a quiet groan.

“I’m sorry.” You said through a laugh, though you were still genuinely concerned about him. Your fingers traced lightly over the agitated cut.

“It’s okay.” He reassured you. One of his hands trailed up your arm to your own hand, and he brought it to his lips, kissing it just as gently as you had kissed his knuckles. “You’re cold.”

“Guess my personal heater isn’t working.” You teased.

“Come here.” Tom beckoned you closer to him. You slid into his side, snuggling into his warm embrace. With his arm hanging around your shoulders, you slipped your fingers through his, smiling at the ease of it all.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You mumbled, looking at the beauty of the lake and the sunset before you. It was like a scene from a painting, a scene you wanted to memorize forever.

Tom pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you in closer to him. “We can stay here as long as you’d like, darling.”

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 13

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a     desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it? Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

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Chapter 13: Until My Heart Stops Beating

< | Previous Chapter

The rest of the day prior to your wedding was spent in partial tension. You never found out what the favor Techno had called for was exactly, but you didn’t mind. Truthfully, you were increasingly more focused on your wedding. It was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time, and you practically had to force yourself to sleep that night. You awoke far earlier than normal because of it, moving around your room anxiously.

You eventually lowered yourself into your bath, taking care to make sure you were clean. You let the steam from the water curl around you, sighing and trying your best to relax. Thinking about today caused your stomach to erupt in butterflies and a smile to spread across your face. You truly hoped today went well. Eventually you stood up, stepping out of the tub and sliding into a shift.

There was a soft knock on your door after a few moments of you just sitting, and you called whoever it was in. Eret slid into the room, offering you a smile. A bundle of white fabric sat in his arms, and a few servants followed behind him with various things. “Good morning to our bride,” He practically cooed, motioning towards a servant to the table between chairs. She followed, setting down a tray where he pointed. She hurriedly bowed, leaving the room soon after. You watched Eret settle the fabric onto your bed, the remaining servants following in setting down boxes of other stuff. He sent them off, before turning to you.

“Morning Eret,” You murmured, returning his earlier smile. He seemed content, motioning towards the tray of food.

“Go ahead and eat, we’ll start with your hair. Are you nervous?” You reached for the cup of tea, bringing it to your lips and adjusting yourself so Eret had access to your hair.

“Very. Also excited, but I imagine it’s to be expected,” You managed to explain, letting Eret run a brush through your hair. You took your time with the food, enjoying the way Eret tended to your appearance. You didn’t normally allow yourself to get pampered like this, so you wouldn’t mind doing it this once. 

“I imagine so. It’ll all go fine, though. It’ll probably go by better than you expect.” He made sure your hair was laying perfectly, humming under his breath as he did.

“Hopefully it goes smoothly, I do have some concerns though,” You sighed out the words, thinking about Dream. You hoped he would behave, truly. You would be extremely upset if he didn’t.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Eret reassured. You watched him move towards the fabric on the bed, peering at the lace he picked up. The veil. Your stomach erupted into nervous butterflies at the sight of it, examining delicate lace as he brought it over. The edges were thorned vines, leaves of white lace lying beneath light blue ribbon roses. You marveled it as he brought it close, unable to help your smile.

“You really outdid yourself,” You couldn’t stop the praise from leaving your mouth, reaching out to run your fingers along it.

“Just wait until you see the full dress. Turn your head.” You did as he instructed, turning away from him so he could start setting the pins of the veil into your hair. The lace tickled your shoulders, but you did your best to keep still. He softly grasped your shoulders once he was finished, giving them a squeeze. You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you. He disappeared to the bed once more, rustling through the boxes and bringing one over. You peered into it curiously, eyeing the roses inside. They were fresh, white ones from the garden. You laughed softly, turning to face him so he could situate them in your hair.

Eret lined them up along the edge of your veil, making sure they sat perfectly in your hair. The pins would be a pain to take out later tonight, but you didn’t entirely mind it right now. “Are you finished eating?” He questioned once he finished, moving to grab another box before you replied. You nodded when he returned, watching him pull out kohl from the box.

You instinctively closed your eyes, letting him line them with the makeup without question. He softly murmured when you were good to open them. He took his time applying a stain to your cheeks and lips, stepping back to examine his work. He sighed softly, smiling at you. “You’re going to be a vision,” He murmured, making your cheeks flush.

“You think so?” You questioned, acutely aware of the fluttering of your stomach.

“I know so. Come on, let’s get you in your dress.” He motioned you to stand up, and you did so on shaking legs. The anxiety regarding your marriage was starting to leak through now, and you couldn’t hide it. Eret offered you a reassuring look, sorting through the bundles of fabric settled on your bed. He grabbed one of sections of fabric, holding it out to you. You examined it, easily identifying the petticoat and slipping it on over your shift.

Next he moved towards you, holding out another section of fabric. The actual dress. The sleeves were made of tulle, a light blue in color, flaring out away from ribbon roses at the elbows made to match the ones on your veil. The base of the dress was simple. White, with a deep scooping neckline. He helped guide it over your head, situating it around your shift. You couldn’t help but watch as he adjusted the tulle on the skirt. Ribbon Roses decorated the scalloped edges of the tulle, exposing the white skirt beneath. 

The stay was next, matching the dress with the white fabric embroidered delicately with blue roses. Eret’s brows were furrowed as he meticulously tightened the ribbons on it, making sure it sat perfectly. Once he had, he stepped back to examine you with a soft sigh. You flushed a little beneath the appraising gaze. He moved around again, grabbing a simple pair of shoes and stooping to slide them onto your feet. Moving in the dress almost felt weird, despite it not being too different in make than your most formal dresses. Perhaps it felt heavy with the meaning.

“One last touch,” Eret said, moving towards the final box on the bed. You had given him the earrings Techno gave you, as well as the necklace from Dream, for him to keep a hold of until today. You knew that was what sat within the box, watching him gingerly pick up the necklace to drape it around your neck. He tilted your head, sliding in the earrings and stepping back to give you a full look over.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the envy of so many,” He praised, and you shifted almost self consciously. The fact that you were wearing this dress caused you to fidget nervously.

“It doesn’t feel real,” You murmured, shifting around to search out the mirror you had. The rustling of your skirts felt loud in your ears, eyes roving over your appearance. It felt like something from a book, something so etherally unreal. 

“It is, I promise. I’ll go get your brother,” He whispered, stepping towards the door. You watched him, before turning your eyes back to your reflection. What would today hold for you? The ceremony was straight forward, but the celebration itself felt so unsure. Anything could happen.

A soft knock resounded at your door, causing you to turn once more. George pushed open the door, carefully shutting it behind him. He stared at you for several long moments, seeming at a loss for words. It was probably weird, seeing you about to be married.

“It’s so hard to believe you’re my baby sister,” He practically echoed your thoughts, walking towards you. You laughed softly, nodding along.

“I guess I’m really not a baby anymore, am I?” You questioned, watching as he placed his hands on your shoulders. You leaned ever so slightly into the touch, a smile tugging your lips.

“No. Are you sure you still want this?” He watched you closely, looking for any change in your expression.

“Of course. Techno is kind, and his family is enjoyable. I have easily found friends here, and I know I can just as easily make a happy life. I will always miss you and Dream, but we’ll all move on.” You gently grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it tightly. George smiled, seeming almost sad.

“The castle won’t ever be the same. You’ve grown up so much.” He returned the squeeze, and you could only nod. You did yearn for the ease you felt of your teenage years in the castle. The lack of responsibilities you had felt, being able to run around and goof off with Dream. However you felt more freedom now than you had there. It was a new feeling, but a welcome one.

“I’ll miss some parts of it, but I’m excited for my future here. Everyone is so kind,” You constantly reassured him, letting him move you away from the mirror.

“Eret said he was going to check on Technoblade, but he’d tell us when everything was ready. Are you ready for this?” He settled into one of the chairs, pulling you into the one beside him.

“As ready as I can be. I’m nervous. There’s a lot happening today,” You folded your hands in your lap, legs bouncing.

“I can imagine. You put a lot of work into planning this, didn’t you?” You sat up straight, having problems trying to relax. The nerves were unbearable.

“Sort of, I just had input. Eret handled a lot of the main plans. Him, Wilbur, and Nihachu deserve more credit than I do.” You could hardly take any of the responsibility. You didn’t put in much actual work, just feedback. 

“Still, it’s not everyday you get married. Everything will go fine,” George reassured, giving you a smile. Truly, you didn’t know what you would do without him. Probably fall apart, you imagined. The two of you chattered softly as you waited, George attempting to keep your nerves soothed. It wasn’t too long before there was a knock at the door, Eret popping his head in.

“Everything’s ready now. Are you ready?” His voice was gentle, and you offered a soft smile. 

“As ready as I can be,” You sighed, standing up. George followed, lingering right beside you.

“You know where to go, right? I’ll go ahead and wait there, give the two of you a few more moments,” Eret spoke softly, as if anything louder would break the calmness. You appreciated it, whispering your thanks as he left. George turned to you, taking your hands in his.

“The wedding will go wonderfully, I know it. Mom and Dad send their best wishes. It’s hard to believe my baby sister is all grown up and getting married now.” The way he spoke and squeezed your hands had tears springing to your eyes. They threatened to spill as he pulled you in for a hug, kissing your forehead. You carefully laid your head against his shoulder, clinging to him.

“I’m really going to miss our garden walks,” you whispered, and he nodded.

“I will too. Don’t keep them waiting, though. I don’t want your husband to come looking for you.” George finally pulled away from you, leading you towards the door to your room. You followed, taking a deep breath. Silence lapsed between the pair of you as you wandered down the hallway and stairs. You were led through the courtyard, towards the garden. Nerves pooled in your stomach, and you hoped it didn’t show.

George gripped your hand in reassurance, walking with you down the path. Eyes were on you, and you were very aware of it. Among those eyes, though, were Techno’s. At the other end of the aisle. Hands folded in front of him, a pale cape fastened around his shoulders. A blue sash was tied around his waist, similar in color to the blue accents on your dress. The emerald rose brooch sat against the stark white of his shirt, clearly visible from the other end. The black prongs of his crown stood tall, a heavy contrast to the pink locks fanned around it. His braid was ornamented with gold chains, jewels interspersed within the chains.

In short, he was definitely a regal sight standing there. You were reluctant to let go of George’s hand in exchange for Techno’s, yet did all the same. You briefly watched your brother move away, taking a spot beside Dream. You watched your friend for a few moments, shifting beneath his gaze. His gaze was dark, and he offered you a smile. You supposed it was meant to be encouraging, but it never quite reached his eyes. You didn’t care to think too much on it, attention focusing back in on Techno.

He was staring down at you, a soft look in his brown eyes. That helped quell the nerves in your chest, and you offered him a smile as soft as the look he gave you. A moment of peace, almost to yourselves, as the Officiant was droning on beside the two of you.

“...to unite two separate souls into that of one. This braid of ribbon will signify their unity and bind them together, from now until eternity.” The man lifted a thick braid of ribbon, made of three colors: red, white, and black. Small vines of flowers were interwoven with it, and it was certainly pretty. Techno kept one hand with yours, the other taking one end of the ribbon braid from the wrinkled hand holding it out to him.

“Do you swear, on all that you hold dear, that you will protect this woman with your entire being? That you will give her everything you have, in wealth and love?” He rattled as Techno began gingerly weaving the braid around your joined hands. It caused butterflies to stir in your stomach, just watching it. His eyebrows were even knitted together in concentration, the very tip of his tongue peaking out of his mouth. 

“I swear on it all, that I will care for her until I draw my last breath.” There was a warmth to his voice that had your cheeks flushing, a smile tugging the corners of your lips up further. You carefully took the braid from him when prompted, weaving it around your hands as well.

