#and three didn’t quite make sense without two… and… so… I cut nothing

[arialerendeair]

Well, That's Curious

A fic for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang!!!

I had the pleasure of working with the most AMAZING artist, @maccca-chino, whose blog you should go check out and follow immediately!!!

LINK TO THE UTTERLY BRILLIANT ART LOOK AT IT, AHHHH!!

Pairing: Dream/Hob

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 38,800

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence , Happy Ending, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless, Orange Tabby Cat Hob Gadling, Depressed Dream of the Endless, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Supportive Hob Gadling, Protective Hob Gadling, BAMF Hob Gadling, Brief Suicidal Ideation, NO ONE DIES THOUGH I PROMISE, Getting Together, Falling in Love, Delirium and Death are tied for best sibling, King of Cats Dream of the Endless, Kitty Cat Cuddle Piles, Hob is an orange tabby and no one will ever convince me different, One more tag to be added when we get there - but it's a surprise!

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Summary: Hob was not a list person.

But when he found himself in a situation he didn’t understand, the first thing he did was attempt to make a list of things he knew.

One.  He was dreaming.  Sort of. Two.  He was a cat.

This was going to be a very long day.

Full Fic Below the Cut

Hob was not a list person.

He never had been, never would be.

Now Eleanor?  She was a list person.  She loved her lists.  And crossing items off lists. At the very least, she (and later Robyn), had taught him the value of a proper list when all else seemed lost.

Which was why, when Hob found himself in a situation he didn’t understand, the first thing he did was attempt to make a list of things he knew.

One.  He was dreaming.

How he knew that, he had no idea, but he was certain of that in the way he knew intrinsic truths of himself. He was in a dream, of some sort, which perhaps made the rest of things make sense without needing to rely on particular logical reasoning.

Two.  He was a cat.

Why he was a cat, he had no idea.  But he was.  An orange tabby, if he wasn’t mistaken.  But he was, and he didn’t feel like a human, but like a cat, ready to pounce on anything that captured or drew his interest.

Three.  Something was very wrong with where he was.

The air around where he was sitting was still, almost stifling in the stillness. It didn’t feel right, and every inhale (and oh breathing was strange with all his senses dialed up as they were) seemed to be forced.  As though it wasn’t necessary, and as though the air wasn’t quite air yet.  The sense of wrongness only grew stronger the more he tried to focus on it, his tail flicking impatiently.

Four.  He was waiting for someone.  Someone who needed him.

The last thing he remembered before he was a cat, was being told by a voice that echoed and rang that he was needed.  That someone needed him and couldn’t admit it, and he could help in a way no one else could.  And if there was one thing Hob was very good at (even as a cat), it was going to be helping whoever it was that he was waiting for.

(He did suspect it was their throne he was sitting on, but that would be something for him to figure out later, whenever they appeared.)

Five.  Hob was no longer entirely, completely human.

This was one of the more perplexing items on his mental list, but it was true.  There was something in the back of his mind now that told him this was the truth.  But what he was, especially now that he was a cat, he did not know.  He simply was.  What he was, if it was a what, he didn’t know.  But he was.

Lastly?  He was stuck.

There was nothing to be done for it at present.  He had tried a variety of things, of methods, and had not been able to change back.  (He had, at least, tested his reflexes rather thoroughly and was glad that they seemed to be as enhanced as a cat's would.)  He was stuck here, waiting for someone, waiting to see what would happen next, so he could begin to... do whatever he needed to.  Help.  Someone.  Whoever it was. 

"Who might you be?"

Hob's attention immediately focused on the woman standing in front of him, who was holding a book and watching him curiously.  She didn't seem angry, or upset, mostly confused and curious as to his presence.  Where he was, precisely, would have been useful in determining what had happened to him and why.  Perhaps it would have let him start sorting all of this mess.  Instead, he gave her his best impression of a shrug. 

She raised both of her eyebrows.  "I can understand you perfectly well if you speak." 

Hob considered that for a moment, wondering if he would speak with his normal voice, the voice of a cat, or something else.  He swished his tail against the marble of the throne and listed his head to look at her properly.  "Can you?"  There was an echoing meow behind the words, clearly what the vocalization sounded like, but she nodded once more.  He relaxed and rolled over onto his belly, stretching out with a pleased purr as the cool stone pressed to the soft skin there.  "Where am I?"

"You are in the Dreaming.  How did you come to be here?"  She reached out to touch a fingertip to his tail.  He flicked it at her with a frown.  "Where did you come from?"

Hob shrugged again.  "I have no idea.  I was told I needed to be here, so I am.  Everything is different, and I am a cat." 

"You are..." 

She stroked a fingertip along his spine and Hob had to find a shiver of something, power, or magic, touching him at the same time and narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn't seem to want to do anything else beyond that singular touch.  There was something clearly confused on her face now and she was watching him with narrowed eyes as he didn't bother to try to finish the sentence for her. 

"Not a Dream.  Nor a Nightmare.  Where might you have come from, to contain power like that?" she asked.  "Strange that my lord would not have warned me of your coming."  She looked pointedly down at the chair.  "Or that you would be quite so forward as to sit on his throne." 

"It's comfy," Hob pointed out, his eyes drifting shut as he let out a breath.  Whatever lord that he had taken the seat of would survive, he was a cat after all.  "It's not as though he is using it at the moment."  He licked his lips and considered as he stared at his paws and dragged his tongue along one.  "Will he be back soon?  Maybe he knows what I am supposed to do and who I am supposed to help." 

She pressed her lips together and frowned down at him.  "You are supposed to help?"

"Yes," Hob answered, and the firmness in his own voice surprised him a fraction.  "I do not know with what, but I will be able to help."  He pushed himself up to his feet and stretched, before curling up on the throne once more.  "If you do not know when he will be back, it seems that the best thing for me to do will be to wait for him here."

"What are you?"

Hob gave a loud meow and stared at her for several long moments.  The question rankled.  There was an obvious answer (a cat), a less than obvious answer (a human, turned into a cat) and the truth, which was that he was... something else all together, now, that he didn't completely understand.  He wanted to know, and he wanted to answer truthfully, but since he couldn't, he shrugged and curled up on the marble once more.  He could wait for whoever it was.  He had time, and though his Stranger (Dream, he knew a name now) had promised to visit him sometime soon, he had a feeling that he would know if he was being looked for. 

(He added that to the list.  It was a strange thing to be certain that he would KNOW.)

"Do not be surprised if you are removed when my lord returns," she said, turning on her heel to descend the stairs, leaving a book on the arm of the throne. 

Hob lifted his head to stare at the spine of the book curiously, the writing in a language he did not recognize.  Interesting, that this lord would be reading a book, and would have a woman bringing him a book who felt comfortable quizzing him in such a fashion.  Who was this lord? 

He'd find out soon enough, he was sure.

~!~

Their conversation had been beyond any expectation Hob ever could have had of his friend returning.  It had been hard to keep the smile off his face as they had begun talking, and this time, his friend did not simply listen, but offered quiet commentary, and it had his heart singing with joy the entire time, even as the evening passed and closing time rapidly approached.  He was sad for it to end, but he had decades worth of those quick and secret smiles to store under his ribs and hoard them like the thief he no longer tried to be. 

He finished off the last of his beer and raised the empty glass to his Stranger.  No name had been forthcoming, but where before it had felt like an imposition to ask, now, it almost felt as though it were a game that they were playing together.  "So, will it be back to the usual '89 rhythm?" he asked, his voice soft, smiling sadly.  "I'd like that, if possible.  But I don't know what requirements you have on our arrangement, Stranger." 

His Stranger had paused, his fingertips resting against the stem of his wineglass as he studied the liquid in it without partaking.  He'd maybe taken two sips that Hob had seen all evening.  Maybe he would garner up the courage to ask if he could order something his Stranger actually liked at their next meeting, no matter when it was. 

"I would not impose on your life, and how you spend it, Hob Gadling." 

Hob's eyes sharpened to his Stranger, the tentativeness with which he said those words, because they seemed to be leading somewhere.  He tilted his head and offered a quiet hum of consideration.  "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice soft. 

His Stranger's eyes had flicked up, and the bottomless blue had shone with the light of thousands of stars for the briefest of seconds, making his breath catch, before they had faded back into the normal eyes of a man he knew. 

"Only that it has been... recommended to me, that friends me more often than once a century.  However, if that is the arrangement you wish to keep to, I will not-"

Hob's heart leaped into his throat and he reached out to touch his Stranger's hand, pressing his fingertips to that pale wrist, halting him.  "Friends do meet more than once a century," he agreed, hoping that he did not sound as desperate as he had felt at the moment.  He managed a broader grin.  "My friend, I will meet with you as often as you could possibly make time for me, and find nothing but joy in it.  There is little that could make me happier, I suspect, than the chance to meet with you more regularly, as long as it places no undue weight on you." 

The smile Hob got in return, small and tentative, but shining with emotion had Hob's heart jumping out of his chest to land in the palms of his Stranger without hesitation.  He kept up the eye contact that seemed to linger for several extended seconds before his friend nodded once more.  

"It would please me to meet more often, Hob.  How often would you recommend?"  He paused, before continuing.  "I have not found myself in the possession of a friend before, and would seek your lead in this matter." 

Hob wanted to wrap his friend up in his arms, hug him tight, and probably never let him go.  If those words were not the most heartbreaking thing he had ever heard in his life, he did not know what were.  He managed a smile and another tap of his fingertips against his friend's wrist.  "Least once a year, I would say.  I'd like to meet more often, of course.  Maybe once a month, or once every couple of months?  I don't know what your schedule looks like, my friend, I do not want to impose." 

His friend had pursed his lips and considered before answering and Hob had never wanted to kiss someone more than he did his friend in that moment, to smooth away the considering confusion that was on his face.  He looked grave and serious, but open to the suggestion, which was more than Hob had ever expected of him. 

"Time is rarely linear for me in such a fashion.  However, I can ensure that I do visit you at least once a year, and shall endeavor to visit more often than that." 

Hob nodded rapidly, unable to keep the grin that grew on his face.  "My friend, nothing makes me happier.  I would love to see you sometime in the next year.  Even if it's tomorrow, next week, next month, you are always welcome where I am, and I will welcome you with open arms."  That gained him a piercing look, considering and heavy, and Hob felt a shiver run up his spine at the sheer weight of that look being leveled at him in such a way.  He offered a small shrug but waited for the judgment of such a declaration. 

"You are a good friend, Hob Gadling.  Perhaps far better than I deserve.  I thank you for your willingness to teach me how to be a better one." 

Hob beamed, still grinning.  "I think you are a brilliant friend, for the record.  And I will be very excited to tell you as many stories as you like when you return."  He lit up with excitement.  "Perhaps we can even explore other places outside the pub."  He caught the pointed nod from his staff member and stood up, glad when his friend followed the same cue and they began to make their way to the door.  "If you want to, of course.  We don't have to do anything you don't want!"

His friend paused in consideration once more before he nodded.  "I would like that." 

"Great, amazing," Hob breathed out, nodding eagerly as he brought them to the door and opened it for his friend, stepping out into the cool air, before turning to look at his friend with a rueful grin.  "I guess that this is where we say goodbye for the evening?" 

His friend nodded and Hob once more felt himself utterly pinned into place by those eyes and that gaze, making him gasp and squirm under it, even though he was far too old for that sort of reaction, to say the least. 

"Thank you, for your company, and your friendship, Hob Gadling." 

Hob would never, ever get tired of hearing his stranger say his name, or calling him his friend, especially with the small smile that was on his face.  It felt like something that was made just for him, something that was his, alone.  Something that he would always be more than a little weak for, so he swallowed, and nodded.  "Of course, stranger, any time.  As often as you like." 

His Stranger nodded once more and turned to leave, but Hob tensed when he paused and turned back to look at him. 

His Stranger smiled faintly.  "My name, Hob, is Dream."  He inclined his head.  "I will see you soon."

Hob wanted to cry as he watched his stranger, Dream, his name was Dream, oh he would never forget this moment, for the rest of his life, no matter how long it was, not ever, not after this, stepped into the shadows and disappeared.  He leaned against the New Inn and breathed deep, lifting his eyes to look at the stars.  How had he gotten so lucky?  Not only had his friend returned, he'd been granted a name, and his friendship, it seemed like they would be meeting far more often than he ever imagined possible.  It was everything he ever could have wanted, handed to him on a silver platter. 

If only he could have seen what the future would hold on June 7th in 1989. 

~!~

"Who are you?"

Hob blinked himself awake, slow and lazy, yawning wide as he stretched out on the cool marble that still felt magnificent on his belly and lifted his head just a fraction to look at who had spoke.  He opened one eye properly and looked up at the towering figure.  The sight of his Stranger, of Dream, had him scrambling to his feet and he sat down, his tail curled around his paws and looked up at the truly incredible sight of Dream.  How had this happened?  What was his friend doing here? 

If he told his friend who he was, would he be made to leave?  He had been sitting on the throne of a supposed lord, after all.  Perhaps it would be for the best to see if his friend recognized him, and if he did not, pretend ignorance.  He yawned again and made a small noise.  "I'm here to help someone.  I woke up here, like this.  Was told I would need to help them." 

Dream blinked at him in clear confusion, and Hob stared right back at him, unwilling to break his eye contact or risk being banished by the figure in front of him.  He would stand his ground, and maybe he was right.  Maybe Dream could tell him who he needed to help. 

"You are not going to help them by sitting on my throne," Dream answered, eventually.  "Remove yourself, if you please." 

Hob heard the not-request for what it was and surveyed his options for a few seconds before jumping up onto the arm of the throne, sitting down on it easily.  He continued to stare at his friend and preened when that particular action got him a smile that seemed to come much more readily to his lips here, wherever here was.  His friend sat down beside him, and then there were long fingers sinking into his fur, petting him slow and easy.  It was impossible to keep the purr in his throat, and he tipped himself into the touch with a pleased sound.  

Dream continued to pet him, and Hob felt everything around him go more than a little hazy, but he was warm and cradled by comfortable shadows and when Hob blinked to proper attention again, he realized that he was exactly where he'd wanted to be.  On Dream's lap, sprawled out with long fingers buried in his fur, petting him idly.  He let out a happy sigh and settled properly, glad when Dream resumed his petting after a few minutes.  Beyond him, there was a conversation that Dream was clearly having, one that he should have been listening to, perhaps, but it was entirely superseded by the feeling of Dream continuing to pet him. 

That confirmed it then.  Dream did not recognize him, not by voice, and not by virtue of being able to read his mind, which meant that he got to see Dream around other people and compare notes at a later date.  For the moment though, his friend seemed content to read the book in his lap, pages turning at a steady rate as he worked through whatever book that Hob hadn't  been able to read the title of.  Eventually though, there was a more pointed scratch of his ears, and with a noise, Hob brought his attention to his friend and blinked slowly at him.  If there was something that he wanted, Hob would do his best to fulfill.

"I have work to attend to, as much as I would enjoy passing more time here," Dream told the cat that was not a dream, not a nightmare, and not of his realm at all.  It seemed harmless, and even Lucienne had said she had seen it do nothing more than nap against his throne for the hours that he had been here.  "But I thank you for the pleasure of your company." 

Hob stretched and hopped down off of Dream's lap, his tail swishing as he stretched again and watched the sand begin to swirl around his friend.  The other-ness in the back of his mind began to clamor, and before the sand dissipated, Hob had followed his friend out of the wild rush of sand and onto a patch of green grass that extended behind them and a series of hills that seemed crumpled in on itself.  It looked like the land had been eaten by a whirlpool of some sort, and Hob could feel the ache of the land beneath his paws.  With a noise, he made his way forward toward the bits that he could see. 

Dream watched, curious, as the cat that had somehow followed him to the parts of the Dreaming that had been devastated by the vortex, trotted off and into the areas where his realm was still aching.  He could barely feel the brush of it, even as it explored the devastation.  He had been fixing the areas, one at a time, one after another, until he came to the worst of it, which was always exhausting to repair, but repair it must be.  "You will need to move," he called to the cat, who seemed determined to be in the way, still walking around the edge of the grass that was pulled into a black hole of sorts.  "I need to-"

He paused and tilted his head, because the cat was looking down the hole and didn't seem to show any fear of what was in front of it.  In fact, with an easy leap, it was standing in mind air above the ground that was twisted and curled in on itself.  The cat seemed to turn to look at him proudly, now out of his way, and settled on the invisible platform it had been able to create in the Dreaming, somehow.  Whatever it was, the Dreaming did not consider it a threat, and that, at least, was reassuring.  He had harmed more than enough people and creatures since his return, knowing that he could not easily hurt this one was a relief. 

Dream took a deep breath and reached out for the threads of the Dreaming around him, the ones that had been ripped and torn apart by Rose.  Not intentionally, but by virtue of what she simply was and began to weave them back together.  It was painstaking, exhausting work, repairing and weaving all at once, but he was well aware that if he did not do it together, he would be in a situation where he would need to rip it apart to repair it regardless.  Though he had more power than he had had in longer than he could remember, wielding it with this level of finesse and care was not a thing he had ever thought to practice over the years. 

A delicate bit of weaving pulled his distraction enough to have him dropping threads, and he cursed, about to drop it all and undo it to begin again, when he found that nothing had come unwoven.  The threads were still held, almost precisely in place where they had needed to be. 

Dream pulled his awareness back to the Dreaming around him and saw the cat, standing exactly where Dream had last seen him, save that he was standing now, and shining in his mouth, held taut, were the strands that he had lost his strength on for a moment.  The kitten was staring at him proudly as it continued to hold the threads still for him.  He managed to finish up the rest of what he had been doing and picked up the strands from the kitten and finished the weave and the remains of the repair, until it was at last as it should have been.  Freshly woven and raw dreamstuff for him to mold as he saw fit. 

A meow had him pulling his attention down to the cat who was sitting in front of him, his head tilted up as though he was proud of himself and Dream could not help the smile that curled over his lips.  In an instant, it was easy to slip into another form, a cat, much larger than the one standing in the grass, walking once, then twice, around the cat who had a strange amount of control in his realm. 

"You are magnificent." 

Dream blinked and found himself sitting in front of the orange tabby, studying him curiously, curling his tail around his feet.  "Thank you, for your compliment.  And for your assistance."  He inclined his head briefly and turned to walk away and deeper into the Dreaming, moving through it as easily as he ever had, reacquainting it with himself in this form.  Strangely, the orange tabby was able to follow in his footsteps, almost as though he could see the paths that Dream himself was walking, as he led the way deeper and deeper in, higher and higher up. 

However, as before, the cat behind him, did nothing more than observe and look at everything around him, seemingly curious with everything around him, eager to explore and see what there was to see.  It was strange, even as he felt the presence of Matthew join him, more than once, the other cat seemed entirely unbothered by the presence of his raven.  Matthew, in turn, after giving the cat what could only be considered a glare on any other animal, had congratulated on him finding a friend, before he'd headed back to the castle at Dream's bidding. 

A friend. 

Dream thought of Hob Gadling, living his life in the waking world, enjoying his teaching, his classes, while he worked to repair and organize the Dreaming.  The work ahead of him was extensive, but it had already begun, and with Gault's remaking, more of his creations had come forward, speaking to him for perhaps the first time in their existence.  They had so long been afraid to approach and discuss anything with him before, now it was as though floodgates had opened, and now none of them feared speaking with him as they had in the past.  It would take time, and a great deal of effort, as Lucienne had often reminded him, to rebuild what had been broken, and a great many of his dreams and nightmares were not the same. 

But the Dreaming was better for it. 

And whoever this creature was, it clearly (for now) did not mean him any harm, and did not appear to want to get in his way as he went about his duties, so Dream saw no need to be concerned about such a presence.  At least for the time being. 

Hob was in bliss, staring at the scenery around him.  The spot they had stopped was a grassy meadow, and after pouncing on two different flowers (and feeling the rumble of what felt like the field itself below him in amusement), Hob had stretched out to sun himself until Dream had decided he needed to move to another area of the kingdom.  Instead, he'd talked to a raven that had been larger than him (even with how big he was in cat form) and Hob had watched them curiously as the raven was dismissed and sent back to the castle, before Dream was turning back to him.  He gave a blissful wave of a paw and watched his friend come closer.

"You look comfortable."

Hob wanted to laugh and he rolled in the grass, scratching at his back, before he flopped in a direction that had him facing his friend. He yawned, showing his teeth, before he nodded once. "I am very comfortable. Have you ever laid out in the sun here? There are few things better than lying out in the sun to relax and simply enjoy yourself."

Dream sat down next to the orange tabby and turned to look up at the sun.  "It does not affect me in such a way." 

"Bet that it could if you let it!" Hob challenged, shifting to expose his belly, letting out a purr at how good it felt.  "Give it a try.  Promise I won't tell a soul.  You can go back to being the King of Cats after!''

Dream blinked and opened his mouth to ask how the orange tabby had discovered his title when it was clear that he was barely being teased.  By a cat that he did not understand, that did not belong in the Dreaming, who was not a Dreamer either, something fascinatingly in between that seemed determined to accompany him.  "Why should I?"

"Because it is fun, life is short, and sometimes when everything else is a mess, taking a small pleasure for yourself means everything," Hob challenged, reaching out to press a paw to Dream's shoulder, applying enough pressure to tip him over until he was lying in the grass as well.  "You have been working hard.  Take a few moments to yourself to breathe and to relax.  It is good for you." 

"Good for me," Dream repeated, curious.  He twisted his body a fraction, so he was mimicking the pose of the other cat and waited for whatever was supposed to happen.  After a few seconds, the warmth of the sun above him shone brighter, encouraged by its lord.  He closed his eyes and heard the purr of satisfaction from beside him, and waited.  

He felt it on his paws first, and flexed them, spreading his toes wide, warm tingling enough to have a pleased rumble escaping him.  And after, the warmth seemed to creep over him in low waves, almost as though a blanket were being pulled over him.  Wave after wave of steady comfort, all of it curling around him in an endless supply of warmth.  A much louder purr rumbled from his throat and he tipped his head back, trying to expose as much of himself to the heat as was possible.  

Hob had no idea when his friend had last let himself relax, properly, had really indulged in something that was only for his happiness and comfort, and not a part of his work, or his duty.  But him doing that right this moment was... giving him all sorts of fuzzy feelings he knew well enough to keep to himself.  Dream couldn't be bothered with those, and that would be for the best.   But seeing his friend relax, his body going slack as he enjoyed the sunlight, and clearly, by the sound of his purring, it was better than he expected. 

Hob allowed himself to squeeze a fraction closer, until his paws were brushing against long strands of dark fur pillowed in the grass of the field they sat in.  From there, there was nothing but soaking up the sun, constantly.  It was rather perfect, a dream that he never wanted to end. 

--

Dream came back into awareness to a flutter of familiar feathers.  Matthew.  

He sat up properly and turned to his raven, already missing the relaxation that the orange tabby was still enjoying, but it was clear that Matthew had come bearing a message.  "Is all well, Matthew?"

"Nothing is wrong, boss!  Lucienne wanted me to let you know that responses to your allies are coming in, or flooding in, I think, were the words she used."  Matthew flapped his wings and looked over Dream's shoulder and lowered his voice.  "She has no idea who your uh.  Guest, is, though." 

Dream made a quiet humming sound, low in his throat and met the eyes of the orange tabby who had sat up and was now watching them both.  "He is a guest, and that is enough," he announced, stretching his claws in the soft dirt of Fiddler's Green.  "I will return soon.  Does she need assistance-"

"Oh, no, keep enjoying yourself.  I think she's liking the response that the Dreaming is getting, and she wanted to, you know.  Pass on good news.  Nothing needed, you can keep doing your relaxation routine, or tour, or whatever you have going on here," Matthew said, hopping twice in the grass.  "She also said that you could bring him to tour the library, as an option.  That he might enjoy it." 

Dream nodded once, and watched as Matthew took off and into the sky, heading for the castle, likely to tell Lucienne that he had been found in cat form, sunning himself in Fiddler's Green.  It was disgraceful, he had so much work to do, to finish, but taking a break was also something that Lucienne had been insistent on him needing.  He turned back to the orange tabby who was watching him, and sat down in front of him, and waited, but the cat seemed to content to wait for him to say something, or to make the first move. 

"Who are you?" Dream repeated, narrowing his eyes at the orange tabby.  "Why have you come to the Dreaming?"

"The Dreaming," Hob repeated, his voice soft and awed.  "I was brought here.  And I... am not sure.  Who I am."  The words made him squirm, because telling Dream that he was Hob would have been only partially correct.  He was stuck, trapped in this form, and he knew that he was not only human anymore.  To say it was him would be lying, but nor did this feel entirely accurate.  "I know some things.  But I also know I am stuck.  And I am meant to help someone.  I was hoping that you could tell me who I was meant to help." 

Dream tilted his head, but even with the power of the Dreaming surrounding the cat in front of him, it revealed no additional answers.  There was Endless magic sunk into him, perhaps deeper than it should have been for a normal cat, but the only touch that he could feel upon the cat was his own, and the faintest touches of his siblings.  When the orange tabby stepped closer, and leaned in, nuzzling up against him, he flinched back, hissing.  "I did not give you permission to touch me!"

Hob sat down in front of his friend, watching him with careful eyes.  "So you did not," he agreed.  "I am sorry." 

Dream found himself mollified by the immediate apology and flexed his claws in the ground, leaning against the Dreaming again.  It had... had felt good.  Almost the same as the sunlight soaking into him.  He had not touched anyone else since he had stepped into the Dreaming, save Lucienne's hand, and the briefest of touches of Hob Gadling's fingers to his hand.  "What possessed you to do such a thing?"

"You looked like you could use a hug," Hob said.  He would never have dared to be so forward with Dream as a human, but like this, it was easier to be honest, to say what he thought was the truth.  If Dream tried to leave with his magic, he could simply follow.

Dream blinked at the tabby and tilted his head, confused.  It was not possible that he would have appeared as such, and the orange tabby had spent more hours in his presence, he certainly never would have been able to ascertain that he needed touch.  "How?"

Hob shrugged and flicked his tail across the grass.  "Some things are instinct, I guess.  But I was curious.  Even if you don't need a hug, you could want one.  Do you want one?"

The question (and the way his had been answered) tickled something at the back of Dream's mind, but he dismissed it in the face of the plain and clear question that had been asked of him.  He might not need a hug, but he could certainly want one, and that was a distinct possibility.  Did he want a hug?  More importantly, could he allow himself this momentary weakness, to accept such a touch from a stranger who he did not know, and could have an ulterior motive? 

"What would it do for you?" Dream asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  The thought that such a weakness could be used against him had come roaring to the front of his mind, and Dream could not deny that the fear was growing by the second.  "Why would you offer it?"

Had Hob been human, he would have whimpered at those words, at the reality and truth of them.  To think that Dream had received so little open kindness in his life that a hug should be treated with suspicion, that it would need to be looked upon with this level of worry was... heartbreaking.  It only made Hob want to hug him more, but admitting any of those things would do the exact opposite and Dream would pull further away. 

"It is comfort, and everyone deserves it.  It is harmless," Hob answered instead, continuing to watch Dream. 

"Harmless," Dream scoffed.  "Foolish, more like." 

"As foolish as resting in the sun and letting it warm you?" Hob challenged, leaning down his front half into pounce position, wiggling his hips as he continued to watch Dream consider that statement.  Now, at least, there was a moment of indecision and confusion.  "When was the last time you played a game?  You worked hard.  Allow yourself to play." 

Dream started incredulously at the orange tabby who looked ready to pounce him, tension in every single one of his muscles.  "A game?  I do not have time for games." 

"You had time for sunning yourself.  And your raven said you could keep enjoying your time," Hob challenged, before leaping and pouncing on Dream, knocking him gently to the ground, before swiftly moving out of the way of his claws, lingering a couple of feet away, about to race away.  "Come play!" 

Dream narrowed his eyes, climbing back up to both his feet.  "This is my realm.  You cannot escape me." 

Hob laughed and danced on the pads of his feet.  "It is not about escape.  It is about chase.  It is about having fun."  He stepped in closer, his tail up and flicking in the air behind him as he pressed his nose to Dream's in a brief touch before pulling back.  "I promise to not make it too easy on you."  That, at least, got the growl that he wanted from Dream, and he leaped away as Dream dashed after him. 

After that, it was a wild chase through the tall grass, flowers, and small forest around them.  Hob changed his approach more than a dozen times, weaving around trees (and then avoiding them when he realized that Dream could step out of the shadows of them), when Dream, at last, pounced and he didn't see it in time, sending him crashing to the field of flowers, Dream on top of him, pinning him down.  He willingly went limp and ceded the win to Dream and then found himself with Dream on top of him and a face buried against his neck as they both caught their breath. 

"Fun," Dream breathed softly.  Like this, he could feel the sunshine bleeding from the other cat, and it was so warm, he wanted to sink into it for as long as he could.  How strange.  "I can't remember the last time I had fun." 

"Good thing that you have me here to help then," Hob said, keeping his voice cheerful, even as he felt his heart turn over in his chest.  "I'll play with you whenever you want.  Bet you'd enjoy it."  When Dream turned to narrow his eyes at him, Hob laughed and pounced on him, knocking him to the dirt again, before he raced off across the meadow.  When he heard Dream racing behind him, only a few seconds later, Hob pushed his body to the limits as they raced around each other.  It took a few tries, but soon he was leaping halfway up trees and using them to change direction, and run circles around Dream, who was getting faster and faster with each pass.  This wasn't going to last and he knew it, but in the meantime, it was fun. 

Hob was once more racing across the meadow when the appearance of a woman, the same one who had been chastizing him for sitting on Dream's throne appeared in the middle of it, looking around for them.  He stopped and turned to look at Dream, only to find himself pounced on, he and Dream rolling, only to land at her feet in a tangle of black and orange fur.  Hob laughed as they untangled themselves and the cat turned to look at the woman with a regal nod of his head.  He dusted himself off and considered going back to the castle, to wait for Dream there when he would return.  He could feel that, at least for now, they were done playing. 

Something tugged at his chest, hard and insistent and Hob paused, sitting down in the meadow as he tried to feel exactly what it was.  The other two were ignoring him, talking quietly to each other, and he took a few more steps forward.  A portal opened up in front of him and he stared at it in confusion, tilting his head to the side curiously.  It was swirling with every color imaginable, and several others that he had never seen before and stepped closer to it.  The tug was coming from inside the portal and he stepped closer to it, watching it carefully.  Dream had told him to be wary, and he was, but there was something telling him that he needed to go through the portal, and find out what was waiting for him on the other side.  Whatever it was, it was something that he needed to... to do. 

He looked behind him at the sight of Dream, now once more in the form that Hob recognized, standing with the person.  Neither of them were paying attention to him any longer and he smiled, giving a nod.  It was enough that he had managed to get Dream to play with him for a little while.  That was enough.  At least for now.  Hob turned back to the portal and leaped through it, feeling it close behind him. 

A mad swirl of colors surrounded him and laughed in delight, making him twirl and chase the spark that had appeared.  There was no path back to the Dreaming, where Dream and the woman had been standing, but that was all right.  He felt proud to have gotten Dream to smile, and to play, at least a little.  It had been good for him, he had no doubt.  Instead, he turned his full attention to the colors surrounding him and felt the insistent tugging at the center of his chest.  He sat down on the cascade of colors and let out a loud meow, but all at once, he was a human again, and the light around him was blinding as he stumbled. 

"Shit, oh, what the..." Hob clenched his eyes shut, a headache having immediately burst behind his temples now that he was a human again.  The part of him that he knew was no longer human in the back of his mind was tugging at him, trying to pull him back into the mind of the cat, where it was safer and far less chaotic.  "Who, what are you?" 

"I aM mE, oF cOuRsE!" 

The voice was a discordant bell and a chime all at once, and Hob managed a smile for her.  "Of course you are.  Can you tell me who I am?  And why I'm here?" 

"If I hAd LeFt YoU, DrEaM wOuLd HaVe FiGuReD oUt WhO yOu WeRe.  Or YoU wOuLd HaVe ToLd HiM.  YoU cAn'T lEt HiM sUsPeCt YoU.  ThAt WoUlD rUiN eVeRyThInG!"

Hob blinked in confusion against the weight of his hand and lifted it a few inches off his face to look at the young woman who was, sitting upsidedown, in mid air.  He stared at her for several long seconds before he shrugged.  Wasn't the weirdest thing he'd ever seen by far.  "Dream was going to figure me out?  Then I suppose I shouldn't go back."  The words made him sad, even as he said them, because wanted to go back and see Dream again.  Wanted to go back and play with him again, see if he could convince his stoic friend that it was his turn to be chased. 