“Do you swear, to all you hold close, that you will support this man with your entirety? That through everything, injury and health, sickness and wealth, you will stay by his side?” You finished weaving the braid as he spoke, the two ends hanging loose beneath your hands.

“I swear it. I’ll be by his side until my heart stops beating.” Your voice rang clear, and the officiant seemed content with it.

“Then I will tie the loose ends of this braid. This represents the joining of your two wayward souls joining together to be one. In the presence of the sky and the earth, the trials of water and fire, you will forever be one. Even beyond mortality, you will always be with one another, through this life and the next.” As he spoke, he very carefully grasped the ends of the braid. They were tied together, locking their hands in a grasp. You couldn’t help the grin that split your face at that, turning to look up at Techno.

He offered you a soft smile, taking a step closer to you and carefully gripping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. Your stomach practically exploded into nervous butterflies. The kiss. You had forgotten the kiss. He leaned down, lips pressing to yours firmly. It was just a kiss of obligation, a part of the ceremony, but it had heat crawling over your cheeks and down your neck. He lingered, fingers gently squeezing yours. You couldn’t help but respond to the squeeze, stepping a little closer to him.

He was pulling back after a few heartbeats, smiling at you once more and turning towards the people. You couldn’t help the squeak that escaped you as he held up your bound hands, causing a few of them to cheer. Part of you wanted to hide, but you simply stuck as close to Techno’s side as you could.

“Let’s party!!” Tommy’s voice rang out from the crowd. He was clearly exhausted with all the ceremonial things, though you weren’t entirely sure you blamed him. Weddings weren’t too exciting, though your nerves would beg to differ. You felt like a frazzled mess on the inside, and you still had an entire day to go.

You and Techno stood back, watching the crowd filter towards the ball room. You glanced to the ribbon binding your hands, acutely aware of the feeling of Techno's fingers slotted between yours. You supposed that you were giving the boys time to set up for the first dance. You just accepted the silence, practically leaning against your husband.

"After the dance we'll be able to take the ribbon off. You won’t be tied to me all day." Amusement laced his voice, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"It's not all bad. A little inconvenient, but all in all it's fine." You looked up to him with a smile, which he returned. Your free hand moved, toying with the ends of the ribbon. The pair of you only stood there for a little longer before you heard Tommy shouting for the pair of you to hurry up. You couldn’t help but laugh. Did he ever stop having energy? You followed Techno along the path winding through the garden, the soft chatter from the ballroom floating over the veranda.

"You did it, Big Man! You're a married man!" Tommy cheered when the pair of you walked in, slinging an arm around both of your shoulders. "Now that this is my sister-in-law," the way he said it, reeling you close to him with a shit eating grin told you this was going to be entertaining, "I can fight her now, right?"

A loud laugh bubbled past your lips at the antics, watching Techno huff and swat at his brother with his free hand. "We'll see." This seemed to be enough to placate Tommy for the time being, sending him scurrying off towards where Tubbo and Wilbur were messing with the instruments in the corner. You watched the blond pester his brother and best friend, a fond smile on your face. He was quite excitable about this all, but it's not like the pair of you had been complete strangers over the past few weeks.

Besides your common training with Techno, you would often spend time sneaking about the castle with Tommy and Tubbo, quietly helping them with all sorts of trouble that they got into. Not to mention the time you spent in the libraries by yourself, or the gardens with Eret. While in the library there were times Wilbur or Philza would visit you. You never minded it, though. Their silent companionship was warm and comfortable. Yet Techno always seemed to hesitate when it came to letting you train with his family. Surely they couldn’t be worse than him- or better, you supposed.

“Spare a coin for your thoughts?” Techno pulled you from your musings of his family, your gaze moving to him instead. You only spared a glance to the others before fully focusing on Techno.

“Just thinking about your family. How you’ve never let me really train with them. Only letting them watch. Is there a certain reason?” Your voice was soft, not willing anyone to hear your words. He paused any movement, seeming to clearly think over the answer. Or perhaps how to best frame it. You weren’t sure why he was thinking so hard, but you could practically see the wheels turning as he did.

“Tommy is reckless. Tubbo is… alright with fighting, a bit clumsy but enthusiastic. Philza is a much higher combat level than I would want you to fight just yet. As for Wilbur…” He trailed off, practically staring off behind your head. You turned, following his gaze to his older brother. The brown-haired prince was toying with the instrument, muttering to Tubbo before looking at Techno with a grin. He gave a thumbs up, and you could see Techno incline his head in a subtle nod before turning to you. “Well, Wilbur is encouraging us to dance.”

If you squinted, you swore you could see the faintest trace of pink on Techno’s cheeks. However you didn’t care to squint too hard, simply positioning the pair of you to dance. He squeezed your still joined hands, other hand hovering momentarily over the middle of your back before settling. Almost as if he had been unsure of the action. Once the two of you had settled comfortably into the position, the soft strings of Wilbur’s instrument filled the room, paired with the gentle notes from Tubbo at the piano. You were half focused on the music, partially focused on your husband. He pulled you along the floor effortlessly, spinning you with a practiced elegance you should have been expecting.

“Why not Wilbur?” You prodded again, only when you had fallen in line with the music as well as Techno. A soft sigh passed his lips as he gazed at you, eyes darting around to the people who were watching you.

“It’s complicated. Best we don’t go into it now.” His tone left no room for argument, a voice he rarely used with you- only when the pair of you trained. You responded with your own sigh, a little disappointed. You supposed you understood, but that didn’t make you any less curious. What was it that made Techno not want you to train with Wilbur?

“Later, then.” You were a little reluctant to agree. You trusted him to tell you whatever it was later. You would be rather upset if he didn’t. The two of you lapsed into silence as you danced. You were so acutely aware of many things. The gazes on you. The pressure of the ribbon braid on your hand. The feel of Techno’s hand on your back. The way you caught Dream’s dark gaze whenever he was in your line of sight. It was a lot, and truly you weren’t sure what to make out of it all.

It felt almost as soon as the dance and music had started, it was ending. Applause poured around you and you fidgeted. You were used to attention, but the attention you were receiving at your wedding was not something you could have ever prepared yourself for. Techno pulled away from you some, almost awkwardly, before reaching for the ribbon. “Why don’t we get this off and you can go dance with your brother. He looks restless.” You turned to look at George, who did in fact appear to be restless. He was shifting, eyes on the pair of you. You offered up a smile, holding up a finger to tell him you would be a moment.

The ribbon peeled from your hands after a few moments. Techno gingerly folded it, tucking it into his pocket. You smiled at him as well, rubbing your hand from where the ribbon had pressed into it. “Go, I’ll play a song. Since I’m required to.” He didn’t necessarily sound happy and you could only laugh.

“Alright. I’ll see you when I get a break. I know everyone is going to want to dance.” You slipped away from Techno to instead make way to George, grinning at him.

“Don’t look so nervous,” You teased, nudging him. He gave a shaking laugh.

“I can’t help it. There’s something almost tense about this whole thing. It feels so formal.” You understood what he meant. You knew marriages in Kinoko were different to this. They were more casual, even for royal families.

“It is strange. Almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” George had nodded in response. “Well then, Crown Prince Nofton,” you began to tease, a lopsided grin on your face. A reminder that you still were, in a way, his little sister he grew up with. “Are you going to keep me waiting?” You held out a hand, arching an eyebrow at him.

“My apologies, Crown Princess Minraelas. Would you honor me, your dearest brother, with a dance on your wedding day?” He bowed dramatically, grin matching your own. His tone was lofty, poking subtle fun at the way the courts of larger countries held themselves. You simply giggled as he took your hand, gently holding it and your shoulder with his other. “It even seems your husband will be playing a song for us.” He was struggling to contain his laughter, and you were barely managing.

The low sound of a violin drifted into the room, causing your head to turn to look at Techno. His eyes were closed as he ran the bow along the strings of the instrument, fingers moving against frets with clear familiarity. For all the resistance he had put up to playing the song, he seemed at peace with it now. You smiled, attention turning back to your brother as he pulled you into the throng of dancing people. "So it would seem," you concluded, letting the pair of you spin gently together as violin notes filled the air.

"You'll still write, won't you?" George had asked again, and you simply laughed softly.

"Always. I promise I'll tell you if I'm ever put into danger." You offered him a reassuring smile and he simply nodded. He seemed content enough, and you knew he had to be. He really was watching you grow up, wasn't he?

"If you don't write, I'm sending our entire army to rescue you." His lips quirked, a breathless laugh escaping him. You couldn't help but laugh as well.

"What makes you think I couldn't hold my own? I'm learning to fight now!" You declared, puffing your chest out just slightly. This elicited another laugh from your brother.

"No offense, but Technoblade handed you your ass. I think you might need the help of an army." You pouted at this, nose wrinkling just a little.

"Well, I doubt it'll ever come to the point of me having to truly fight."  You waved it off, shooting him a smile. “I’m well taken care of here. They like me.” You twisted, looking over to where Tubbo was speaking to Tommy. The brunet caught your gaze, brightening and offering you a cheerful wave. You lifted your hand briefly from George’s, returning the wave. Your attention returned to your brother, who simply smiled gently.

“I can tell. I just worry about you being where I can’t see you.” His voice was gentle, hand once more grasping your own. Your gaze softened slightly, head shaking just a little.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Gogy. I swear to you, I’ll be fine. Happy. Free.” The childhood nickname had rolled off of your tongue with familiarity. A sign of how genuine you were. No formalities. Just two siblings.

He had sighed in response, hugging you tight for a moment. “I know. It’s hard to not see you as one.” You could reluctantly accept that, returning the hug. “I suppose I can’t keep your company for myself. Go, dance with Dream. He probably wants to.”

The words brought your attention to the blond, catching his eye and smiling a little. His gaze seemed conflicted- caught somewhere between soft and affectionate, and hard and frustrated. You tried your best to ignore it, waving him over slightly. He seemed to hesitate, before running his hands down the front of the green tunic he wore and heading your way. 

“Princess,” he greeted gently once he was close. Your eyes shone with light-hearted fondness, taking his proffered hand. He tugged you closer to him, one hand curled with yours while the fingers of the other dug slightly into your waist. You shrugged the grip off a little, free hand settling onto his shoulder, fingers fingers brushing the white fur of the cape that sat there. 

“For now,” You teased, beaming up at him. Mischief was clear in your grin, letting him whisk you away along the dance floor. His eye flickered with something- too quick for you to notice. Then it was looking over your head, seemingly focusing on someone else. You almost turned to look, but he was soon focused on you. He moved way too fast for you to keep up. It was exhausting, yet you weren't sure you wanted to bother with it right now. Not today.

His fingers grasped your waist tighter. "You're really set on this, aren't you? Are you even sure you truly want to become queen to him? To this nation?" Disgust and irritation laced his words. Hell, he even sounded accusatory. You frowned up at him, squaring your shoulders.

"I've told you this before. I'm going through with this. I'm fine. You and George worry too much. Praelicentiam has treated me well," you reassured. Your fingers smoothed the fur of his cloak, praying it was enough.

He still looked disgruntled, lips tugging into a small scowl. "You know if things go wrong-" he started, but you shook his head to cut him off.

"I can return to Kinoko. I know. You and George have told me this more times than I can count."  Your eyes fluttered shut in an attempt to calm yourself. His grip relaxed in the process, tugging you even closer.

"I just worry for you here. You've heard the rumors. I feel like you'd be safer in Kinoko." Where he could watch you. It was left unsaid, but definitely implied. He leaned down, pressing a feather light and affectionate kiss to your forehead. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you made to move away, saved by the clearing of a throat.

"Surely you wouldn't mind if I stole our bride for a dance?" A firm hand sat on your arm, drawing your attention to the blond man who had interrupted. Philza stood there, a kind yet unnerving smile directed to your childhood friend. 

Dream narrowed his eye for a moment before he relented, handing you over to the man. "Of course not. I'll talk to you later, princess." The distaste in his voice was palpable, but you were able to ignore it.

"You were starting to look like a deer caught in the middle of a path," Philza pulled your attention to him as he moved with you to the music. You couldn’t help but laugh nervously. 

"Dream can be a lot sometimes." Philza had simply inclined his head in acknowledgement as you spoke. Dream always had a way to be intense, and you never deciphered if it was good. It had been that way for the past year. You were hardly given time to dwell on your best friend, though. Instead you were being handed over to Tommy, who seemed far from thrilled. Just behind him you could see Wilbur, throwing him a very pointed look.

He didn't seem to linger with his dance, grumbling the whole time about how he hated these formal events. Much like the child he was. You would only laugh, knocking his ankles with your feet.

Then you were off to Tubbo, who's eyes were just as bright as his grin. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying my wedding more than I am." It was a lighthearted tease but he couldn't help but sheepishly laugh.

"For now I am, yeah," he acknowledged. You followed his gaze over your shoulder, where Schlatt stood holding a cup of wine. You supposed he wasn't looking forward to dealing with his father. You didn't blame him. Beside Schlatt stood Dream, his eye focused solely on you. The pair seemed quiet, thankfully. The idea of Schlatt talking too much with Dream made your stomach churn. You didn't doubt that Schlatt would be able to make Dream do something stupid- the older man was no doubt irritating.

The music faded to a new song, joined with a new dance partner. Your feet were aching, begging for a chance to sit down. Yet you supposed it was obligatory to dance with people. At least your new family seemed to believe so. Which is why Wilbur was now gliding you across the dance floor. He held himself with a poise very akin to Techno’s, a practiced poise and grace to his movements.

As if the way he held himself as he danced wasn't reminder enough, he couldn't help but joke, "If things had gone differently perhaps I would have been the one to promise you my last breath." He laughed, shooting you an amused smile. You echoed his laugh, briefly pondering how different Praelicentiam may have been.

"We'll never know, shall we? I think I prefer you my brother, anyways." He nodded in agreement, one hand softly patting your hair. It was exhausting, being on your feet this long. You needed to eat.

Eret seemed to realize this as they stepped up to you, holding a hand out. "One dance with me and I'll get you back to Technoblade. You've been dancing awhile." You let your shoulders sag a little.

"Just one dance, then. I'm exhausted." A whine edged into your voice. They laughed and nodded, seeming satisfied once you placed a hand into their's. Their movements were a comfort, in a way. You felt endlessly comfortable with them.

"Do you miss Kinoko?" They questioned after a few moments, making your steps stutter. It wasn't a question you expected from them.

You regained yourself, offering a soft smile. "Of course. It's my home, there's people I love there. It'll always be my home and I'll always yearn for it. The path laid ahead of me led me here, though. This is my home just as much." You loved Kinoko endlessly. Yet you were growing to love Praelicentiam. This was going to be your kingdom one day. You needed to learn to love it and it's people.

Eret seemed to think on your answer, sighing softly. "So long as you find happiness."

"I'll be happy here," you were quick to defend, offering a smile. They relented, and pulled back as the song came to an end.

"Fine, fine. Let's get you off of your feet." You were more than happy to follow Eret as they led you through the mix of people. As if it was even hard to spot Techno, where he stood talking quietly to a short man. You barely got a look at him before you were noticed. The man looked at you from behind glasses before smiling, seeming to disappear into the crowd before you got close. You frowned, lifting an eyebrow at Techno.

"Finally had enough socialization?" His voice called to you once within range. Eret squeezed your shoulder, muttering about how they needed to attend to other matters and disappearing.

"More than enough. Who was that?" You tried to locate the man in the crowd, but he was nowhere you could see. Weird.

“Someone running a favor for me.” It was a bland answer but you supposed there wasn’t much to expect. You simply relaxed into his hand as it settled between your shoulder blades, steering you towards seating. It took everything in your power to not sink into the chair as it was pulled out for you. You had a feeling that now that you were seated, you’d be there for a long while. 

Techno settled into the seat beside you, his eyes raking over everyone else. Watching as if he expected something. You followed the gaze, trying to view things as he did. Yet you couldn’t. All you saw was people partying, enjoying their time there. Eret was conversing with George, your older brother struggling to stifle laughter. Wilbur was talking to Nihachu and two people you couldn’t recognize. One was a woman, tall with a mop of curls like you had never seen. The way her fingers curled with Nihachu’s gave you enough clue on who she was. The other was a man, currently laughing over something you wished you could hear. He seemed to be laughing hard, struggling to keep ginger and white locks of hair out of his face. 

You sought out the younger two, knowing they would be joined at the hip. It wasn’t too hard. They stood with another- a boy? He looked young in the face, from what you could see given the slightly anxious expression he wore. Light patches of skin quite a few shades lighter littered him, dual colored eyes focusing on Tommy. His hair was like an extreme version of the man who was with Wilbur- yet instead of ginger there was black. As well as several patches of white as opposed to a single tuft. He was certainly a sight to behold and you swore you had never seen him before. You would have remembered him.

You pushed it aside, for now. You sought out the few other people you knew still. Dream was in a corner, arms crossed over his chest as he talked to a guard. You could tell it was a Kinoko guard, but couldn’t tell who. You tried to look harder to figure it out- you grew up with much of the guard- but it was pointless. His back was to you. It would be more worth it to continue your conversation with Technoblade. “You seem to have a lot of people doing favors for you.”

He huffed in laughter beside you, turning his attention from the people. Instead he watched you, amusement bright in brown eyes.”I’m the crown prince. Of course I have a lot of favors being done.”

“What type of favors?” You questioned, kicking your feet just slightly. You wanted to know. As much time as you spent training with Techno, you didn’t know what he did beyond that. He was still as much of a mystery to you as when he walked into Kinoko.

He shook his head, eyes flicking towards the people again. “Things I would prefer you to stay out of unless necessary. Instead of thinking about that, think about food.” You opened your mouth to complain but he was already waving a servant over, mentioning food to them. The boy nodded, turning to go fetch the food.

You let yourself focus on the food. You’d already tried pushing Techno on one subject today and had to leave it alone, you weren’t going to try a second one. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, either. Everything that had happened today had made you hungry. At least the food was good. You were still having to adjust to the amount of food too. Kinoko hadn’t been able to eat like this in quite some time. You wondered if George and Dream felt similarly to the food- though you were sure that Praelicentiam had since begun to send food over.

It was only when you had finished you truly began to wind down. So did much of the celebration. People left the room with stomachs full of wine and good food. You’d have to thank Nihachu for it. In the morning, though. She had already left with her girlfriend. You were eager to join the crowds of people leaving. You were ready to go to sleep. 

Which was a problem.

You had been taught for so much of your life what was expected of you on your wedding night. Your mom had made sure of that, unwilling to see her daughter get hurt in ignorance. Yet, it still had a weight settling in your stomach. A rock lodged in your throat. Why was it now that you felt the fear Dream was so insistent you felt? Was it because you didn’t know what to expect from Techno?

You couldn’t help but glance at him, fingers toying with your dress. You honestly hoped it was nothing like training. It made you wince, which pulled his attention to you instead. “Are you tired?” His voice was low. You hesitated, glancing towards the few people who still lingered. George and Dream had both left, as well as Tommy, Tubbo, and their tall friend. So few people were here now. You gave in and nodded. There was no point in sticking around. Techno stood up then, holding a hand out for you to take.

It was natural for you to let him lead you through the castle, despite you already knowing it pretty well. He seemed to want to make sure you got wherever you were going safely. The silence was crushing and tense. You almost felt like you were drowning in it. Could he hear the way your heart thrummed against your rib cage, or how your blood was roaring in your ears.

Yet he passed his chambers entirely, heading towards yours instead. It threw you off. Weren’t you supposed to consummate the marriage? Your confusion must have been evident, because he spoke softly, “You seem exhausted. Get some sleep.” A hand settled on your shoulder, squeezing softly. Then he leaned around you to open the door, leaving you to your thoughts and wondering why he had taken you to your room instead of his.

[palestinianliberator]

To be Palestinian is exhausting

You will not find a single Palestinian who hasn’t had to endure all of the following and more:

Constantly having to prove our existence

[This is going to be a tremendously long post, but I implore you to read through what you can]

Constantly having to educate everyone around us on our history and people while we continue to be slaughtered

Constantly having to combat Israeli propaganda and dehumanization campaigns against us

Constantly having to combat liberal propaganda from those who simply cannot understand the pain and damage they are doing

Constantly having to defend ourselves from the overwhelming forces that stand in our way, from the Israeli forces to the global institutions that help support it to the structures in the US that mean that any Palestinian who dares speak out risk both their lives and livelihood

Constantly in fear of whether or not you’ll end up on another “list” as a result of daring to speak out

Constantly having to do it all again as soon as we’re back on the news

Constantly having to answer for all other Palestinians in a way that nobody else is expected to

Constantly being seen as the “crazy one” when trying to share your narrative, having to defend against an endless barrage of accusations of antisemitism

Constantly being put into situations by bad-faith actors who attempt to engage in “debate” or “discussion” or “dialogue” with talking points that demean and duhamanize you, all while being expected to maintain a smile and cool composure while someone literally debates to your face your own existence or how “actually it’s YOUR people’s fault you’re being slaughtered! Israel isn’t the bad guy here!”

Constantly being forced to choose between engaging in bad-faith debates framed in a way to make you look like the unreasonable bad guy while the person implicitly defending your ethnic cleansing is made to look like the “rational good guy” or looking after your own mental health, knowing that even refusing these “invitations” is itself a mark against you and your people

Constantly being told that you’re too “biased”, too “close”, too “emotional” about the literal slaughter of your people to be seen as a valid source, while Israelis and complete outsiders are given all the space they want to speak for us endlessly

Constantly seeing people being actively mislead and wondering if you have the capacity to reach out to them and attempt to share your narrative with them, knowing that if you don’t, they’re going to go on to propagate the same lies justifying your ethnic cleansing

Constantly having to combat GENUINE censorship throughout the media, social media, and society itself. It’s a fact proven by former Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Youtube employees that Palestinian voices have their reach censored in a way no one else does, which is why it’s so important to amplify and actively share Palestinian voices rather than just liking or indicating support

Constantly being told you don’t know your own history by people who’ve educated themselves on Youtube and Wikipedia despite having lived the reality yourself and dedicating your entire life to studying every single aspect of it

Constantly seeing those who have the courage to stand alongside you being shut down with accusations of antisemitism and seeing them lose their courage to stand by you out of fear of their own image and livelihood and having to rush to their defense as well

Constantly having to see photos of your people, sometimes even people you know, maimed, injured, murdered, or burned to ash by Israeli aggression but knowing you have a duty to share what’s happening and must stomach the images to show the world the true extent of the suffering we endure

Constantly having to worry not just for your own safety, but the safety of your family and loved ones who can be punished or targeted because of things you yourself say

Constantly wondering who you can actually trust, from new friends and acquaintances to professors to even other Palestinians because we’ve been so heavily infiltrated by Israeli intelligence looking to blackmail Palestinians using anything from their sexual orientation or even made up “evidence” meant to ruin their lives

Constantly having your heart sink every notification you get wondering if it’s news that a loved one has been killed

Constantly seeing the corpses of loved ones shared on social media and reliving the trauma all over again, yet again knowing that you WANT the world to see what’s happening

Constantly seeing the effects this has on your own family and feeling helpless to do anything

Constantly on alert for the FBI at your door as they often “visit” Palestinians who dare speak out, myself included on numerous occasions 

Constantly wondering if your advocacy for your people is going to result in the loss of your job, scholarship, license

Constantly being asked to “humanize” and “feel for” those who live their lives day in day out completely unfazed by your suffering despite living in a society that couldn’t even FUNCTION without our subjugation