"No, No, No, No YoU mUsT!  YoU mUsT gO bAcK!  YoU hAvE tO hElP!  PlEaSe, YoU hAvE tO hElP!"

Hob lifted his hand, and the woman in front of him didn't move, but her face had twisted to give him a frown that was comically large.  "I don't... he's my friend.  I don't know how to help him, like you said.  I don't even know what's wrong with him.  How am I supposed to know?" 

"PlAy!  LaUgH!  YoU dId iT tOdAy!  ALl Of tHoSe tHiNgS!" 

Hob swallowed and considered that, leaning back against the wall that solidified into place.  "I can try," he agreed.  "But you said he's going to recognize me.  How can I help him with anything when he's going to know that it's me?"

The dancing light in front of him around the young woman paused to consider that, and Hob waited for the answer that he knew wasn't going to come.  No matter what he did, or how he tried, if Dream was going to recognize him, there really would be no stopping his friend from being furious with him, and that was the last thing he wanted.  "Is it him I'm supposed to help?" he asked, meeting her eyes. 

She nodded, chewing on her lip.  "I gAvE iT tO yOu.  IT's GoOd FoR yOu.  YoU'lL LiKe iT.  YoU nEeD iT, tO hElP hIm.  He WoN't LiStEn, OtHeRwIsE.  He MiGhT sTiLl NoT LiStEn."  She swung her feet in the air and sighed.  "He'S sO sTuBbOrN aNd I lOvE hIm So MuCh.  BuT hE dOeSn'T hAvE fUn AnYmOrE.  I miSs WhEn hE uSeD tO hAvE fUn." 

There was something heartbreakingly sad about the declaration that Dream didn't have fun any longer, especially when it was clear that that was all that she wanted for him.  Hob swallowed and looked up at her.  "What if you told him?  I'm sure that he'd-"

"No!  He DoEsN't LiStEn.  EsPeCiAlLy NoT tO mE."  She looked at him.  "He LiStEnEd tO yOu." 

Hob pushed his fingers through his hair.  Dream had listened to him, and for what reason, he had no idea.  Dream had had no reason, but he... Tilting his head, he looked up at the young woman again.  "You said you gave me something.  What did you give me?" 

She grinned and did a flip in mid air.  "It WaA a SeEd!  I'vE bEeN hIdInG iT fOr a LoNg TiMe.  IT uSeD tO bE mInE, aNd iT sTiLl iS, bUt nOw iT's YoUrS tOo, bEcAuSe YoUr GrOuNd Is FeRtiLe, yOu'Ll Be ThE bEsT fOr iT, aNd yOu cAn UsE iT tO hElP DrEaM!"

"That didn't answer my question," Hob said, only to find that she was standing directly in front of him and had reached out to press a finger to his chest, making him inhale sharply under the pressure of it.  "What kind of a seed?  What did it... do to me?" 

She sighed and flopped over a chair that had not been there moments earlier.  "He'S nOt CuRiOuS aNyMoRe.  He'S tOo oLd.  He KnOws EvErYtHiNg, He'S sUrE oF iT.  He NeEdS tO bE cUrIoUs, So I wAnTeD tO gIvE hIm YoU!  So He WoUlD bE cUrIoUs!" 

That answer wasn't any more enlightening, but Hob could see some of the intent behind it, at least.  It was curious that she would have picked him for this, because surely there had to be better.  "And you want me to make him curious?"

She shook her head, bells tinkling in her hair in a way that had Hob smiling despite himself. 

"YoU'rE cUrIoUs, He CaN't AlSo Be CuRiOuS, hE's DrEaM!  YoU nEeD tO rEmInD hIm To Be CuRiOuS.  He LiKeS iT, hE jUsT dOeSn'T rEmEmBeR iT, aNd I mIsS hIm NoT rEmEmBeRiNg iT!"

Hob couldn't shake the feeling that exactly what he was was in that answer, but it was still out of reach and didn't make enough sense.  He sighed and nodded again.  "How do I... switch forms?  So I can be human again?" 

"CaN't, I'm KeEpInG yOu-YoU hErE!  SaFe ThOuGh, I pRoMiSe, JuSt HaVe To KeEp BeInG cUrIoUs!" 

Hob's heart jumped into his throat.  "I need to be able to be human again, what if Dream comes to visit me, he might think that I've left!"  Fear swamped over him and he moved closer to her and met both her eyes, the green one flickering to blue for an instant.  "Please, he can't think I've abandoned him if he comes to see me.  He can't." 

She nodded once.  "VeRy WeLl." 

Hob relaxed and sighed in relief.  "Only when he visits me, if he does, I promise.  I'm fine being a cat the rest of the time.  I'm having fun with it."  That, at least, had her smiling and her eyes were shining with the same light as before.  He heard the opening of a portal behind him and looked back over to it.  "Why... are you helping me?  Him?  Why?" 

A sad smile crawled over her face and she wrapped her arms around herself, a multi-colored shadow joining her.  "I kNoW tHiNgS.  DrEaM hAs tO sToP.  Or He WiLl SaY gOoDbYe." 

Another shiver of fear rolled up Hob's spine as he stared at her.  "Goodbye?"  She gave another sad nod.  "Goodbye forever?"  That made her sniffle and Hob was about to demand more information, when she pushed her hands out at him, shoving insistently at him toward the portal.  He landed, once more on four feet and looked around him.  It was not the same field as before, there was cobblestone under his paws, so Hob took a deep breath and started walking, one paw after another.  His mind was spinning, the thought of Dream saying goodbye, having to say goodbye in a way that was permanent, had something dark twisting deeper in his chest. 

That did mean one thing for certain.  Dream was in trouble, and she, whoever she was, was right about him needing help.  And there was very little (if anything at all) that Hob would not do to protect his friend and keep him safe.  Even if it meant putting himself in danger. 

Weaving between the legs of creatures that were appearing steadily, Hob kept going forward, the sun above streaming down on them, lulling him with its heat.  He wanted nothing more than to stop and stretch out to enjoy and soak up the sunshine.  But he didn't know how much time he had, or how long he had to make a difference with his friend.  He would need to go to work.  And make him... curious.  Somehow. 

The crowd was getting thicker and thicker, and with a sigh of frustration, Hob jumped up onto a railing and began walking along it instead, only to realize that he was crossing a massive bridge, and there was a line, all of it heading straight into Dream's castle.  It appeared to be lit up and decorated, as though celebrating, and he stopped to sit on the railing and observe it.  The crowd he'd been walking to was wandering in steadily, all of them being checked by the Guardians, to head inside to whatever awaited them there. 

Hob wrinkled his nose and started to make his way toward the castle once more when all of the sudden, the raven Dream had been talking to before, landed in front of him and eyed him.  He tensed and drew his claws out, glaring right back at the raven. 

"So you're finally back, are you?"

That was an odd question.  Hob tilted his head and stared at the raven.  "Was I gone for long?"

"He was worried about you, you know.  All he saw was you disappearing into a portal, and then you were gone.  He's been looking for you," the raven clacked his beak.  "You made him sad, and I hope that that makes you sad too!  He has enough to deal with, he doesn't deserve to-"

"Wait, wait," Hob interrupted.  "I don't understand.  I was being summoned, I had to go.  Where... how long have I been gone?” 

The raven cawed.  "At least a month, by my reckoning.  S'how long it took us to pull this whole party together.  Who are you, anyway?" 

"I, I don't know," Hob answered, the question frustrating him more than ever.  "But I didn't mean to stay away for so long.  I'll go find him, right away!" 

Coiling his legs under him, Hob jumped over the raven, who squawked and startled all the party goers by him on the bridge, and he began to run along the railing.  It was miraculously free of any interference, but when he came to the front of the line, the same woman was there, with the guardians of the gate hovering over her.  Hob went to run right past all of them, eager to find Dream, to be near him, and he could feel the confusion and curiosity of everyone watching him as he ran by, but he couldn't go through the door, it was protected and Hob slashed at it, then looked up at the woman, who was giving him a judgmental look. 

"So you did decide to return after all," she said, looking down at him.  "I hope you give him a proper apology.  He deserves one." 

Hob's heart was pounding, and he barely felt the barrier lower before he was racing into the castle, once more racing past feet, dresses, and shoes, dodging each one of them as expertly as he could, until he at last broke free, standing on the bottom stair of a large, winding staircase.  He took a moment to pant, trying to catch his breath, his head swimming with how far he had run in the past few minutes alone.  The marble was cool beneath him and all he wanted was to curl up on it and sleep and rest, catch his breath before he had to see his friend.  But if Dream still thought he had been abandoned, Hob wasn't going to leave him for another single second. 

Taking another deep breath, Hob heard the gasps around the crowd, and their rising confusion as he started to race up the stairs.  The buzz in the room about them, curious about what he was up to, was growing louder and louder by the time he reached the platform where Dream was spread out, one leg out in front of him, an arm resting on his knee, clearly in repose.  Galaxy black eyes, with stars at their center fell to him and Hob shuddered under their cold disinterest, before they widened in surprise.  Hob didn't wait for a single second longer, he launched himself into his friend's lap, and pressed as close as he could, nuzzling up against his chest. 

"You're back." 

The quiet surprise in Dream's voice was more painful than Hob had expected, and he pressed his head closer, nuzzling into Dream's clothes again and again, trying not to climb him with his claws, but needing to get closer.  "Course I'm back," he muttered with an annoyed meow.  "Never meant to leave in the first place, got summoned."  Those words had Dream tensing beneath him, but Hob didn't move.  "You were busy, I couldn't say goodbye, and tell you I'd be back." 

For some reason, those words had Dream relaxing under him and Hob was glad when a cool hand came up and cradled his body easily so he could rest more easily against Dream's chest with a happy sigh, continuing to nuzzle into him.  "Didn't realize the summon would take that long.  I couldn't feel the time passing, not here or there.  I would have come back sooner if I'd known." 

"It's all right," Dream said, his voice a soft murmur.  "But you have a great many people curious about you now, little one.  If you wished to keep a low profile, this was not the way to do it." 

Hob could feel how curious all of them were, about what he was, because he was not one of them, and the answer to that had him shaking his head.  He didn't know what he was, outside the fact that he had a seed of some sort, and that he was here to help Dream be curious and not have to say goodbye.  The messaging was still a jumble in his head and didn't quite make sense, he needed to sit down and think about it more.  He had to help Dream be curious, that much had been clear.  How he was supposed to do that though, that he had not figured out yet.  

On the other hand, everyone being curious about him, might distract them from being focused on Dream, and that was something that his friend would likely prefer, if he had to guess.  But right now, he would worry about all of them being curious about him later.  He needed to focus on Dream.  And to do that, he would need to find out exactly why they were having this party.  "I'll figure that out later, I'm not worried about it," he admitted, smiling at Dream, nuzzling into his chest again.  "But for now, I'm not going anywhere.  So clue me in on this party of yours.  What's the reason for it?  Are we celebrating?  Or are we doing something else?"

Dream hummed and lifted his eyes to the steadily streaming in guests and felt the weight of all their presence piling into the castle with a soft exhale.  It was a weight he was well able to bear, but he was more aware of it, ever since his capture.  He felt all of their touches, and more than that, he felt their daydreams of being able to take something from him, a piece of him for themselves and it rankled in a way ill-fitting clothing did to many Dreamers.  It was not a sensation he could chase away.  The daydreams of the cat in his lap though, of comforting him, of playing again, of lounging in the sun, they were a balm and a safe harbor in a sea of other daydreams. 

"I was gone for a very long time," Dream admitted, his voice soft.  "In that time, my kingdom crumbled.  I have been rebuilding it, and though there are places that still need to be tended to, it is repaired.  I have invited allies, enemies, and those who would remain neutral to see that the Dreaming is restored.  That I am restored.  It is a threat and a promise in one.  A promise to allies and a threat to enemies."  He inhaled again, feeling the pulse of the power that he had absorbed from his ruby.  "There are not as many allies as there were once before."  Why he'd told a cat he didn't recognize, and didn't know, that information was beyond him. 

Maybe one day Dream's quiet admittance, things that he would never say during their meetings (of that, he was certain), and Hob wanted nothing more than to wrap him in a proper hug and tell him that he would always have his support.  Not that it meant much of anything in a room of creatures of every possible type.  But it meant something, he would like to think.  He looked up at Dream and the tired expression on his face, and how he looked out at the crowd.  He looked out at the crowd and a spark of something started to grow in him, and the idea of spreading a little bit of mischief, something that might make Dream laugh, seemed like the best way to proceed. 

"Well," Hob said with a huff and a shake of himself.  "Who do you dislike the most, I'll go bother them." 

Dream's eyes widened and he looked down to the cat.  "What?" 

"You heard me," Hob answered, giving a loud meow.  "Let me go bother them.  They won't even know I'm there, I bet.  I can practice slipping into the shadows like you were before.  Then no one would notice." 

Dream stared at the cat sprawled across his chest in bemusement, shaking his head.  "Such a thing is hardly necessary and would only cause upset." 

Hob flicked Dream's shoulder with his tail and squirmed in his arms.  "It's not about necessary, it's about fun," he said, looking back down at the crowd.  He had no doubt that some of the factions present had to hate each other, and that meant the opportunity for so much fun and chaos.  "What can I say, I'm curious.  A little chaos never hurt anyone." 

"Curious," Dream repeated, his voice soft as he looked at the cat who seemed eager to bound forward and leave some sort of trail of mischief.  "I suppose that you are, aren't you?"  The piercing brown eyes of the kitten met his and he found himself pinned in place under them, watching in confusion as the orange tabby nodded once.  "You will not actually injure anyone?" 

"I promise," Hob said easily.  "No actual injuries.  However, I do not promise that they will have a good time."  Looking out among the crowd, he could already see how easy it would be to do exactly what he had promised.  "But you must make me a promise in return, lord of this realm."  Dream's focus sharpened on him and Hob could feel the worry, but he nodded readily enough.  Hob smiled at him and winked, his tail flicking up behind him.  "You don't let them know it's me."  The request had clearly surprised his friend, by the widening of his eyes, and Hob bounded out of his arms and back down the stairs at a rapid pace, bleeding into the crowd immediately.  He kept his ears peeled, listening as he moved between the swishes of dresses and feet of all shapes and sizes. 

It was strange, he was curious about all of them, but none of them seemed to notice him as he slipped between them and listened to their conversations about Dream.  Some spoke of attacking him, others avoided him and would not risk his wrath for anything.  Others spent time speaking with others, but every time groups or pairs would sneak into the more private rooms, Hob followed them, curious, and overheard more than one hinted at plot against his friend.  Only being a cat did not lend to any sort of lethality, or ability to do much.  However, he discovered that he could lock doors, and so he did, trapping them in the places they had slunk off to, to be dealt with later. 

By the time he'd made two full circuits of the room, there was quite a bit of confusion about what was going on, and Hob could feel himself feeding off of it, continuing to weave the tiny little bits of chaos that he had promised Dream, when there was a gong, and the room abruptly fell silent.  Hob looked up and saw Dream descending from where he had been sitting on the stairs, waiting at the base of the staircase.  There was an announcement and a name that he did not catch, focused as he was to get back to Dream, and to remind him that no matter who this was, he had an ally.  The crowd was parting for whoever had just joined them and Hob fought down the urge to growl as he finally broke out of the crowd a few feet from Dream. 

He sat down in the middle of the cleared space and turned to face the towering guest who was gliding forward.  Their wings were leathery and spread, but they wore an angelic white, with platinum blonde curls hovering around their smiling face.  Without being told, Hob had no doubt that this was an enemy of Dream's, and not only an enemy, perhaps the one who threatened him most.  Hob stood and took a proper step between them, biting down the growl that wanted to escape, and sat down once more, far larger than a housecat now, with much, much larger claws, and even sharper teeth. 

"Well, well, Morpheus, this is very interesting." 

Dream's eyes lowered to the orange tabby that was now the size of a panther, and had planted himself very solidly between him and the Morningstar.  He had made no threatening moves, save his growl, and had not moved, even when he appeared to be directly impeding the path of the Morningstar.  "He is his own.  Not of the Dreaming," he answered, looking down at the cat once more. 

Lucifer laughed in delight.  "Of course he is, though I am not surprised you don't recognize him," they chided, turning their attention back to the cat.  "Such a curious thing you are.  It is a wonder.  Where did you get that Seed, hm?  There should be no more of them." 

Hob felt a flood of uncomfortable ice rush down his back, but he held his ground, continuing to stare at the creature in front of him.  Their expression twisted when he didn't respond, only kept his tail swishing against the marble behind him.  But if they knew that he had a seed, and precisely what it was, that wasn't going to end well for him, so he should probably run.  "I was given it," he answered, tilting his chin up.  He was not about to lie to the creature and risk giving offense.  He had been given the Seed, whatever it was and whatever it meant. 

"So you were," Lucifer agreed, tilting their head.  "Morpheus, did you happen to have another child and called us all to celebrate the lucky occasion?  Should have been far more clear in your communication if that was the case, of course.  We would have brought gifts." 

Behind him, Hob could feel how tense Dream was, and how worried at the same time.  Dream was afraid of this person in front of him, and knowing that he was afraid here, at the very seat of his power, where he would be strongest, was enough to have Hob approaching with caution.  But it was also clear that this creature had some knowledge of what he was and how he had become what he was, which meant that he could get some answers.  "I am no child of his.  I am here, because I wish to be here.  I am what I am, and have my mission, same as any other." 

All true words, without giving a single lick of detail.  Dream would be proud of him, he thought. 

Lucifer's eyes narrowed.  "You should be careful, young Curiosity.  You are not yet fully grown into that Seed, and were you to make enemies..." they shrugged.  "It is not a wise move for an Endless so young." 

Hob took all of that information, shocking as it was, and threw it into the back of his mind to worry about later.  Now, the creature in front of him was trying to throw him off kilter and potentially risk Dream.  That he could not allow.  "Of course, though, you know what they say about Curiosity, don't you?" He approached the creature in front of him and yawned, showing off his teeth and boredom all at once.  "Satisfaction brought me back.  So perhaps it is not me that needs to worry, as long as I can be satisfied, hm?" 

With that, he nodded once more to the creature and moved past them, heading down the way that had parted for them.  Hob could feel them watching him, and with a flood of power that nearly had him gasping, he could feel their curiosity about who, and what, precisely he was as he walked away.  It was nearly enough to knock him off his feet, but he made it to a red velvet chair that he curled up on and settled into to watch the proceedings from. 

But at least now, now he knew who he was.  Hob settled far more firmly into the chair and the sense of rightness that fell onto his shoulders.  Curiosity.  He was Curiosity, and the Seed, it was something that made him similar to Dream.  Not the same, he knew that, and could feel that.  But something similar.  Something familiar that would perhaps give comfort to Dream.  The mission from the young woman made more sense by the moment, because it was possible that she was an Endless as well, just like Dream, and just like him. 

Now that he had been named by the creature in white (who thankfully did not stay long after speaking with Dream, and left with some of the more rowdy members of the crowd), Hob was approached by dozens others, who stopped in front of his chair to introduce themselves.  It was an odd experience, but now there was a great deal of attention on him and he normally wouldn't have wanted that, but he could breathe in their curiousness the closer that they got, and it was heady, like a really excellent wine.  After a while though, exhaustion was catching up with him, and he climbed off of the chair and went in search of Dream, his form shifting back to the smaller size that allowed him to move through the crowd much easier than before. 

He was more readily recognized now, several people calling his name.  All of them were curious to know more about him, to speak with him, to know what he had said to Lucifer (and that was one more thing to panic over later, that he would worry about), how close he was to Dream, where he had come from, and whether he truly was one of the Endless (whatever that meant, though the rightness of that pulsed through him at every wondering), and how he had arrived at the party the way he did.  Hob had no doubt that it was exhausting, not only for him, but for Dream, who appeared to be moving through the crowd without interacting.  Seemed like they were both done with this part of sorts, so Hob made a beeline for his friend, reaching him in an instant. 

Dream stopped in his tracks and stared down at the orange tabby, Curiosity, if Lucifer was to be believed about the cat having an Endless Seed in it, and read the frustration coming off it in waves.  He waited, staring down at the cat, until it abruptly turned and began to lead him to one of the other hallways that he had seen a great many people disappear down.  The sounds of the party faded behind him and at the same time, some of the tension fell out of his shoulders the less and less eyes were on him, until they were alone and standing on a balcony together, Curiosity sitting beside his hand as he stared out across the Dreaming. 

"Should check on the people I locked in rooms in the hallway on the way down here.  All of them were whispering one plot or another against you.  Figured locking them in the rooms would scare them enough to think that you were listening," Hob said, licking one of his paws before he settled himself easily against the banister and stretched out on it.  Dream's gaze had snapped to him and he shrugged as he focused on the stone under his claws.  "Was curious what they were getting up to and this was a good way to keep them from doing it in a more public forum." 

"I see," Dream answered, turning to look at the hallway behind them.  Interesting that Curiosity had aided him in such a way, when the Endless were forbidden from helping each other.  Though he could feel it now, what Lucifer had pointed out, because it had received a huge surge of power, the Endless Seed in Curiosity was new.  Young, a very young child as his siblings had once been to him.  He smiled faintly, remembering a time when they had all worked to learn the full force of their function, such as it was.  Before they had settled into their roles and the parts that they had to play, such as they were.  Heroes and villains did not matter, it was what they were, what they always were.  What they always had been and what they would be, despite attempts to change, they could not.  They just... were. 

Exhaustion was heavy, and it lingered.  The idea of threatening them, of ensuring they knew precisely how powerful he was now was not something he wanted, though he knew well that that was precisely what was required in this situation.  Curiosity had done him the courtesy of protecting him, in the ways that he could.  The last thing he should do is waste that kindness.  So few would think to help him in such a way, and Curiosity, in particular did not deserve his anger. 

"Actually, you know what, never mind.  Leave them to me," Hob said, sitting up on the railing, wrapping his tail around himself.  Now that he had a moment of privacy, Dream looked so much more tired than he ever could have imagined of his friend and it was worrying.  Beyond worrying, even.  "I think I know a way to take care of them."  He reached out and gently touched his paw to Dream's hand, drawing his attention once more.  "Do you need a moment of comfort?" 

Dream closed his eyes and turned his face away from the cat who had asked for... a reason he didn't even understand.  To offer him comfort, the same way that, perhaps, Hob Gadling had daydreamed of offering him comfort.  A friend, warm drinks, quiet laughter, and company, enjoying it and simply relaxing together. "What comfort would you offer me?" he asked, looking down at Curiosity.  "There is little that I can offer you, even one in your position, Curiosity." 

Hob let out a quiet purr and stepped over Dream's hand, one paw at a time, until he was standing on the railing between Dream's hands.  He settled himself carefully and then leaned back so he was pressed against Dream and began to purr louder.  It was a matter of moments before there was a strong arm wrapped around him, holding him in place, and Hob closed his eyes, sinking back against his friend, keeping up the steady purring.  Perhaps this wouldn't do more than bother his friend, but if it could bring some small measure of comfort then it was what he would do without hesitation.  He'd been so jumpy about touch, so wary of being touched and comforted, anything that he was willing to accept was better than nothing, and this was no exception. 

He remained pressed up against Dream, long fingers holding him so carefully, so gently, until eventually, there was the sound of flapping wings beside them.  Hob opened one eye to glare at the raven who was standing on the balcony, watching the both of them.  Hob wanted to squirm, but he felt the tension return to Dream, even though he'd been steadily relaxing ever since he'd stepped away from everything that awaited. 

"Yes, Matthew?" Dream asked, lifting his eyes to his raven.  Curiosity had made no movement against him and was still breathing in deep and exhaling those steady, comforting purrs.  They seemed to resonate through his entire being, a frequency that he had never felt before and it was enough to have him continuing to relax.  But now he would need to return to his duties, to those he had left behind at the party.  "They are missing me inside, I would assume?" 

"There are a few who clocked that you snuck outside, yeah.  But they also thought that you might be dealing with all those locked up folks, so no one has started misbehaving.  Luce is starting to get twitchy though, so it might be good to head back." 

Hob fought down the urge to sigh and glared at the raven as he pressed himself tighter against Dream for a brief moment before he hopped down off the balcony and over Dream's arm.  "I'll take care of the ones who are locked in their rooms," he called, and made his way back into the castle.  If he was Endless, based on what everyone at the party had been saying, he held some sort of power, and that meant it was time for him to figure out how to use it.  Especially if it would help to keep Dream safe, and make sure people weren't taking advantage of him. 

Dream watched the orange tabby go, heading down the hallway, his steps silent as he slipped into the shadows. 

"How is he able to do that?  Thought only you could do that," Matthew said, turning to look at his boss.  There was a strange expression on his face, as he watched.  "I know he's supposed to be like, partially Endless, or something, from what everyone was gossiping.  But this is your realm." 

"Indeed," Dream agreed.  It was strange, how easily the Dreaming responded to Curiosity, almost as though it knew him and knew it wouldn't be harmed by him.  That he and it were safe in each other's hands.  It was a level of mastery over the Dreaming that not even Calliope had ever been able to manage.  For it to intrinsically obey something such as locking the doors on those who would do harm to Dream was... fascinating.  And very curious.  His lips twitched and he offered his shoulder to Matthew.  "Come, let us find Lucienne, and we will see what needs to be done for the remainder of our guests." 

~!~

Hob took his time, going from room to room that had been locked, facing the people who had been in them, who were clearly terrified, exactly as he had wanted them to be.  Whether they thought Dream had been the one to lock them up didn't matter.  All that did matter was that they wouldn't mess with him.  That was all he truly cared about and making sure that Dream was safe, that he would be safe and he wouldn't be taken advantage of by these ridiculous bastards who thought they could. 

It was easier than it should have been, that was for sure.  Stopping in the center of the room, staring at each of them.  Saying nothing, watching as they babbled in fear, exposing themselves and those they had been working with.  They were so eager to speak that Hob was almost having trouble keeping up with it, because they divulged their secrets without hesitancy.  There was no loyalty in any of them, and by the time they left the room, racing past him and giving wide, large berth, he had everything he needed to ensure that Dream would be safe. 

Exerting his power on them had been an accident, it had been something he'd considered, how to use Curiosity to a lethal avenue, and it was far easier than he expected.  It was about being curious for long enough that he could influence them to follow that curiosity to wherever and whatever end it had.  Several of the endings were not positive, and Hob had to bite down the urge to bear his teeth as he imaged their ends at the hands of their own curiosity.  It was so interesting what they wondered, and a shove of his power, that curiosity became overwhelming, their sole focus and an action they had to take, not something they simply wondered at. 

Finishing with each of them, and returning to the now decidedly thinned out party, Hob debated where he would sit and watch them all.  After a few minutes weaving between all the remaining dancers, he made his way up to the platform where Dream had been sitting and reclining on earlier.  He flopped onto the marble with a happy groan, glad for the cool stone against his belly, yawning wide as he settled in to relax and watch the rest of the party slowly fade with the latest night bleeding into the dawn.  It had been almost high noon when he arrived, no wonder he was running tired.  Understandable, of course, and he knew that Dream would not begrudge him finding some rest. 

Hob yawned again and let his eyes fall shut, his focus on Dream at last fading. 

~!~

"Boss?" Matthew asked, flapping his wings.  Lord Morpheus had been standing on the step below the landing, looking at the cat spread out in his favorite sitting spot for a good couple of minutes now (he'd counted!), and hadn't moved.  Hadn't tried to move past him, or wake him up, or do... anything.  Other than stand there.  "You know you can just ask him to move, right?" 

"He is sleeping," Dream reproached.  "And he performed a great many actions that will safeguard the Dreaming in the months and years to come.  He has proven himself a staunch ally and does not... deserve to be woken from a rest he has so rightfully earned." 

Matthew yawned.  "Well, I'll leave you here to stare at him, I'm going to go catch some shut eye." 

"You do not need to sleep, Matthew," Dream reminded, looking up at his raven.  "I have said this to you." 

"Oh I know, but that doesn't mean that I don't like taking it when I can," Matthew said with a flap of his wings, launching himself into the air, heading for the door at the very top of the staircase. 

Dream returned his attention to Curiosity, watching him carefully.  He was a strange ally, to have stood up to Lucifer without fear he had, to hold court in the way that he had, and then to trap those who would have hurt him and punished them in a fashion that even Dream approved of.  He had never met the like of it, and it was... strange.  There had never been anyone else to side with him so thoroughly, especially not someone from the Endless family. 

Considering for another few minutes, Dream knelt down and carefully gathered the orange tabby into his arms, before continuing to carry him up the top of the staircase.  Curiosity had done nothing but nestle deeper into his arms with a low, pleased purr, and it was similar enough to earlier that Dream had shuddered in memory as they walked together.  Once he reached the top, he opened the door to his room and closed it behind him, keeping the form of Curiosity in his arms, and made his way to the balcony and the lounger that had been there for weeks now so he could watch over his realm, even while he attempted to finish recovering himself. 

There was an easy comfort to be taken from the weight in his arms, as Curiosity continued to purr and rumble low in his sleep while he stared out across the Dreaming, repairing small pieces that required minimal focus as he watched.  It was the work of nothing to have a forest spring up there, for a lake to be made there, for gravity to be inverted there, to give Dreams and Nightmares new places to play and explore where they could best do their work.  Where imagination could run rampant and children could have dreams of lights and colors and sounds that were nothing but softness and kindness.  Dream lost himself in focusing on the Dreaming, on ensuring that it was everything that it should have been and handled when Curiosity stirred in his arms.  Pulling himself back, disconnecting himself, it was far more of a struggle than it should have been, but he managed it and refocused on the tabby in his arms who was blinking at him in confusion. 

"Hello Curiosity."

"Hello Dream," Hob answered, yawning and snuggling back into his arms once more.  "Or am I supposed to call you Lord Morpheus here?  That's what they all called you."

It was a wonder that Curiosity knew his real name, but perhaps as a being who was partially Endless, he had simply known and had been kind enough not to use it to worry him.  There was some truth that such a use would have concerned him, would have made him suspect that he was being used, or attacked, to being taken advantage of.  To have it be something more simple felt baffling, but there was a great deal of truth to it, even like this. 

"You have not told me, what it is that you are here for," Dream said, reaching out to pet the cat in his arms, stroking through it's soft fur repeatedly, the gesture soothing for both of them as Curiosity began to purr again, and arch into each of his touches.  It was pleasant for both of them and not something that he wanted to stop.  It was... comforting, to offer this comfort to a new Endless. 

"I'm supposed to help someone," Curiosity said. "That is what I have been charged to do.  And it looks like you could use company, even if you do not need my help.  So here I am." 

"Here you are," Dream repeated, staring down at the young Endless.  It was disconcerting, to see another Endless (though not a full one as his siblings were, more like what Orpheus had been, a facet, a fragment of one of them, existing as its own being), but there was no danger to it, at least not that he could see.  "I would not have you risking yourself for me, little one.  I am well-versed in how to protect myself and how to keep my realm safe."  The sneer and shout of Roderick Burgess should not have echoed in the back of his mind, but Dream inadvertently tightened his fingers in Curiosity's fur and had to force himself to release it and let go so he didn't hurt the other Endless.  "Or at least I did, once." 

"You protect your realm very well.  I didn't even have to threaten those who were plotting against you tonight.  All I had to do was look at them, and they remembered they had seen me with you.  It was enough, and they were cowed almost immediately," Hob said, arching into the firmer touch of Dream's hand once more.  "And if anyone were to try and hurt you, they would have to deal with me.  I know I'm still learning, but I am not a kitty without claws."

Dream snorted.  "It is true," he agreed. 

Hob fought down the urge to grin like a loon when Dream snorted like that, the laugh a clear indication of Dream finding him funny, something he was already addicted to the thought of.  Completely unreasonable, but his friend deserved to laugh more.  He deserved to laugh as much as he could, and Hob would do everything in his power to try and make that happen.  "Was the night a success then?  You'd be able to judge far more than me." 

"I doubt that," Dream answered.  "You spent a great deal of the evening among all of the people there.  Many of them did not see you.  I suspect, oh curious one, that you heard a great many more things than even I did, despite it being within the halls of a castle in the Dreaming.  Besides the threats that you so readily dealt with.  What did you hear?" 

Hob settled in and sprawled himself across Dream's lap so he could expose more of himself to be pet.  A fact that Dream realized almost instantly, for the length of his palm began to stroke up and down his side without hesitation.  He melted with a happy sigh and began to talk.  He started with Lucifer and the retinue they had arrived with, who had clearly been scoping out the place in case of an attack, but they hadn't expected him to keep biting at their ankles.  It had made them jumpy, and more than one of the other factions had picked up on that and continued to poke at the demons.  It had distracted them from causing mischief for Dream, which was precisely what he wanted. 