Constantly being told “don’t blame regular Israelis, blame the government!!” as if the state itself wasn’t founded on our ethnic cleansing, as if it isn’t “normal Israelis” who make up the entirety of the Israeli Military and have actively brutalized you and your people

Seeing allies you fought for suddenly SILENT when it’s their time to speak up

Studying on a US campus where those SAME SOLDIERS WHO ENGAGED IN YOUR PERSECUTION AND ACTIVELY SERVED AS THE ENFORCERS OF YOUR OCCUPATION then re-enact the trauma against you and you’re meant to simply ignore the fact that THEY ARE THE SAME PEOPLE WHO MURDERED YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY, and not being allowed to even be ANGRY at that

Trying to navigate this half-life in the diaspora where it’s a struggle to connect with other Palestinians given the distance between us and yet not being able to connect with anyone around because, again, they simply can’t understand

Constantly being expected to simply give up your time to those who demand you answer them and debate your existence and narrative with them, who them take you blocking them for your own mental health as a “victory” to be lorded over you when you simply can’t take it anymore

Constantly having to EXPLAIN all of this because nobody but other Palestinians can truly understand just how pervasive, overwhelming, and incapacitating this unique form of exhaustion is

Constantly seeing your erasure and ethnic cleansing defended all over the media, all over social media, throughout your academic career, while those ENGAGED in your ethnic cleansing have the audacity to claim that the media is biased against THEM

Constantly on guard with everything you say and write, knowing that unlike those promoting our ethnic cleansing, we don’t have the luxury of making mistakes or getting lazy in our writing and advocacy. One mistaken source, mistaken information, being imperfect is enough to discredit your voice entirely

The crippling obligation you have to share the narrative of your people, knowing that so many people will view you as the spokesperson of your entire people, knowing how unfair it is, but also knowing that if you DON’T speak out, nobody will on your behalf, and even the most well-intentioned, involved allies can simply never understand how it all truly feels

Seeing the entire world stand by and do absolutely nothing while your people are slaughtered time and time again

Seeing your history misconstrued by people implicitly defending your ethnic cleansing and settler-colonialism

Knowing that our parents have been through this and more, seeing them have to go through this yet again while still being forced to go about their daily lives and given no time to mourn or recover

Not being able to even share our culture without being attacked for it

Knowing that so many of your friends and family won’t ever be able to return to their homeland while foreigners from around the globe are flown into Israel free because it’s their “birthright”

A “birthright” denied to even my own parents, born in Jerusalem yet unable to enter it

Having even self-proclaimed “allies” question Palestinian resistance, policing our tone, never /really/ understanding our pain and anger and how they themselves contribute to it

Screaming from the moment you can about what’s happening to us, desperately trying to get people to CARE, and having it often fall on deaf ears

Knowing that if you’re not the source of information for those genuinely seeking to learn, they may find themselves mislead by sources that claim to be fair and balanced while imprinting subtle lies about Palestine and Palestinians on those they engage with

Not even being able to find the energy and ability to respond to genuine messages of love and support, which are greatly appreciated, and feeling bad about it because you don’t want to seem like you’re not genuinely happy to hear it

Feeling a sense of overwhelming exhaustion in times like this while at the same time being unable to sleep

Seeing the effect all of this has had on your people, knowing your people have among the highest rates of depression on the planet and yet we’re all suffering together with no way to ease the pain

Being constantly exposed to the ways in which your people are erased and questioning if you have the energy or sanity left to deconstruct such aggression to help outsiders understand the severity of it all

Seeing allies suddenly call for “peace” when Palestinians are finally fed up enough to rise up and fight back against an overwhelming military force

I could go on, but in case you it’s not already clear, I’m tired and exhausted

Always wondering if any of this is even worth it when the world has ignored your slaughter and ethnic cleansing for nearly 8 decades, knowing that nobody is about to step in to help now.

Constantly wondering if any of this is even worth it, and then feeling inspired by fellow Palestinians, our resilience, the fact that despite ALL of this and more, we continue to fight.

Despite all of this, I would never even consider or entertain the thought of being born as anything other than Palestinian

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[dothwrites]

15.19--freedom

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose/Nothing, don’t mean nothing if it ain’t free, no, no”--Janis Joplin

---

Freedom. 

Dean rolls the word around on the tip of his tongue and tastes how it feels. Freedom. 

It’s a strange concept, especially since he always assumed that he was. Ever since Apocalypse Version 1.0 was averted, Michael and Lucifer locked in the cage, thanks very much, he’s always assumed that he was the one calling the shots. No matter how badly he fucked up (and he fucked up a lot), he could at least take comfort in the fact that those were his choices. No one’s hand up Dean Winchester’s ass, no siree. 

And then Chuck came and ripped that certainty away from him in one quick motion and then...everything was suspect. Sam, Mom, Jack...Cas. Every word, every action, every emotion... He couldn’t trust anything, so he trusted nothing.

He still wakes up from nightmares with those words echoing in his head: You’re dead to me. He bolts upright, almost puking, because he can’t believe his past self, he can’t believe that those words came out of his mouth, to Cas, to Cas of all people--

He splashes water on his face and notices that his hand is shaking. His stomach churns in warning, but he doesn’t think he’s going to puke. However, he also doesn’t think he’s going back to sleep tonight. 

He and Sam are in the bunker, but he knows they won’t stay. It’s too empty now, their voices echoing through the halls and rooms. Maybe once, he would have been all right with that, would have even enjoyed it, but now, he can’t bear it. He remembers all too well how it felt to have Jack’s voice bouncing through the kitchen as he talked about the latest movie they had watched, or how it felt to just feel Cas behind him as he moved through the kitchen. 

Every time he makes his breakfast, he’s reminded of what he lost. Every time he and Sam come back to the bunker, there’s the sinking disappointment to find themselves alone once more. Dean ends up spending most of his days in his room because anywhere else freaks him out. He can’t stop whipping his head to look over his shoulder, halfway convinced that he’ll find someone standing behind him. He’s always disappointed when he finds himself alone. 

He and Sam are going to leave the bunker behind. He doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know what for, but he knows that it’s going to happen. 

He asks Sam one afternoon why he hasn’t left yet. Eileen is waiting for him, biding her time a hell of a lot more patiently than Dean would, and Sam still isn’t going to her and starting the American dream life. And one afternoon, Dean either runs out of fucks and gathers up his last little shreds of courage, and asks him. 

“So when are you going to move in with Eileen? I can’t imagine that she’s going to wait for your gigantor ass forever.” 

Sam looks at him from across the table. There’s a book open in front of him, but Dean doesn’t think that he’s read a word. He knows that he’s been stuck on the same screen on his phone for several minutes. Without the pressing urgency of saving the world, things just seem so...pointless. Which is not necessarily bad. But it means that he and Sam spend a lot of slow, lingering afternoons like this, with just the two of them wandering through the bunker and occasionally bouncing off of each other like two very faulty pinballs stuck in a malfunctioning machine. 

“She’s fine,” Sam says, which isn’t an answer. “She understands what’s happening.” 

Dean’s glad that someone understands because he surely has no fucking clue.

---

His life falls into a kind of routine. Wake up, make breakfast. Find pointless chores to do around the bunker. Make lunch. Watch some bullshit shows on TV. Make dinner. Have a beer. Fall asleep. 

He feels like the worst kind of retiree, devoid of purpose. 

Sure, there are occasional hunts, but he doesn’t feel the need to go on them. The world is turning, same as it always did, and there are other hunters in the world. If that’s one thing that he learned through these past years, it’s that he doesn’t have to do everything. 

(Plus, he and Sam literally defeated God, so he thinks they deserve some time off.)

The forced retirement doesn’t make him happy. The bunker is the cleanest that it’s ever been and he doesn’t feel happy about it. There’s a gaping hole in his chest that’s shaped like the rest of his family, and he can’t sleep at night. He makes dinner and all he can think about are the empty places at the table. 

Sam sticks his head into Dean’s room. It’s a regular day, though Dean doesn’t bother to note either the actual date or the day of the week anymore. Time blends together in an endless cycle of waking, chores, and sleeping, because without a purpose to hold him together, he’s slowly falling apart. 

“I’m going to head out,” Sam says. Dean notices that he doesn’t put a timeline on his departure. “You should get out too.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask the obvious question: Where would he go? Sam, slightly chagrined, scuffs his feet against the floor. “Maybe go see Jody, Donna, and the girls? See if Charlie and Stevie want a third on their hunt? Bobby said something about building up his library here.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, with absolutely no intention of following through on any of those suggestions. He’s not quite wallowing in his own grief and filth (every time he tries to crawl back into a bottle, he just remembers the pinched look at the corners of Cas’ eyes whenever he would find Dean halfway through a bender, and that memory effectively nixes any desire he might have had to crawl into the nearest bottle), but he’s not exactly the poster boy for healthy coping strategies either. 

“Dean.” 

Dean hates that note in Sam’s voice, the oh-so-soft and sensitive tone that could soothe widows and lull children. He hates even more that it’s being turned on him, hates most of all that he derives comfort from it. 

“I don’t get it,” Dean finally says, because if Sam is leaving then he might be losing his chance to ask his question aloud. “I don’t get...I mean, Jack could have brought him back. He could have done it. I could have asked him. I was right fucking there, and I didn’t ask.” 

He’s dissected those moments in his head until there’s nothing left, and he’s forced to cobble them back together like some Frankenstein of memories just so he can take them apart all over again. Why didn’t he ask Jack to bring Cas back? Why didn’t Jack do it of his own free will? Jack knew how he much he needed Cas; hell, Jack brought him back once before when he wasn’t God. So why couldn’t he do it then, when Dean needed him the most? 

“I don’t know,” Sam says, still in that same soft voice. “Maybe...maybe it was like Mom? I mean, Cas made his choice. For better or worse, he made it, and maybe Jack thinks that we need to respect it?” 

A thick lump rises in his throat. Cas’ face replays in his nightmares, tear-stricken and yet smiling, peace and grief shining in his eyes. I love you. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to say at that moment. Like it was all he’d ever wanted to say. 

“I never...” Dean swallows, but he doesn’t manage to chase away the horrid feeling rising in his chest. “I never said it back to him, Sam. I never...all those times he said it to us, and I never...he died, thinking that no one loved him. The one thing I want, I know I can’t have, is what he said to me.” 

Dean doesn’t necessarily have a list of his regrets (there are too many to really list), but if he did, then he knows this would be at the top of it. Cas sacrificed himself, Cas let himself get taken, Cas died, and all to save someone who he believed didn’t love him back. 

How could he not know? 

Dean knows he’s not necessarily Mr. Subtle; he knows Sam knows. Their enemies damn sure have seemed to figure out through the years exactly where Dean’s heart lies. How could Cas, as brilliant as he was, as insightful, as compassionate as he was, not understand that Dean’s been lost on him, quite possible since the first time he walked through those barn doors? 

Sam’s face goes on a journey and it ends up at about the same place that Dean feels. Maybe now Sam understands why it’s so much effort for him to just make it out of his room. 

“He thought it was worth it,” Sam finally says. “Even if he thought...At the end, it was still worth it to him.” 

You were still worth it, is left unsaid, but Dean hears the echo nonetheless. There’s an accusation there which he doesn’t want to confront, but he has to nonetheless. 

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Sam finally says. “I can’t...” When he looks at Dean, his eyes are glistening. There’s a plea for understanding in his face. “There’s a whole world out there that I haven’t gotten to see since...since Stanford really. Since ever. I can finally go out there and walk around and not worry that something’s going to come after me. I can finally...” Sam rubs a corner of his shirt between his fingers. “You always said that I wanted a normal life, and I did, for a while. Then, when I figured that it was never going to happen, I stopped myself from wanting it, because what was the point? When everything we had got ripped away from us, what was the point of anything? But now...” 

“If you start now, then you can probably make Des Moines by night,” Dean offers. It’s all he can say, but it’s enough. 

Sam smiles, his eyes glassy. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it is. It’s the bonds of desperation and codependency snapping and shattering and reforming into something else. Dean doesn’t know how to love his brother in this new world. All he knows is that Sam deserves to live the life he’s deserved. 

Dean closes his eyes. 

When he opens them, Sam is gone.

---

That night, he goes up on the roof of the bunker. It’s cold, but not unbearable. There’s a light drizzle falling which strengthens to a gentle shower the longer he stays outside. 

Dean closes his eyes and looks up at the sky. Out here, the stars shine clearer than ever before, visible even through the rainclouds. 

He can’t help but think of Jack. His son. He can say those words now, acknowledge that Jack gave him everything he really wanted; the chance at a family, the chance to erase some of his father’s sins. Jack was gentle, he was kind, he was loving, he was theirs. And then he was gone. 

Cas, Jack, Sam...

“What am I supposed to do?” Dean asks the rain, the same wild pain rising up in his throat. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

---

He makes it back inside, damp and cold, and strips himself. He should shower, but he can’t be bothered, so he falls into bed naked and shivering. Not like it matters; no one is around to see him anyway. He falls into a fitful doze and is only awakened hours later by the soft sounds of someone moving around his room. 

He bolts upright, snatching his gun out from underneath his pillow, because old habits die never. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes as his heartbeat catches up with his adrenaline. “Sam?” he asks, and then, more tentatively, “Jack?” 

His desk lamp blazes into the life with a soft snap. Dean’s heart leaps into his throat. 

Cas smiles at him, the same as always, sadness always lurking in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Dean finally understands why he looks that way. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. The sound of his voice sends shivers down Dean’s spine, but the hair on his arms doesn’t rise. Dean understands then. 

“This is a dream.” He lowers the gun. His heart slows to normal and disappointment is bitter in his mouth. “You’re not really here.” 

Cas’ mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “It’s as real as you make it.” 

“Don’t fucking Dumbledore me,” Dean mutters. He rubs at his temples. Somehow, even lucid dreaming has lost its appeal. Talking to Cas isn’t appealing when he knows that he’s just talking to his own subconscious. 

“I fail to see what a fictional wizard of questionable sexuality has to do with this.” 

“Good to know that my subconscious has your sense of humor down.” Dean glares at Cas. “Why the fuck are you here, anyway? It’s a dick move, even for my brain.” 

“Maybe because I’m the person you want to see? I don’t know. It’s your head, not mine.”

“Yeah. No offense, but I think I’m just going to go back to sleep. Or wake up. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I don’t need to see you anymore. It’s just...It really hurts, all right?” 

“I’m not real, so you’re not really hurting my feelings.” 

“Good. Well, now that we have that sorted out.” Dean punches his pillow as a punishment for betraying him, before he turns back to Cas. “I miss you,” he says, because he’s weak and always has been. 

“Dean.” The sound of Cas’ voice always manages to make Dean stop and now is no different. He turns around and looks at Cas. 

Somehow, Cas looks more solid around the edges. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced, and if Dean turns his head at just the right angle, he thinks he can see grey silvering at Cas’ temple. 

“Sam was right,” Cas says. “I made a choice. That’s what this was all about, ever since the beginning. Making choices, running our own course, picking our own path.” 

“Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in,” Dean mutters. The last thing he needs is his subconscious reminding him that once again, Cas decided that he wasn’t good enough to stay with. 

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t make a choice as well,” Cas continues, ignoring him. “There’s nothing to stop you. You can make whatever choices you want and take the consequences that come with them. And if you make the right choices, then maybe...” Cas bites his lip, looking almost nervous. “Then maybe I can make some choices too.” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue--Cas is dead, the time for making decisions has come and gone--but his subconscious is a dick, and before he can say anything, his dream fades away in a wash of black. 

---

Dean wakes up energized. His eyes open into the same room, but it’s different somehow. It’s ridiculous, because the bunker is underground, but it’s almost like he sees the sun shining through his windows. Even the air tastes different. For the first time in weeks, he gets out of bed without dreading every step away from his mattress. 

He glances at his phone. There’s a message from Sam along with a picture. In it, Eileen and Sam smile at the camera, their heads pressed together at the temple. There’s still a shadow of sadness in their eyes--they’ve all lost too much to be truly carefree ever again--but they look good. Happy. Whole. 

Cas’ words echo back at him, both from the dream and from those last, horrible, terrifying moments. 

Everything you did, you did for love. 

You can make a choice. 

Dean starts towards the library. 

---

It takes him three weeks of almost non-stop research to cobble together enough spells to make something that has the potential to work. This isn’t his strength; Sam is much more suited for this type of work, but he won’t bring Sam in on this. If this thing goes really damn badly, then it has the potential to wipe him off the face of the earth, goodbye Dean Winchester. If this thing does what he’s halfway expecting it to, which is nothing, then he’ll have gotten Sam’s hopes up for nothing. He’s not going to expose Sam to either danger or disappointment, not when Sam’s finally managed to get to some kind of happiness. 

If everything goes well...

Dean won’t let himself think about that. 

He spends two days smoothing out the kinks in the spell, double and triple checking his translations. He gathers his ingredients, and then spends another hour pacing around the library. His stomach is roiling, and his nerves are jittery. He can’t bear to stop, but he can’t bear to move forward. 

The memory of Cas’ smile spurs him into action. Cas went to his death a willing martyr for a man who he believed didn’t love him back. He can’t let that stand. If anything else, Cas has to know. 

The drive to Pontiac, Illinois takes him the better part of a day. The impala springs forward across the asphalt, almost like she’s eager to eat up the miles after her forced retirement. Dean pushes hard down on the gas pedal, urging her forward. One way or another, this is going to come to an end tonight. 

It takes him a while to find the barn. The last time he was here, he wasn’t in his right mind, still reeling from the horrors of Hell and the confusion of finding himself alive. He’d been scared and angry, lost and so very alone. And then an angel had walked through the door and told him that good things happened, that he deserved to be saved. The last little bit might have been a line fed to Cas by a bunch of dickhead superiors, but the sentiment behind it had stayed long after those superiors were all dead. 

They replaced the doors which Cas shattered and painted over the walls which Dean and Bobby covered with sigils, but if Dean looks carefully, he can see the shadows of them behind the new coat of whitewash. He touches them gently for a second, remembering Bobby and all of the years which led him back to this place. Then he pulls out his can of spray paint and proceeds to deface the barn all over again. 

When he’s done, he sets up the ingredients on the table. The table is where it was all those years ago, facing the doors to the barn. He doesn’t quite believe that Cas is going to pull the same trick, storming through the doors in a shower of sparks, but he can always hope. 

“God...Jack,” Dean corrects himself with a wry twist of his mouth, “I really hope this works. Cas, wherever you are, I really hope you have your ears on.” 

Dean looks at his translations and begins to speak. He’s hoping that intention counts for something as his tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar words. His heart beats an uncertain pulse in his chest. This has to work. It has to work. 

He puts every ounce of belief into his voice, every bit of the faith Cas once accused him of not having. I have faith, he thinks, putting force behind his voice, sending his words rocketing into the dimensions. I believe in us. 

What’s real? 

We are.

The last syllables roll over his tongue, followed immediately by a peal of thunder. The barn shivers, a ripple rolling through the air to settle over Dean’s skin. Electricity crackles in the air, filling him with potential. 

“Castiel?” he calls to the darkness. “Cas?” 

There’s no answer, but the spells and research had been unclear on whether or not there should be an answer. He would prefer knowing that Cas was listening, but in absence of certainty, he’ll have to have faith. 

“Cas, I really hope you can hear me,” he says. The words bring back the memories of Purgatory and a time when he and Cas could barely look at each other. He pushes those memories away and concentrates on the truth he can feel in his heart, the same truth which has guided him through the years and all the way from Lebanon, Kansas to the small barn where it all began all those years ago. 

“I know you made your choice. I know you were happy. But...it’s not the same without you. I’m not the same without you. I wake up and think about you, and you’re the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night. Every moment, you’re there because you’re not there. I look at all the places you’re missing and I can’t help but think that everything would be better if you were there.”

Dean swallows. “I miss you,” he confesses to the night. “Cas, I miss you so much. And I want you to come back. Not because I need you or because there’s something to fight against, but just because I miss you and life is better when you’re around.” He thinks of what Sam told him before he went. “There’s a new world out there, and I can’t think of who I would rather explore it with than you, but in order to do that, you’ve got to make a choice, all right?” 

His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might explode out of his chest. “I want to share my life with you. I want to figure out this world together. I want to be able to look at you and hold you and experience everything with you. Cas, I want to tell you what I should have told you every single day for years. I’m sorry that I never told you while you were with me. And I’m sorry that the first time I say it, I’m not going to be looking at you, but it wouldn’t be our lives if something about this wasn’t shitty, right?” 

Dean takes a deep breath. “I love you, Cas. Not because of what you can do or how useful you are. I love you because of who you are and how hard you try. And I want to say it to you, every single day, for years to come. I’ve made my choice, Cas. Now you just need to make yours.” 

Silence overtakes the barn. The only sound is the faint whistling of the wind through the slats of the barn and the quick rasp of his breathing. There’s no flap of wings, no deep voice growling in his ears, no pop of electricity. 

“Please, Cas,” Dean whispers, closing his eyes to try and stop the burning behind them. “Please.” 

Thunder rolls through the barn, shaking through the wood down to the dirt floor. Dean’s head jerks upright as he scans the barn. “Cas?” he calls, hardly daring to hope. “Castiel?” 

A thin, golden thread rips open in the air before him. It looks almost exactly like the rifts between worlds which Jack used to create, but that’s not possible. 

It’s not possible, but Dean dares to hope anyway. 

“Castiel? Cas?” 

A single hand reaches out through the golden tear, and then Dean is moving, he’s practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach the rift. “Cas, Cas, please,” he’s saying, not quite aware of the words which are tumbling from his mouth. “Please.” 

Until his fingers grip the hand, he’s not sure that it’s real, but that’s solid flesh and bone underneath his palm. Dean pulls, feeling resistance on the other end. “No,” he grunts, reaching into the rift. His hand touches skin, and his resolve grows. He didn’t come this far only to lose. They haven’t come this far only to fall apart. 

“I want you,” he says, as though the force of his words can rip through the veil. “Cas, please, come home, Cas, please--” 

With an almighty heave, he pulls once more and then he’s falling backward, another body tumbling against his in an ungainly pile of limbs and bodies. There’s skin and there’s warm, and there’s weight. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees the rift close up, as neatly as if it were never there at all. 

He doesn’t care about that. He can’t, not now. 

Dean looks down at the body sprawled across his lap. There are miles upon miles of naked skin for him to peruse, and he hopes that he’ll be able to do so later at his leisure, but for now, all he can concentrate on are those two luminous eyes blinking up at him. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, hardly daring to believe. His hands cup Castiel’s face, fingers sweeping a few locks of dark hair off of his forehead. 

Castiel blinks at him, his dark eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. A slow smile creeps across his face, like the dawn spreading across the horizon. “Dean,” he says, his voice the same as it always was, but this time it’s better, because it’s a voice that Dean never thought he’d hear again. 

“Cas.” It’s the only word Dean seems capable of saying, but words don’t seem important anymore, not when he can lean forward and press his lips to Cas’, not when he can taste the small sigh of surprise on Cas’ lips. “Cas, I missed you so much, oh god, Cas, there’s so much I want to tell you, there’s so much I want to do--” 

Cas interrupts him with another kiss, his arms threading around Dean’s shoulders to pull him closer. Gentle fingers tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, and Dean thinks that he could live in this moment forever. 

But before he does that, there’s something else which needs to happen first. Dean pulls away, ignoring the small whine of protest from Cas. 