The others, the minor gods, had seemed eager to try to establish some sort of dominance and stating that had earned him another of those preciously low chuckles that he was quickly going to become addicted to if Dream wasn't careful.  Hob purred loudly as fingers dipped into scruff and began to scratch there, his whole body becoming something decidedly more liquid.  It was a clearly a comfort to the both of them and he wasn't going to make Dream stop for anything.  After that, he went into the different fae (because there had been several different sets of them, far more divided than any of the others). 

"You are a far better spy than I would have expected, Curiosity," Dream praised, looking down at him.  The information that he'd been given would inform his actions for the next several months, including Lucifer's plan for an attack.  Though he was not surprised to hear of that, considering what had happened in the retrieval of his helm, it put Lucifer's visit into a much starker light.  Especially when Curiosity had so clearly aligned with him.  "You should be careful though.  Aligning with me will gain you enemies."

Hob hummed, biting down the usual response that he would be more than fine, that he was older than he looked, but that would not work here.  "You are the only one I wish to be allied with.  As long as you would count me amongst them, please consider me one of your allies who would never forsake you for another." 

Dream blinked in surprise down at the tabby who had made the declaration as a statement of fact and stared in confusion.  "And what have I done to earn such undying loyalty from one such as yourself?"

"Without you, I don't exist," Hob said, the words escaping him before he had more than an instant to think about them.  Even as he said it, it was the truth, and it resonated through his entire being.  "Curiosity and Dreams.  If you are not curious about the world, then your dreams would never be far and broad reaching.  And without dreams to give voice to your imagination, what is there to be curious about?"  He shrugged and settled more solidly in Dream's lap.  "I am a piece of you without being you, and it is one that I now embody.  I didn't always."  

"There is a great deal of wisdom in such a statement," Dream answered.  "I would not have expected such wisdom from one so young."  In truth, it was wisdom that rankled, and did not feel as though it fit him and applied to him.  "However, dreams would still exist without curiosity.  They are a reflection of the mind." 

Hob nodded.  "And how terrible a mind without any curiosity in it.  To wonder about the smallest thing.  Words are filled with such wonder, and there is so much possibility and chance of exploration.  All of it is so much.  An impossible amount, surely.  How could you ever be without it?" 

Dream shook his head.  "I do not have an answer for such a question." 

Hob lifted his head to look up at Dream.  Being without curiosity, that was what she had said Dream was struggling with.  That he no longer had it, but he once had and it needed to be given back to him.  Not that he knew how he was going to accomplish that, but there was at least a single obvious place to start with it.  "What are you curious about, hm?  I could name a hundred things I am curious about myself.  However, how about you, Dream.  What are you curious about?"

Dream stared out across the Dreaming for several long seconds, gathering himself for that answer.  "Curiousness implies an innocence I no longer believe myself capable of." 

Once more, Hob was glad that the sound of his heart shattering could not be heard echoing in the Dreaming, for surely it would have if he were anyone else.  Such a statement said with complete and utter finality, as though it were a certainty and not something that was simply felt.  "You don't have to be innocent to be curious.  I certainly lost any innocence a long time ago.  Being curious implies only that.  Curiosity of the world around you.  You have nothing to be curious over?"

"Curiousness implies that I wonder.  When I already know the answer to the questions I would be curious over, what is there to wonder about?  The universe is a cyclical process, and I have seen billions of years pass and it has only solidified that certainty.  It is a matter of time, but everything returns to as it once was.  The works always return to their original forms, and the story will be told over again as though it is new when it is the furthest thing possible from it," Dream answered.  Inside him, something cracked, and there was a roar across the Dreaming, something breaking that would need to be repaired in the future, even though he felt the crack down to the deepest pits of his soul.  

Hob shifted and reached up to bat at Dream's robes and his hand when it descended to pet him once more, grumbling in annoyance.  "You do not know the answer to all questions.  That is impossible.  You have, perhaps, the ability to assess a situation and understand its conclusion based on sheer weight of experience, but that does not mean you know the answer to all questions." 

"Doesn't it?" Dream answered, pausing in his petting to look down at Curiosity.  "If it is always a pattern and it always follows the same pattern, when you have seen enough of the patterns, what hope is there of being original?" 

Hob bit down the instinctual response to say that new things were being invented all of the time, because that would be a very Hob answer, and not a very kitty answer.  Or at least an answer that sounded like it should come from Curiosity.  "Originality is not a pre-requisite.  A flower that has yet bloomed - that could be any number of colors, I will always wonder and be curious about what color it shall bloom as.  A life could choose any number of paths, and I will always be curious as to which one it follows."  He shifted in Dream's lap once more.  "A few dozen letters, when rearranged, make up millions of stories.  Only a handful of letters, and there are more and more that have never been written, or wait to be written.  If there is not wonder there, Dream, I do not know what else you could call it." 

At the mention of stories, of all of the possibilities, Dream closed his eyes and nodded to acknowledge the point.  "Stories are, perhaps, an exception.  I am often curious as to the stories that are told, that find their way into my library." 

Hob grinned and nestled back into Dream's arms, pressing in closer to him with a pleased sound escaping him.  There.  A small bit of curiosity, and a small bit of wonder, given back to Dream.  That was what mattered, and what he had needed to try to get into him.  "Speaking of your library.  Perhaps you could show me such a place tomorrow?  I would like to explore it." 

"You could spend centuries getting lost in such a place, such is the size of it," Dream answered, burying his fingertips in Curiosity's fur, even as the cat continued to purr, the sound vibrating his fingertips again and again until he was almost shivering.  "I would be honored for you to explore such a place, Curiosity.  Are there any stories in particular you would like to see?"

A perfect set up for him, so Hob rolled over in Dream's lap and looked up at him, blinking innocently.  "I would love to see your favorites.  The stories that mean the most to you.  That is what I am most curious about.  I want to know what stories mean something to you and why, so I can learn." 

Dream smiled for the briefest of moments.  "Am I a curious thing to you, then, Curiosity?" 

"Oh yes," Hob agreed, wiggling in his lap before settling down once more, yawning widely before he closed his eyes and snuggled up to Dream's hand once more.  "You are the most curious thing of all, Dream.  And I want to know everything there is to know about you, and then more still.  Anything that you would be willing to tell me of yourself." 

"Anything is far too broad," Dream said.  "Perhaps a direction?" 

Hob considered that for a moment, not wanting to trip Dream into recognizing who he was, if he asked a similar question as he had as a human.  But it was still the truth.  "What happened to you that caused the need for this party?" 

Dream tensed, pressing his fingertips into Curiosity's side.  "That is a very invasive question." 

Hob shrugged and batted at his fingertips for a few more moments before he answered.  "It is," he agreed.  "But you asked for something that I wished to know about you, and this is what I have picked.  You do not need to tell me, of course." 

Dream closed his eyes and breathed in deep, feeling the steady heartbeat of Curiosity beneath him.  The words, such as they were, came far easier than they should have, perhaps.  "A magician, a man of little power and less consequence, was able to summon and capture me in the Waking World.  For more than a century, with the assistance of one of my Nightmares.  I have unmade him for the betrayal." 

Hob made a quiet rumbling noise in his chest and let the growl come to full fruition, lifting himself so he could look at Dream properly.  His friend had hinted at capture, and that what he had gone through was difficult and a betrayal, but he hadn't mentioned anything like this.  Nothing to this extent that meant he had been betrayed by those closest to him.  "Good," he added, his voice still a low growl.  "He deserved worse for what he did to you."

"Your faith is misplaced.  I have done a great many terrible things in my life, and I should not be praised for-"

"Who said anything about praising you," Hob interrupted, meeting Dream's eyes when they blinked open in surprise and found him and where he was standing, both paws planted on Dream's chest so he could get better leverage to look him in the eye.  "Everyone who has lived long enough has done terrible things, and even worse things that they regret with everything in them."  He licked his lips over his chops and leaned in, pressing his whiskers to Dream's cheek.  "If you did not have such regrets I would have assumed that you lived no life at all, so I am relieved to hear that you have lived some sort of life." 

Dream stared at Curiosity, frowning, unsure of what he meant by that.  "I deserved-"

"You did not," Hob said, his voice edging into a full growl.  "Deserve to be trapped for as long as you were.  You deserved to be told what you did was wrong.  To face consequences as a result of those actions, yes.  However, trapping you for as long as you were?  No.  That was cruelty for the joy of it.  No one could ever have deserved that.  A lesson can be taught, but that was a step beyond punishment." 

Dream said nothing, looking down at his hands and where they rested on Curiosity's sides.  "Your certainty does you credit, even if it is wrong." 

"It isn't," Hob said simply, and then altered his form a fraction so he could drape his larger form, the one the size of a panther, on top of Dream, pinning him back to the lounger with a grunt.  He smirked, proud of himself as he did, keeping him pinned in place.  Like this, he could press his face properly to Dream's neck and scent him, and keep him in place.  If Dream truly wanted to move him, he could, but until then, he was going to stay right where he was and take some offered comfort. 

"What are you doing?" Dream asked when Curiosity did not move, only seemed to nestle closer, despite how large he was likely being uncomfortable on a lounger the size he had created. 

Deciding to forgo any subtlety, Hob answered honestly.  "I'm cuddling you." 

Dream blinked.  "You are... cuddling me." 

"Yes."  Hob closed his eyes and took a deep breath, relaxing his full body weight properly onto Dream and breathed in deeply.  He could feel most of Dream's bony body stretched out beneath him and allowed himself not to worry about his weight or his bulk.  If Dream did not want him where he was, he would be moved, of that he had no doubt.  "And you are going to sit and enjoy it, and I am going to sit here and enjoy it, and afterward, we are both going to feel better, and then we are going to spend tomorrow in the library. And you are not going to argue."

Dream paused.  "Oh, am I?"

Hob felt the smile and eyebrow raise in those few words, and it was worth it, because at the same time, he could feel Dream relaxing again and that had been his true goal.  To have him relax and breathe and maybe take some room for himself, small as it was.  He deserved that.  He deserved everything.  "You are.  Or I am going to follow you around the entire time and just pin you to whatever surface I set fit until you take the time to relax yourself.  I'm sure you wouldn't want me interrupting your work like that."

"I suppose that is true," Dream agreed, still fighting a smile.  "After how well the event tonight went, I believe that a day spent in the library would not be a poor use of my time." 

Hob grinned and nuzzled into Dream's neck again with a pleased purr, continuing to stretch out on top of him.  "Then it's settled.  Now, hush and enjoy the cuddling." 

Dream closed his eyes and shifted so he had one arm wrapped around the form of the orange tabby and sank his fingers into the fur on his back, breathing in deep and slow.  Enjoy the cuddling.  What a strange command.  Especially from another Endless, who seemed determined to care for him in more than one way.  Everything that Curiosity had done tonight, from ensuring that those who would wish him harm were kept from the others and then were punished, to standing up to Lucifer, even when he did not know what he was doing, to pulling the attention of the room so it was not all focused on Dream, all of it had been a relief.  He was not alone in the room with all of them, he had someone else to lean on, who was not one of his own subjects.  It had been a relief to have at least one other person there who did support him, despite who he was. 

When Curiosity shifted to press more solidly against him, Dream allowed himself to lean forward and press his face to the soft fur on his shoulders.  Dreams did not cry, and would not, but if the finest of mists began to linger around them, well.  Curiosity still did not move and only shifted to cover more of him to keep him warm.  That, coupled with the slow, resonant purring, was enough to have him agreeing that perhaps cuddling was not an entirely wasted endeavor.  He felt lighter than he had before the party that evening, and there was none of the lingering upset that had been there beforehand.  He relaxed into the lounger beneath him and felt Curiosity do the same. 

There was no sleep for them to be found, not in the traditional sense, as they were, but Curiosity led him in his drifting across the Dreaming to a warm and comfortable dream under a shaded tree where they could both rest a moment as they dozed.  Dream sank into it, happily, without a word, and he felt, rather than saw, the pleased purr that went through the orange tabby when he shifted into a cat himself and draped himself over Curiosity, a version of his own cuddling.  The same rumbling purr as before rocketed through him, and Dream was able to close his eyes and rest for the first time since he had been freed from the glass cage. 

~!~

Hob woke to an indignant squawk and he swiped at it with one large paw, which prompted a much louder curse.  He opened one eye and looked at the raven standing beside them both, eyeing them like they were monsters.  He looked down at himself in the larger form once more and shifted back to the house cat size and looked at the raven.  Beneath him, Dream had also stirred and was staring at his raven.  None of the relaxation that had been so apparent in his limbs moments ago was there, and Hob cursed it, missing the sight of it already.  Dream always deserved to be relaxed, to be able to have that kind of relaxation.  He didn't get nearly enough of it, if today was an indication of it. 

"Matthew," Dream greeted, nodding his head.  He rested his hand on Curiosity's back, glad when he did not make any moves to remove himself.  He did not want to lose the comforting weight of the tabby yet.  "Is there anything you need this morning?"

Matthew flapped his wings.  "Luce and I finished the census.  Though you have retrieved all of the dreams and nightmares, we're short more than thirty each.  She told me that soon the duties may become unmanageable for the others if this isn't attended to."  He glanced at Curiosity and frowned, before looking back to Dream.  "Don't think she was saying get back to work, but you know her." 

"I do," Dream agreed.  "You will find me on the Shores of Creation, then, Matthew.  I would not be disturbed unless it is urgent, especially with such an extensive amount of work that needs be done." 

"You got it boss!" Matthew said, flapping his wings again.  "Hey, uh, Curious-"

"Curiosity," Hob corrected. 

"Right, right, C-man.  You want to come to the library so we can leave boss man to his creating.  He normally works in solitude."

Hob recognized the gesture for what it was and looked back up at Dream's face curiously.  The blankness there gave nothing away, and the more he watched Dream the more he became convinced that the very last thing he should do is leave Dream alone to his work.  But he didn't want to cause any sort of discord or upset between Dream and his people.  "I will be along shortly," he answered, and that was apparently good enough for Matthew, who took wing. 

Hob turned his attention back to Dream and found his face shuttered and blank once more.  None of the openness that had been there moments ago was present.  His friend was back to his usual stoic and serious self, the one he was all-too familiar with in his own world.  It made his heart ache to see it, even if he understood why Dream needed to hide behind that guise.  "Duty calls." 

"Ceaseless as it is," Dream agreed, carefully putting Curiosity on the ground before standing and changing from his formal robes to a loose set far more suited to working on the Shores of Creation.  "It is my Function.  it is not a burden."  Even as he said the words, they did not feel true.  There was a burden required with this.  He would need to do as he was bid, help to repair his realm, and that would be enough as it had always been.  But the thought of making new dreams and nightmares, beyond the few he had managed upon first arriving back, after remaking Gault, none of them had the inspiration that he would have wished for them.  They deserved better, and the skeletons of more than a dozen dreams and nightmares on the Shores of Creation was a testament to his indecision. 

"You sure that you don't want company?" Hob asked, sitting down on his paws, looking up at Dream.  The indifference on his face had almost cracked open and underneath it was an exhaustion that went so deep it was almost terrifying to look at it.  It was almost as though Dream himself was being drained, sucked dry by the demands of his function.  He was a King, but it was clear that he needed someone to share the burden with.  Or at least a way for the burden to not be so burdensome.  "I'd be happy to join you, even if I just have to stay out of the way." 

Dream shook his head.  "Enjoy the library.  It is extensive and I believe will hold many delights for you.  In the event that I am needed, both Matthew and Lucienne will be able to reach me.  I will endeavor not to stay away long, this time.  But they are right.  There is still so much work to be done." 

Hob swished his tail along the ground.  "And when do you get to rest?  When might you have a respite?" 

Dream's lips twitched and he gestured to the chair behind him.  "Last evening was, by definition, a respite.  As was the day we spent together in Fiddler's Green." 

That Dream considered those true breaks and that they were breaks, really time to rest, was heartbreaking, and Hob wanted nothing more than to pin him down again and keep him in place until he truly had a chance to rest, not just sit in one spot, waiting for the work to return.  He made a quiet plaintive noise and stepped closer, rubbing up against Dream's leg, twining around his legs.  He deserved time to rest, and he was not taking it for himself.  Ever since his capture, had these been the first moments he had rested?  After everything he had gone through?  That was even more painful to think about. 

"Worry not, Curiosity.  I am well and it is my Function.  It is what I am.  I am well-able to perform as is expected of me," Dream said, watching as the cat circled his feet once more, darting around his robe and under it before emerging to sit in front of him, watching him.  There was a look in those brown eyes that he didn't want to analyze and turned to look at the Shores of Creation.  Lucienne was right.  With the tremendous influx of Dreamers, new Dreams and new Nightmares were required.  His eyes drifted halfway shut and he chanced another glance down at Curiosity.  "I will return soon," he promised. 

Hob watched Dream disappear, stepping into a small swirl of sand that sprang up around it, reading the dismissal for what it was.  Dream did not want anyone following him to where he had gone and would deal with anything that he needed to by himself.  He frowned, watching where he had disappeared to, before he turned to make his way into the castle.  The library was not difficult to find, nor was its librarian, waiting for him at the entrance.  Hob sat down and looked up at her, studying her, waiting for whatever it was that she would say to him.  The silence stretched on as she continued to watch and study him, making him want to squirm under the regard.  He didn't need this.  He could come and go as he pleased.  He could go to Dream, to wherever he was and at least give him company so he was not in solitude and alone.  How much of his work did he do while he was alone? 

(The thought was more heartwrenching, and Hob spared a moment to wonder if things with Dream would ever not be heartbreaking.) 

"He does not need a minder." 

Hob continued to stare at her.  There was a difference between a minder and someone who cared and Hob knew damn well that he fell into the latter category.  He cared, he loved his friend, and to see him so worn down (far more than he had looked when they had last met up) was painful and he wanted to help.  "I would not assume to be his minder." 

She narrowed her eyes.  "Then you need to understand-"

"But he does need those who care about him.  How long, since he returned, has he rested?  Or has it been one crisis after another?" Hob challenged, looking at her, his tail swishing angrily.  By the way her lips thinned, he had his answer.  "You care for him.  But you place just as much pressure on him.  He needs space and time to heal." 

"There are duties that must be performed," she said.  "He manages the collective unconscious.  He cannot simply stop.” 

That was the crux of the problem, after all of it.  That Dream could not simply stop what was required of him, his role, his function, everything that he was.  The idea of him being able to stop for a break was... was truly impossible.  There was no possibility of it.  Which meant that all he had was to keep going, to keep pushing until eventually, he could do that no more.  Instead, Hob turned his attention back to the librarian in front of him. 

"Everyone, every being, has a point at which they break.  They cannot go forward, they cannot do more.  They are bent until they break."  Hob stared at her and watched fear flood into her eyes before she looked beyond him, up at the throne.  "I would never see him break.  But he is being pushed to his limits.  I know that you can see it."

"Everything that happened has... taken a toll," she allowed, turning her back on Curiosity to lead the way into the library, feeling him follow her to the desk where she had been working.  "Understandably so, considering what has happened.  I believe that he did seek his sister out for advice, as he has been struggling, but I do not know that it offered any solace to him.  He has been like this since then." 

Hob leaped up onto an empty chair and faced her, considering that for long moments.  So Dream had been summoned, trapped, for more than a century, had broken out, and he'd mentioned retrieving his tools, fighting for his ruby that destroyed it, then... there had been more.  Whispers of a vortex, that had happened, that he had heard at the party.  "Tell me about the Vortex.  What happened with all of that?"  By the way her face fell further, Hob had a feeling that he would very shortly know precisely why Dream looked as exhausted as he did. 

The full tale took mere minutes to relate.  A necessity of Dream's function, the death of a being that was designed to tear the Dreaming apart, that existed for some reason, every few thousand years.  Nearly spilling family blood, finding out that they were family he had not known he had.  Hob dug his claws into the wood of the chair beneath him, his chest rumbling with a growl that wanted to escape.  And to find that all of it, his captivity, the near spilling of family blood had been orchestrated by a sibling?  By family? 

No wonder Dream looked like he was barely holding things together.  Hob gave the librarian a look and settled back into his chair, thinking.  He would need to be careful if he wanted to try to take care of Dream, especially if he wanted to do it without causing offense.  He'd already done that once and that was more than enough for a single lifetime.  He wanted to support Dream, to help him, but there wasn't much that he could do in this form, other than pinning Dream to the bed, or some other flat surface to make sure that he rested.  Though, perhaps that idea had merit. 

"I should go to him," Hob said, pacing along the edge of the table when sitting became too much.  That statement was enough to draw the librarian's eyes to him and a sharp frown. 

"He is not to be disturbed when he is working.  He needs solitude and silence for the delicate work of crafting new dreams and new nightmares.  He has told me this himself many times," she corrected.  "If you approach him now, and go to visit him, you will find that you do nothing but put him further behind in his work." 

"I might also be able to make him rest," Hob countered.  "And if there is one thing he looks like he needs, it is rest.  A good meal, and rest."  He could see that she didn't disagree with the challenge of his words, and that made it all the worse.  But for now, he would listen, and wait.  Perhaps Dream would return of his own volition.  He settled himself down at the table to... wait. 

Time passed, as Hob watched the librarian work.  It was hard to tell just how much time was passing, as things appeared to move differently in the Dreaming (which made sense, Dreams could encompass years or seconds when you wanted them to), but Hob could feel the weight of time passing.  After a certain point, clouds rolled in across the sky and the librarian (Lucienne, if Matthew was to be believed) watched them with worry and trepidation.  He had a feeling that it was much more than rain that she didn't enjoy. 

Hob took to lounging against the window, waiting for Dream to return like he had promised, but the only thing that happened was the sky getting darker and darker, the clouds hovering low to the ground, as though they were ready to rain, but they did not.  They remained a constant threat, but they did not release the water they held.  However, the sight of them was enough to make everyone at the castle tense.  Which meant he was missing a crucial bit of information.  Curious, he made his way over to Lucienne, and sat on the table in front of her and cleared his throat. 

"You should still not visit-"

"I'm not asking about visiting him," Hob interrupted, cutting that line of questioning off in an instant.  Somehow, that relaxed her immediately and she turned a more considering eye to him. 

"Then what are you curious about Curiosity?" She asked, watching him over the rim of her glasses.  "I can see that it is something." 

Hob had to wonder what, precisely, she could see in him, but he answered, easily enough.  "Why do you all hate the weather?  Everyone keeps looking up at the clouds like rain is going to make them melt.  What is wrong?  Will you melt?"  Surprisingly, that was enough to make her lips twitch before she grew solemn once more and looked up at the sky again before she looked back down to her books, considering. 

"The weather is a reflection of my lord's mood.  If he is distraught, it is difficult for him to control, and it is reflected in the weather the Dreaming experiences.  Thick clouds like this..." she trailed off and looked to them again.  "But without the absence and sorrow of rain?  I do not know what it means." 

The weather was a bloody mood ring.  Fuck.  No wonder everyone was watching it so worriedly.  They knew it meant whatever mood was in wasn't a good one and wanted to steer clear of it as much as they could.  He couldn't fault them for that, but none of them were trying to do anything to prevent the clouds from releasing their deluge.  "Why hasn't anyone gone to talk to him to see if he's okay then?  If this is the weather we're having.  And I know, I know he requires solitude, but you can see that he isn't okay?  So why are you just sitting here?" 

She looked down at the books in front of her.  "It is not our place, as his creations, to question him, and his mood, and his actions." 

"Yeah that's a load of bullshit, but if that's what you're going to hide behind, that's fine," Hob said, standing up.  "I'm not one of his creations and I don't give a shit, so I'm going to go find him."  He didn't wait for her to offer another protest, instead jumping down off the table, striding for the door.  The doors at the rear of the castle were open and Hob sprinted for them, stretching his body out as he started to run.  Small drops of rain began to hit his fur as he stepped into the grass of the Dreaming proper, beyond the bridges. 

Hob took a deep breath and tried to see if he could feel Dream.  He had gone to a place where he would create, but here, in the world that he had built, everything tended to be slowly pulled toward him, and Hob followed that sense of gravity that he could feel continuously tugging at him.  It was a longer journey than he expected, likely because he couldn't just jump into a portal as Dream did, but he hoped that not enough time had passed to be concerning yet.  The rain was starting to come down harder, steadily, and as awful as that felt on his fur, Hob kept going. 

Eventually, the grass beneath his paws gave way to the beach, and abruptly, all at once, Hob was standing on a beach, and Dream was only a dozen or so feet away, the skeletons of dozens of creatures surrounding them.  Dream was in the middle of them, his shoulders hunched, clearly trying to do something and not succeeding in the way that he wanted to.  The clouds were just as dark here, just as prevalent, just as dark, and the rain was starting to come down harder.  Hob squared his shoulders, lifted his tail, and began to walk across the sand, until he was sitting on a rock, a few feet away from Dream (who had not noticed him yet, from what he could tell), and settled in to be there for his friend as much as he could. 

It was only when a lightning crack broke the sky above that Hob watched Dream yank himself away from the creation in front of him, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sound escaping him as he breathed.  The lightning immediately subsided, and so did the rain, and it looked like it was because Dream was trying to force himself to be controlled, before he turned and saw Curiosity.  Hob sat up and wrapped his tail around his feet, watching Dream as he approached.  It was almost as though the thunderclouds had gathered around him, his face a stormcloud in and of itself in its frustration and fury. 

"Did they send you here to complain about the weather?" Dream asked. 

His voice held the echoes of thunder in it, and Hob felt it wash across him in a wave of power.  Dream was a raging storm, barely contained, barely holding himself together, even as he stared in Hob in anger and frustration.  "No," he answered, lifting a paw to lick it.  "No one sent me here, and I have not come here to complain about the weather." 

"Is there some sort of urgency that calls me back?" Dream challenged.  "Another burgeoning issue that I must deal with instantly?"

Hob could feel the almost begging tone in that question.  Dream very clearly wanted to be pulled away from the work that was not working out for him as he wanted to, wanted something, anything, to pull him away from what he was doing.  Even a fight.  It was a desperation that Hob was far more familiar with than he wanted to be, and it made him ache for his friend.  "No.  No issue, nothing that I could tell you needs to be addressed in this moment.  Everything and everyone appears to be well.  They are, as you said, worried about the weather, but no one has expressed anything to me." 

Dream deflated, turning away from Curiosity, facing the creation that he had been unable to finish for hours now.  "Then you have no reason to be here, and should leave."

"I have every reason to be here," Hob corrected.  "My friend is here, and I thought he could use company." 

"You thought wrong," Dream snapped, reaching up to press his fingers to his temples.  "I need solitude, and silence and-"

"Precisely what I was giving you before you stormed over here to yell?" Hob interrupted, meeting the furious gaze of his friend.  It was a challenge that he never would have issued had he been human, he never would have tried to press this hard and risk his friend walking out on him forever.  But like this, he knew, without a doubt that anywhere Dream ran to, he would be able to follow, and that meant no more running, not truly. 

Dream clenched his hands into fists.  "I do not need a minder, someone to watch over and coach me as though you could know how to do my job better than I do!"

Hob spared a few seconds to wonder about all of the people in Dream's life who had clearly taken advantage of him in one way or another, because it was clear that they had done all of these things, and he was assuming that more of that would be forthcoming.  "I would never presume to tell you how to do your work better than you do," he pointed out.  "Not only would it be blatantly untrue, it would be foolish." 

"Then why are you here?" Dream asked, his voice a whipcrack of thunder across the space.  "Why have you come to interrupt me, to distract me, to pull me away from my work, to have this inane at best conversation?"

Hob watched his friend, and the way his whole being seemed to crumple in on itself after the shout.  There was so much regret in his face after his outburst, he spared a moment to wonder if all those who had been with Dream had never truly understood that he, as everything that he was, would be as mercurial as Dreams often were.  Had they judged him for such outbursts of anger and frustrations?  Likely, which had meant he would have tried to control himself more tightly, which led to more outbursts.  No wonder he was all tied up in proverbial knots. 

Dream took a slower breath, staring at the cat who was still watching him, calm as you please, despite his shouting.  "Why are you here, Curiosity?  There is nothing that I can give you here.  There is only work that I must finish and that I am struggling to accomplish.  Would you see me struggle?" 

The pain in that sentence was enough to have Hob's breath punched from his chest, and he leaped off the rock, stepping into the wet sand once more, padding his way over to Dream, and the way his robes had become immaterial wisps around his feet.  He paused and sat down in front of Dream, looking up at him once more.  "Of course not.  I would never come with the purpose of seeing you struggle.  The sky had gone dark, everyone was worried, and that made me worry for you.  Not for the weather, not for the people of the Dreaming, not for anyone other than you."

"You were worried about me," Dream said with a scoff.  "I am perfectly well, Curiosity." 

Hob didn't say anything in response, merely kept staring at Dream, and the certainty of those words faded into the quietly rumbling thunder around them.  The expression on Dream's face fell slowly, and they watched each other, as the bravado slowly fell away from Dream, and all that was left was a man, or a being that appeared as a man, who looked exhausted beyond all possibility and he was holding himself up by sheer will alone.  

"How long have you had to be perfectly well?" Hob asked him, keeping his voice low. 

Dream closed his eyes in pain and inhaled slowly.  "I am always well.  I am Dream, a personification.  I don't-"

"Answer my question, Dream," Hob challenged, meeting furious galaxy eyes in an instant.  It was a challenge, he knew, but it was one that Dream could rise to, it was just a matter of pushing and nudging him to do so.  "How long have you had to be perfectly well so you did not worry others?" 

Dream snapped his mouth shut and scowled.  "I am fine." 

Hob hummed.  "Perhaps if you continue to say it enough, it will become true.  But forcing yourself to be as much only means that when you do find a moment to break down and be upset, it will be worse than it ever could have been before."  He paused pointedly.  "It is all right if you are not fine, considering all that has happened to you.  It is more than all right, it would be almost expected."

"The Dreaming, the Dreamers," Dream emphasized.  "Need me to be fine.  Need me to be well.  Need me to be able to take care of them." 

"Which is all well and good," Hob allowed.  "But what happens when you are no longer fine and well and you are not able to take care of them?"  Dream's silence spoke volumes and Hob wanted to wrap him up in his arms as Dream seemed to fold in on himself, sitting on the rock that Hob himself had been relaxing on as he stared at the sand beneath his feet.  He waited a few seconds before he leaped up and into Dream's lap, settling across his bony thighs.  In a moment, fingers were buried in his fur, petting him as Dream looked around him. 

"I do not know why this time is different from all the others," Dream said eventually, his voice soft.  "This is not the first time I have experienced pain.  Not the first time I have experienced something similar to this.  And yet, nothing feels quite right.  It is as though there is a skin on top of mine that is separating me from everything.  It does not feel right.  It cannot feel right, and I do not know how to fix it."  He lifted his eyes to stare at the nightmare on the sand behind them. 

Hob purred quietly, letting it rumble in his chest so that it would maybe resonate through Dream as well.  He deserved that, to feel that and to be grounded, at least a little, in the now.  "You lost a great deal to the actions of others.  It is only reasonable-" He stopped when Dream seemed to vibrate under him, a wave of something sweeping over him so obviously that Hob stopped, cut off by the feeling.  "Dream?"

"My pride," Dream said, staring out across the sand.  "I lost everything that I did to my pride.  My sibling wished to do this to me because of my pride.  My pride kept me from speaking to my captors, kept me from calling out to one of my siblings for help.  What I lost, as you succinctly put it, is the fault of myself and myself only." 

Hob lifted his head to look up at him.  "You did not imprison yourself." 

"My actions led to it, it is a path I can see as clearly as I can see the clouds now.  It stretched out before, me, easy.  Rather than learn, attempt to be better, to do better, all I did was force others to suffer my pride," Dream said, staring out across the Sands of Creation.  "Is it any wonder that I can no longer create?  As though the ability has been robbed from me?  It is what I have deserved." 

Shifting in Dream's lap, Hob reached up and put his paws on Dream's chest, meeting his eyes as readily as he could.  He waited for a few seconds, their eyes meeting.  "You did not deserve what happened to you, no matter your pride.  You did not."  He leaned in and pressed their noses together.  "No one deserves to suffer as you did."  A tremble went through Dream under him and Hob felt him leaning back to rest against the rock, with him sprawled on top of him. 

Dream considered that for long seconds, staring at the gray sky of the Dreaming, letting the silence stretched between them, before he offered, almost too quiet to be heard.  "I do not believe you." 

Hob closed his eyes and let out a rough breath, the truth of that making his very soul ache.  He'd guessed as much, that Dream had believed himself deserving of punishment, and that everything he was suffering was his fault.  But hearing it spoken, even if only between them and the sand, made it all the more real.  It was agonizing, painful, and now neither of them could avoid it, but perhaps they would now be able to find a way forward.  It was what they needed, truly.  He just had to keep working as best he could to make Dream laugh and to be curious, exactly as he had been bid. 

"You don't have to believe me," Hob said eventually, resting his head on Dream's neck.  "I'll believe it enough for the both of us."  Though that made Dream tense beneath him, it did make the clouds above them start to dissipate and he watched them as they slowly faded away until they were nothing but faint haze preventing the most direct sunlight.  It was much better than it had been, even if it wasn't exactly where he'd wanted to get to.  But Dream was not stuck in his own melancholy, at least for now, and that was an improvement on the rain. 

Hob allowed them to sit there, breathing in the sea air, reclining together, for several minutes (it could have been days or weeks, who knew), breathing in deeply, until he stood up on Dream's chest and leaned down to touch their noses together again.  "I have a suggestion," he said, waiting for Dream's eyes to open, slow and lazy, to look at him.  "Take me on a tour of the Dreaming.  I have seen Fiddler's Green and your castle, and now here.  Take me on a tour of the rest.  Show me what you have spent millennia building." 

Dream blinked and frowned at him.  "Why?  You are quite capable of exploring it on your own.  You have showed as much."

"Because you built it," Hob challenged, his voice soft.  "Because I want to see it through your eyes as its builder, not just my own, and because I think it would do you good to go back and realize the places you loved creating and why.  Maybe it will help you with what you are struggling with here." 

Dream frowned, but acquiesced to the logic, at least for the time being, sitting up slowly, looking at the shells of the dozen nightmares that he had been attempting to create, frowning at the sight of them all.  There was nothing for it, he would need to begin entirely again at a later time.  Perhaps Curiosity was right, a tour around the Dreaming would do him good.  He could make sure the repairs were taking as they should, and that his dreams and nightmares were once more settling in as they should and finding their places in his kingdom. 

"Where would you like to start, Curiosity?" Dream asked, looking down at him.  "If this is to be your tour." 

Hob shrugged and climbed off of Dream to sit beside him on the rock.  "No idea where we could start.  Guess you'll just have to take me everywhere, won't you?"  He teased.  There was a flash of a small smile on Dream's lips and Hob counted that as a victory.  Whether it was or not didn't really matter, he'd managed to make Dream smile.  Even if only for a moment.  "Pick a place.  I promise that I shall enjoy it, no matter what." 

"A poor promise to make, I could take you somewhere terrible," Dream said, his sand rising around them.  "Take you to visit the land of the Nightmares, the Sea in which they reside." 

Though he wasn't eager to go swimming with Nightmares, Hob forced himself to give another shrug.  "If that is where you wish to take me, then that is where we will go." 

Dream smiled faintly and shook his head.  "Not to start, I think."  There were far better places for him to take one such as Curiosity.  His sand leapt to his command in seconds and Dream led Curiosity through it and much deeper into the Dreaming.  There a great many things that he could display and show off, and perhaps in the process, he would find whatever it was that he was searching for. 

~!~

The Dreaming was more beautiful than Hob had ever thought possible, and he'd seen a great deal of it in his first few days.  Between the library and the throne room and the castle, it was clear that Dream had an eye for beauty.  But so much of it was an untouchable sort of beauty.  The kind of beauty that you didn't want to muss, just wanted to sit back and admire.  It felt very much like being back in court again, all of the gems on display that were meant to be seen, not worn or touched and handled.  Everything else that Dream brought him to, everything on display, though Hob could see that there was more to it, Dream's impassivity remained.  He spoke of things as beautiful, and even smiled as he showed them off, but he still seemed disconnected from it all, almost as though he didn't know how to reach out and touch it any longer. 

More than one Dream (and a handful of Nightmares they had run into) stared longingly after Dream, as though they wanted him closer, but didn't know how to ask for it, and the more Hob saw, the more it was clear that the film on his skin that Dream had mentioned was affecting everything, but none of them knew how to break through it.  It was worrying, because it would be a matter of time before it started impacting everything else that Dream was doing, if it wasn't already.  Hob took his time introducing himself to everyone, while Dream stood back and watched.  He'd caught sight of a few more smiles that had burst out on his face, but nothing that had lingered, nor did Dream try to join the conversations with his creations.  He held himself back, apart from them all.  They were a part of him and that was enough, he would not let himself revel with them. 

Cain and Abel, as they stopped at their houses was the first time that Hob saw a hint of what Dream might have been before his captivity.  He spoke so gently with them, but with a faint hint of teasing, asking after their gargoyle Gregory, and introducing them to Hob.  They had all talked together, while Hob had asked them questions, and it had felt the most right out of the entire exploration of the Dreaming.  It did not feel as though it were forced, and when he was offered tea, Hob accepted it heartily, and even Dream sat down at the table, listening to his creations as they spoke together and sipped his tea.  It was the first time he didn't ache for Dream as they moved together, even though they had to say farewell soon enough. 

Once they had stepped away from them, Dream brought him to Fiddler's Green, and the first thing Hob did was to flop into the wonderfully warm grass under the still hazy sun.  Dream sat down beside him but did not say anything, did not attempt to add to their conversation, and he debated saying something, but.  He didn't think that it would help.  So instead, Hob draped himself on top of Dream and let himself enjoy the sun, purring loudly as he did.  Some things were universally enjoyable, and sitting in the sun was one of them.  For his part, Dream did not say anything either, but he appeared just as listless as he had been before, as though he were not fully grounded in the moment, not attached to things like he had been before. 

It was worrying. 

However, for now, Dream was at least not trying to force himself to work, and was relaxing in the sunshine, so he would take the victories where he could get them.  Hob was reasonably sure that he wouldn't be able to bait Dream into another chase across Fiddler's Green (no matter how much they would both enjoy it), so this seemed like the next best thing.  After a little while, Dream lifted his hand and began petting him again, as though he hadn't realized he wasn't and then began again.  Hob kept up the purring, louder than ever, and nestled into the robes that were curled around Dream. 

The sun slowly gave way to a clear night of stars above them, and Hob opened one eye to admire them, before he realized they were the same stars that were in Dream's eyes, sitting up on his lap to stare up at the sky.  It was almost as though Dream's eye was the night sky and it was blinking at him, watching him from a much, much larger form.  They were beautiful, though they had no bright, blinding light at the center as Dream's eyes had.  But the stars were beautiful.  He couldn't see stars like this unless he went to specific spots in the world, and even then, it was nothing like it had been a few centuries prior.  The day that humanity was able to explore the stars was the day that Hob would be grateful that he could once again enjoy those same evenings, staring up at the stars. 

"I am glad you are here, Curiosity." 

Dream's voice was unexpected, and Hob looked down at him, tearing his eyes away from the stars.  He tilted his head and made a quiet inquisitive sound.  Granted, it was a relief to know that he wasn't bothering Dream, that he hadn't been a burden to him, it had come out of nowhere with no prompting whatsoever.  So he looked down at the dream lord and waited for him to elaborate.

Dream turned his eyes back up to the stars and stared at them for a long moment.  "However you came to be, I care not.  But that you are here is enough.  Curiosity was once a part of my younger sister, before she changed.  She hadn't lost it, but the same... pleased innocence that you have, that she did not have.  She'd said once she lost it.  I'm pleased that it has found a place in you, such as you are." 

The combination of the compliment, the story about his sister (that had to be who the young woman was - one of Dream's siblings!), were all unexpected, and Hob wasn't quite sure how to respond to them, but he curled up against Dream's chest once more, glad when long fingers descended into his fur.  "I'm glad I'm here too," he offered up, his voice soft.  It was the truth.  No matter that his life he had left behind had no doubt been thrown into disarray with his disappearance, he did not regret coming here, to be with Dream, to hang out with him, and get to see him in a way that he kept hidden in the waking world.  "I wish there was more that I could do to help." 

Dream sighed and closed his eyes, reclining back against the grass.  "There is no help to be had for an Endless, and such are our roles.  It is our fate as what we are, collectives and personifications.  It is not a detriment, it is only what it is," he stated, plain and soft.  "To be tired by it would be to be tired by our core function and what we are.  It would indicate that we are not what we should be.  That something is broken.  And such a thing, as it is, does not have a way to be repaired." 

"Then what happens?" Hob asked, feeling the curious part of him surge forward, because there was something there, something haunted in Dream's words, as though he had already had all of these thoughts and reached his final conclusions on them.  "If you are being tired by your core function?"  Worry shot through him, growing stronger by the second.  Hob felt the way that Dream tensed beneath him and wanted nothing more than to hug him tight, because it was clear that was a question Dream had been asking himself, even if he didn't want to admit it. 

"I do not know," Dream answered.  "I do not want to find out." 

So he would return to the work, because that's what he was, and what he knew, and there was no getting out of this spiral.  Hob settled a little closer, digging his claws in a little more to Dream's robe, wondering if there was anything that he was supposed to do in this situation.  How could he offer anything to Dream like this?  Giving him curiosity, or making him laugh wouldn't suddenly make him enjoy doing his function anymore, and that was where the problem truly sat.  There was nothing he could do to fix those things for Dream.  Absolutely nothing. 

And that realization was far more devastating than he wanted to think about.  So he did all that he could, cuddling closer and soaking up the sunshine, hoping that his presence would let Dream take a few extra seconds for himself to do the same.  Maybe if he tried to force Dream to get enough rest, he would be able to recover and feel more fulfilled by his work.  There was joy for him here, he could see the hints of it when Dream talked about the library, or smiled at Matthew, or when he looked out across the Dreaming.  But all of it had been tempered and beat down by other things.  It needed to be unleashed again, but hell if Hob knew precisely how to do that. 

--

They sat in the sun for much longer than Hob would have thought Dream would allow, but perhaps he was avoiding going back to work, and avoiding those who would tell him to go back to work.  Here, like this, there was no one to push him and no one to require anything of him.  But, running from responsibility wouldn't accomplish anything either, and eventually, Hob stood up and sat down on Dream's chest and looked at his face, pale and gaunt cheekbones as it was.  He leaned down to nuzzle Dream's cheek, rousing him and bringing him to wide awake.  There was an upheaval of a sigh beneath him and then Dream was sitting up as well. 

"You are right, Curiosity.  We must go back." 

The resignation in Dream's voice had him aching down to his very bones, but he nodded and hopped off of Dream and together they made their way back to the castle.  Lucienne was waiting for him and informed Dream that there were many who wanted to meet with him.  That led them to the throne room and Dream settled on the landing, the same one that he had been occupying for the party.  Hob watched him sprawl out and then on a whim, climbed up and sat down beside him, stretching out on the marble.  He wouldn't interfere, but at least Dream would not feel like he was alone all of the time. 

"You do not need to stay if you don't wish to, Curiosity.  I know there is nothing to be curious about here," Dream said, reaching out to pet the cat beside him.  "There cannot be much of a draw here, anymore, now that you have been here for a while." 

Those words couldn't have been more wrong and Hob wanted to scream them from the mountaintops.  But the sad smile that twisted Dream's face was a resigned one, and he turned his attention to the people who were steadily filing into the throne room.  Hob settled into place and observed them as they came in, one after another.  Some of the requests were easily granted, and some of them were simply dreams and nightmares wanting to spend time with their lord.  Dream did his best to give them everything they asked for, promising to investigate those that they could not.  Promise after promise, request after request, all of it was leveled at him and Hob was amazed that he did not buckle under the pressure.  There was so much everyone was demanding, and Dream gave.  He did not stop giving, and promised to do everything that he could for them. 

When the tide of dreams and nightmares at last ceased, Dream accepted a book from Lucienne and began reviewing it as she rattled off information so fast that Hob could barely keep up with it.  But Dream nodded and asked questions, the hunch to his shoulders getting more and more pronounced by the second.  He wanted to shout for all of them to stop, to see what they were doing to Dream, but this was his responsibility and he was being crushed under it.  Anyone would have been.  Now he understood why Dream's sister was so worried, because it was obvious to see if you were looking for it.  Dream was sad, and unhappy, and even when he finished with the ledger, and took a book to read for pleasure, there was so little pleasure in it, that Hob took charge, hopping into his lap, making Dream startle. 

He looked up at Dream and let out a meow.  "I am going to read to you." 

Dream raised his eyebrows, bemused.  "You are going to read to me, Curiosity?"

"Yes," Hob answered, and gestured for Dream to put the book down so Hob could sit in front of it.  Keeping his claws retracted, he turned the page easily enough, cleared his throat, and began to read.  Dream's eyes widened, but he obligingly shifted to watch and listen to him.  For the first time in hours (days?  maybe more), Hob watched his friend start to relax as he read his way through the story.  He gave Dream's fingers an appreciative lick when a glass of water was summoned for him to sip out of after several dozen pages.  It was a relief, and he focused on the book again and resumed reading.  Out of the corner of his eye, he had noticed both Lucienne and Matthew go to step into the throne room, take one look at the two of them before leaving once more.  Whatever it was that they saw, they were loathe to interrupt it, and that was just fine with him. 

When he stopped for another break to sip some water, Hob felt Dream's hand land on his back, and a bookmark was lovingly tucked between the pages of the book before it was set aside.  Hob looked up at Dream, about to protest, when he was suddenly swept up into the arms of Dream, and he was being carried up the stairs once more.  The door was shut behind them not long after, and Dream had still not let go of him.  It was heartbreaking in the worst way, but Hob waited, he did, as Dream locked the door behind him and started to walk out to the lounger, before he paused and stared at it. 

"Do you have music?" Hob asked, when Dream seemed frozen, unable to make himself go out onto the balcony once more. 

Dream startled and turned back to Curiosity, looking down at him.  "Music?"

"Yes.  Might we listen to music and sit by the fire?  You could keep reading, or I could read something else?  Or you would you prefer something else?" Hob offered.  He knew sometimes, when you were feeling listless and untethered, making decisions was the most difficult part of anything.  If he could take that away from his friend, then he would. 

"What... would you like?  To listen to," Dream clarified after a pause. 

Hob hummed, considering that for a long moment.  He looked in the corner of the room  and debated offering up something as his own recommendation.  "What is a piece of music you think I will find curious?"

Dream chuckled.  "Now that is an answer worthy of curiosity," he praised, stepping closer to the fire with Curiosity still in his arms.  He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the roaring fire and music began to play softly behind them. 

The sound of that chuckle made his heart soar, and Hob nearly laughed as the songs that Dream had selected hopped from one genre to another without any care whatsoever.  It was refreshing and he was curious about what would play next, exactly as he'd asked for.  "Would you like me to read?" He offered, looking up at Dream, only to find Dream shaking his head, leaning back against the comfortable chair he had fallen into.  "All right."  He settled back into Dream's lap and began purring again.  If Dream did not want him to do anything, then he would focus on doing what he could - offering comfort to a clearly exhausted being. 

There was a sad twist to Dream's lips as they sat together, listening to whatever came up to play in the room, while he was pet, again and again.  Hob couldn't help feeling that there was something Dream was considering, as though he wanted to... to say goodbye.  He clung tighter to Dream and buried his face deep into Dream's robes, not wanting him to leave, but the aura of sadness that seemed to be lingering around him was getting thicker by the second.  "You seem sad," he offered up, after more than a dozen songs had played and Dream had said nothing. 

Dream stared at the ceiling, the words echoing quietly.  "Sad," he repeated.  "The endless don't get sad.  We simply are what we are.  Personifications of dreams.  Perhaps there are simply sad dreams right now." 

Hob had never heard something more ridiculous in his entire life, and while it was nothing compared to Dream's lifespan, it was still true.  "Even personifications can get sad," he challenged.  "I'm one, sort of, right?  And I can tell you I can get sad.  With confidence, even." 

Dream looked down at Curiosity, confused, humming low in his throat.  "Can you?  That is disheartening to hear.  I would not wish Curiosity to be sad.  You should be boundless joy and excitement." 

"No one can be that all of the time," Hob pointed out.  "There is always balance.  Just like Dreams and Nightmares.  There is always balance to one with the other.  That is simply how existence works."  That, at least, got an understanding noise out of Dream and Hob allowed himself to settle again.  "But you seem sad.  And I wish that I could help." 

Dream stared into the fire and the way that it danced and cackled, and cast warmth across the room.  It reminded him of the fire in the White Horse, and the fire in the New Inn, with the quiet laughter and happy joy amongst the dirt of the Waking World.  And in all of that, there was Hob.  Hob who was waiting for him to visit, to see him again.  Hob who would be so happy to see him.  He would light up, and smile, and Dream would... would sit down and absorb all of it.  Unable to touch it himself, unable to feel it himself, he would steal it from Hob, moment to moment, until the time would come for him to leave. 

"I am simply as I am," Dream answered, even though he could not imagine being filled with the same easy happiness and joy that Hob Gadling was.  Perhaps when he was far, far older, when he had faced more unkind centuries than kind ones, that joy and happiness would steadily start to fade until... He shook himself and frowned.  No, Hob had always been himself and would continue to be that.  He was certain of it. 

"Are you all right?" Hob asked, butting his head into Dream's palm.  He had gone worryingly still, only to be jolted once more into movement, as though he had gotten lost somewhere within his own head.  Concerning as it had been, he did seem to be all right. 

Dream nodded.  "I am, yes.  I was... I was thinking of my friend.  He is... he is happy.  I wonder if you would say that he seemed happy."  He pet down Curiosity's back and scratched behind his ears.  "I think you would like him.  He is often curious about everything." 

Hob wanted to sob out that it was him, that Dream was right, he was happy, and that he was so curious about everything, he had ended up here.  He went to say the words, to tell Dream who he was, and found his voice stolen from him, unable to force the words out.  Instead, he sighed and nuzzled into Dream's hand again.  "I am pleased to hear that you have a friend.  Perhaps, if you are feeling out of sorts, you should visit him?"  It might have been self-serving to encourage Dream to visit him, but Hob had never claimed not to be greedy.  The chance to see Dream again, to offer him hope and care and maybe even a small bit of happiness, that was all that he could imagine from this moment. 

"Hob," Dream breathed, his voice soft as the music started to fade.  "I would not wish to impose on him."  He paused, and looked down at Curiosity.  "He has informed me I am welcome whenever I might make time, because in his words, I am busier than he is.  But still..."

Hob wanted to growl and beat it into Dream's head that he meant it when he said that he would be pleased to have Dream join him at any given time.  It was the truth and Dream would not be able to run away from it if he had any say in things.  But he couldn't do that now, not when Dream thought he was talking to Curiosity and not Hob Gadling.  "I have had a great many friends in my time," he started, and felt Dream's full attention snap to him in an instant, and the wave of power from the curiosity that swarmed over Dream was almost stifling.  Dream was curious.  He was so curious and the power had him almost drunk and he was glad he was lying down on Dream's lap.  "In my experience, when they say you are welcome, you are welcome.  It is tough to often find times to meet in life, and there is no perfect time, so to be offered welcome whenever you can make time, it is a gift.  And your friend means it, I am certain of that." 

Dream said nothing for a long time, clearly thinking over his words, and Hob cursed his clumsy wording, because he didn't want Dream to feel like he had to hold back.  He could visit as often as he wanted, and Hob would often be pleased to see him.  It didn't matter how many times that happened, or if Dream showed up and decided that he wanted to stay.  None of it mattered.  "You should visit your friend," he urged.  "Perhaps he might make you smile." 

"Perhaps... he might," Dream agreed, helping Curiosity to climb off his lap, before standing.  He looked down at the orange tabby.  "Will you be here when I return?"

Hob tilted his head and let out a meow.  "I might need to check in somewhere else, briefly, but I will return.  You have my promise that I will return."  He saw the way Dream's shoulders relaxed and he gave a flick of his tail.  "I am not giving up those pets of yours.  They're quite good you know."  That got him a surprised exhale that was almost a chuckle, even as Dream started to swirl away into sand.  Hob waited a handful of seconds before dashing through a portal.  Dream's sister had promised him that he could shift back into human form, and stepping into his flat, into his bedroom, he was as human as he had ever been and he grinned, bright and wide at the sight.  Perfect.

Hob changed his clothes quickly, and felt the lingering power in the back of his mind as Curiosity, how he could feel it from the pub downstairs and all around him, but like this, it was dimmed, and it was easy to make himself ready as he headed downstairs, right as his friend was stepping through the front door.  Dream's eyes met his and Hob didn't bother trying to keep down his smile.  He grinned and gestured to their table from last time, sitting down easily as Dream made his way over.  The tension that he had been carrying in the Dreaming was still very apparent, but there was a smile that lingered on his lips, and that counted for everything.  He couldn't look away from it, even as he knocked their boots together when Dream sat down. 

"It is good to see you, my friend.  I'm so pleased you came back."  Hob knew that he was grinning too much, and that he was going to risk being too familiar, but the idea of not being happy to see Dream was one he wouldn't allow to exist for more than a second in his own mind.  "How did you phrase it last time?" he paused.  "Ah, how have you been keeping?  Would you like a drink?" 

"It is good to see you too, my friend," Dream repeated, looking down at the table between them.  He cleared his throat and glanced up at Hob Gadling, who was still smiling at him, patient, waiting for him to answer the questions that had been thrown at him.  "Wine?" he asked, relaxing when Hob stood up to head to the bar.  He breathed in deep, taking in the atmosphere around them.  Here, it was a place of comfort and Dream looked up at the bar, almost expecting to see Curiosity lingering, watching him from one place or another, but there was no sign of the orange tabby. 

Hob came back to their table with a glass of red wine for Dream and a beer for himself, settling down at the table.  There had been no surprised panic from his bartender, so he figured whatever magic was allowing him to be human right now was also making sure that no one freaked out that their missing boss had suddenly reappeared.  He also put down a bowl of popcorn between them, taking a bite of a few before smiling at Dream.  "So?  How have you been keeping?" 

Dream looked down at the bowl between them and reached out to take one of the pieces piled high in his fingertips, studying it for a long moment before he lowered his hand and faced Hob Gadling.  Trying to explain, or even trying to figure out where to begin seemed an oddly impossible task, even with Hob Gadling, who had at least the faintest understanding of what he was and who he was.  What he was responsible for.  Hob understood, as much as he could, and Dream deserved to tell him everything.  Or at least as much as he could understand.  "A great many things happened after I left you," he said, allowing himself to feel the weight of those things.  "Repairing my realm took a back seat to a much larger problem." 

When Hob's expression went wide and shocked and fear-filled, Dream held up a hand to forestall the questions.  "All is now well.  The situation has been handled, and the woman who-" he paused, wrinkling his brow, before he continued.  Hob deserved to know a fraction about him.  They were friends.  Sharing this was well within the bounds of friendship.  "Who is my niece, and her brother, my nephew.  They are both safe now." 

Hob's eyes widened and he softened, reaching out to touch Dream's wrist as he had before.  He wanted to climb into Dream's lap and wrap him in a hug, hold him tight until he melted and let down his burdens for a few moments, but this would be the next best thing.  "You have a niece and nephew?" he asked, keeping his voice low. 

Dream's lips quirked for the barest of moments.  "I do indeed.  They are..."  They were a great many things that Rose and Jed Walker both were, but what he could share with Hob Gadling escaped him and he frowned.  "They are good.  And they are kind.  It is a wonder that they are the great grandchildren of one of my siblings."  His eyes fluttered as he remembered the rest.  "Upon finding out they existed, I also found out that one of my siblings was responsible for me being captured." 

This time, not as Curiosity, Hob let himself really feel the fury that swept through him at that announcement.  "I'll kill them," he announced cheerfully, taking a large sip of his beer.  That, at least, drew Dream's attention and he blinked in surprise.  "Know it's probably not easy to kill what you are, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't give it my best shot.  Doing that to you.  They'd deserve it." 

"You would enact such violence on my behalf?" Dream asked, lifting his wine glass to take the faintest of sips from it.  It was far easier to enjoy the taste than normal, and Dream let himself take another.  When Hob nodded, eagerly, even, Dream tempered himself to a faint smile.  "As satisfying as it might be, it is far better if they are left to their own devices.  I would not have them turn their sights on you and cause harm to you in term." 

"You know that I'd be fine," Hob pointed out.  "I would find a way to be fine." 

Dream inclined his head.  "So you would.  But even still, it is not something that I would risk.  They have caused enough trouble and enough meddling.  They should not cause anything further."  He looked down at the wine glass between them and abruptly realized that Hob's fingers were still on his wrist, where he had left them.  He studied the faint touch.  It was almost as though Hob feared doing more.  But since Curiosity had offered him comfort, he had wondered at the willingness of his friend to offer such comfort, not that there was anything he could offer in return. 

"My friend?" Hob asked, pressing his fingers a little tighter to Dream's wrist, before he moved slowly and cupped his hand around Dream's.  He didn't close his hand, just left Dream's hand resting in the palm of his.  "Is there something wrong?" 

Dream's eyes jumped up, the question so similar to Curiosity's shooting fear through him.  What was so obvious on him that anyone who could see?  He would have to scrub this weakness from himself as quickly as possible before his enemies began to use it against him.  It was a matter of time before their plotting began again, and he would need to be ready for them.  Though the thought of having to build up the defenses of the Dreaming, while he was still repairing, still fixing, still rebuilding was...

Hob watched Dream take a large breath, before it shuddered out of him in a way that made him wonder if Dream was about to cry.  "Dream?" 

The words to describe his predicament were startlingly inefficient, and Dream wanted nothing more than to run from the concern in Hob's eyes, because his friend wanted to help, because they were friends, but there was nothing that he could do.  Nothing that he could offer beyond vague platitudes, and company.  "There is a great deal of work that remains that I must tend to." 

"I'm sure," Hob agreed, keeping Dream's hand in his.  His friend had not taken it back yet, even as he seemed to be struggling with something.  "But surely you can stay for a few moments longer, and I could tell you some stories, and you could take a rest?"

"Do you presume me weak enough to need a rest?" Dream snarled, glaring at Hob. 

The force of that glare left Hob shaking in his shoes, especially in the wake of 1889, but he held his ground and met Dream's eyes.  "I presume to enjoy your company, my friend.  And with as much work as you have mentioned having, taking a rest is a natural part of that work.  It is no comment on you."  That, at least, softened the glare, even if Dream was once more tense as a board.  It was so easy to say the wrong thing, so easy to put him on the defense.  But stories he could tell, and he would.  "Let me tell you about the latest classes I taught.  I think you will find this entertaining."  He launched into a story from the previous semester, which would be more than good enough for this story, and Dream would be able to enjoy it. 

Dream settled back and observed Hob Gadling as he told his story.  There was a light, a brightness that was emanating from the man in front of him that he was incapable of basking in, wanting to soak up all of it that was offered, until he no longer felt quite so empty and shallow.  He was a being of stories and Dream loved to hear them from Hob, loved to experience the world as he saw it.  He was invited to laugh with Hob, to chuckle with him at the antics of his students, and those faculty around him.  His life was broad, and rich, though it was so much smaller in scale.  He could find joy in so many small things, and Dream envied him for the ease in which he could do so. 

Dream took another sip of his wine as Hob barely took a breath before launching into another story.  It was easy to let the story wash over him as it sank into him, again and again.  How many times would he sit back and enjoy a story without ever being a part of it?  It had been far too long since he stepped up and had participated in a story.  That realization was enough to have him settling back in his chair, discomfited, and his frown was enough to draw Hob's storytelling to a stumbling close.  He closed his eyes and looked down at the wine glass in front of him.  Perhaps this was all that he had left to offer, to steal and take the stories from others, to recycle them so they could be used again and again. 

"Dream?" Hob called, reaching out to bump their feet together.  It took another two calls of his friend's name for bright blue eyes to meet his, and the regret and sorrow there had his heart seizing in fear as he curled his hand around Dream's.  "Dream?  What's wrong?" 

"One of my names," Dream answered, continuing to stare at his wine glass.  "Was the Prince of Stories.  I was thought of as the arbiter of all stories.  It is why I have always enjoyed your storytelling, Hob Gadling.  Because all stories end and begin with me, and to hear you tell them is to have them reframed for me in such a way that I rejoice in them.  They are wonderful, and I have rarely enjoyed them as much as I do when you take the time to tell them to me." 

"Why," Hob swallowed and reached for his beer, taking a sip.  "Why do I feel like there's a 'but' attached to all of that?  What's wrong, Dream?"

Dream hummed in consideration.  "I do not know, and perhaps therein lies the problem.  If I were to know what was wrong, I could fix it.  I could cut it from me, or I could find a way to overcome it.  But a thing I cannot see or feel, save to know it is there?  That I cannot fight.  But you can.  You can continue to move forward, to keep telling stories, to be a being of stories, even if I cannot." 

Hob felt his heart stop for several agonizing beats in his chest and despite the fact that it might make Dream panic, Hob turned his hand over and squeezed Dream's hand between his.  "Dream, you are stories.  You have told me as much.  And the world will always have a need of stories." 

"Yes," Dream agreed.  "It will.  But it does not mean I need to be the one to tell them.  That piece of myself..." To give one of the most precious pieces of himself to another, the piece that had built and maintained the library, even through its partial destruction, it felt wrong, and right all at once.  If it was his destiny, his future to no longer preside over these stories, did it not make sense to entrust them to someone who would care for them as he always had?  With all of his power and all of his ability?  He lifted his eyes to Hob Gadling and saw the fear there.  "Do not worry." 

"My friend, I," Hob swallowed down the panic, the urge to draw Dream closer, as though he could keep Dream from drifting further and further away.  Already, Dream seemed less substantial, as though he were starting to fade away and he had merely needed to begin the process.  "You are scaring me.  What are you talking about?  If something is wrong, let me, please let me try to help.  I'd do anything to help you, you have to know that." 

Dream inclined his head.  "I do, and that is why I would trust this to you.  I would trust you to safekeep the most important parts of me, until it can be given to another when you no longer want it." 

Panic was making it tough to think, but Hob held onto Dream's hand harder, watching him.  "Dream.  Please.  I don't, I'll do anything that you ask, but if something is wrong, try to fix it, don't give up.  I don't..." Hob licked his lips and met Dream's eyes and all at once felt a bolt of curiosity hit him as Dream stared at him and his being shimmered into more solidity for a few seconds.  But then it was back to fading.  "I don't know what I'd do without you.  You can't go, please.  You're my touchstone, you're everything.  You, Dream.  Please." 

"Be at peace, Hob Gadling.  There will always be Dreams.  That will never not be true."  Dream reached out with his other hand and cupped his palms around Hob Gadling's, dropping a small seed shaped as a sparkling bead into his palms.  "You have been a far better friend than I ever could have deserved, Hob Gadling.  I hope that you know that." 

Hob felt a tear streak down his cheek, then another, as Dream continued to hold onto his hands.  "Dream, please.  I don't care what it is, I don't care how long it takes.  Please don't go.  Let me help you.  I want to help you, I'll do anything.  Please." 

Dream lowered his eyes to their hands.  "Keep this safe.  It belongs to you now.  You can carry it.  Perhaps you were always meant to carry it, and that is why we met."  He squeezed Hob's hands once more before he stood and felt a tremble run through his being. 

Hob stuffed the bead into his pocket, pressing it as deep as it would go, before reaching out to wrap his arms around his friend, pulling him in close by his shoulders, hugging and holding onto him tightly.  "I will keep it safe until you return to get it," he growled, even though tears were pouring down his cheeks.  "This isn't goodbye, Dream.  I'm not going to let it be goodbye.  Don't you dare tell me it is goodbye." 

Dream closed his eyes and for the briefest of seconds, he imagined leaning into the warm and comforting touch.  Imagined drinking from the warmth that Hob Gadling offered until he no longer felt empty and cold.  But then Hob would be left a husk, with nothing left to give anyone, and that was a fate his friend, his only friend, did not deserve.  So instead, he allowed himself to be held for several long and precious seconds before he smiled sadly at his friend.  "It is goodbye for now, Hob Gadling.  I wish you well.  Keep the stories safe."  He turned and stepped away from Hob, into a shroud of sand. 

~!~

Hob barely managed to make it out of the pub and into his flat before he was summoning a portal, racing into the castle as soon as he was in the Dreaming, and up the spiraling stairs of Dream's throne on four paws rather than two feet.  Ahead of him, he could see Dream, wandering into his gallery, to summon his sister, to step away, now that he had given away the most important part of him.  Dream was almost see-through, almost gone, as though he himself were fading away.  He shouted Dream's name, but there was no answer, his friend was already stepping into his gallery, so he raced up the stairs, focused on getting to him, on stopping him. 

--

Dream lingered in his gallery, looking between each of the sigils, slowly spinning in their mirrors. 