“Cas, there’s something I need to tell you,” he starts, only to be interrupted. 

“I know,” Cas says, his face splitting into a wide, gummy smile. No shadow lurks behind his eyes, no hint of tears glisten in his eyes. There’s just happiness, radiant and absolute, gleaming from his face. 

“I heard your prayer.” 

Maybe once upon a time, Dean would have been satisfied with that answer, but not anymore. 

“I love you,” Dean whispers, pressing the words into Cas’ skin with gentle kisses over his temple and cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m going to tell you every day until you get sick of it.” 

“You’ll have to try for a very long time,” Castiel answers, his fingers tracing along Dean’s jaw. “I like hearing those words very much.” 

Dean can’t help but kiss him again. As he does so, he feels the lost and scattered pieces of his heart knitting back together until he can finally breathe for the first time in months. “Come on,” he says, once he surfaces for air. “Let’s go.” 

It only hits him then that Cas is naked. Apparently rebirth and snagging people out of alternate dimensions results in a distinct lack of clothing. Dean’s eyes want to travel over the skin revealed to him, but he waits. There will be time, he realizes with a tiny thrill of delight. He and Cas have all the time in the world.

He manages to find a blanket to wrap around Cas’ shoulders. It will do until they get out to the car where he has a spare set of clothes. For now, he helps Cas to his feet. Cas looks around him, his eyes wide and huge, as though he’s overwhelmed with the world around him. 

“Where are we headed?” Cas asks as they head towards the door. The Impala waits outside, beckoning them forward once more. 

Dean grins as the cool night air washes over them. It’s gentle and soft, eternity held in the breeze. There’s a world held within the palm of tonight, a world held within the rest of their lives. 

“Wherever we want,” he answers, stepping out of the shadow of the barn and into the world. 

As they walk towards the Impala, a light rain begins to fall. 

---

“Before, I wanted to say: "I found love!" But now, I want to say: "I found a person. And he belongs to me and I belong to him.”― C. JoyBell C.

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 2

PART 1

Summary: PART 2  ! of Draco falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and dealing with the consequences of opening his heart to someone. 

Warnings: angst !!! but just a little fluff as always, BLOOD, violence, more crying, very detailed sectumsempra scene, mentions of death

Words: 4.9K

A/N: omg i can’t believe so many people liked the first one and to everyone who left me a comment, I appreciate you so much you have no idea plsss you guys are so beautiful. but here is part 2 and I hope you guys like it as much as the first oneee !!!!!!!! this one got dramatic. I’m thinking of doing a part 3, but I’m not sure and i also want to make it be mostly fluff so PLS let me knowww <3 i do not own gif. 

It was an awful feeling; the feeling of needing a specific someone to bring him a peace he so very much lacked in his life. It was a feeling of not being able to feel joy unless he had you by his side. He felt stupid and pathetic knowing he had made an even bigger mess of himself and regrettably of you. He felt more weak too, wondering to himself why he couldn’t stop crying and do what he needs to do without several potions or you with him to get him through the day. 

He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want to need help. He didn’t want to need advice.

“Why can’t I just do this?” he cried to himself one night in the room of requirement, kicking something by his foot across the floor in frustration. He stared at the dead bird in hopelessness, not wanting to move it from its spot in the vanishing cabinet. He had managed to send inanimate objects, but not living things and that was only a discovery he was able to make when you were still in his life.

It had been weeks, since he left you under the tree, broken and in tears. He regressed back into to his old ways of lacking proper self care, of sleeping and eating, his studies being the last thing on his mind, him distancing himself from his Slytherin friends again. It was right back to square one, maybe even below that this time.

In Potions, he didn’t dare look at you, ever. He moved to a seat in the very back of the class where he would be hidden from you and could sulk to himself in peace.

“Mr. Malfoy, forgive me as it is none of my business, but why are you no longer working with Miss Y/L/N?” Slughorn asked him one day as he came by to grade his potion.

“It is nothing of concern, Professor,” Draco answered bitterly, holding back the scowl that wanted to show but deciding against being any more rude to authority. “I just rather work by myself.”

“It’s a shame, Mr. Malfoy, you both were my star pupils,” Slughorn mixes the potion around, eyeing it with a frown. “Now the both of you are falling behind. This potion is not passing, you forgot to mix in the dried periwinkle leaves.”

Draco never noticed how you would glance at him throughout Potions class. Of course, he was ignoring you and you felt that nasty realization every time your eyes landed on the platinum blond.

You felt numb, to say the least. You cried for days and days on end. If you weren’t in class, you were in your dorm, wrapped underneath the covers wondering why someone you shared so much love and time with had dropped you with no explanation. You tried endlessly to get him to talk to you, cornering him in the corridors, going up to him in class, but he would ignore you until you went away. He never once met your eyes, and your heart broke more every time you saw the coldness in his icy gray’s that made you feel like you didn’t even exist to him.

Your roommates and friends had gotten involved, forcing you to take better care of yourself. Staying up and hugging you while you cried. Bringing you meals from the Great Hall into the dorm. Brushing your hair when it started to become matted. Encouraging you to divulge yourself in studies rather than your sadness.

“Y/N, you are so much more than what you’re feeling,” your closest friend whispered to you one night as you cried in her embrace. “You can’t keep going like this. It’s okay to cry and be sad, but this is eating you up. Remember how strong you are. Remember the healer you are trying to be. You’ve helped so many people, inside and out, let your friends help you now.”

You nodded sadly, and finally accepted the help your friends had been trying so desperately to give you. You allowed them to take you out into the Great Hall again for meals. To Hogsmead for a fun day out. To the courtyard where you guys would sit and just talk. It was nice, feeling your old and normal life coming to light again even if it was just for a couple hours. But when you couldn’t sleep at night and your mind wandered off to Draco, you felt that same empty feeling of a gaping hole in your heart sting at you. 

There was nothing you could do or say anymore. The cornering him was getting desperate and made you feel weak. The ignoring was never going to stop. You didn’t cry anymore, forcing yourself to bottle up your feelings for him deep down into your mind, body and spirit to the point where you just tried your best to recognize him as a dream. 

Your brain didn’t know any better, right?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco sat on the floor of his dorm, head resting against the side of his bed as he twiddled with the letter from his mother between his fingertips. His owl, Aquila, sat beside him and enjoyed the loving pets he was giving her with his other hand. It was rare she let him do this, but he figured it was because she felt that he might have possibly needed this. She nibbled on a crumb of a biscuit he gave her that she had brought with her on her journey from home. Draco sighed and opened the letter again, his eyes scanning over the perfect cursive of his mother’s handwriting once more.

My Dearest Draco,

          How are you, my love? I feel as though we have gone too long without writing to each other. I must say, the Manor feels lonely without you and your father here, but the house elves have been keeping me company. They are quite entertaining, some of them. I do hope you enjoy the small pastries I sent with Aquila that the elves also send on their behalf. 

I know the pain you are feeling, my son. I know it wears at you and I am deeply sorry that I cannot change it or help you. Please do entrust in Professor Snape, as he is the only one who can help you and understands your circumstances. You cannot get through this alone.

Please also remember that you are just a boy. In these times of turmoil, it is easy to lose yourself in your own despair. You are young, Draco, only 16 years of life and it has already failed you. Please find it in your heart to locate the little several joys in life that keep you going. Despite your situation, It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there. Do not succumb, it is what he wants. 

I will always love you, and I hope to see you soon. 

All my love,

Mother

He felt tears sting at his eyes, clutching the letter to his chest as if his mother had charmed it with the feeling of a hug. It wasn’t, but he swore he could feel it. He felt sad, knowing she was all alone in that house, but suddenly remembered that his aunt was seeking refuge with her at the Malfoy Manor and his mother left it out for the sake of keeping Bellatrix’s location secret. Seeing as she was a maddened Ex/Present Death Eater and escaped prisoner on the run. The thought of Bellatrix left a bitter and foul taste in his mouth, making him feel even worse that his mother was stuck at home with that beast who was nearly as bad as the Dark Lord himself. He didn’t care that that was her sister, his aunt, she had no empathy for anything, especially not for him. He recalls her telling him right before he went to school, that he should be grateful and honored for being entrusted with a task so important.

As much as Draco wanted nothing to do with his tasks, he didn’t ignore them. He begrudgingly let Bellatrix teach him Occlumency, something he desperately needed to learn and was now a little good at. He had even tried convincing himself that he needed to do this. It was all up to him. He was chosen for this. He hated it, but he was chosen nonetheless. And he would try with everything to save his family and to make them proud, even if it killed him.

He ignored the thoughts of his aunt and his dreadful life options, refocusing on the words his mother wrote to him. They echoed in his mind, imagining her saying them to him. 

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

His mind wandered to you, knowing full and well you were are the one and only joy in his life he so deeply desires. His mother’s words hit him hard, to the point where he almost ran out of his room to go look for you. Almost.

But he was stubborn and still couldn’t pull himself out of the mindset he had boxed himself in where he thought being with you would be worse in the end for you than not being with you. 

So he went over to his desk, Aquila following him before flying up to the wooden surface where she perched herself in front of him as he sat down and pulled out a parchment and quill to begin his responding letter for his mother. He thanked her for the pastries, told her he would try his best in confiding in Snape, loosely promised he would fulfill her wishes of him finding some happiness, and gave her his love. He gave the letter to Aquila, smoothing the feathers on the top of her head one last time before she chirped and flew to the window and then out of his room and into the open dark starry sky. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

More weeks had gone by. And then a month. You were seeing less and less of Draco and for a healing heart, it was the best thing for you, but also the worst. He had even began skipping class as much as he could, not that anyone ever noticed, except you and Slughorn of course.

“Miss Y/L/N, may I have a word?” Slughorn came up to you while you were working on a potion with your friend. The same friend who had given up her seat to Draco who she now despised and regretted ever doing in the first place. She gave you and the professor a look before getting up and heading to the front of the class where she began to pick up vials and jars to store the potion.

“Of course, Professor,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I spoke to Mr. Malfoy about a month ago, he seemed rather distraught,” he began, placing a finger over his chin in thought. “I’m beginning to grow worried of the boy! Is there a reason he’s no longer showing up to class?”

You swallowed thickly before responding, “your guess is as good as mine, Professor.”

“Ah, well, one mustn’t pry too much,” he says. “Also, I’m pleased to see your marks improving in the last couple weeks. Keep up the good work, Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that the professor turned around and left to go check on other students, your friend returning.

“What’d he want?” She asked, setting the supplies down on the table.

“Wanted to know about, Mr. Malfoy,” you mocked quietly, your voice turning bitter when the name left your lips. 

You knew Draco’s disappearance was your fault and you felt that twang of hurt beat against your chest thinking about it. That whole conversation with the Professor killed your entire mood. It wasn’t great to begin with, but the feeling of nothing had turned into hurt. 

You were roughly stirring the cauldron, preparing to put the nearly finished potion into the two large jars so it could sit overnight. They were right beside your arm and you felt your elbow collide with the glasses, cringing internally when you heard them crash onto the ground and shatter. Luckily there was nothing in them, but you had still made a mess of glass. In your heat of embarrassment and with the people are you now staring at you, you forgot you could easily clean up your mess with magic so like a klutz, you instead bent down to pick up the shards of glass that scattered the floor with your bare hands.

A loud gasp left your mouth as you began to pick them up, feeling the largest piece of glass in your palm deeply slash the skin of your hand. You dropped it, feeling the blood begin to drip down your arms and onto the floor.

“Oh no, Y/N,” your friend sighed from above you, gripping onto your other arm and lifting you up. “Are you okay?”

The question was meant for your hand, but you felt it hit your soul just as it did whenever someone asked you that question when you were so overwhelmingly not okay. You shook your head no, the pain from your hand and your heart taking over you completely as tears began to trickle down your face. 

Slughorn came up to the table, waving his wand over the mess of the floor and fixed the damage done to the vases and making the small puddle of blood disappear.