Now that he'd given a part of himself to Hob Gadling, to live on as he would, as he would continue to do, because that was what he did, Dream was able to drift to his older sibling's sigils, and stare at them for a long moment.  "I wonder if you knew, from the very beginning.  I wonder if this was written, that I would end up here, right here."  Dream stared at each of them and allowed himself a few moments to wonder, to truly be curious, about how this had been his fate.  That he was meant to feel the weight of everything he had been for millenia, to bear it, truly, for the first time, and to find it impossible.  It was not worth staying if this is what he had become.  Reaching out, he stroked his fingertips across the ankh, thinking of the warmth of Hob Gadling's arms around him in a hug, holding him tight. 

His sister had truly been right to pick him, those few centuries ago.  "Sister," he called, his voice ringing in the gallery.  "I ask to come home to the Sunless Lands.  There is one who has been born to replace me, and I have left my kingdom in the care it deserves."  Dream listed forward, curling over the ankh.  "I wish to come home, sister.  Please." 

Under his fingertips, the ankh went white, and Dream closed his eyes, the familiar brush of wings, spanning endless space and time, brushed against him, pulling him forward.  He stepped into the nothingness, the last of the weight behind him beginning to fade.  He drifted forward, walking slowly, only to find his sister standing in front of him with her hand held out.  Dream let out a sigh of relief and smiled at her.  "One final walk together, sister?"

Death nodded, her smile wobbly.  "One final walk together, brother." 

Dream ached for the pain that he had caused her, asking her to come here, to take him home, but it was as welcoming as it had always been with the humans, comforting.  She was always so comforting.  And this was a comfort that he would have no struggle taking, unlike the other that had been offered to him by Hob and by Curiosity.  He knew what waited for him, and the possibility of rest, of true rest, was one that he could not see himself denying.  It was a relief to see her, it was a relief to have her here, at the end of things. 

He reached for her hand, ready to take it, when a meow behind him made him stop.  Dream turned, looking behind him in confusion, blinking at the sight of Curiosity.  "Curiosity?  Why are you here?"  Dream lifted his hand away from his sister's and turned to look at the tabby.  "I know you do not wish to be here, it is all right.  There will be another who will be willing to accept your comfort much more readily and..."

Hob took one step forward, and then another, even as every hair on his back stood up.  The cool and promising touch of Death could be felt all around him, and he recognized (without truly recognizing her) the figure on the other side of Dream.  The one that he had to stop Dream from coming with.  Somehow.  Hell if he knew precisely how, but he was going to try to figure that out.  He was not going to lose Dream.  He was not going to let Dream walk into the sunset just because he was hurting and didn't know how to ask for help.  He was not.  He would not allow that to happen. 

Hob reached out and took the bottom of Dream's robe in his mouth, giving a mighty pull around the flames that licked at the base of his feet.  He took a step back, and then another, trying to pull the Dream that was losing substantialness by the second back with him.  'Come with me.  Be curious again.  Once more, a thousand times more.  Be curious with me about tomorrow, and what it could hold.'  It was, perhaps, a foolish wish, considering where they were standing, but it was one he was going to wish a thousand times over.  Anything to stop Dream from taking those final steps forward. 

Dream looked down at Curiosity and turned away from Death briefly to kneel in front of the orange tabby who had been such a comfort in the last little while.  The creature that was part Endless, just like Hob Gadling would be, with an Endless seed growing in him.  "You have been of great comfort to me, Curiosity.  I know that's what you wished for.  But there is nothing left for me to be curious about.  It is time for me to rest.  I have earned this rest, and done my duty.  And now-"

Hob yanked harder on the robes, protesting those words with a loud whine around them.  It edged into a growl as he glared at Dream, unable to keep from glaring at him.  He was not about to let Dream, his Stranger, his Friend, go.  No matter if he thought it was time and he had to keep Dream anchored here himself, that is what he would do.  He would never let go, he was never about to let go.  Not for a second. 

"It is all right, Curiosity, it will be well," Dream soothed, his voice softening, reaching out to pet behind the ears of the orange tabby.  "It will be well.  There will be a new Dream, and he will-"

"Dream," Death interrupted, her voice soft.  "Do you not know who that is?"

Hob's eyes flew to Death and the recognition in them had him tensing with fear, but also with worry for Dream.  If this was something that upset his friend enough that he decided to leave, he would never be able to forgive himself. 

Dream frowned, twisting to look over his shoulder at her.  "It is the personification of Curiosity.  I spoke with Delirium briefly, and she informed me it had manifested and had been drawn to me when I returned." 

Delirium.  That had to be who Dream's little sister was.  The one who had charged him to save Dream, who had brought him into her realm that was so wild and colorful it made his brain ache.  The one who was keeping his human form locked, except in very specific circumstances.  Her name was Delirium. 

"He," Death said with a smile, looking down at the orange tabby who had refused to release Dream.  "Is undoubtedly precisely that.  But this is not his natural form, merely the one that is able to follow you through realms and to far more easily traverse the Dreaming, which is why I suspect that he is locked into it as he has been."  She raised her eyebrows at the cat.  "Why didn't you tell him who you were?" 

Hob gestured to Dream and opened his mouth, giving an annoyed meow.  "When I tried to, I couldn't.  But when he first asked, the answer didn't feel right.  Before I found out who I was." 

Death hummed, nodding as she stepped up beside Dream.  "Why did Delirium send you to Dream?" 

Hob looked between the two siblings, wondering just how much he could say and not lose his oldest friend.  But if it would save his life, wasn't it worth anything?  "I was supposed to help someone.  That's what she told me.  I had to help.  Then, then I found out it was Dream.  And I had to try to make him curious again.  Make him laugh."  He looked to the side.  "She said that she knew things, and that Dream was in trouble.  She wanted me to help." 

'I know things too!'

Dream could hear the echo of Delirium's assertion, the fact that she knew things, more than some of them, since her change.  Things that the rest of them had not discovered and could not know.  He drew his attention to the tabby cat, smiling sadly.  Of course Curiosity would have only approached him if ordered to do so, he would never have been enough of a draw on his own.  He should have challenged Delirium on that, right then and there.  "You have helped," he said, his voice soft.  "And I thank you for it, but now-"

Hob growled around the robe in his mouth and released it, jumping up and onto Dream's chest, digging his claws into the folds on either side of his robe, and burying his face in the cool skin of Dream's neck.  He knew so many things, and he could help so much more.  He could feel it now, this close, with this much power from earlier still flowing through him.  Dream had been curious about everything, once.  About humans, their stories, the stars, his Dreamers, his creations, all of him, brimming with curiosity that was insatiable, until his duty had robbed him of all of it. 

Dream closed his eyes and carefully pet down the back of Curiosity, even as he clung tighter, digging his claws in until he could feel the prick of them against the skin of his vessel.  It was tight enough, and strong enough, that it reminded him of a hug he had had not too long ago now.  How he had been held just as tightly, just as strongly, and clung to as desperately.  Fingers that had dug into his shoulders, holding on until he'd had to let go and...

Dream's eyes snapped open.  "Hob!"

In an instant, whatever it was that Delirium had done that was keeping him locked to the orange tabby form, Hob felt it fall away, and in an instant, it was easy to become human once again, and he and Dream were sprawled on the not-ground, with him in Dream's lap.  He let out a rough breath and shuddered, and took brief stock of himself, before meeting Dream's eyes once more.  He could feel the shift now, if he wanted to reach for it, if he wanted to slip it back on like a familiar coat, but this was one he had not worn for longer than he could remember, and it almost felt as though it didn't fit any longer.  But that didn't matter.  He could worry about that more later.  Right now, the only thing that mattered was Dream. 

"Got it in one," Hob breathed, shuddering as he held onto the edges of Dream's robes.  "Didn't think I'd make it to you in time after you raced out of the New Inn as fast as you did."  All at once, it was easy to see everything.  To see why Delirium had given him the Endless Seed.  He was predisposed to not be turned off by Dream being himself.  Hob was already his friend, and had already understood some of his struggles.  It was just as easy to see why it had manifested in him, why it had grown markedly stronger every single day.  He'd been made to save Dream, because Delirium had seen the path Dream was going down, had understood what he needed, and what was missing. 

"Why are you here?" Dream asked, thinking of the way Hob had begged him to stay in the Waking.  He had not attempted to move, and was still clinging to his robe just as tightly.  "How are you here?" 

"Someday," Hob breathed, lifting his eyes to look at Dream.  "I'll tell you of the day that I met Delirium, and how it happened, and that she charged me with being something I have always been.  Something that she needed to give me so I could try to save you."  He smiled and continued to watch Dream's eyes stay locked on him.  "My friend," he continued, his voice softening.  "I am here to give you back something you lost.  Something that you need, desperately."  His lips quirked.  "You were curious enough, for only a moment, for me to be able to do my work." 

"Your-"

Hob tilted his head a fraction more and leaned up, sealing their lips together.  The second they touched, he felt the moment Dream had been curious about, the one that had been like a lightning strike in the New Inn.  His friend had wondered, had been curious, what it would be like to kiss him.  For only a few seconds, before it had been buried under duty.  It had been gone before he'd been able to do anything about it, but now?  Now he could.  Now, Hob kissed Dream until he was being kissed back, until their lips were moving against each other, slow and hesitant, before he removed the leash on his own power.  It flooded out of him in a tidal wave and directly into Dream.

He'd been careful, over the past few months, in how he tended the Endless Seed that he had been given.  Being curious about anything and everything had served him well and it was something he had no intention of being anything less.  Hob poured all of it, all the power that he had been gathering, all of his love and interest in the Dreaming, everything about Dream himself, back into his friend.  His friend had always been a curiosity himself, in the literal and physical sense, but right now, he focused every bit of that power back into Dream.  And this close, with their lips sealed together, he could feel the repressed curiosity spanning millions of years that had been suppressed after Delight had changed and Delirium could no longer bring out the same childlike joy in Dream as easily as she once had. 

Hob grabbed those long-buried curious moments that could have led to thousands of Dreams, of ideas and hopes, and everything that made Dream what he was, and let them flood into Dream.  With it, he took the seed that Dream had given him, and shoved it back into his chest, giving him his stories back, even when Dream jolted beneath him.  An instant later, he was shoved backward from Dream, their lips falling apart as they panted.  He landed on the not ground, sprawled a few feet away from where Dream had pushed him and stared at his friend. 

"What have you done!?" Dream thundered, towering over Hob Gadling.  "What did you do to me?"

Hob breathed in deep and closed his eyes.  Whatever Dream did to him now didn't matter.  He would endure it, because now, perhaps.  Now, his friend would have enough curiosity to live.  To see the next day.  He'd saved him, exactly as Delirium had bid.  The cost of that saving did not matter.  It never had, after all.

"I gave your curiosity back to you," he announced.  "Made you remember what it was like to be curious.  To be filled with wonder."  Hob blinked his eyes open and stared at the endless white above him.  "How could you ever create dreams without wonder and curiosity?  They drive imagination, hope, stories, everything that you are and always have been, Dream."  Hob licked his lips and tilted his head back down to look at his beyond furious friend and managed a weak smile for him.  "I have heard you say again and again that you are your function, that that is what you are.  But it is not all that you are, and you should best begin believing that.  You deserve to be curious." 

Hob forced himself to his feet, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Dream, even as his friend stood as well.  His head was swimming with the amount of power that he'd pushed through himself into Dream, his entire body aching under the weight of it all.  "You, you think you're done.  You're tired, exhausted, and you think you've fulfilled all that you are.  That you can just, just leave all of us, and pass the mantle on and that's it!  As though you never mattered to us at all.  You matter!" Hob shouted the words, and they echoed in the blank space around them.  "You have always mattered, especially to me!  And I was not about to let you go without a fight!"

Dream lowered his hands to either side of him and glared at Hob Gadling.  "You have made a terrible mistake." 

"Have I?" Hob challenged, glaring right back at him.  "I"m curious, Dream.  Just how much of a mistake did I make, huh?  Tell me." 

"I am my function," Dream stated. 

"You're also a being that loves stories!" Hob growled.  "They all begin and end with you.  Are you not curious about all of the stories that will be written?  Yes, they may return to their original forms, but I refuse to believe in the years that lie ahead, there will not be a single story that is not new and engaging for you to read!"  His chest heaved, and he watched Dream snap his mouth shut.  "You're a being who was curious, at least once, about how it would feel to kiss me.  I know, I felt it!"  Hob took a step closer to him.  "You were curious about Rose, and how she and her brother were doing, because they are your family and you want to know more about them, even with everything that happened!"

Dream sighed and closed his eyes slowly, reopening them to look at Hob.  "Hob-"

"No," Hob snarled, stepping closer to Dream, even as he stumbled, doing his best to keep his feet.  "Your sister, no offense, gave you shit advice.  You don't need to bury yourself in your function.  In fact that's the last thing you need to do, because it's suffocating you!" He waved to Dream, a sprawling gesture.  "You've been doing that for centuries, and it's killing you!" 

Those words, spoken so plainly in the white room, echoed, as Hob heaved and tried to keep his balance.  Hob reached up and wiped a tear out of his eye, still glaring at Dream.  "You are creativity incarnate.  Without limits, Dream."  Hob knew he was begging, pleading now, but it was all that he had left.  "Aren't you curious, Dream?  About what Rose could grow up to be?  The dreams that she'll have?  About how Jed is going to do and heal after everything?  What adventures he might have next?  About..." he trailed off and looked up to meet Dream's eyes once more, before offering softly.  "About me?" 

"Hob Gadling," Dream said, his voice soft.  "You are my friend." 

Hob smiled, weak and wobbly, because he would never tire of hearing those words, no matter how many times they were spoken.  "And you're mine, Dream."  He swallowed, hard, wiping at his eyes.  "But that doesn't mean I'm not curious." He paused and smiled faintly, taking another step closer to where Dream was standing, swaying, as though he were caught in a spell that Hob was weaving over him. "I'm curious about how it would feel to kiss you again. Properly. That was hardly my best."  He watched Dream's eyes widen and he could feel the curiosity rising in Dream just as much.  "I'm curious about how it would feel to wrap you in my arms and hold on until both of us are ready to let go, not just because I'm worried that you're going to run."  He chewed on his lip and didn't look away from Dream.  It was the truth, as agonizing as it might have been to detail it all out like that. 

Dream opened his mouth to protest, to deny it, shaking his head, but now that the floodgates had been opened, now that he had been swarmed with Curiosity's power, he could feel those images, daydreams of his own, rising.  The same curiosity that tasted of Hob Gadling and the hope that exuded from his every pore.  The certainty that Dream was worth saving, that he was worth all of this effort, and curious as to what their future could hold.  He swayed once more, arrested by the not-story that Curiosity continued to paint of him, of them.  Of there being a them.  Something that had been impossible until just now, painted out for him.  "Soon," Dream started.  "It would become consistent.  The same.” He had seen how this story ended, again and again.  “I would no longer be a curious thing to you."  The magic would fade.  The light would follow, and Hob's, Curiosity's eyes would no longer sparkle when they looked at him. 

Hob laughed and reached out to stroke along Dream's cheek, until they were almost touching and reached out to cup Dream's jaw in his hands, looking at him.  "You are the collective unconscious, love.  There is no limit to what you are, what you will be, and who you could become.  I'm so curious about all of it, all of what you are, all that you could show me, share with me, teach me.  You can feel it, can't you?"  He didn't want to beg Dream to be able to feel all of that, but at the same time, if he could not, there would be no making it obvious to him.  He wanted nothing more than to prove this to Dream, for him to hear the truth and to believe it, down to the deepest parts of him.

Brimming with Curiosity's power, Dream could feel it.  The interest, the delight, the joy, all of it couched in a human who sought the possibility of the next day as though it were his own personal religion.  The potential of what Hob Gadling dared to offer him as an Endless, what he'd managed to unlock once more... Dream closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the true breadth of what had been buried for so long.  The warm hands on his chin kept him grounded as he reached for the fountain of ideas that was not an empty cup, but an endless waterfall, filling him with inspiration that was brimming with possibility and delight.  He gasped, and felt a forehead press against his. 

"She knew," Hob breathed, his voice a whisper, even as Dream's starry eyes flickered open to stare at him, the weight of those words echoing between them.  "She knows that it had been taken out of your reach when she lost it, when she couldn't bring it forward as easily.  So she gave it to me.  To hold and give back to you, because this is what I am.  You know it, your sister knows it.  It is the truth of what I am, and always will be."  

Hob slowly dragged a thumb across Dream's cheek when a tear finally broke free of the silvered waterline, where they were gathered and sparkling on Dream's eyelashes.  "You are so much more than your function, Dream.  You always have been.  There is so much more that can be a part of your life beyond your function.  But it starts here, it must.  Right here.  You have to be just the tiniest bit curious yourself.  It cannot be something I have given to you.  I can help you remember how, but I cannot do it for you." 

Hob paused and felt Dream tremble in front of him, his whole body threatening to shake under the weight of what Hob was putting in front of him.  "You have to wonder, the smallest amount.  A tiny seed, just like I was given, that needs to grow in you just like it has in me.  What could happen?" 

With those words, Hob settled in to wait, because there would be no rushing his decision from Dream.  Death had long since left them to where they were, this strange in-between place that Dream had fallen to.  There was a moment, as Dream watched him, where Hob expected him to turn and follow his sister where she had gone, but then Dream sank to his knees, his head falling back.  Dream took a single, heaving breath, and then all of himself that he kept restrained, that Hob had only ever seen the faintest amounts of, burst free, surrounding them.  It was so much more than he ever could have imagined, even as Curiosity, more than Dream had used in his repairs of the Dreaming, and more than he had thought it possible for Dream to carry at one time.  He was so much, all of it, an Endless flood that filled them in wave after wave. 

When it finally ended, when the last blast of Dream, and everything that he contained, settled at last around them, Hob did not feel like he was drowning, even though he was certain that he was.  There was a soft hand holding onto him, keeping him from drifting away, from being lost in the waves of everything that Dream was, and Hob clung to it, until he was standing amongst the riotous parts of Dream that had been spilled into the world around him.  Dream was floating at the center of it, all of the color bleeding out of him and into him all at once. 

"Dream?" Hob managed the word, but it felt muffled, like there was too much around them for his call to reach his friend.  The hand holding him gave an impatient tug, but it was pulling him away from Dream, and Hob pulled against it.  No, he couldn't leave Dream, not like this.  He was not going to leave his friend.  He was not going to abandon Dream to drowning in everything that he was.  "Dream!"  He pulled harder, as did the hand on his wrist, reaching out for his friend who was still at the middle of the swirling tornado of colors.  "Help him, someone has to help him!  Dream!"  Hob shouted louder, but he was swiftly being pulled away and the image of Dream was getting smaller and smaller, and he couldn't fight against whatever had a hold of him.  He was going to lose sight of Dream, and he couldn't do that, he needed to be closer. 

At last, the endless white was gone, and Hob, in his human form, was standing at the base of the stairs that led to Dream's throne.  Hob panted hard and stared up at the throne, waiting for Dream to appear.  His friend would follow, he would.  He would.  Hob clenched his hand into a fist as he heard first Lucienne, then Matthew, come running into the throne room, both of them freezing at the sight of him.  "Come back," Hob ordered, staring up at the platform that Dream liked to sit on.  But there was no sign of him yet.  His heart felt like it was caving in on itself, but he refused to believe that Dream had let him go.  He refused. 

"Where... is he?"

Hob didn't answer, he kept staring at the platform, willing Dream to appear, to follow him back into the Dreaming.  But there was no sign of him, and no matter how long he kept his vigil, Dream didn't appear.  He wiped frantically at the tears on his cheek and waited.  He was good at waiting, he could wait.  But still, the throne sat empty, and the throne room sat emptier.  Lucienne had said nothing, and had stepped into her role as running things around the Dreaming while Dream was indisposed.  And still Hob waited.  He would not believe that Dream had left. 

Day changed to night, to day, to night, until Hob lost track of time.  His heart was a raw, aching thing, but he would not give up hope yet.  Dream could not have left, and he had to believe that.  He had too, or something in him would break and he would never get it back.  But when a raven approached (Matthew), there was a sinking feeling that settled into his heart that he could not deny. 

"Luce says it would be best if you went back to the Waking.  You're making the Dreams and Nightmares nervous," Matthew said, hopping closer to Hob.  "You can, soon as I know anything bud, and I'd be one of the first to feel him if and when he comes back-"

"He will," Hob snarled, the words the first he had spoken in days. 

"Right, right," Matthew said with another hop.  "I will be the first to feel him when he does, and I will tell you right away." 

Hob turned to look at Matthew and knew that he was right, because it was what would be best for Dream's people, and he had never wanted to be a burden on those who had already gone through so much with Dream's absence.  Putting anything on them was unfair, and the last thing that he wanted to do was add to that pressure that he knew Lucienne had to be feeling at the moment.  He shook his head and turned away from the vigil that he had been keeping.  Something shattered in him, as he tore his eyes away at last, and he took a step away.  Matthew said something, but Hob held up a hand and shook him off.  He didn't want to hear it.  He couldn't.  Dream had made his choice, and it was one he would... he would have to learn to accept. 

Hob stepped into the Waking, and his old life as though nothing had ever changed.  A family emergency had happened, he had filed a leave of absence, and now the university would welcome him back as soon as the new semester started in a few weeks.  It was easy.  It was almost too easy, and Hob hated it.  Hated that he would never see his friend walk through the doors of the New Inn again.  That he would never get to feel what it would be like to have a hug from Dream, after trying to hug him as gently as possible.  He'd imagined what Dream's hugs might feel like, but it always depended on what he was feeling at the time.  Right now, he would have given anything, damn near anything, to feel and see Dream one more time. 

Dawn rose on the next day and Hob forced himself to get out of his flat, to go for a walk, to taste and breathe in the curiosity of others around him.  A few hours of walking as a human had him shifting to being a cat, where everything was so much easier and simpler.  He didn't need to talk to or interact with anyone and could go wherever he pleased, including lounging on the roof of the New Inn for hours at a time.  It kept the pigeons away at least, and that was a small benefit that he wasn't going to say no to.  But whenever he thought of the Inn, thoughts of Dream were not far behind them, and Hob ached with how much he missed his friend.  His friend who could have been so much more. 

But it didn't matter any longer.  Dream had made his choice, just like Hob had told him.  He'd had to make a choice, had to try to find a little of his own curiosity, a little of his own wonder, and if he couldn't, then this would be for the best.  Even if it hurt like hell right now.  The last thing he needed to do was lose his own curiosity and wonder, but Hob found it hard to do anything but be curious about how a relationship between them would have worked.  It probably wouldn't have.  Not for lack of trying, of course.  He would have done everything in his power to make it work.  But Dream was a very busy personification and would not want to be dragged down by Hob's more human natures. 

Though, when they had been at their happiest together, it had been the two of them lounging in the sun in Fiddler's Green. 

It was bordering on torture imagining it, and when Hob had ended up there, one night, while Dreaming, he had sobbed loud enough to wake himself up and buried his face in the pillow to cry and cry until his whole body ached.  Even chugging three glasses of water didn't help keep him from being dizzy as he crawled back into bed and fell apart once more.  He'd lost his friend, his oldest friend, the only one who knew him, who knew what he was, his best and worst moments, and now...

Hob clenched his fingers tighter in the pillows beneath him and forced himself to take a deep breath,  even when he hiccuped through it.  Heartache would pass.  Even if it took decades, even if it felt like it would never fade and it had been carved into the very core of his being.  It would fade, and eventually he would be able to move on.  He would be able to think of his friend with a fond smile.  Of the times, few as they were, shared together.  Perhaps, whoever would step into Dream's role next would remember him as well and he wouldn't be alone in remembering him. 

It was a small solace, but it was something, and Hob clung to it, tighter than he had any right to. 

Whenever he slept, he transformed into Curiosity and stayed away from the castle and Fiddler's Green.  He made his way across the Dreaming, avoiding the Dreams and Nightmares that tried to pull him into sleep so he could get proper rest.  He didn't want it.  Didn't want to know that they were still waiting for Dream (would they wait forever, or would things happen like they had last year?), or that the new Dream had stepped into his role.  All of it made him sick to think about, so Hob did his best to avoid all of it, keeping to himself as he slunk around the edges of the Dreaming, exploring and finding small little things to drive his Curiosity and prevent him from fading. 

Delirium didn't appear to him again. 

Probably because he'd failed.  He'd tried, he'd tried so hard, but he hadn't been able to save her brother, and that hurt almost as bad as losing Dream did.  To know that someone had trusted him to help and he hadn't been able to.  That he'd tried as hard as he damn well could, but it hadn't been enough.  He hadn't been enough, and next to a being like Dream, was that even a surprise?  Everything he'd seen at the end, every part of Dream unleashed, far more than his mind could comprehend, all of it threatening to swallow him, it had been beautiful, and he would have gladly been consumed by it.  Even if it had meant losing himself, he would have done that, so willingly, for Dream.  In a second.  

~!~

Piece by piece, Hob cobbled his life together once more. 

He made plans for his next life, trying to find what would drive his curiosity, before deciding that another travel tour was in order.  It was easier to make IDs for that sort of travel and then disappear when he needed to.  Far less likely to garner the attention of those who were looking, too, something he needed to stay on top of.  He would miss the New Inn, like a limb, especially now that Dream had been there, and it housed his only remaining memories of his friend, but Hob was becoming more and more certain that if he didn't leave, he would be trapped there until someone realized he wasn't aging.  Though people didn't burn witches in this day and age, he wasn't willing to risk coming under that level of scrutiny. 

So he took a deep breath and made plans.  It'd take another couple of years for everything to be ready as he had requested, and to have the things built and the stashes built up like he wanted, but that was more than enough time to finish everything that he had in front of him.  At the very least, having those plans made those around him stop asking what had happened to him or who had died.  He hadn't been willing to accept that Dream had taken his sister's hand, even when they asked, so he had avoided the question again and again, letting them make their own assumptions.  It didn't matter.  He had to believe that Dream still alive. 

Even if it wasn't true, he had to believe it. 

The bell above the door in the New Inn rang and Hob stubbornly ordered himself to keep his eyes on the papers in front of him.  He needed to finish grading them, and he was curious to see what his students had selected for their extra credit answer.  There was something, at least, pulling at him, pulling at the power within him, and Hob allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he marked off another row of answers.  It wouldn't take him long to finish this now that he had a proper answer key written up, it was only the essay part-

A throat cleared. 

Hob looked up, ready to glare at whoever had interrupted him, because he was in the middle of...

He stared at Dream, his Dream, the familiar all-black ensemble almost out of place in the summer heat, shock rippling over him in waves as he nearly knocked the table over in his hurry to stand up.  "Dream!"

"Hello Hob," Dream answered.  "It is good to see you." 

Hob shoved the table out of the way and ignored the way his hip was going to regret that in the morning and made his way in front of Dream, cataloguing everything else that seemed to be the same.  Same jeans, Doc Martens, shirt, and coat.  Same spiky black hair, and same blue eyes that crinkled the smallest amount at the corners.  "You're," he swallowed, panic still flooding him as he stared at the personification in front of him.  "You're, you're still you?  You're not a different Dream, are you?"  He shook, trying to hold himself still, not wanting to impose, to demand too much, but Dream was here, he was finally here. 

Dream smiled again and dipped his chin, nodding once.  "It is me, Hob." 

"Oh thank fuck," Hob breathed, and cupped Dream's face in his palms and yanked him in for a desperate kiss.  There was a wolf whistle from behind the bar, and several cheers across the pub, but he didn't care about any of it, because Dream was pressing up and into the kiss, thin arms were wrapping around him to hold on tighter, and Hob wanted to sob into the kiss, because it was everything he'd ever wanted, especially when Dream's free hand cupped his face and kept him pulled in close.  By the time they broke apart for air, he was panting, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks as he leaned in to press their foreheads together.  "Dream." 

"I'm here, Hob," Dream repeated, reaching up to comb his fingers through Hob's hair, brushing it back from his face.  "May I bring you upstairs?  I would like for us to talk." 

Hob had never packed up his things so quickly, and he wiped off his face and took Dream's hand, hauling him upstairs to his flat, tossing his bag off his shoulder by the door, before striding into the kitchen to make tea.  Dream followed behind him, his feet bare of his doc martens, and his arms bare.  A quick glance showed his jacket hanging up and his shoes placed in the hallway, a sight Hob had to stare at for several seconds to even believe was real, before he went back into automatic mode and got them both mugs. 

"You're in shock," Dream surmised, watching as Hob went about the steadying rhythm of making tea, putting the bags in the mugs, reaching for the hot water just as it finished boiling, filling both of them to allow them to steep.  There was a shakiness to his limbs that was present, and his eyes kept darting over, as though he was afraid that he would disappear.  "Hob.  Will you look at me?" 

Hob swallowed and put both his hands on the counter, before he lifted his eyes to look at Dream, to meet the concern in his eyes and feel his heart, which had been mourning his friend, and everything that they had potentially lost together for what felt like weeks now.  He didn't know how to feel, or where they were going to go from here.  Dream had kissed him back, had held him tight, but that didn't mean anything.  Not really. 

"I'm here," Dream said, keeping his eyes on him.  "I am here." 

The weight of those words, as though Dream were saying them with the gravity that he might believe them, had Hob trembling and he looked at the steeped tea in front of him.  How long had Dream been gone?  How long had he waited in the Dreaming, only to be sent here to try to return to his life.  He swallowed and nodded once.  "I know," he whispered.  "I know you're here." 

It was almost torture not to ask what had happened, to demand answers, to know where Dream had been, what he had been doing, how they had ended up like this, and why it had taken Dream so long to come back.  He wanted to know, wanted to demand to know.  Even though it wasn't his place to demand those sorts of answers.  If Dream wanted to tell him, he could.  He swallowed again and reached out to take out the tea bags, putting them to the side and adding cream and sugar to both their mugs, pushing Dream's toward him, before he lifted his to take a sip of the scalding drink.  At least this was real. 

"It is good to see you again, Dream," Hob finally managed, after he'd taken another two sips and definitely burnt his tongue.  It was worth it to make sure that things were real.  That what was happening around him was the truth in every possible way.  He couldn't handle it if he had to lose Dream again, if he got ripped away from him and had to lose him all over again. 

Dream looked down at the mug of tea and wrapped his hands around it.  "You will not ask, will you?"

Hob tensed, his shoulders hunching.  "I, I might have pried when I was Curiosity, but I-"

Dream hummed, interrupting him.  "But where I welcomed it when you were Curiosity, I punished you for it as yourself."  He nodded.  "I have erred in this way." 

Steeling himself, ordering himself to be brave, to face whatever was about to happen, Hob forced himself to ask.  "What happened?  At, at the end there?" 

"Many things," Dream allowed.  "To you, is perhaps the easiest thing to start with.  Delirium pulled you away from me.  I owe her a great debt for this.  You would have drowned, and possibly been trapped in the Dreaming forever if you had stayed.  I would not have wished that for you, not under any circumstance.  She removed you to make sure that it didn't happen."  He paused and looked up at Hob.  "I heard you fighting to get back to me." 

Hob swallowed and wiped away a tear that wanted to escape, clearing his throat.  "Yeah, of course I fucking did," he grumbled, rolling his shoulders.  "I thought I was going to lose you if I didn't stay with you, and I didn't know what was happening.  What happened to you?"

Dream looked back down at the tea mug and rubbed his thumb along the rim of it, letting out a considering hum.  "I do not, know if there is an accurate way to describe what happened, but the closest I can articulate it, perhaps.  Is that I was destroyed, and then remade by the Dreaming." 

"Destroyed?" Hob asked, his voice cracking on the word.  "You were destroyed?" 

"Not, in the sense that you are imagining it," Dream answered, looking at the mug, before he looked around at the room.  He pooled sand into his hand and held it out to Hob.  "Imagine a material that is, and can be, constantly in flux."  He formed a shape, himself, his vessel, but made sure Hob could clearly see it was still made of sand.  "It is never one thing, but many things, to many different creations, all at once, all at the same time."  He turned his hand, so the image would change every few seconds, but it was still the same figure. 

"When you flooded me with Curiosity's power..." Dream let the sand change, and a series of shining bright crystals moved through the sand figure, one after another, until it was almost entirely mixed with the sand.  "It was a return to a form I had once been, and I could feel that."  He shifted himself again and grew the figure taller and taller.  "But because I am the Dreaming, your power also did this to the Dreaming.  Had it been confined to my form, there would have been no issue.  But because the Dreaming itself was also reset with your gift..." Dream gestured to the sand that exploded outward, the figure disappearing as everything was wiped clean and replaced, now with the diamond dust inside it, and the figure regrown.  "Everything was remade." 

There was a part of him that wanted to rub his forehead and say that none of that made sense.  But the part of him that was Endless, like Dream, the curious part of him that had given Dream back what he lost, understood, and he nodded.  "So the Dreaming was also affected?" 

Dream nodded once.  "It was what took me so long to reform."  He lifted his eyes to Hob's, briefly.  "I could feel you waiting.  You knew to wait.  You were right to do so.  You knew I would return, and you knew not to leave.  But it took me much longer than I expected."  He gave Hob another glance.  "The Dreaming, in my absence, is thousands of times larger than it was when I left, and I had not grown with it.  That disparity was why it took me so long to return.  As soon as I did, and ensured all was well, I came here." 

Hob took a longer sip of his tea and sniffled into it.  It was the best possible outcome for what had happened.  Dream might have still been hurting, but now he was curious again.  He smiled, from time to time.  He looked happier, and his lips were just the tiniest bit pink from where Hob had bit them earlier while they kissed.  He was beautiful, and Hob wanted him, as much as he had always wanted Dream.  But he had always known that Dream wasn't his to have, no matter what his heart had cried out for.  That didn't mean he was any less curious, because he was, but Dream deserved to have what he wanted, and now he would be able to have that. 

"I'm so glad to know that you're all right," Hob said, and it was honesty, when he smiled at Dream, even after he finished his tea, putting the mug down.  "I was so worried." 

Dream nodded and turned his attention to the mug of tea once more.  "I have... I do, miss your presence.  In the Dreaming.  As Curiosity."  He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the mug.  "You will... not stay away?"  He lifted his eyes to look up at Hob. 

The hope in Dream's eyes, the longing there, had Hob aching, and he wanted to pull Dream into another kiss, into his lap, and never let him move, ever again.  He would kiss Dream every single way that he knew, and then a thousand more, until he had sated his curiosity and discovered a thousand other things to be curious over about Dream.  Hob managed a smile and nodded.  "I will not stay away," he confirmed.  "You are still my friend, Dream.  Always will be, as far as I am concerned.  You're not getting rid of me that easily." 

"Friends," Dream repeated, frowning, his nose wrinkling.

Hob ordered himself not to panic, because Dream didn't show any signs of anger or frustration, only hurt confusion.  He could be storming out again, but he wasn't, not yet, and he cleared his throat.  "I, yes?" 

"And if I am..." Dream paused, before putting the mug down, standing up.  He moved around the counter to stand next to Hob Gadling, reaching out to tug on his arm until Hob was facing him.  "If I am... curious?” 

Hob's breath caught and his eyes widened as he stared up at Dream.  "What are you curious about, Dream?" 

"If I am curious... about kissing you all the ways you daydream about?"  He took a step forward and reached out to press his thumb to Hob's lower lip.  "If I am curious about how you would court me, and I may court you?"  He stepped closer still, his other hand going to Hob's waist, tugging him closer.  "If I am curious about how I might love you, because I suspect you have loved me for a very long time?"  He paused, watching Hob's eyes carefully.  "How might the personification of Curiosity suggest we proceed?" 

Every single use of the word curious sent a bolt of heat and power flooding through him, but Hob was locked in place, transfixed as Dream moved closer and closer, surrounding him so completely it was everything he could do not to shake apart under the teasing.  At Dream's final question, his heart leaping into his throat, and unable to keep the grin off his cheeks, Hob turned and pressed a kiss to Dream's thumb against his lips.  "I think that I might keep you curious about some of those for a little bit longer," he breathed, still grinning.  "Some of the fun is in the discovery after all." 

When Dream's thumb was pulled away from his lips, a rueful smile on his face, Hob reached up and tangled his fingers into Dream's hair and pulled him into another desperate kiss.  All at once, Dream came alive again, holding onto him tightly, tugging him closer and more insistently as they both leaned into it, even as Hob felt himself get pressed back against the counters.  Everything else, the courting, the proper confessions, all of it could wait, because it would be a very long time before he wanted to stop kissing Dream.  And he was curious just how long Dream could hold his breath while they kissed, which made Dream chuckle against his lips. 

Hob pulled back to stare at Dream with a raised eyebrow, his own lips feeling red and bruised, a perfect mirror for Dream's, and that was enough to have his heart skipping.  "What is it?" 

"I suspect you will find a boundless amount of things to be curious about," Dream said, cupping Hob's face once more, pulling him into another kiss.  "And I am eager to indulge all the daydreams I can see." 

Hob nodded and leaned into the kiss, before he broke it and buried his face in Dream's neck, wrapping his arms around the skinny man in front of him.  "Let me hold onto you for a few minutes first?  I just want to remind myself that you're here and this isn't a dream." 

"Oh but it is a dream," Dream whispered.  "Your Dream, as a matter of fact.  Pulled directly from your fantasies for you to enjoy here, in the Waking world.  I thought it fitting to give you such indulgence."  He shifted them and wrapped Hob into his arms, cradling Curiosity, Hob, close, nuzzling into his hair.  It was the work of a moment to lift Hob, one arm behind his back and another under his knees, carrying him over to the couch, before he sat down with Hob in his lap, where he seemed determined to press as close as he could. 

Hob muffled his laugh in Dream's shoulder as he was carried like a damsel over to the couch, and then situated properly in his lap and leaned in to press his nose to Dream's neck, nuzzling in against the pale skin.  It felt real.  Everything about this felt real, Dream's arms around him, the quiet thrum of Dream's power that he could feel under him that was radiating off the other Endless and the longer they sat here together, the weaker the suffocating grief felt.  "I do love you, you know.  Impossible creature.  I don't know how I couldn't love you after we played tag together in Fiddler's Green.  Was gone for you a long time before that, but that just made me sure."

Dream chuckled and tightened his arms around Hob.  "I would very much like it if you still visited the Dreaming as Curiosity.  I have missed you there the past day." 

Hob let out a shaky exhale and shifted so he could wrap his arms around Dream's skinny chest, nodding against him.  "I'd love to.  Can't be there all the time, but I would love to be able to come and visit whenever I am in the Dreaming." 

Dream reached up and combed his fingers through Hob's hair, humming. 

Hob felt the zing of power hit him and shuddered, panting against Dream's neck.  Dream had been curious about his hair.  How soft it was, and now that he'd started, he was flooded with everything else.  How curious Dream was about how he would sound in bed together.  How curious Dream was about Hob's preferences, how he would enjoy being loved.  He was curious about everything, and Hob groaned against Dream's neck and leaned up to nip at Dream's jaw.  "I'm an emotional wreck and you're going to turn me into a horny mess, that isn't fair love." 

"What can I say," Dream breathed, his voice soft as he tipped Hob's chin toward him, catching those familiar brown eyes.  "I'm curious."

[pitviperofdoom]

PITS JONGERRYS LETS GO

Uhhh uMMMMMM URBAN FANTASY JONGERRYS

Things had escalated. With Gerard Keay involved, that meant something inevitably wound up on fire.

The initial blast took out two of Jon’s attackers and threw the rest into confusion. He was already running the second he was free, reaching out blindly until Gerard found his wrist. Without a word, his bodyguard shoved him to the front and sent another fireball into the cultists behind them. The flames, as always when they came from Gerard, burned hot and spread fast. The resulting confusion left their pursuers in disarray, but the spread of the flames cut off their exits as thoroughly as the cultists’ pursuit.

In the end, their only recourse was to flee deeper into the Rayner compound, away from the screams and shouts of their would-be captors.

Jon kept his mouth shut, breathing deeply and evenly as Gerard hurried him along. He was getting used to running, he thought wryly. Less than a year ago he would’ve been gasping and staggering after the first three hallways, but now his breath came easily, and he barely registered the burn in his legs until they finally came to a halt.

A spacious storage closet served as a temporary refuge; the closet itself was dark and unlit, but a small window at Gerard’s eye level provided him with a vantage point. Jon leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

“Lost them for now,” Gerard murmured. “Won’t matter much if we can’t get out of here.”

“Mm.” Jon let out a long, slow breath. “I think it’s safe to say that relations between Elias and the People’s Church have thoroughly broken down.”

“Long time coming, if you ask me. Mum always says Rayner’s lot don’t want anything less than total dominion. So alliances don’t tend to—”

Abruptly he went still and silent, ducking away from the window. Footsteps rushed past outside; a shadow fell over the dim beam of light that leaked through. Jon didn’t dare move. Eventually, after a few heart-pounding seconds, the figure outside moved on and joined the rest of the cultists searching the building.

The silence lasted nearly two full minutes before Jon built up the nerve to speak again. “Gerard?”

A soft sigh emanated from the darkness. “Thought I told you to call me Gerry.”

“I… haven’t forgotten,” Jon replied. “Gerry, then.”

The name felt uncomfortable on his tongue, even with permission. It held meaning, he knew. Gerard—Gerry had thrown it out in an off-hand manner, but Jon didn’t need to be a seer to sense the weight in that request. It wasn’t just a preference; it was an offer of trust, a wall coming down, a privilege that Jon had somehow earned, entirely without meaning to, without offering anything in return.

“I’ll follow your lead,” he said.

Gerry’s face hovered into the light again, casting sharp shadows over his features. “Not quite good enough.”

“What?”

With a sigh, Gerry let his eyes slide shut. “There’s too many of them. If we make a break for it, they’ll run us down, overwhelm us with sheer numbers.” His eyes opened, focusing on Jon. “You’re fast. A lot faster than you used to be, at least. All you need to get away is a diversion.”

“I don’t like where this is headed—”

“I’ll be fine,” Gerry said calmly, with a roll of his eyes. “And most importantly, you’ll be fine. You’ve got the easy bit. All you have to do is run fast until you’re out. I’ll take care of the rest.”

He reached for the door handle. Jon got there first.

***

Jon’s hand closed around his wrist, tight enough to make his fingers tingle. Gerry jerked back with a surprised hiss, but Jon refused to let go.

“Gerry, stop,” he hissed. “It won’t work.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” It was getting a little harder to keep his voice steady. Sure, his chances were slim, but that was nothing new. Slim chances were his baseline.

“No, listen to me,” Jon gritted out, yanking him away from the door. “It won’t work. There are too many of them and they’re spread out through the building. No matter where, when, or how you try to make a stand, I won’t even make it outside.”

Conviction rang in every word, bringing Gerry up short. He looked back; in the dim light through the door’s small window, he could see the set of Jon’s face.

“Trust me,” Jon pleaded. “I know.”

Gerry’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know? I didn’t see you swooning over a vision.”

“Think of something else,” Jon told him.

“Jon—”

“The longer we take to decide, the more everything shifts,” Jon snapped. “Think of something else.”

“Fine!” Gerry thought quickly. “It’s a straight shot to the east entrance from here—”

“Won’t work,” Jon cut him off. The light from the hallway struck his eyes, setting them aglow. His pupils, no longer light-absorbing black, flashed like a cat’s in the dark. “It’s too narrow—no escape routes. It’ll funnel us straight to them. Try again.”

“South, then. It leads to the warehouse—there’s plenty of places to hide.”

“The mezzanine’s already packed with armed cultists,” said Jon. “It’d be like running into a firing squad.”

“If we go further down—”

“No way out, and… there’s something down here.” Jon squinted and grimaced, free hand flying to his forehead as if in sudden pain. “I can’t—I can’t quite get the shape of it.”

“Then… up…?”

Jon blinked. “Keep going.”

“What?”

“Upstairs, then what?”

Gerry thought for a moment. “Head to the roof, take the fire escape down.”

“Fire escapes aren’t maintained, they won’t hold both of us,” said Jon. “Try again.”

“Not the roof, then. Out one of the windows. I can climb and carry you.”

“You—” Jon blinked, his strange eyes widening. “Huh. So you can.”

“Are we good?” Gerry asked.

“Wait.” Jon’s eyes flickered again, before he squeezed them shut and came back into himself. “Christ. Car park on the west side of the building. There’s a blue sedan with keys on the center console.”

“Okay.” With one last look out into the hallway, Gerry reached for the door handle. There would be time for questions later, and Gerry had many. “Get ready to run.”

***

“Want to tell me what that was about, then?”

Jon’s hands barely shook. It was a bold move, starting an interrogation when Jon was the one applying gauze to a bullet graze Gerry couldn’t reach himself. “Depends on what you want to talk about—”

“Don’t.” Gerry’s voice brooked no argument, barely stuttering even as Jon pressed a disinfectant-soaked pad to the gash over his shoulder blade.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jon insisted. “I’m a seer. You knew that when Elias brought you on. Why are you so disconcerted over watching me see the future?”

“Because you’ve been holding out on me, Sims,” Gerry said mildly. “Holding out on him too, seems like. Does Elias know you can do that? Just peek into the future of your own accord, instead of waiting for it to creep up and pounce?”

Jon sighed.

He didn’t say anything after sighing, but he did continue to patch up Gerry’s wounds. Gerry sat patiently, holding still even as Jon’s ministrations stung his torn and scorched skin. He could be patient. Once Jon was done, he wouldn’t have an excuse to hide behind anymore.

“I’m not stupid,” Jon said. “Or naive, or sheltered. I don’t know why you thought I was when we first met.”

“You’re not my first bodyguarding gig,” Gerry told him. “In my experience, anybody who gets as petulant about being protected as you were is usually naive and a bit stupid. And after that stunt you pulled with Jude Perry, you can forgive me for coming to a reasonable conclusion.”

“That wasn’t stupidity or naivete,” Jon said primly. “That was recklessness. Learn the difference.”

“Jon.”

“I just mean—I know how people see me,” Jon went on. “What they usually want from me. It happened back when I was a kid, before my grandmother stopped letting me talk about it. Everyone wants to know something about the future, even if they think they don’t. I’m a useful tool for some, a deepest wish for others. I’ve been hiding what I am since I was a child. And when Elias identified what I was in spite of my best efforts… I thought it best to keep hiding what little I could.”

“Like having control over your own power.” Gerry’s eyes narrowed. “But you work for him. Being a seer is literally what he pays you for.”

“But I don’t know why.” Jon finished fussing over his wounds and stood back. “He pays me a wage plus a bonus for every vision I report to him, but I don’t know what he’s getting out of any of it. He’s looking for something—I know he is. I just don’t know what.”

“If you don’t know what he wants from you, but you don’t trust him enough to ask, then why stay at all?” Gerry asked. “I’ve seen your paycheck, and it’s not that good. Why do you still work for him?”

Jon moved to the sink, where he washed his hands with the methodical care of a surgeon about to walk into an operating theater. Gerry was halfway through putting his shirt back on when Jon finally replied.

“Because I haven’t found a path to quitting that doesn’t end with Elias killing me.”

Gerry froze, his shirt still rucked up over his chest.

“I’d been working for him for about… six months? When I finally admitted to myself that I wasn’t comfortable.” Jon returned to the kitchen table and sank back into the chair beside Gerry. “I didn’t think much of peeking ahead, so to speak. Elias just struck me as the sort of boss who would take a resignation personally, and I wanted to know what I’d have to deal with.” He took a deep breath. “Turns out, what I’d have to deal with was Elias coming into my home and beating me to death in a staged burglary gone wrong.”

Gerry gripped the edge of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

“I-I went through as many possible exits as I could think of,” Jon went on. “Moving wouldn’t help. Neither would changing my number, ghosting him, stringing him along to keep him from realizing I was quitting—nothing. If I try to quit, he’ll kill me. And I don’t know why.”

He stopped, steadying himself. “All I can do is just—linger. Be as useless as possible. Try to figure out what he wants from me. I-I keep checking, every now and then. Cycling through possible resignation methods. I’m—” HIs voice caught. “I’m quite sick of watching myself die, as you can imagine.”

“Can’t you use your sight to figure out what he wants?” Gerry asked.

“No, it’s—it’s not that simple, it’s—a question like that is too vague.” Jon paused, looking thoughtful. “Did your mother ever teach you about probability?”

Gerry gave him exactly the look that question deserved.

“Right, didn’t think so. Here—here’s an incredibly simplified demonstration.” Jon reached across the table and snagged a legal pad. “Right, so—imagine you’re trying to pick an outfit for the day. And you have… two pairs of trousers, three shirts, and four pairs of socks. So you start with picking the trousers.” Turning the pad sideways, he started on the left and drew a sideways V, the two branches spread wide, nearly spanning the width of the page. “These two points are your two choices of trousers. From there, you pick a shirt. Both choices of trousers can then go with three possible shirts, making six outcomes in all.” From the end of both branches, he drew three more branching lines. “And from there, you choose socks—so each of these six shirt-trouser combinations have four further possibilities for socks.” He continued drawing until the diagram resembled a sideways skeletal tree with twenty-four branches at the end. “And you can continue this ad nauseum—you’ve got three possible pairs of shoes, five possible hats, two possible pairs of gloves, and so on and so forth.” Before long, the entire page was filled with simplistic tree branches, uneven and crowding each other on the page. “Following me so far?”

“Yes?” Gerry said dubiously.

“This is, once again, an incredibly simplified version of what the future is like,” Jon explained. “It’s not a straight path. There are countless possible outcomes for every single—well. Everything. You make different choices to go down certain paths, and the choices available to you depend on random chance and the choices of the people around you, who are also living in their own tangled probability trees.” He tapped the scribbly mess on the page with his pencil. “When I use my sight of my own accord, that is what I see.”

Gerry stared down at it. “Huh.”

“The trick I pulled in the Rayner compound was… simpler than it could have been,” Jon went on. “It’s easiest to see what’s straight ahead, because that puts me back here—” he tapped at the single point on the left side of the page, from which the rest of the branches originated. “Because I can focus on myself, and my own choices, and the number of possible outcomes are slightly more manageable. The present and immediate future are always the easiest to deal with, because whenever I choose a particular branch, the rest of them… wither away, so to speak, and all the tangled might-have-beens that grew from them disappear. It frees up my attention.”

“So it’s difficult to figure out what Elias wants from you because… you don’t know how to find the right branch?”

Jon nodded. “I don’t know how to find the path that leads to him telling me.”

“Do you know what happens if you tell him the truth about your abilities?”

“I looked, once,” Jon replied. “Not for very long. None of the outcomes I could find involved him letting me outside ever again.”

“Fuck,” Gerry breathed out. “You realize you’re taking a huge risk by telling me, right? For all you know, I could take this straight to Bouchard.”

Jon’s eyes flickered again. “I’ve yet to find a branch where you do.” Gerry snorted. “And besides that…”

His scarred hand came to rest over Gerry’s. By some miracle, Gerry managed not to jump.

“We’re in this together,” Jon said. “We’re both stuck, and I’m relying on you just to keep breathing. You’ve been—good. To me. So far. You’re no friend of Elias, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not,” Gerry said firmly.

“Maybe it is a risk,” said Jon. “But I’m just—tired. I’m trapped either way, and the closest I have to company I trust are the infinite possible future versions of myself, who I can only observe and learn from. To tell you the truth, I’ve been getting a bit lonely.”

“Bit sad, that.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

They sat in silence for a while, neither of them pulling away from the other’s touch. Gerry stared at the hand over his own through half-lidded eyes, wondering what would happen if he turned his over and held Jon’s properly. For a split second he wished he could peek ahead.

“Hey Jon?”

“Yes?”

“What happens if—” He faltered for a moment. “What happens if I’m with you when you try to leave?”

“Hm.” Jon’s eyes flickered for a moment.

Without warning, they flew open wide.

“Jon?” Gerry asked nervously.

“I…” Jon’s throat bobbed. “Sorry, that—that just opened up an entire dimension of branches that I didn’t even—” His eyes flicked from side to side, as if the entire tree of fate was sprouting and growing before him, and he could only take in a few branches at a time.

“Talk to me,” said Gerry.

“There are—a lot more answers to that question than I realized,” Jon said. “Still a lot of ways to die, but—not as immediate. There are more branches ahead, I can’t quite…” He seemed to catch his breath. “I have to think about this. But…” The strange light in his eyes went out, and he turned to look at the Gerry of here and now. “Would you do that? Are you sure?”

Gerry took Jon’s hand and squeezed. The outcome, it turned out, was Jon’s wide eyes locking on his face, and the faintest hint of a blush creeping over Jon’s skin.

“Yes.” He wondered how many paths vanished when he made his choice.

[jotarothekidsmissyou]

Congrats on 600!! I only just recently got into JJBA and im in love. (Fully caught up obviously but Stardust crusaders are my favorite) Can I get headcannons on a young teen fem reader who ended up joining the crusaders because she has an incredibly powerful stand and she ends up looking to the crusaders as big brother/father figures. Sorry if this doesn't make sense! Just want some wholesome crusaders ;;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ɴᴇᴠ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴀᴡᴡ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ᴀɴᴏɴ~! (//ω//) ɪ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴅᴜꜱᴛ ᴄʀᴜꜱᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ, ɪᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  During stand user fights Jotaro quickly took notice how powerful of stand user you are. He admires that secretly. But regardless of your capabilities he’s somewhat protective over you. You were the only girl in the group thus you could potentially be a target. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Y/n stay close to me and keep your guard up, who knows what stunts they’ll pull,” 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Best believe he went apeshit when the Lover’s (Steely Dan’s stand) infiltrated through your ear. As much as Jotaro wanted to fight the guy, he stayed neutral, waiting for the perfect opportunity for the two of you to get revenge. A moment with you he’ll never forget is when the both of you pummeled Steely Dan to the ground.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “We make a good team,” 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ When you guys weren’t battling against stand users Jotaro’s personally shined. Often he would teach you cool things; his infamous five cigarette trick, how to ride a motorcycle, the list goes on.  

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ If he was feeling nice, he would lean you his hat. It symbolizes that you gained his trust and you are a special person that impacted his life. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ All in all, I would consider Jotaro being that cool older brother who you would look up to. 100% would pick on you but then buy you food as if nothing ever happened. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Without a doubt he would see you like a daughter figure!!! Since the trip was mostly about curing Holly’s (Seiko) illness, it devastated Joesph on the inside. He couldn’t be physically there for his daughter, so, unaware of his actions Joseph provided you that fatherly love. And considering everyone’s ages in the group he was kinda like the parietal figure anyway.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  “Me and Avdol can share a room, the three of you can group together..leaving the lady, a room by herself,” Joseph was an advocate for your personal space. In which lead him to argue with hotel staff if you didn’t get a room exclusively. “What do you mean you only have one room?!” 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Because of his upbringing (and granny Erinas cane ಥ‿ಥ) he was taught to be a gentleman, thus he treated/favored you a little more than the rest of the group. So expect him to do stuff like open the door or offer you things. Chivalry wasn’t dead if you had both Jonathan and Erina looking down from the heavens.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Since you are a powerful stand user, things like cuts and bruises were bound to happen. So don’t be surprised if Joseph (or Avdol) mainly cleans your wounds.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Just as a warning, alcohol tends to sting, ok?”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Joseph is going through a lot right now, so if he inclines to be overbearing just know he means no harm. You also remind him of his mother, Lisa Lisa, a strong and confident young woman. If you ask about her or to learn hamon, he might adopt you!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Taking in consideration that Avdol is in his late 20s (and maturest one in the group) I feel as though your relationship with him would be a mixture between the two. It really depends of the situation. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ As stated before with Joesph, Avdol, also bandages your wounds. But unlike Joesph, he takes his time, adding special ointments for the healing process to quicken. However, afterwards be prepared to be scolded. Avdol is a born stand user and has quite a lot of experience in stand battles. Even though it’s coming across a lecture Avdol teaching you the proper way of fighting without getting hurt.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  If you do ask him for help when it comes to understanding your stand, he’ll be more than happy to assist you. Just back up from Magician Red’s flames when he’s demonstrating.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Don’t overthink in the mist of battle. Again your stand is apart of your soul, feel one with yourself, feel like it’s another limb attached to your body,” 10/10 mentor.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Growing up Kakyoin would have been that kid who wanted younger siblings to play with. To not only to feel loved but to finally have someone visible to others. Once he knew you were around his age with a stand..yeah you’re going no where.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ At first he’s a little shy, and might come across random, just know he’s trying to make a good impression. As we may know Kakyoin has traveled around the world so be prepared for “Did you know—” statements. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “Did you know that the Egyptians used moldy bread as a medicine for infections?” 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥If you’re a gamer too, be prepared for his inner nerd to be unleashed! He’ll ask what type of gaming console, games, you have. Too really impress him take him to arcade and show him your button mashing skills.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Since you both are still in school, it’s more than likely you would study with him during your journey. Kakyoin will hold you accountable in getting your schoolwork done so don’t think you’re scott free if he hasn’t mentioned it. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “You cant go to sleep just yet! We have to finished our incomplete homework!!” Bro it’s literally 2am..

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Given to what happened to Sherry, he doesn’t mind if you look to him as a brother figure. In a way it’s helping his through is grief, similar to Joesph. He’s undeniably the type of brother to shower you in praise and hugs. If you aren’t that much of a hugger don’t think you can run and hide. You WILL endure Polnareff’s..

Bone crushing bear hugs!!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥”Give me a hug mon amie!” King of nicknames..so pick one. Yes, even the chessy ones.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Polnareff is your hype man during a 1 on 1 fight with your opponent. Silver chariot could be in the middle of clashing swords and still Polnareff would cheer you on. Almost losing his own battle. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ In rare cases if you’re having difficulty in fighting one of DIO’s servant without a mere thought Polnareff would assist you. Your knight in shining armor!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ At a merchant market if he eyes something that reminds him of you, I’ll buy it as a present. By the time the trip ended you had souvenirs to commemorating both Polnareff, and the 50 day voyage.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Bonus: If you’re taking French as a foreign language to learn Polnareff would be static to teach you. His method of teaching is not the best so bare with him. 

[after-witch]

Duplexity  [Yandere Nobunaga x Reader]

Title: Duplexity  [Yandere Nobunaga x Reader]

Synopsis: Your boyfriend Nobunaga is loyal and caring and always makes you feel loved. He’s also a murderer. 

Word Count: 3009

notes: Yandere, unhealthy relationship, mention of murder, some non-graphic blood/violence

Your boyfriend Nobunaga loves to make you dinner, and always make sure it’s something that will get your taste buds singing. Your boyfriend Nobunaga has a soft, sweet sense of humor that never fails to cheer you up when you’re in a bad mood. Your boyfriend Nobunaga is loyal and caring, and always makes you feel loved. 

Your boyfriend Nobunaga is a murderer. 

If you were to guess, and it’s not something you care to do, you might suppose that he’s killed hundreds. Maybe more? He is part of the infamous Phantom Troupe, after all, and they weren’t exactly known for a lack of excess when it came to piles of corpses.

Sometimes you wonder . If your boyfriend is a murderer, what does that make you? An accomplice? A witness? Or someone who has terrible, disgusting knowledge and does nothing with it.

But that’s not quite true, is it? You do something with things you know, the little things you glean when he’s home. A speckle of blood he missed on his cheek. A bruise, a cut, the tiniest fray in the fabric of his clothes. The cagey expression as he looks away when you asked what he did while he was gone. The way your stomach clenches when you watch him sleep, and wonder--what did he look like, when he was taking someone’s life?

You bury all of these things (and so much more) deep, deep down and pretend that they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. 

If you left them out in the open, they might fester and rot. They would stink. At least, shoved inside the crevices of your heart, you can pretend they don’t exist. For a while.

Because, really--just how much can someone bury before it comes bursting out at the seams, all slime and horror?

--

He’s been gone a few weeks. It’s not unusual. His business takes him places where you can’t, and wouldn’t care to, go for long stretches of time. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes weeks. On one occasion, months. You don’t like to think about that time, because you were sure he was dead, and even the sight of his hesitant smile in the doorway couldn’t shake away the dread you’d felt for those months.

But today, his arrival is expected. In fact, he’s a few days early, which is a nice surprise. You miss him when he’s gone, of course.

But… you miss him even more when he’s gone for more than a few days, and sometimes, you think it’s because the longer he’s away, the more likely it is that he’s doing something particularly awful. Isn’t that sick? You would rather he be gone for three days, and perhaps kill one or two targets, than be gone for weeks and engage in a whole host of unknown mystery horrors.

He’d never confirm what he did while he was away, even if you asked.

You never ask.

And now, you push all thoughts of what he might have been doing aside, because he’s setting down his bag on the table next to the door and giving you a grin that makes your stomach flutter. You’ve missed that grin so much, and you can’t help the grin that breaks out on your own face as you rush to greet him. 

No words are exchanged yet, and they don’t need to be. You simply press your lips against his own and welcome the familiar feeling, the warmth that you’ve come to love from his mouth, from his body, from his very aura. 

His hands wrap around your back and pull you closer.

“Miss me that much?” He asks, all soft words. His smile is tired and relieved.

You shake your head, teasing, the grin still on your face. “Nope. Totally fine without you.”

He raises his eyebrows in mock horror. “Wow. You really didn’t miss me, huh?

You quirk your head and keep up the grin. “Oh no, not at all. I didn’t sleep with a big pillow next to me on the bed because I missed snuggling, or talk to myself while I cooked because I missed our conversations. Nothing like that at all.”

He laughs, shaking his head, pulling himself from you only to lead you over to the comfortable couch--your favorite spot. For snuggling, for watching movies together, and occasionally falling asleep on purpose so that he will cradle you before picking you up and tucking you into bed. 

You should probably ask him if you want something to eat, but you’d rather just hold him for now. And let him hold you. Your body finds its familiar comfort entangled in his limbs, your head resting against his chest while he embraces you, snug and firm.

“Will you have to leave again soon?” You inwardly cringe at the question, even as you ask it. You didn’t mean to lead with something needy, but constantly being separated from your boyfriend could take a toll on you over time. You hated it when he came home only to stay for a few days and leave again. 

He hums, and hugs you tighter.

“Shouldn’t be for a while.” You want to ask--How long is a while?--but you don’t. He seems to sense your question and strokes your hair. “Not for a few weeks. Plenty of time, don’t you think?”

You nod, even as a small part of you thinks that no, it’s not plenty of time, actually. None of your friends, no one you knew, had to deal with their boyfriend leaving like this. Sure, maybe one of their husbands took a business trip once a year.

But that was different from Nobunaga weaving in and out of your life. And sometimes, even when he said he was going to stay for awhile, he got pulled away with something sudden. Those times hurt the most, especially if you had something special planned. And he always tried to make it up to you, but it didn’t erase the hurt.

Or the nagging thought--what was it he did, this time, when he was pulled away? What sort of “work emergencies'' did the Phantom Troupe have? It couldn’t be anything good. And when he came back, your eyes would always search for those little things. Blood, wounds, something. Anything, however small, that might tell you where he’d been, and what he’d done. 

The arms around you right now could have been wielding a weapon just a day ago. They could have held a sword that sliced through someone’s body like cheese, spilling blood and guts as someone’s life was drained out of their eyes. Nobunaga would have watched, impassive--or did he take pleasure in it? You tried to imagine that, tried to imagine him smirking as someone begged for their life, and--

“You got something on your mind?” There’s something worried but sharp in his tone. It cuts through your thoughts quick and easy.

You look up at him, feeling shaken, but feeling loved, too. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s a tired one. He should probably nap while you make dinner. Did he ever nap after he committed murder?

You sigh, and squeeze your eyes shut. You should stop thinking about things like that. You have to, if you want to make this work. 

“No,” you say, softly, leaning your head back down on his chest. “Sorry. I just missed you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Can’t be helped, sweetness. A man’s gotta work.”

“Mm-hmm.” You hum it out and pull him closer to you.

You don’t want to drag the feeling out--his or yours. It’s easier when you don’t. Instead you’ll think about what to do next. Put his stuff away. Make dinner. Do dishes. Take a shower. Head to the bedroom, if he’s up for it. Maybe pick a movie, if the two of you aren’t tired out. In fact, speaking of tired--

“Hey, Nobu?” You don’t wait for him to answer. “You should take a nap while I make dinner. Seems like you could use one.”

Another kiss to your head.

“Sounds good to me.” He sighs, and reluctantly loosens his grip so that you can get up to start on dinner. You’re dimly aware that he’s remained on the couch as you busy yourself with your tasks, murmuring softly as he stands--no doubt to head to your shared bedroom for that nap. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

--

Someone is inside your apartment. You know this because of a series of sounds that could not have occurred on their own. The sound of your front door shutting, quietly--the softest of clicks. The sound of feet on the wooden entryway. 

Soft sounds, sure. But Nobu had trained you enough on the importance of constant alertness for them to wake you up out of your deep sleep. For the sounds to create an alarm in your head, screaming--

Danger.

The world is both bleary and heavy and startling sharp for a few prolonged, agonizing moments. And then everything is so frighteningly clear that you feel like you’re not even inside your body as your hand reaches for your phone.