“Class is dismissed, students, you are free to go to the Great Hall for lunch,” Slughorn announced and everyone quickly packed up their things and hurried out except for you and your friend. The full-bellied Professor watched you with concern and you turned to your friend where she took your hand in hers and placed it palm up for you.

You shuddered, bringing up your wand to the cut and simply thought your healing spell before watching it completely fade into a faint light pink scar.

“I’m going to explain to Slughorn what happened and put away our stuff,” she says to you, a sad glint in her eyes. “Go clean yourself up and I’ll meet you at our table for lunch with everyone when you’re done.”

You could only pathetically nod before you slung your bag over your shoulder and trudged off into the direction of a bathroom. You decided to go up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, wanting to be alone from everyone so you could clean yourself up in peace and also have a meltdown. You didn’t know why you wanted to torture yourself with the ghosted memories you shared with Draco in that bathroom, but you still went. 

You took your time getting there and you were only down the hall when you saw the entrance. It was then when you heard a familiar ghastly screaming and wailing. It was horribly loud.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

Moaning Myrtle floated from the large wooden double doors, screaming so loud it ricocheted off all the walls of the now deathly silent castle. You felt all the blood drain from your face as an awful and sickening feeling had bubbled in your stomach.

“It better not be Draco,” you said to yourself, your legs taking longer strides towards the bathroom. “Please, don’t let it be Draco.”

By now, you were sprinting towards the end of the corridor, throwing your bag to the floor as soon as you reached the doors and flung yourself through and into the destroyed bathroom, stepping into a pool of water that had streaks of crimson red. Your eyes followed the trail of blood, stopping suddenly when you found the source.

A blood-curdling scream twice as loud and stronger than Myrtle’s, left your throat as you tripped over your own feet to reach him. You saw Harry Potter, standing a little ways by the door, a panicked and pained look in his eyes as he tried to understand what he had just done. 

Once you reached Draco’s nearly lifeless body covered in angry red gashes, you fell next to him, his eyes finally meeting yours for the first time in ages. He was breathing raggedly in choked grunts, clutching at his mauled chest as he struggled to breath. The stormy eyes you loved so much were clouded in fear. Nothing but fear.

You shoved your hand into your pocket, searching for your wand and pulled it out hastily. You shakily waved it over his cuts, thinking and saying any spell you knew that came to your mind in the matter of 5 seconds. This was what you did. This was all you did. Why couldn’t you heal him? None of your spells worked.

“I, I can’t heal you,” you sobbed, resorting to putting your hands over his chest at a failing attempt to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“n...o,” Draco said weakly and quietly. He mustered up all his remaining strength and placed a bloodied hand over yours, you grabbed it tightly and leaned over him when you realized he was trying to speak. “S-sorry. lo...ve. y...ou.”

It felt like there was a knife in your chest being repeatedly stabbed into your heart and twisted. His eyes closed and you cried harder, knowing you were going to lose him. Everything was happening so fast. You had only been in the bathroom a solid 10 seconds, everything around you moving in a slow blur but so quickly.

It was as if Merlin had answered your pleas, the sound of the door slammed open and a maddened looking Snape rushed inside, pushing Harry roughly to the side and looking down at Draco and then you only momentarily before dropping to his knees beside him and opposite of you.

“Vulnera sanentur,” he began running his wand over the cuts on Draco’s chest and you watched with wide teary eyes as the blood pooling around you began to retreat back into the wounds. He said it again, and once the blood was back in, the cuts began to close. He chanted it one last time, and the cuts had healed into thick and reddened scars. “Miss Y/L/N, please help Draco over to the hospital wing for some dittany, and quickly please. We might be able to help with the scarring, perhaps avoid it completely. I need to deal with, Potter.”

Draco was half conscious, a dazed and confused look in the gray of his eyes as they fluttered open and closed. You noticed the scar beginning to form on his paled face and you bit back a sob. You knew if that scar stayed there, it would only drive him into a deeper hatred for himself.

You quickly got up, Snape picking up Draco and throwing his arm over your shoulders so that you would be able to help him over to the hospital wing which luckily happened to be a hall away from the bathroom. The adrenaline and sheer love for the boy was pumping through your body which had made you feel stronger in basically carrying Draco through the halls. He was dragging his feet, mumbling incoherently and you couldn’t stop crying.

You saw the doors to the hospital wing open, Madam Pomfrey staring at the scene heading towards her in horror. 

“DITTANY!” you called to her. She threw open the doors wider, nodding before she ran back inside in a hurry. A passing seventh year Hufflepuff had dropped all of his books and his bag and linked arms with Draco’s free side, helping you take him inside with much more ease. Madam Pomfrey yelled to rest Draco on the nearest bed and she quickly returned with the dittany, shooing the both of you away from him.

“I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to leave, immediately,” she demands, her hand reaching up to grab the privacy curtain before shielding her and the love of your life from you and the prying eyes of shocked students gathered at the doorway to see what had happened. The Hufflepuff that had helped was already out the door, but you couldn’t bring your legs to move.

“Away from the door!” McGonagall suddenly appeared from behind the crowd of students, a disgruntled look etched into her aged skin. “Return to your house’s common rooms! That goes for you too, Miss Y/L/N.”

She gently placed both her hands on either of your shoulders, guiding you outside the door and out of the hospital wing. She gave you an empathetic glance before grabbing the handles of the doors and shutting them with a loud clang.

The lingering students stared at you in discomfort and grimaces. You looked around, still in a daze and then looked down at your body. You were drenched in blood and water, looking straight out of a horror movie and closely resembling the clothing of the Bloody Baron, Slytherin’s house ghost.

Everything still felt quiet and slow. You didn’t even notice your friends rushing towards you in hysterics, throwing you in hugs as you only stood there, unable to react. You let them pull you away, leading you to your house’s common room, tripping every now and then. You caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle in the distance, her cries still very loud and apparent. She had gone around the entirety of Hogwarts wailing the same news that had broken you, only this time you heard the new choice words she had added along the way.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER! HARRY POTTER HAS MURDERED DRACO MALFOY!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You sat immobile on the edge of your seat besides Draco’s hospital bed. Much to your surprise, Madam Pomfrey had allowed you to stay overnight with the fallen Slytherin Prince. You recognized it might be her way of paying you back from all your countless volunteering and because of that, she trusted you in knowing exactly what to do when it came to the medical field of the wizarding world.

It was around three in the morning, the incident having happened well past twelve hours ago. You were showered now and in a fresh pair of robes, your pajamas holding in your warmth as a cold draft flowed throughout the dark dimly lit room. The hospital wing was tall and large, it felt like a castle in itself, and it only made you feel more feeble. You scooted your chair closer to the bed, placing a hand onto the mattress right next to Draco’s paled slender hand.

Fingertips ghosted over his knuckles, your body shivering at the closeness of the near contact. You didn’t know how he was going to react when he woke up. It was all a waiting game, and your heart squeezed with anxiety as you awaited his regained consciousness. You didn’t forget the words he said to you right before he slipped away. They rang and rattled in your head like a pinball game on loop.

He had told you he loved you.

The thought of him dying and you never being able to tell him you felt the same haunted you. You thanked Merlin that Snape got there when he did. You also made a mental note to hex Harry into the oblivion the next time you got a chance. 

You sighed deeply, your voice quavering as your ran a hand through your tangled hair. His face glistened under the orange lamp on the bedside table, his skin tinged with a grayish undertone and his eye bags deep and dark. The scar you had seen on his face earlier was gone, the skin now just holding a skinny reddened line going across his features as if he was just hit with something. You smiled slightly, knowing it would be gone in the morning and feeling grateful for him that he wouldn’t be scarred with it.

His body was covered in a hospital gown and bandages infused with dittany, but seeing how bad his cuts were before they healed, you knew those would leave something behind no matter what. In your studying towards becoming a Healer, you read about the effects of dark magic and the marks it left behind on its victims. You didn’t know what spell had done what it did to Draco, but it was violent and radiated with darkness. 

The softness of his his skin was met under yours, your hand finally allowing itself to fall over his and you let out a sharp exhale at the touch. It wasn’t like earlier when you were holding onto him for dear life, rough and filled with fear and pain, this time it felt familiar. It felt warm despite the coldness of your skin and his. You shook quietly, another set of tears rippling through your body as you tried your best to not wake him. You sat up and slowly leaned over him, looking down at him to observe his peaceful features. He slept soundly and peacefully, his breathing even and quiet. Even though he almost died earlier today, he looked as though he was having the best sleep of his life. The sleep he gravely needed but seemed to never be able to get. 

Your free hand softly rested on his cheek now and you carefully moved your lips towards his forehead where you placed a long kiss. A stray tear had fallen onto his skin as you pulled away and you frowned, wiping it away with your sleeve before moving your hand up towards his hair. You smoothed it back, the soft blond strands feeling like silk between your fingers. He was a dream, an angel to you. You stood by what you had told him that unfortunate day under the tree, he was good, and you would tell him again and again until he believed it himself.

Just as you pulled back from him, a sharp gasp erupted and he shot up in bed, grabbing and tearing at his gown as breathless quick pants fell from his lips. 

“Hey, Draco, I’m here, you’re okay, relax,” you coo gently, grabbing his hands and holding them tightly in yours so he wouldn’t tear his bandages. Your heart battered against your chest, the waterworks in your eyes beginning all over again. He stared at you, searching your eyes and he began to cry too. The same broken and deep sobbing from months ago you had grown accustomed to hearing. 

He threw himself onto you, crying even harder as his arms wrapped around you, his hand on the back of your head pressing you into his chest. You climbed into the bed in deep shaky breaths so that you were now sitting on your knees between his legs. It was overwhelming, to put it lightly, both of you crying into each other as you remembered the fall out, the lonely days and nights, the wasted opportunities, the endless missing of one another’s presence in their lives.

“I’m sorry,” Draco chokes out. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought that by pushing you away, you would be safer, but I can’t do it anymore. I need you, I love you, Y/N.”

You cradled him in your arms, rocking the two of you back and forth, and you shook your head reverently.

“I forgave you the second I thought I was going to lose you,” you respond quickly. “Merlin, Draco, you scared me to death. I thought you were gone.”

The same words from his mother echoed in his head again and he finally understood what they meant. 

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

Darkness was going to arrive one way or another, it was going to steal the rest of whatever life he had left in him one day. It was out of his hands, out of his control. The time to live his life was now. Because he didn’t know when he would ever have this opportunity of love again, of safety, of light. Everything was undefined and unknown and he felt the anguishing regret of all his decisions when he had seen you in the bathroom hovering over him with a hopeless look in your eyes. He promised himself, to Merlin and to the sun, the moon and all the stars that in the 1% chance that he survived that close call with death, he would never abandon you again. His heart pained at the memory of him trying to sputter out his final ‘I love you,’ not knowing whether or not you heard it or if you understood how genuinely he had meant it.

The room was only filled with sniffles and shaky breathing, both of you still in the same rocking position, afraid that if you let each other go, the other is going to disappear.

“Draco,” you say, lifting his head up from the crook of your neck so that he could look you in the eyes. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Please don’t ever, ever leave again.”

“Not in a million years, darling.”

PART 3

[rcksmith]

Spring breeze part.2 — Spencer Reid

Gif by @ssadrreid

Sumarry: Spencer never thought about falling in love with someone, but he certainly didn't expect that he would fall in love with Gideon's daughter. — season 3 —

Part.1 Part.3 Part.4

A/N: I was very happy with the return you guys had in the first part💖. I hope you guys like.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️ Couple:Spencer Reid / Gideon's daughter!reader.

Warnings: nothing, just very fluff.