You should call the police.

But you need to know who’s there, for your own piece of mind. Even though you can practically hear Nobu in your head, asking you what the hell you were doing, it could be an assassin, it could be--

You ignore the mental buzz of the advice you know he would give and creep out of your bedroom, phone in hand, dialed to the police station and simply waiting for your thumb to press “send.”

But just as you’re about to call for the police, a voice calls out from the open kitchen. A familiar voice, hushed, reassuring--and firm.

“Hey. It’s me. Put your phone down now.”

Your hand trembles as you set your phone on the sofa.

“Nobu?” Your voice is just as shaky as your body. Nobu never came in unannounced. Ever. So why--

A muffled sound from the entryway draws your attention. And that feeling of adrenaline spikes again as your body jerks in surprise. It’s not just Nobu? It’s not just Nobu. So who--

There’s a man in the entryway. Slumped over. Bleeding. 

“Nobu?” Your eyes don’t leave the man, and your body twitches, instinctively wanting to run to him. But then Nobu’s hand is on your shoulder, and you stay put.

“Go to your room.” His voice is firm. You don’t have to turn to know that he’s wearing a simple, calm expression. One that expects you to listen.

You lick your lips. The man is hurt. He’s bleeding, badly. Maybe another member of the Troupe? 

“He’s hurt,” you say, as if Nobu has no idea that the man bleeding out in your apartment is injured in any way.

“Go to your room,” he repeats. 

The man coughs, and seems to come to a stronger awareness as he looks up at you for the first time. His eyes go wide. He looks so helpless.

“We have to call someone. The--the police. Or the hospital.” You turn, hands reaching out for your phone, but Nobu reaches out like lightning and grips your arm. He doesn’t squeeze, but he’s strong, and it hurts. He’s never touched you like this before.

“Babe,” he says, and the teasing term of endearment doesn’t sound anywhere near as lighthearted as it usually does. It sounds like a finger snapping, meant to break you out of some stupid reverie. 

Your mouth opens and closes, your head turns from the man to Nobu to your phone.

“The… police,” you say, quiet, confused. “The hospital?”

He shakes his head, and you’re so confused. And then you take a closer look at the man and everything clicks into place, clearly, terribly. 

The man’s legs and wrists are bound tight with rope. 

He was a victim, yes. But he was Nobu’s victim. 

The world falls out underneath you, but Nobunaga catches you, letting out a soft ‘hup’ as he lifts you up and gently sets you down on the couch. 

“Easy there,” he says, before his hand presses against your forehead. A dim thought of childhood comes to mind, of being sick, of your mom taking care of you. It’s swept away when you remember where you are and what’s happening.

You flinch, suddenly.

“Hey,” Nobu says, soft, like you’re something to be coaxed and calmed. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

You blink and blink, and Nobu’s face is there, dimly lit by the kitchen stove light and the small lap you like to keep on in the living room just in case you want to walk into the kitchen for a snack after bed.

“Take a breath,” Nobu says. And you do. Slow, like you’re at the doctor’s office. “There we go.” And Nobu’s smile is just as easy and sweet as it always is. Only now he’s giving it to you because you almost fainted after he brought back a bleeding man into your apartment and--

“Please, call the police,” a voice says. You know without looking that it’s the man. The dying man who Nobu dragged into your apartment. Would he kill him here? Oh God, what if one of your neighbors saw, what if someone sees--

Your throat feels like gravel when you swallow against your increasingly rapid breaths. This is too much. This is too much and you can’t handle it. It’s one thing to have the vague knowledge of the Troupe in your head, it’s one thing to see a frayed shirt and wonder. 

It’s another for a man to be bleeding out just a few feet away from you.

You can’t breathe. You don’t know what to do, until there’s strong hands on  your cheeks, pressing down just hard enough to get your attention. 

“Look at me.” Nobu’s voice is a lifeline and  you reach for it. “Just focus on me. You’re fine.”

And you look up at the face of your boyfriend, who looks so concerned. Not about the man (the blood--did Nobu cut him? Stab him? How hard? How many times?) but about you. Because he cares about you.

Because he loves you.

And you love him, too. Despite everything. Despite what’s happening here and now, in the darkness of your apartment.

Steady breaths come eventually. Nobu is so patient that it makes you feel guilty, because isn’t there something much more important he should be attending to right now? But instead he’s crouched on the couch, calming you down, stroking your face, whispering assurances until your heart isn’t trying to burst out of your chest and you aren’t choking on air.

“Help me,” the man says again, a pathetic, desperate, dying sound. 

You’re watching Nobu’s eyes as he says it, but his expression doesn’t change. There’s only the concern for you. 

When you let Nobu pull you to a standing position, the man wheezes. It might be a defeated sound. Or he might be finally dying.

You don’t know. It’s not your business. So you don’t think about it.

Instead you let Nobu pull you closer, patting your back, checking you over. 

“You okay?” He asks. And the question isn’t just about your dizziness or your panic attack. You know that.

He’s asking how you feel about the bleeding man he dragged into your apartment in the dead of night, and everything that entails. 

Your eyes search his; there are unspoken questions that someone other than you might have asked. Someone else might have asked: “What if I’m not okay with this? What if I want you to leave? What if I can’t be with a murderer?” Or other such sensible questions. Probably those same people wouldn’t have willingly stayed with Nobu after finding out who he is and what he does. 

But you aren’t those people. And the questions you might ask, the terrifying, frightened rabbit questions that are hammering at your chest so hard it makes you feel sick, get buried down with everything else. 

They won’t spill out. Not tonight. Not ever, if you can help it.

“Mm,” you hum, and even Nobu seems a little surprised at how lighthearted your tone is. 

“You sure?” He finally darts his gaze towards the man, who is breathing--labored, pained--but no longer doing much else. When his eyes return to yours, you’re already shrugging. 

“Yeah. You just scared me, that’s all. Coming in so late.” There’s a shaky laugh that doesn't feel like it comes from your own mouth, even though it does. “You hungry?” You offer a weak smile. “I can warm up leftovers, or--”

Nobu says your name, and you stop talking. He presses his hand to your forehead again, like you might be sick. But you’re not. You’re just… dealing with it. Aren’t you?

“Why don’t you go back to bed?” He says, after a while. “You need your sleep. I’ll be quiet, and then I’ll come back tomorrow night so we can talk about things, okay?”

Your stomach clenches for an instant, and you push it away. You nod, wondering how you’d ever fall back asleep after this. But maybe once the adrenaline wore off, you’d crash. Maybe it would all feel like a dream, when you woke up.

Or maybe not.

“Okay,” you say, sighing, stretching your arms. “Good night, Nobu.”

And then you quickly press your lips to his and kiss him first, because you want him to know that you’re okay. That you don’t hate him. That you aren’t going to call the police or turn him in. That things are going to be just fine.

Because he’s your boyfriend who cheers you up when you’re sad. Because he loves you, despite your faults. Because you love him.

That’s what love is, isn’t it? Taking the good with the bad. Even the very bad. Even the monstrous. 

If you couldn’t do that, then you wouldn’t have Nobu at all. You would be alone. 

No one wants to be alone, do they?

[trashmouth-richie]

TWIN FLAMES: 13❕

A/N: I know, it’s been literally 19 days and I’m so sorry, this chapter hurt to write but it’s HERE!

Warning: NO MINORS, angsttttyyyy

Pairing: Eddie x Fem! reader

W.C 3.1k

Three days have gone by and you haven’t heard a single word from Eddie. You tried calling his house but it just kept ringing. It was a stupid fight. Ridiculous even. You had no idea your dad was going to tell you those things that night. How would you have known? Sitting on your tower at the pool you sulked as the sun beat down on the umbrella. You had barely slept at all the past few nights. Nightmares racking your brain with the painful memories of Eddie leaving your house that night. You were angry with him, so hurt by what happened. The way he just left you standing there, alone. Your eyes were swollen from crying, your parents were terrified when you screamed out at night after having fallen asleep for a few minutes. Waking up to remember that Eddie wanted nothing to do with you only for the crying to continue again. It had been your idea to go back to work but everywhere you went Eddie was there.

Behind the counter sat the ghost of Eddie, bringing pizza to your work the Saturday after the party.

“I didn’t know if you liked Canadian bacon and pineapple so I got a cheese too, and if you like neither of those options I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” Eddie announces proudly.

He looked so good that night, the memory of him bringing two pizzas, cut deep. You weren’t complete without him. A part of your soul was missing and you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed answers. And you would get them. Hopping down from the white tower of your lifeguard station, stomping your feet into the hot smooth concrete as you walked.

“Hey your break isn’t for another hour,” Anthony announced sleepily behind the counter, “hey! Where are you going?”

You pushed past the chain link fence grabbing your purse, you toss your whistle and keys over the counter as you went, watching as they bounced to the floor, “I quit”.

You crane your steering wheel to turn into the trailer park forest hills. Eddie’s van was nowhere to be seen but Wayne’s truck was parked along the grass. Parking and getting out of your car you crane your ears for any sort of sound, but it was desolate. No metal music blaring, not Wayne and Eddie talking— just nothing. Yet you were determined to figure out what the hell was going on. Your feet were on the steps before your mind could talk yourself out of it. Knocking lightly on the door you waited to hear Eddie’s feet bounding from his room, but the Munson face who met you wasn’t the one you so desperately craved to see.

Wayne looks rough, he always kind of did but right now he looked as if he too hadn’t slept in days.

“Oh I’m sorry Wayne I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you nudge the toe of your shoe against the rotting wood of the rickety steps, you never even thought about Eddie telling Wayne what had happened, would he agree with him? Suddenly you were very nervous to be standing at Eddie’s trailer door. “Um— is, is Eddie here?”

Wayne’s icy eyes peer into yours, “Darlin’ what do you mean?”

Heat rises in your throat and sweat forms on the back of your neck, “I-is Eddie here, I haven’t seen him in a few days and I just w-wanted to talk to him.”

“You haven’t seen him either?” Wayne raises his voice. “Goddamn I thought you were with him!”

Nothing is making sense, “With him? Wayne what happened? Where is he?!”

—

Wiping the traitorous tears from his eyes as he pushes the limits on how fast the old van can take him back to Forest Hills trailer park, Eddie is furious.

He couldn’t believe this.

Couldn’t believe that the girl who made him feel like there was no one else in the world but him, could also make him feel the same way that he felt the day his dad betrayed him.

Heartbroken.

But that was his business.

His dad, the Munson name, his entire reputation in Hawkins. That was his, and you made it feel like none of that mattered. You made him feel like he was important. Honestly, it would’ve been better if your dad would’ve never told him. Never told him that he was the one who got Eddie out of juvy with the help of Steve’s dad. Never told him that he had known Ray when they were growing up, never told him that he basically knew every single part of his life before Eddie even had a chance to tell you himself—- he already knew everything about him, and that was the worst part.

Speeding into the Forest Hills trailer park kicking up rocks and bits of broken glass from the neighbors fight they had last week over a baseball game bet gone bad, he throws the van in park and runs inside. He grabs a duffel bag and shovels it full of dirty jeans strewn across the floor, his Hellfire shirt, various band tees, D&D dice, a very worn copy of Lord of the Rings, and a pillow. He goes into the bottom drawer of the messy dresser and pulls out a small, black tin full of rolled up bills. He had been saving this for a rainy day maybe to get a new guitar or one of those fancy new amps he saw in the record store last week, but when it rains it pours and boy was it pouring tonight.

He had no plan, only to get away. away from here away from this town, and all their judging looks and away from you. He couldn’t bear to look at you. He couldn’t bear to think that you only thought of him as a charity case. You were the first person in his life to look at him in a way that wasn’t out of pity that wasn’t, a look of disgust or even a cheap way to score some good weed. You saw him for who he was not his past— and that’s what’s killing him.

That you will no longer be seeing him that way you’ll no longer be seeing him as the guy you met at a random barn party on the hottest fucking day of the year. No, no no— now you will see him as a shadow of the man who put his own son in juvy. A delinquent, a fraud.

Sure, Eddie missed growing up without his dad around— who wouldn’t but that’s not why he left your house tonight. That’s not why he’s leaving, that’s not why he’s running away. No, he’s running away to get far away from you and those sad eyes that stared at him after your dad unleashed Eddie’s truth.

He didn’t need a handout—didn’t want one. He had been doing fine on his own, and he would continue to do so. Thinking twice about writing Wayne a note, Eddie scribbles a short message on the back of the electric bill envelope.

Going away for awhile- Eddie

Slinging the bag over his shoulder feeling the bite from the weight dip into his shirt, Eddie pushes through the door. Leaving the house he has known for the past twelve years for the last time.

-

“He— he left a note,” Wayne says fumbling over discarded papers, “ah here!” He slides the paper over to you and you read what it says. “Any idea where he would be?”

Tears fall from your eyes spilling on the note Eddie left for Wayne, tears smearing the ink from the pen. “I- I have no idea, we h-had a fight and he told me he never wanted to see me again.”

“Darlin’ that boy is crazy about you, there ain’t no way he would say those things.” Wayne gives you a smile. Clearly Eddie hadn’t told Wayne about the fight you two had had. After ten minutes of explaining what happened that night, Wayne sits down heavily in his recliner. “My God, you’re Dan’s daughter? How the hell did I miss that? I guess I hadn’t seen him since he helped Eddie.”

“You should have seen him Wayne he was so upset, screaming and yelling,” you begin to cry remembering how upset he was, “I had never seen him like that before.” You bury the heels of your hands into your eyes as you start sobbing.

Wayne runs a thick hand through his scruffy beard. “I’m calling his work. We need to narrow down a timeline of when he left… I don’t get home from the plant until after seven o’clock. I figured he had either gone to work or was on a trip with you. I didn’t even question it.” He shakes his head. “Damn that boy.”

You and Wayne spend the better half of an hour calling Eddie’s work and his friends, no one has seen him, or heard from him. You wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for him. Wayne hangs up the phone and slumps down into the worn kitchen chair, head in his hands as he mumbles, “No luck, I’m sorry Y/N, nobody knows where Eddie could be.”

—

The lights on the faded sign for the motel right off of I-70 in Indianapolis flickered an angry red reading “v - - ancy”. It had been a month since Eddie ran away and the freedom was beautiful. Eddie could do whatever he wanted without having to answer to a single soul but himself. He woke up when he wanted, he wrote songs at every hour of the day, and most importantly he was free. Not chained to the reputation of his jailbird dad or his neglectful mother, not judged by you or your precious family. He was free to be himself, here in this rundown shit heap of an excuse for a place to lay his head. Yeah? Well so what if the van was broken into and everything was stolen? He could buy new tapes. No big deal. And yeah, the cockroach roommates weren’t exactly the best but the bed was bigger than the twin mattress he had at home. The money he had been saving was almost gone but he was managing. He’d just have to start selling again.

Stretching his legs out on the broken concrete, he strains his back against the teetering plastic of the lawn chair outside of room 38. An opened can of spaghetti o’s in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other, Eddie was living the life. The city was much different from the deep pits of hell Hawkins resembled. Life here was boisterous, loud and always on the go. The city smelled of opportunity, piss and rotting food, but opportunity nonetheless. Stores stayed open all night, he could get a hotdog off a cart at 2 am if he wanted. The record stores had all the new releases, and more importantly they were huge. Yeah life for Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was pretty great. The Strip clubs didn’t card and on most nights Eddie found himself too drunk, leaned back on a fuzzy chair, receiving a sad lap dance while he tried to drown your memory out of his head.

That was the only thing that bothered him. The nightmares. Visions of your face haunted him, had him tossing and turning in a deep sweat every single night. He’d wake up with hair stuck to the back of his neck, tangled in the scratchy sheets. He didn’t know peace. Nightmares of you never taking him back— not that he wanted you too, he was still licking his wounds, but the thought of you moving on was slowly driving him insane. He couldn’t escape it. You were everywhere. Every girl he saw, every song he wrote, was all you. Always you. He even tried to call you a few times but would hang up as soon as your beautiful sleepy voice rang through the other end. It was too painful. How could he go back now? He couldn’t just apologize and pretend he didn’t fuck it up. A small part of him still believed you would figure out he was here and walk through the door one of these nights. But it never happened. The ghost of you still lingering. His twin flame, his girl, nothing would be the same, he couldn’t just go home. He has changed and he’s assumed so have you.

-

August was revealing itself to be hotter than July, if that were even possible. Temperatures were climbing into the triple digits almost every day. The usual green and perky lawns around Bridgeport and Hawkins were scorched from the blazing hell of the sun. Wayne said the plant had even closed a few days because of how hot it was. The heat was relentless and miserable. As were you.

The first two weeks without Eddie, your parents didn’t know what to do with you, most days you holed yourself in your room refusing to do anything but sleep. Sleep was the only time you got to see Eddie, getting to remember the way he loved you, the way his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning when he saw you. The unruly way his curls fell against his face when he was head banging on stage, and the sweet taste of his lips on yours when you were tangled up in eachothers arms. Being awake was the nightmare. It felt unreal that he was gone. You waited for him to come home and jump on your bed and pepper your face with kisses, watching his eyes dance for the love he had for you. But it never happened. You were starting to understand why Steve went off the deep end when you had dumped him.

Your appearance was alarming, your hair was thrown atop your head, rarely getting out of pajamas. The puffiness from the crying had become a standard part of your face. A former shell of who you used to be. It wasn’t the fact that you were dumped, it was the fact that Eddie completely vanished and nobody had heard a single word from him. Late at night you would hallucinate that your phone was ringing, you answered it many times just for the line to be dead. An evil trick played by your mind. How could this have happened? How could he just leave you like this and not even say if he was alright?

Watching Wayne tear up when you had visited him on his days off was heartbreaking. “I just want my son to come home,” he choked through tears, a rugged calloused hand wipes away the tears with a tattered handkerchief, “then I’ll kick his ass for leaving.” You always tried your best not to cry in front of him, leaving that for the car rides home. The little time you got to spend with Wayne warmed your heart, and made you feel like there was hope for Eddie walking his stubborn ass through that door any day now. Even if he did come back, would it be the same? You doubted he would come waltzing into your house and apologize with a dozen roses, or admit that he was wrong, you didn’t even care if any of that happened, you just wanted him back. You were pissed at him for leaving you the way he did, no explanation no nothing just ‘fuck you’ and dust in the wind. It was killing you not knowing where he was. Not knowing if he was safe.

School was starting in less than a week and your mother insisted on going back to school shopping in Indianapolis. The drive was a blur, your mother was going on and on about paint samples for the new guest house she had talked your dad into building. Your head was leaned against the window and your knees tucked up in front of you. you “mhmmed” more times than you could count, waiting for the drive to be over. You had told your parents about Eddie’s disappearance and they were truly worried sick for Wayne and yourself. They tried their best to make you feel better but it wasn’t their fault, they couldn’t make Eddie come back anymore than you could. Your father had tried using any connection he could think of to find him, but so far it was useless. Any good lead would always come up dry. Not only was Eddie gone and wanting nothing to do with you, but he was 19 and legally able to leave home. He couldn’t be considered a missing person, just a runaway.

The Glendale mall had just opened the new smell of the plaster walls and black and white tiling scattered along every floor. It was packed full of anxious moms trying to find the very best for their children, angsty teenagers swooning over the ice cream slinging hotties. Your mother had maintained that she could buy you happiness with a girls day. After countless hours of shopping and a fresh mani and pedi, you were starting to feel a little better. A smile spread across your face as your mom made small jokes about the cute guys working at the burger joint in the food court. Maybe it was time to move on from Eddie. He clearly didn’t want anything to do with you so why continue being miserable? The hole in your chest where Eddie used to be was begging for closure, straining for any little piece of reassurance. But getting that would never happen.

Leaving the mall struggling beneath the arm loads of shopping bags your mother points to a homeless man, curled up against the edge of the building attempting to get the last bit of shade. “Such a sad sight, you never know how their lives were before they became like that.” But that’s not what startled you. Her words no matter how ridiculous they were was not what held your mouth agape. The man, wearing grime covered shorts and sandals, had a vest covering his head, a vest you had seen many times before. It was denim, with a homemade “DIO” patch on the back, a WASP button, various other patches adorning the sides. You would have recognized that handmade vest anywhere, because it was Eddie’s.

——

Taglist: @munson-blurbs @gathered-moss @boomhauer @b-irock @sidthedollface2 @big-ope-vibes @syrennna @idkidknemore @creoleguurl @manda-panda-monium @tlclick73 @munsonficdump @brittney69 @strngrlytn @chloe-6123 @sweetsouthernbitchery @basketcaseeeeee @x-lunagirl-x @eddiemunsonshellfirebitch @trixyvixx @chelebelletx @lacrymosa-24 @nevermore66 @aysheashea

[snzhrchy]

— ☆ CARDIGAN !

kenyu yukimiya x fem!reader

synopsis; he drew stars around your scars.

notes; i projected a lot here ahah

WARNINGS !! self harm, graphic description of self harming, blood, scars, reader is addicted, graphic description of blood, major romanticization of self harm, just overall very triggering, read at your own risk.

the knock on the bathroom was loud enough to make her realise what she was doing-it was loud enough to ground her back to reality and make her finally feel the pain.

one, two, three... a few more won't be that noticable right? besides, she was doing it again, she'd already lost but the sweet sensation of relief that washed over her once she cut open the skin that wrapped around so delicately around her frame was something that she couldn't replicate elsewhere. moreover, the blood that trickled out was so garishly crimson, it made her want to do it more often.

'hey? yn? you've been in there for quite some time now, you okay?' the voice from the other side of the door called out to her and it made her want to jab the blade into her leg even further but she knew deep down that she'd already done more than enough and any more of it, she'd be gone.

'yeah! i'm fine, i'll come out in a bit,' she hoped her voice didn't sound too hesitant. she wished he wasn't that observant. he was too observant. how witless could she have been? she should've done it another time.

he'd known of her tendencies for quite some time now, he'd known of her terrible addiction that did nothing but taint her skin. he'd known, he'd known, he'd known that she loved to paint her skin with the colour of her blood.

a hum of approval from the man on the other side was enough to make her stop. however, her entire body was trembling and shaking in pain or cold? she didn't know yet she couldn't leave just yet-she still had the blood to clean up.

she hoped she wasn't too light-headed to at least clean up the sink-its white marble texture was now painted with the horrifyingly deep shade of red.

eventually, her senses began to return to her and she wished she could stay in that euphoric state a little while longer. she didn't want to be pulled back into the horrifying world that was reality.

albeit, she knew that if she hid herself longer in her lounge, he would become suspicious and would begin to pester her with further questions regarding of her behaviour.

after a few moments of contemplation, she decided to finally exit from her hiding spot and expose herself to the world, to him.

upon leaving, she cursed when she realised the very evident limp in her leg. one step and pain shot up through her leg, as if every neuron, every receptor was alerted of her self harm and was trying to punish her for it.

still, to her, it felt quite relaxing. she knew that blood was probably leaking out of the gaps in her skin and attaching itself onto the soft fabric of her jeans yet she didn't care. it was so comforting to know that she found solace in her pain. it was like a drug and the deeper she cut, the more better she felt.

she gripped tightly onto the wall and attempted to drag herself towards their shared bedroom, it was late so maybe she could fall asleep without any questioning from him. she only wished he wouldn't notice her limp.

the comforting smile of yukimiya managed to ground her back to her sanity at last. when her eyes gazed upon his gentle smile, she felt like melting in his arms.

his eyes met hers, such a beautiful shade of orange, so welcoming—it reminded her of home.

yet these eyes weren’t comforting right now, they were filled with perplexity and concern. ‘are you limping?’ he asked, walking closer to the woman with worry all over his features.

she cursed. of course he’d notice, how could she have done it while he was awake. however, she couldn’t worry him with her troubles so she’d lie, he already had much on his plate and he didn’t need her troubles as well.

‘stubbed my toe—that’s all,’ she lied through her teeth, trying to make her lie sound convincing.

‘there’s blood on your pants,’ he commented, his eyes glancing from her face to her legs. ‘sit down on the bed, i’ll take care of you, come,’ he spoke extending his hand for her to take.

he carefully took her back to their bed and carefully sat her down there, being cautious to not her.

slowly, he applied the disinfectant. so slowly so that she wouldn’t flinch or feel any pain due to it.

he gently wrapped the bandage around her scars but he didn’t utter a single word and that concerned her.

she felt as though he might hate her now for doing this to herself but could really help it? she couldn’t control how horrible her thoughts were and that was her only escape.

‘i’m done, you’re okay,’ he said at last, looking at her with an expression that made her want to melt.

she didn’t know how it happened but hot tears began to escape from her eyes and she didn’t try to stop them, she let them go and allowed it to stain her face.

he held her hand and used to the other to wipe her tears, making her look at him. ‘you’re okay,’ he said again, ‘you’re with me.’ such gentleness in his voice, such kindness.

‘you’re fine,’ and maybe in his arms, she was.

[painfulrant]

Part Three: Hatred?

JJ Maybank x Reader

Angst, little fluff

Part Three: Hatred?

“I’m just gonna g-” You started, feeling incredibly awkward before you felt yet another pair of arms wrap around you for the third time that day.

“We have a problem here?” The voice was immediately recognizable, JJ having been the one standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist.

“I don’t know, Maybank, do we?” Kelce's voice sounded before you, Kelce having stepped closer to him.

“No. No, we are not doing this.” You whisper yet everyone seemed to hear you. You moved from JJ’s arm to lay your hand on Kelce’s chest and gently pushed him back with pleading eyes, asking him not to start anything. You turned to JJ and walked toward him, interlocking your hands so you could pull him away from the situation.

“Yes. Actually, I think we are.” Rafe’s voice cuts in this time, him stalking toward your lover with renewed anger.

“Rafe!” You called, stepping in front of JJ and moving backwards as Rafe grew closer and closer to your boyfriend who tried to step around you to go after Rafe. You quickly grab JJ’s hand, stepping in front of him again. Rafe was now nose to nose with you, JJ right behind you.

“Please.” You begged, looking up to Rafe. The look Rafe gave you was one that told you that you were nothing more than dirt beneath his boot.

“Rafe, please. We don’t want any issues, we just want to surf. That’s what you came here for, right?” You tried desperately to make the two males behind and in front of you step down when you heard two other voices join in, mocking you and Rafe. John B and Pope.

“Yeah, Rafe. We just wanna surf.” John B called sarcastically. With that, Rafe grabbed your shoulder harshly and threw you to the side, throwing his fist up. Before you could stop yourself, you yelled something out that didn’t quite make sense to you but made everyone stop, whether it be out of confusion or something else

“Rafe Cameron, if you throw that punch I will hate you. I will never talk to you again! Do you understand me?” Fear and rage made your body tremble and fist clench.

“That goes for you two as well. If he throws that punch, I will no longer talk to either of you.” You growled out, looking between Topper and Kelce. You felt stupid for throwing that out there. It wasn’t like any of them cared for you anyways, you sounded like a conceded b*tch to your own ears so you couldn’t imagine what the others thought of you.

Rafe stared at you a moment, cold and calculating. Kelce stepped forward, stepping in front of Rafe with a quick glance towards you.

“Come on, man. A lawsuit isn’t worth it.” Kelce tried. They all knew none of the Pogues could press charges or even get a lawyer so when Kelce said that, the entirety of Pogue’s and Kooks all looked to him with a ‘what-the-f*ck’ look.

When Rafe released your boyfriend, you instantly moved toward him.

“You got lucky this time, Maybank.” Rafe called out, moving his arms up and shrugging. When the three boys retreated to their vehicle and left, you turned to JJ with a panicked expression.

“I promise I’m no-” You tried to explain but was soon cut off with a kiss from your previously pissed off boyfriend. This was not what you were expecting. Still yet, you felt your body melt into his, his hands supporting your lower back before finally kissing him back.

When he pulled back, you opened your eyes with shock and just stared at him.

“I don’t like that you did that.” He stated, looking back to where the kooks once stood. “But I know you have no connection to them. Not sure how that worked but it doesn’t matter.” He answered. You could tell that it did bother him but you weren’t concerned about that at that very moment. From far away, you couldn’t see them, but now that he was close up, you let your eyes rake over the blue and purple bruises and cuts that littered his body.

You bit your lip feeling your anger spike when you looked up to him, asking him without asking him if Luke did this. When he looked away from your gaze, you nearly growled and looked to the side to try to hide your expression from him. You would kill Luke. Maybe not today, but someday you will.

“It doesn’t hurt.” JJ tried at a weak comforting sentence but that only seemed to spike your rage more. You remained silent, moving so your arms carefully wrapped around his waist, face laying against his chest. When his arms engulfed you back, you felt the rage slowly but surely sizzle away.

“I know-” JJ started before stopping, seeming to gather his thoughts, “I know he isn’t the best father… but maybe one day we can both forgive him.”

You sighed softly before looking up to him.

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” - Lewis B. Smedes

[noonmutter]

Borderline

DWC May 2022 Day 2: Temperance

(This one gets a little heavy, so it’s behind a cut. TW minor medical drama (no gore), substance abuse, and domestic violence)

One. Two. Three. Fffffourfive. Six. Ssssseveneight. Nine...

“I’m sure you know your heart isn’t supposed to sound like that.”

“So what’s it supposed to mean?”

“Well,” the doctor said as he stopped the playback and looked up at Fate’s face, “Heart murmurs are typically not a problem in and of themselves--”

“Great. Then I’ll see you in six months.” She pushed herself up from the too-small chair in the too-small office and turned toward the door. She didn’t manage to do more than raise a foot before there was a hand gripping her wrist, and her head whipped around to growl a warning.

Her doctor sighed an unimpressed, exhausted sigh. He knew she wouldn’t take the news very well, because she’d been his patient for almost a decade by now. For the exact same reason, he also had no fear of her, knowing that outside of some extreme and particular circumstances, her self-control was too good to shoot the messenger. Or slap the messenger’s jaw off, as the case might be.

“As I was saying, the murmur is off-putting, but it’s not the problem, it’s a symptom. You have a significant arrhythmia, which I’d be willing to bet money you’ve been ignoring for a while don’t you roll your eyes at me when I’m right, Blacktalon. Your blood pressure is not what I’d call good, either. Frankly, if it weren’t for the fact you have scales and those scales are jet black, I’d be looking for jaundice.“

She was bristling, scales raising just slightly and giving the impression that she was covered in thousands of tiny little spikes. “And I fix this, how?”

“You need to stop drinking. You’ve needed to stop drinking for years, actually, which I’m positive I’ve told you at every appointment for quite a while now. This is less of a warning and more of an order at this point, though.”

“Order? You?” The absurdity of a man less than half her size giving her orders--particularly orders she didn’t want to follow--entertained her enough that it broke through her spiking temper for a moment, and she laughed.

Her laughter faltered and died when she got another look at his face, so serious and somber. And, worst of all, full of concern. “You have a choice to make, Fate: Stop drinking now, or find out what heart failure feels like. I’m telling you this as your doctor and your friend. We’re no longer in the ‘if’ stage of things, we’re in the ‘when’ stage.”

Proving him right without knowing it, Fate directed her aggravation at the chair rather than the man who was still restraining her by nothing more than a gentle grip on her wrist. It took entirely too much effort for her to remove her claws from the cushion, which she did manage to look apologetic for tearing once she’d gotten free. She was still furious, though she knew there was nowhere else to aim it but inward.

“...For how long?”

“I’ll be the first to admit that your size and metabolism have staved off a lot, Fate, but you’re not going to be able to just wait these things out and then go back to your old habits. From everything your mates have told me, you’ve been putting away horrifying amounts of alcohol on a near daily basis. You need to stop, and you need to stay that way.”

There was a vague sense of betrayal when he mentioned her mates. They’d told her the same things off and on at home, of course, and those had been some truly amazing arguments. Fights, too. She’d almost lost both of them over the last one. Giving up was not something she did easily, neither in battle nor with vices, and there had been ultimatums almost as heavy as “stop or die” then, too.

When she left the office, she did so with the cards of a few different therapists in her pocket.