— — — — —

Spencer straightened his tie for the hundredth time in front of the mirror, in several unsuccessful attempts to exhibit his best that day. It was funny and ironic how, after so many years wearing dress shirts and a tie, the universe seemed to handpick that day to do - no matter how much Spencer tried to fix it - his tie looked weird. The fabric was too far to the left, or too far to the right, or too wrinkled in the folds. No matter how much he undid the knot or changed his tie, still looked strange.

What a nightmare.

Reid was barely able to sleep with the notion that he would see you today, his body being whipped assiduously by unsettling waves of euphoria, his mind whizzing like a propellant, anxiety screaming in his mind and sending his sleep for miles away. That morning, the world seemed to be more stuffy, hot and torrid, and for a second, Reid felt himself under the heat of Egypt instead of autumn in Washington.

He could feel his heart speeding up with the steps of the clocks, his breath running away from his lungs, a thousand and one speeches being revised in his head to try to lessen the likelihood of speaking some bullshit near you. Because he couldn't ruin that chance.

Spencer knew he was not the type of guy to have dates whit women like you every day. In fact, Laila had been the only stunning woman who had looked at him a second time. But, well, to be honest, he knew that all that affection she had directed him had been side effects of the transfer. He had been her hero and it clouded people's rationality. And, to his disquiet and to the dread of his insecurity, you were above the beauty of Laila on stratospheric levels.

To make matters worse, the damn tie wasn't good! God, he was screwed.

Spencer gave up on that impossible mission, settling for and conforming to what the tie looked like after the twentieth attempt. He wanted you to see him as a handsome person, a man worth wasting time with, not a boy who only served to be your friend. You were beautiful on so many levels that... well, Reid wanted you to be attracted to him, too, to simplify.

He stepped away from the mirror and slung his work bag over his shoulder, trying to control the pounding of his own heart.

On the way to work, trying hard to avoid thinking about what him looked like in that damned imperfect tie, Reid wondered, for a moment, if you too were under the same emotions. Did you change your clothes several times because you also felt anxious too? Could it be that, like him hands, yours also trembled? Or, if he was lucky, was your heart beating as hard as him?

He hoped that was yes.

As soon as he entered the BAU headquarters, with anxiety as his chaperone, Spencer sat at his own table while pouring a “Good morning” to his colleagues.

“Arrived early.” Derek narrowed his eyes at him, in that suspicious look.

"I am never late." He was quick to hit and that caused his friend to raise an eyebrow.

"But you never be anxious to get here earlier."

Sometimes Spencer hated that his friends were profiles.

“I just like my job.” Reid started to unpack things of bag, trying to avoid the look of Derek who was still burning his back.

“Oh, I'm sure you like.” The double meaning in his friend's tone did not go unnoticed by Spencer, but he did not want to delve into the truths of that argument, much less think about it.

Emily and JJ arrived after a few minutes, with Garcia following behind and making their point that she was not to blame for buying those pairs of shoes, since they were practically begging her to take them. Normally, Reid did not look at the glass door whenever he heard someone approaching, or had a strong desire to see Gideon pass through them as well.

But that day... that day, seeing Gideon meant seeing you. And seeing you meant that you would go through that door. And going through that door meant that Spencer would see you come in. That was enough to make his gaze turn to those doors from minute to minute.

But time passed. Fifteen minutes flew by, then twenty, then thirty. Anxiety increased and now his agitated heart was tuned to his right leg, which did not stop quietly, shaking from top to bottom assiduously.

“What do you look for at the door so much, Reid?”

Prentiss asked the last question that Reid would like to answer, and that caught Derek’s attention, who, as expected, laughed amusingly and sank further into the chair, a sly, playful smile on his lips.

“Oh, he is expecting a member of the Gideon family.”

Spencer swore and, in that moment, he was never so jealous of ostriches for being able to stick their heads underground. If he were one of them, he would definitely do it.

“I'm not expecting Y/n.” he said, whit voice higher and thin than usual.

“But I didn't say it was Y/n.” Derek laughed and Spencer felt his cheeks go red.

This time he gave up hitting back, his let out a bad mood murmur and turned forward, forcing himself not to look at the door anymore. From that moment on, Spencer focused on focusing on the pile of reports in front of him, forcing his brain to disconnect from the things around him and concentrate on matters that demand his all attention.

The hours went by, faster this time, the case-free day was being used to finish late reports and giving the team time to recover the nerves and breath of the last case.

After noon, Gideon still hadn't arrived and Spencer started to feel slightly fearful. He was about to take his phone out of his pocket and dial Jason when JJ appeared, handing over more piles of reports to they that required to be finished today.

Derek gave a loud curse of annoyance, muttering something and back to writing again. Emily was used to the paperwork bureaucracy, but from the bittersweet and dissatisfied look on her face, Spencer knew that no one there shared the same delight him had with paperwork. He also knew that Morgan was exhausted because he had remodeled a property yesterday and was barely could to sleep, and Prentiss felt overwhelmed because she was dealing with problems with her mother and with the bureaucracy policy that Strauss pressed against her.

Then Spencer looked at the file stack itself. There was a lot of paperwork, but the amount of reports he would finish in two minutes was three times what his friends would finish in an hour. He leaned forward, looking over the table to see Emily and focusing Derek better in his field of vision.

“Do you guys want to give some reports? I finish faster anyway”

They agreed without hesitating or pretending modesty. Reid laughed, saying that his friends would owe him one, and went back to work.

After that, when Spencer finished the reports and lifted his head from the paperwork, the light in the world had dimmed to a dark blue hue, streaked by small, bright stars.

The breeze coming in through the large glass windows was fresh and invigorating, the scent of the night's wonderful promises was reminiscent of your perfume. And then he realized that neither you nor Gideon showed up all day. Something about him withered, the euphoria diminished until it became as small as the stars outside. The clock struck seven at night when Spencer got up and put his things away, millions of feelings buzzing in chest.

The unsettling sense of concern began to take place than had previously to been emotions of anxiety and excitement, and he pondered whether to ask Hotch about Gideon or to call himself. Reid looked around, looking under his colleagues, who were packing up to go home, and going up to Aaron's office. He could still see his figure under the marble table, the light from the room underscoring the serious and concentrated expression he directed to the documents. The air in that room looked different, maybe more dense, maybe more serious. But Spencer knew it was best to let Hotch do his own thing.

He ran the tip of his tongue over the corner of lips, reaching into his pocket and reaching for his cell phone.

“Hey, Reid." he turned toward Morgan, that signaled them to go to the elevator.

“Did you speak to Gideon today? Or did you hear Hotch say something about it?” The question came after he reached Derek, both of them walking out the glass door.

"Is it Gideon you're worried about or... his daughter?” He laughs shamelessly, pressing the elevator button.

Spencer stumbles over the words when says: “Wh-What? No. I'm just worried about him. It has nothing to do with… ”

As soon as the sentence was about to end, the elevator doors open. Instead of the usual void or presence of someone from the FBI, Spencer felt catatonic when he saw the female figure inside.

You.

In a burst, like a strong wind that blows and pushes things away, Spencer was struck by all the feelings and sensations that had been bubbling in his stomach all day. Euphoria, anxiety, insecurity and... animation. Suddenly, he was worried again about how he would look, what he would say, if he was presentable enough for you to look at him with... Well, Spencer didn't know how he wanted you to look at him, but he wished it were something that guarantee your affection.

He wanted to be something that excited you, that made your heart race. Just like his was now.

"Y/n...” He did not recognize his own voice. The intonation.

"Hey." You smiled genuinely, and it was able to make Reid's heart beat so fast that he feared you could hear. “I'm sorry I didn't show up and neither did my dad.”

“No problem at all.” He was sincere “Did something happen? Are you two okay? ”

The concern in Reid's voice was so palpable that you losing your breath. God, that man couldn't be real.

“I just remembered that Garcia is call me." Morgan tried to swallow a big smile “It was good to see you, Y/n.”

“Me too, Morgan.” You gave him a hand gesture that, for Reid, was lovely.

Spencer put his arm in the elevator door, preventing it from closing.

“Will you want to leave?” Always as solicitous as a gentleman.

“Oh no.” Now it was your cheeks that were softly red. “I came to see you actually.”

If nothing that had happened before was not enough to steal Spencer's breath, your sentence completed the mission. He put himself in an elevator, pressing a button and letting the doors close.

"I was going to bring my dad today, but ... well” You laughed “To put it succinctly, my dad has a list of things he wants to do before he dies, and one of them was rollerblading”

You and Spencer laughed. Half because he would have laughed at anything you said to see your smile, and half because he couldn't see Gideon having such a list. But he liked it. The feeling of knowing that Jason was having fun, enjoying life, not letting that job rip off all of his humanity, was comforting, joyful.

“Why do I feel this is not going to end well?" He joked too and you laughed.

“Because it doesn't end.” Your fingers ran through your hair “We ended up going to a place that had this, before he have work today, and he ended up twisting his ankle when he fell.”

You tried to no laught, because it was not something to play with, but after the fright passed and your father and you were entangled, they both burst out laughing. And now, reliving that, you didn't remember the hurt itself, but how great the fun between the two of you had been.

“He is fine?" But Spencer had a worried flash in his eyes.

“Oh, yes, the doctor said there was nothing much. He just needs to get some rest.” You smiled “I was going to call, but one thing led to another and when I saw it, it was too late to call. So I thought about coming in person.”

Spencer was known to have a photographic memory and a very high IQ, but at that moment, if then asked what you had just said, he would need a moment to remember. For the only thing he was concentrating on at that moment was the certainty that your smile could light up the whole of Washington. How your eyes held the stars' syntax and how the energy that emanated from you was... cheerful.

He realized that you were a cheerful person, outgoing and with an innate ease of making friends. You had that special touch that made people and the universe orbit around you. And Spencer knew it was one of the planets captured by your gravity.

"It is very sweet of you to come here to tell me that.” He smiled, but then realized what he had just said “N-not that you owe me any explanation! I just-I think it's cool that you worried and…n-not that I waited for you but… not th-that I didn't expect you too and...” Spencer stopped talking, giving up trying to find the right words to get him out of the mess he got himself into.

At times like this, Reid was used to people just dropping an embarrassed nod and leaving, or ignoring the avalanche of things he said. But as soon as the tone of your laughter echoed through the elevator and snaked through him body like a wave of energy, Reid looked at you more closely. You didn't give that embarrassed look, nor did you look sorry for him. You laughed lovingly and touched his arm.

"I was also looking forward to seeing you.” You summed up all of him thoughts in one sentence and freed him from all fears.

"Serious?" But disbelief was still present.

The elevator door opened and the two of you got out, walking to the exit of the building and being greeted by the cool, comforting breeze of the night.

“Yea.” You said as if it were obvious, “What do you think about going to a movie? It's not too late. ”

If Spencer had been told a few weeks ago that in a few days he would be on a date with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, he would have scoffed. He would have thought it was a joke with a background of evil. Going out with girls was not on the list of things Spencer did regularly, but he was thanking any confusion or mistake the Universe had made to accidentally placed you with him.

To be honest, with you on his side, with you with him, Spencer felt like he had won in life. That all those years of school and university, when he only saw beautiful girls from afar and dreamed of what it would be like to have one this girls interest in him, had dissipated into the air. Dissolved in the breeze like smoke. During all the hours of film, the joyful and ecstatic conversations you both had after, Spencer could feel the connection in the air. Naturally, kind of magical.

Did he know you two days or two decades ago?

You told all of your adventures, all of stories, and listened carefully to every ramble and phrase Reid had to say. He felt, for the first time, completely important. As if everything he had to say was valuable as a diamond, rare as a tropical treasure.

He felt comfortable, relaxed, cheerful.

And when, at the end of the night while the two of you were walking along the lively and vibrant streets of DC, you took his hand and intertwined yours fingers, Spencer never felt so alive.

He had been born twenty-four years, but only now did he really feel what it was like to be alive.

tagged: @gublersuvula @peculiarinsomniac