The next few months--maybe years, who knew--were going to be absolute hell, but giving up was not something she did easily.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[frogtanii]

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

a quick glance to the boys at your sides notified you that they weren’t faring much better. atsumu kept fidgeting with his cufflinks, sakusa was so stiff you could knock him over with your pinky, kenma looked like he was about to pass out, bokuto was debating on squeezing under the table in front of you, kuroo was tapping a pattern on his pants (akeelah and the bee style), and akaashi kept reciting ominous poems under his breath.

the only people in the room who looked even remotely fine were osamu, oikawa, sugawara, daichi, and, surprisingly, yachi. osamu was munching on some peanuts that he pulled from... somewhere, while oikawa and sugawara were holding their own conversation by the window. daichi seemed to be minding his own business but you could never really get a proper read on him anyway.

well, you supposed yachi was okay because she knew what to expect. i mean, you were meeting her boss.

after you and kenma had posted your “exposing the hype(r) house” youtube video, an email had come to the both of you, inviting you to visit the “big boss” along with the rest of the crew.

you weren’t necessarily afraid of losing your job; the hype(r) house was already being dissolved and you were (finally!!!) getting to move in with makki and mattsun until you found your own place. you were genuinely excited to put the drama and literal hell behind you and begin to live your life again but...

that didn’t mean meeting the Man™ wasn’t terrifying. it was like being called into the principal’s office, complete with the existential dread and occasional bouts of gassiness.

the door opening made you flinch as you quickly moved out of the way to let the newcomers enter. while they walked past you, you couldn’t contain the shock that overtook your face, your jaw practically on the floor.

the man was massive.

built like a brick wall, the man who you assumed to be the “big boss,” had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and massive fucking pecs, his white button up barely closing around them.

beside him stood a tall, lanky man who was dressed suspiciously un-office-like with a red buzz cut and wild eyes that seemed to cut into you as he took his place at the table.

the final man seemed a bit awkward in comparison to the other two, but he was trying to seem unaffected, his purple bowlcut, despite being rather juvenile, fitting perfectly with his slim but toned build and bright complexion.

yachi hurried to greet them, giving all three a blinding smile before motioning for everyone else to take a seat. you ended up between the redhead and atsumu, the former being way too entertained by just your general being. his eyes rarely, if ever, left your face sending shivers down your spine. the remaining members all hesitantly took their seats and “big boss” began.

“it is an honor to meet you all. i am ushijima wakatoshi but you can call me ushijima or wakatoshi or ushiwaka or toshijima or just ushi or just jima or just waka or just toshi.” for a moment you thought he was joking but his face never moved, not even with the awkward silence that followed. redhead seemed rather amused by the whole display and bowl cut looked like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

it took an uncomfortably long moment for ushijima to proceed but he did as though nothing had happened. “these are my associates, satori—” redhead gave you a mischievous grin “—and tsutomu.”

“goshiki,” bowl cut interrupted, his voice wavering but his eyes gleaming with righteous indignation as though he was challenging wakatoshi to say something in defiance. instead, ushijima just gave him a nod and he visibly deflated back into his seat.

“goshiki is the social media manager for imla and satori is... satori,” big boss continued, not a hint of emotion on his face. the rest of the table perked up at his comment but atsumu was the only one who apparently had the balls to say anything.

“so yer the one who wrote that shitty among us tweet?” goshiki flushed horribly and sunk further into his plush leather chair, his body language showing he must’ve already gotten an earful about it. “thought it was a good idea,” he muttered while averting his eyes, completely ignoring satori’s cackle from across the wood.

ushijima put up a (massive???) hand to calm the both of them and it instantly worked. satori quieted down though he never lost the mirth in his expression and goshiki straightened up, a new wave of determination crossing his features.

you sat up as well, feeling the shift of energy in the room but you were startled to realize the boss had decided to focus his energy on you, his deep baritone voice calling your full name. “i am extremely sorry. we have failed you as a management team and as men. i have failed you.”

he sounded remarkably remorseful, his brown irises conveying heavy emotion and guilt. you had no idea what to say but he wasn’t done.

“although i do not have full control of the decisions that have been made here, i should have fought harder for what i believed was right and for that, i will forever be sorry.” you shifted uncomfortably under his weighty gaze, not that he noticed because his attention was swiftly taken by kenma at the opposite end of the room.

“who is in charge then? aren’t you like the ceo or whatever?” he asked. ushijima took a moment before nodding very slowly, his attention clearly on something in his head.

thankfully, satori rapidly took over the thread of conversation before the room could fall in tense silence yet again. “there’s a board of old, stuffy guys who basically kicked miracle boy wakatoshi to the curb and make all their decisions without him.”

...miracle boy? what did he have to do to earn that kind of nickname? you shook your head and tuned back in, just as the ceo spoke up once again.

“because i have not succeeded in doing my job properly, i have something to give to you,” ushijima deadpanned, sliding a thick envelope towards you. you carefully grabbed it and opened it up to reveal a thick, thick, wad of cash.

a gasp caught in your throat, words not coming to you as you thumbed through the money. there had to be at least $60k in there, your eyes filling with tears while you took in his generosity. “thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

wakatoshi nodded at you before addressing the rest of the table about something but you weren’t even listening.

you were so overwhelmed. for the longest time, you’d hated whoever management was for ignoring your pleas for help and trying to placate you with nice dresses and fancy dinners so meeting ushijima was quite the welcomed surprise.

despite everything that occurred, you could tell he felt horrible for letting things slide even though it was technically out of his hands and you couldn’t even articulate how much that meant to you.

the fact that he had gone out of his way to pay you extra, assumingly without the permission of the board, was heartwarming, confusing, shocking, and staggering all at once.

i mean, you could probably describe the past few months as exactly that. so much had happened, so much had changed, and while you could do without some of the life adjustments (the nightmares, spare trauma, and fear of public bathrooms to start), you felt blessed with new friends and the experiences that helped shape you to the person you were now.

the boys didn’t hate you anymore (well, not all of them at least and none were actively antagonizing you), you were seeing dr yamada again, you were getting to move in with your two best friends, you were just given enough money to expand your channel drastically, and you were finally feeling good. better than good.

meiko was behind you and though you missed the person she once was, you were so glad she was out of your life in a way where she couldn’t harm you or the boys any longer.

a grin spread across your face, your cheeks nearly burning from the intensity of it. things were definitely looking up.

a soft call of your name jolted you from your thoughts, your eyes landing on all the boys already standing as they got ready to leave the room. you could sense their worry and you shot them a genuine, reassuring smile before standing yourself.

you waved goodbye to the three men at the table, thanking ushijima profusely for his kindness but he shook you off, insisting that he had just been doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

what a nice guy.

as you followed the boys out of the building, you took a moment to observe them together with fondness written all over your expression. they were laughing and joking around, the happiest and most carefree you had ever seen any of them. bokuto was begging yachi to get them ice cream, the rest of them piling on until she gave in with a playful roll of her eyes, giggling at the cheer that went up from the group.

atsumu seemed to notice you lagging behind, falling back to join you. “ya okay angel?” he asked, eyes focused on your feet as he slowed down to match your pace.

you didn’t answer for a while, instead focusing on the sun warming your cheeks, the cool breeze messing up your hair, and the sounds of pure joy swirling above you.

“i’m absolutely perfect.” you replied and you actually meant it. “race you to the van?” you sent him an impish grin before taking off, his yells of indignation making you laugh freely as the rest of the boys joined in, right on your heels.

this is it, you thought. no matter what, i’ll have this moment and i’ll be okay.

you’d been through hell and back and you’d survived. you’d been cursed at, choked out, hospitalized, and been beaten at mario kart more times than you could count and you had still made it through. you were resilient and strong and you’d never given up, despite how badly you’d wanted to, multiple times over.

things weren’t perfect, they rarely are, but you knew that if you could make it through all that, you could get through practically anything, especially with the boys by your side.

yeah. i’ll be just fine.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

bonus!!

“told you it sounded stupid as hell.”

“gah, stop talking about it!!”

“you sounded sooooo old ‘shiki, what are you, 92?”

“AAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“satori...”

“what’s up miracle boy?”

“...what is ‘sus’?”

℗ poker face

i’ll be just fine

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - AND THATS A WRAP FOLKS 🥳 wowowow did the ending give me trouble but that’s ok SISJSK the endings will be coming shortly but they might not be daily just cs they may take more time, who knows lmfao i’ll let y’all know :3 AAAA ANYWAYS ILY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED KITH KITH don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

tom was having a really nice day until the metropolitan police decided to crash his date.            or, when the law finally catches up to london’s most notorious mobster, tom learns that nothing is fair in love and war.

word count ↠ 15k. warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, alcohol, a car chase, extensive depictions of prison, violence (very minor injury detail), tattooing, pregnancy, bad language, smut! there are extended nsfw warnings below the cut but this is 18+ so minors please do not interact.  a/n ↠ this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken 100% seriously! similarly to every other fic I’ve written about mob!tom, I don’t condone any of the actions shown in this story and all depictions of the mob and prison are entirely fictional. please do not date members of the mafia even if they are tom holland !!!!! + this fic was conceptualised before the release of cherry, and there are no purposeful links to the content of that film! the image from esquire that I’ve used is what led me down this path lmfao...esquire I love/hate you. ++ the biggest thank you ever to the wonderful @uglypastels​ for helping me with the initial brainstorm on this one, and for just generally being so supportive as I’ve struggled with writers block :’) I wouldn’t have ever been able to think this up let alone have the motivation to write this without you, so thank you and ily z <3  +++ there is a pov change halfway through this fic! it is intentional and you should be able to see it pretty easily but I’m just flagging it so you don’t think I lost it halfway through ahahha. enjoy!

nsfw warnings ↠ car sex, soft!dom!tom ft minor sir kink, oral and fingering (fem-receiving), multiple orgasms with brief refs to overstimulation, minor pregnancy kink, unprotected sex ft cumshot. 

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

There’s something wrong with you, and Tom can’t quite put his finger on it.

He wonders if it’s the wine. He’d spent hours debating the type of grape and ideal bitterness, scouring his memory in search of the perfect blend to share with you on your date. Eventually, he’d settled on the same deep red that he’d shared with you the first time he’d visited your flat, back when your love was just a small spark. Three years have passed since then, the nerves of early romance melted away and replaced by knowing and love, but the wine has recurred each time one of you has decided to treat the other, so what better blend to bring along to the picnic that Tom had so meticulously planned?

You haven’t touched your glass, and Tom—for all his confidence and charm—is deeply unsettled by this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time, with brows furrowed so tightly his forehead aches. Tom reaches across the gingham blanket to join your fingers together, surprised to feel the clamminess of your skin as you gently squeeze his hand.

You hum. “I’m fine,” you say, voice devoid of any intense emotion. You sigh softly before bringing your eyes to meet Tom’s, and the man feels his heart constrict in his chest. You’re perfect, even with your hair messy from the light spring wind and the nerves that sit across your face. When you squeeze his hand again, and Tom glances down to see the engagement ring on your fourth finger, the ache in his heart sharpens.

He never knew love could be this fulfilling, nor so easy. Breathing is harder than it is to love you.

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you want to go home?”

You’ve been so quiet for the entire date, which is strange because usually, you match his energy effortlessly. Tom has been away for a few weeks doing business in Liverpool, and this date by the river is the first time you’ve been properly alone since he returned. He’d really expected you to enjoy the date—or, on a very basic level, at least look like you want to be here. With your quiet answers, avoidance, and nervous stares, he can’t confidently say that you do.

You shake your head. “No, no.” You fiddle with some of his rings before pulling your hand away from his. As you sit up a little straighter, you turn away from Tom to stare instead at the River Thames.

The river behind you is lit by the mid-afternoon sun and flooded with boats. It’s such a lovely day that Tom almost doesn’t notice the horrible brown tinge to the water. Lining the bank are small groups of people—families, friends, couples, tourists. They all stay clear of the two of you, undoubtedly wary of the security guards lingering near their boss. He rarely goes out so obviously like this, but you’ve always loved London, and he’d wanted to treat you. He’d wanted this to be a nice day.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” he checks, voice catching slightly.

Your eyes snap up to his quickly. “Tom,” you say, voice wrapped endearingly around his name. Moving easily, you slip closer to him, carefully shifting around the food and the glasses until you’re close enough to reach out and touch his cheek. “I love you.”

Tom’s teeth graze his lower lip as he feels you pad your thumb across his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze. “I love you too.” He pauses for a few moments, savouring the closeness and the scent of your rosy spritz. He’d missed you so much that it almost hurts to have you so close again. “I know you have something on your mind, darling… Can you tell me what it is? I want to help you.”

“I…” A breathy exhalation follows. You bring your hand away from his cheek and rest it on the red silk material covering his shoulder. He’s in a loose designer shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned and showing off the silver-linked chain he has hanging from his neck. “Tom, I just…”

“What?”

A small smile twitches at your lips. “Not here,” you seem to decide, voice a little stronger. “I have something I need to show you.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

Tom feels the weight rolls from his shoulders. It’s fine—everything is fine. You want to let him in, want to trust him with the cause of your anxieties. You still want him.

“Let’s go, then,” he decides, knowing he’s far too impatient to spend another hour laying by the river. Tom offers you a hand, and you take it. He tugs you away from the picnic setup with ease. He doesn’t need to bother with putting the things away—someone else will do it. Just one of the perks of his job.

“I missed you,” you say, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand as you walk together towards the car. “It gets lonely without you in the house. Our bed is ridiculously huge without two people in it.”

Tom chuckles. “Good job I’m back now then, eh?”

The noise you release is stacked full of so much relief it makes Tom feel guilty for ever leaving to begin with. As he watches the bright, genuine smile flow across your face when you meet his eyes, he resolves to never leave for business again. Never. Not without you.

“A very good job,” you clarify. When you reach the car together, Tom holds the door open for you, ushering you in dramatically until you’re laughing and making fun of him for fussing. The only way he can stop you from your jovial whines is by leaning across the dashboard and pressing his lips to yours, so really he can’t complain. “This car is stupid, too,” you decide.

“Oh, that’s too fucking far,” Tom murmurs, glancing in the rear mirror as he peels away from the pavement. He’s glad the air between you has lightened. You seem happier now you’ve decided to spill your secrets. He rests his hand on the back of your headrest as he twists in his seat, eyes on the road as he reverses. “This car is a beauty.”

“This car is confusing,” you say, and Tom feels you staring at the flex of his bicep. “I tried driving it when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Couldn’t even get it up the drive.”

“Well, not to be rude, darling, but it’s hardly fair to blame my beautiful car for the fact that you’re an atrocious driver.”

If looks could kill, Tom knows he’d be six feet under.

“Fuck you, Tom,” you seethe, but your voice is charged with laughter. “I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all. Go back to Liverpool, see if I care.”

Tom cackles. “Maybe I will,” he teases, “just to see how long it takes you to start begging for me to come back again.”

You grumble something incoherent at that, then the words between you lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, you shift your palm to rest on his thigh, your hand gentle, warm. Your fingertips trace tiny love hearts over his slacks.

“Don’t,” you say eventually, voice quieter. “Stay this time.”

Tom risks a quick glance to you, growing breathless in the depths of your eyes. “Of course,” he says, voice thick. Tom returns his gaze to the road, his chest feeling tight. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“I mean, you can leave sometimes if you want—”

“No. Never.” Tom’s cheeks ache. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“Alright, Tom.” You sigh lightly, feigning exasperation. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck with you.”

“I’m charmed, darling. So relieved you like spending time with your fiancé.”

You shift in your seat at that, and Tom doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re flustered. You’re always shyer around him when he mentions the fact that your futures are intertwined, almost unbelieving that he’d slipped that ring onto your finger. It doesn’t matter how many times Tom tells you that he cherishes you—you never quite make peace with the fact that he wants to chase the moon with you. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling you, though. You hang the stars in his sky.

“I love spending time with you, Tom,” you mumble. “And I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change how you feel about me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Wait— what?” Tom scrunches the tip of his nose up as he squints in your direction. “Y/N, what—” He pauses, concentrating on keeping his voice level. “Angel, nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

You smile quietly. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add, almost sensing his unease. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Perfect.” Tom sits a little straighter in his seat. “Then there’s nothing to worry about—”

Sirens cut into his words. Tom startles, glancing in the mirror to see a police car with a whirring blue siren perched atop the grimy vehicle.

“Tom,” you say slowly, voice filling with dread. Your tone sends shivers down his spine. “Did you do something?”

Tom bites his lip.

He’s been trying his best to stay above the law recently, but… Liverpool had been messy. Very messy. He hadn’t intended on things going quite as terribly as they had, but one thing had led to another, and he’d had to fuck a few things up. The crime is nothing as intense as he’s been booked for in the past, but he’d had to write a few irregularities into his taxes and business agreements to smooth over the waters. It’s not as bad as murder, but it’s tax fraud nonetheless.

Tom had thought he’d been fine. Apparently not. He’s been a hot target for the Metropolitan Police for years, and they’ve consistently unearthed every tiny discrepancy he’s tried to get away with. He should’ve been more fucking careful.

“Shit,” Tom mutters. As he brings his eyes back to the road in front of him, he realises the police car behind you has been joined by another two, closing in from side streets and boxing him in amongst the traffic. He swallows thickly. “I messed up.”

You curse. “Idiot,” you mutter. You sit forwards in the seat and start to point to a gap in the traffic, right across the square. “Go there,” you say, voice pitching higher. “If you go fast, you’ll make it.”

He could book it. Tom’s run away before, in situations of peril where the alternative had been the law and escaping would give him the chance to alter some books and clear his name. It would be easy to slam his foot on the accelerator and dive down side streets, dodging the thick London traffic.

“Tom!” you say again, voice stressed with desperation. “Tom, go!”

The gap in the traffic is narrowly closing, the window of time Tom has to zoom through and get to safety shrinking before his very eyes. If he was alone, he’d do it without a second thought, but you’re here.

You’re here, and that means he can’t be selfish. Tom couldn’t ever risk you, not with such a treacherous manoeuvre like the one that you’re suggesting, nor with the repercussions you’d face if he books it. You’d either have to come on the run with him, or you’d end up captured and grilled by the Met, and neither of those options is the types of things he’d ever bring willingly upon you. You would never deserve that, and he refuses to make it a possibility.

Tom slows down the car.

“Tom,” you say, shock filling your voice. “What are you doing? They’ll get you.”

He nods. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” he says quickly.

“But—”

“—Darling, please. Please.” Tom stops the car abruptly. He calculates he has mere seconds before the officers ditch their vehicles and start storming across the traffic to haul him from his seat. “Don’t say anything to them. They want me, not you.” He turns off the engine and grabs your hands, holding them close as he stares into your eyes. “Call Harrison. Whatever shit they’re bringing me in for won’t hold up for long. They’ve— they’ve done this before. They never win. We have backup plans for this crap.”

“Tom,” you whisper, eyes welling with tears, “but they—”

“I know. I know, baby. I know.” He presses quick kisses to your knuckles, clinging so tightly to your fingers it’s like he’ll drift away without your touch. “I’m sorry. I am so bloody sorry. I love you so much.”

His throat hurts. The sight of the pain in your eyes makes him hate himself for ever bringing you into this faithless way of life. He doesn’t give a fuck that he’s destined for a cell—Tom cares that he’s hurt you.

“I love you too,” you say. You lean closer, undoing your seatbelt and popping his too as you reach up to cup Tom’s cheeks in your shaky hands. “It’ll be okay,” you stress. “I’ll get you out of there, baby.”

You lean in closer to kiss him, and Tom aches. The scent of your perfume is overwhelming, and he feels fragile beneath the hold you have on his face. The kindness in your eyes makes it hurt even more. It’d be easier if you’d let fury consume you and spend these last sacred moments denouncing him instead of loving him, but of course, you’re not like that.

The car door opens, and Tom is hauled from the car the moment his lips touch yours. Before he can process it, he’s being pushed up against his car, stiff arms keeping him pinned in place. He closes his eyes, firming up his face and shoving down his feelings as he forces himself to dry up, become stoic. He won’t show weakness now he’s outside.

Tom hears you exit the vehicle a few moments later, the crash of the door coupled with a few scuffles. He drowns out the words of the officers whilst they reel off a list of fabricated crimes, smugness evident in their voices. Good for fucking them.

When they eventually release him, he’s cuffed and weaponless, his spirit bent in two. The metal of his car had hurt his face, but nothing breaks Tom’s heart more than the sight of you being held back by two officers, tears streaming down your face. You bring your hands into the shaky outline of a heart, and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pushed into the back of a van.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

It’s clear that everyone at the station has been waiting for him to fuck up. He’s met with sly smiles and teasing comments as he’s reacquainted with some of his most despised wardens and guards. He’s held in a temporary cell for almost a day and quizzed on the shreds of ‘evidence’ they’d procured from his house during a raid, and though Tom declines to answer every single question they throw at him, their smugness never fades.

He walks into the trial already knowing he’s going to be locked up, and not even the sight of you beside Harrison and Harry on the benches soothes him.

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

Now, Tom isn’t worried. He knows he won’t actually be held in a cell for that long. He’s already had correspondence with Harrison, who’s assured him that he’s working on it, and there’s really nothing much to worry about. Tom has been in this situation twice before, and on both occasions, he’d been released in less than a month. The connections he’s built from his years heading up the mob are reliant and unwavering, and he knows he won’t have to serve even a fifth of his sentence.

The only difference between the times before and now is you, and Tom can only fucking pray that you don’t despise him for dirtying your name with his crimes. You’d been normal before him—a waitress, aspiring painter, an innocent. Despite your insistence that you love him with all strings attached, his guilt weighs him down. He doesn’t give a fuck about the law and whatever twisted loopholes the jury had bought, but he does care about you and what you think of him. That’s the hardest part.

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

Prison isn’t that bad for Tom. He’s pretty fucking lucky, all things considered. He has friends here—blokes he’d met around town, most of whom are willing to welcome him in. A few of his old guys are locked behind bars with him, unwavering in their loyalty and more than happy to absorb him as members of their group. Those who don’t know Tom know of him. His reputation as a murderous, cold-hearted killer follows him inside, regardless of its falsity. Tom hasn’t taken a life in three years, but these men don’t need to know that.

“Holland! Get the fuck up. You’re in the gym.”

Tom glances up. He’s lying on top of his bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book. He isn’t an avid reader like you, but you’d sent him a copy of your favourite book with scribbled annotations in the margins, and he’s been spending every hour since its arrival clinging to the pages.

He sighs as he puts the book down and stands from the lower bunk. He’s in with a young lad, Ollie, booked on a minor drugs charge. Why they’d paired someone on such a minimal sentence with a member of the mob, Tom will never understand, but the fear in the lad’s eyes every time he looks at him is enough to keep his wavering ego bobbing just above the waterline.

“Step away from the door.”

Tom does as instructed. A moment later, there’s a loud buzzer followed by the swinging of the heavy metal door.

In walks Luther, Tom’s archnemesis. If the inmates fear him, the guards despise him, and to be fair, Tom understands why. He’s a bit of a dick when he’s behind bars. Usually, when he’s free, he operates with a level of poise and charm that comes with his position as leader. He speaks to his men with a firm but kind hand, respects everyone he deems his equal and commands supreme authority without becoming a tyrant. However, when he has his freedom stripped away, and he has to bend to fit the system’s will, his attitude becomes… problematic.

“Holland,” Luther barks. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, coughing loudly, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. He snarls at Tom, his voice like jagged glass. “Come on.”

“You alright, mate?” Tom asks. “You sound fucking terrible.” He looks it, too, with a dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes. He looks ill.

Luther’s features sharpen. “Get over here now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom swaggers to the door and dodges a little as Luther cuffs him, the man digging the metal into his skin with extra ferocity. They start to march down the long, grey corridor towards the fitness suite, Luther prodding Tom forward with a hand digging into his back.

“How’s your wife?” Tom tries, tired of the echoing footsteps.

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

The guard tuts. “Does she like having a criminal for a husband?”

“Does yours like being married to such a wanker— hey!”

Luther pushes him down the corridor with haste. “Quiet, Holland,” he mutters. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, then it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” Tom replies. “Did you know that if me being here annoys you so much, you could always let me go? That would sort out your problem.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah? Let London’s most wanted convict escape?”

Tom raises a brow. “London’s most wanted?” he echoes. “Wow.” Pride seeps into his voice. “That’s an accomplishment.”

“Not a positive one. Self-absorbed bastard.”

It’s easy to laugh. Letting the comments bounce off his back is easier than admitting the jibe about you has irked him. Do you like having a criminal for a partner? Even Tom, for all the world has jaded him, knows no sane person would rest well with the knowledge that their significant other has lied, stolen, and killed. It doesn’t lie well with him, and he was born into this.

They reach the gym.

Tom sticks to the same workout regime he has at home. He does his cardio for twenty minutes on the wobbling treadmill, then sits around on the bench press and does curls with a few of the guys. He keeps quiet, his mind loud, only adding a few comments when necessary. His sullenness adds to his image, and he’s busy with thoughts of you. By the time he’s finished, he feels arguably worse than before. The endorphins from his workout are overshadowed by the guilt Tom feels, clawing at his heart, heavy and persistent in its certainty that he’s a lousy partner.

He can handle being a bad guy, but a bad man? A bad brother, bad friend, or bad lover? The opinions of the guards mean nothing to him, and neither does the law, but when it comes to the people he cares about, their opinions mean everything. Tom has let Luther get into his head, and whilst he knows that was the guard’s intention, the seed of doubt has been planted. As he pumps iron, he feels it grow, taking root, blooming taller.

“Holland. Time to go.”

He grunts as he stands. Sweaty and sore, Tom hobbles to the doorway, feeling considerably smaller than he had when he’d left his cell. The cuffs hurt his wrists as his hands are clasped back together, and the walk back feels even longer than before.

“You had a parcel delivered,” Luther says, breaking the silence. “It arrived last week.”

Tom’s eyebrows pull together. “Last week?”

“I thought I should hold it back until you’d settled in,” comes the patronising response. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new experiences, Thomas. Not that being in here is anything out of the ordinary for you, though.”

He feels his jaw twitch. He flexes his hand, knuckles burning for movement. Not yet, not yet. He has to wait, has to play the long game.

“You’re a dick,” Tom decides. He doesn’t care that he gets thrown roughly into the cell. He trips over the floor and barely manages to scrape himself to his feet, but he throws out a smirking “fuck you,” before the door slams shut. He’d follow it up with more snide remarks, but he becomes distracted by the sight of the parcel sitting on his bed.

It’s neat, despite the obvious intrusion into its contents by the guards. He flops onto his lower bunk, glad his cellmate is absent as it allows him to drop the ruse. Lips sagging into a frown, Tom rips open the package.

He releases a fragile sound as the contents pour across his duvet. Polaroids fall across the sheets, glistening slightly, neat and pristine. A lump comes to the back of his throat as he shuffles through them, finding images of you, Harry, Sam, Tess… The list carries on. For every person he can think of, there’s an image captured perfectly in time. He even appears in a few of them, with his hand around Haz’s shoulder or his lips pressed to your temple.

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

Tom, I thought you’d want some reminders of home while you’re away. We’re all looking forward until the day you can come home to us. Love you forever, Y/N <3

As Tom traces the edge of his nail along the outline of your face, his eyes well with hot tears. You always know what he needs, even when he doesn’t. You know him, inside out, and you’re continuing to support him, despite it all. He is indebted to you, and he knows already that as soon as he’s let out, he’ll spend every second of his life trying to repay that.

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks later, Tom finally gets to see you again.

The prison visiting room is fucking grim. Toned in sludgy shades of grey and brown, it’s about as ugly as it could be. There are window slits pressed high into the walls, but the primary source of light is from the musky bulbs set above each table. The chairs are uncomfortable, and the decor lacks inspiration. Tom often wonders if the room was designed to be as revolting as possible.

Despite this, as Tom shuffles into the room that smells suspiciously of plasticine, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t matter that his wrists ache from the cuffs, nor that the garish shade of orange clashes horrendously against his skin: you’re here, and that makes everything better.

You’re sitting at the table in the corner of the room, drumming your fingers pensively over the surface. His eyes catch on the glinting ring wrapped around your fourth finger, and the sense of longing that had settled in the hollowness of his chest is quickly burnt away. Sensing his movements, you glance up, and when your eyes meet with his, Tom feels his heart come home.

You raise a hand in greeting, smiling shyly, and he tries to look as non-threatening as possible. He knows the new buzzcut and the stupid get-up probably don’t help, but you don’t look at him like he’s any different.

As he draws nearer, Tom finds himself blinking a few times, questioning how long you’ve been separated. The version of you he has holed up in his memories pales in comparison to the woman that he sees before him now, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. You seem fuller somehow—vibrant, glowing, alive, your face doused in a heavenly glow and your skin bright with health. Your figure has changed slightly, and Tom can’t stop himself from running his eyes all over you, trying to memorise every tiny detail his memory had blurred away. You look so beautiful, every single part of your form enhanced and bright, and your chest—

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

“Y/N,” he exhales the moment he’s been pushed into his seat. His guard unclasps his cuffs, and Tom immediately reaches out across the table, almost moaning from relief when you wrap your fingers around his. Your skin is so warm.

“Tom,” you whisper. Emotion seeps into your voice, and he feels his chest crack as tears pool in your eyes. “Are you okay? I— I missed you.”

He hums, biting his lip. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. Are you?”

You nod quickly. “I’m okay too,” you say. “Things are strange without you, but we’re working around the clock to get you out of here.” You drop your voice slightly. “I think we’re near a breakthrough.”

Tom’s teeth brush his lower lip. “Good, good,” he says. “How’s Tess? And Harry, and the others? Are they looking out for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. You squeeze Tom’s hands tightly. “They’re all okay. Mainly just worried about you.”

He shrugs, trying to lessen the furrow in your brow. “‘M all good, darling,” he promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes skate across his face. “I like your hair,” you say gently. For a moment, Tom thinks you’re going to try and reach out to touch the buzzed fuzz, but you seem to remember that anything beyond handholding is prohibited. You have to settle for a slightly suggestive smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, lovie.”

Your smile is sad but it’s still hopeful. Whatever emotions you’re feeling, it’s clear that you’re trying to smooth them away and keep them to yourself. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” you say, easing into the words with difficulty. Tom watches as you look away, doubt casting across your face.

“What is it?” Vaguely, Tom remembers how skittish you’d been the day he’d been taken away, the memory distorted from the noise of everything else that had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You bite your lower lip. “Uh, just first… how are you holding up in here? Like, actually. Don’t bullshit me and play the tough guy.” Your eyes are wide and persistent. “How are you actually doing?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Fine,” he shoots immediately. He clenches your fingers tightly in his, clinging on for a moment until he exhales. “I wish I could be here for you properly, though. It worries me that I don’t know what’s happening on the outside…” He hates being left out in the dark, but it isn’t your fault. It’s his. “I wish I could be a better boyfriend to you.”

“Fiancé,” you correct, the word soft like it’d left your mouth without thought. “You’re already a good boyfriend, Tom. I knew what I was signing up for. I wanted this back then, and I still do now.”

“Still,” he grumbles. He tries to even out the heaviness of the conversation with a smile. “I think about you all the time, baby. And the others too, but… mostly you. I just hate that I’m missing out on our life together.” He has to stop for a moment as he recollects his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I did this to us, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

You crack a wry smile. “You can’t change the past, Tom. You can only affect the future.” You pause, your expression hardening. “I need to know that you’ll go slower when you get out. I know this is your life, but some things need to change. We— I need you to stay out of trouble. Do you understand?”

He nods his head immediately. “Of course, of course. I don’t ever want to get arrested again, darling.”

You drop your voice. “I’m not saying you need to quit everything, just… get better safeguards and be smarter. I love who you are, Tom, but this…” You break off to gesture around, pointing vaguely at his cuffs, the jumpsuit, and the guards. “This isn’t good for you or for me. And I love you, but I won’t stay if you don’t try.”

It’s hard to hear, but he knows it’s what he deserves to hear. He knows you deserve to stand your ground.

“I know,” Tom says gently. “I’ll get clean when I’m out, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be a good man by you.”

You squeeze his fingers tighter. “You already are,” you promise, “and I love you so much, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Thank you, darling.” Tom tilts his head to the side. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Conflict briefly colours your face, manifesting itself in the arch of your eyebrow and the biting of your lower lip. You inhale sharply, only to exhale again a moment later.

“I’ll tell you when you’re out,” you say softly.

Tom scowls. There’s no anger there, just confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “I… Pretend I never said anything,” you say. You follow it up with a quick, “if I thought you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

He doesn’t want to push it, so Tom lets the topic slip away. You sit together silently for a few minutes. It’s hard to talk, difficult to express how much he misses you, how much he’s sorry. He knows that you understand—you always do, and you have similar tears wobbling across your eyes. Talking can come afterwards when he’s out and he’s free. All he needs now is the feeling of your hand back in his.

The visit is over far too soon.

Leaving you is difficult. Tom isn’t allowed to hug you or go any nearer than the linked hands on the table, but you tug at his fingers until he feels the imprint of your engagement ring rubbing against his skin. He even manages to kiss your knuckles a few times before he’s pulled up from the table and cuffed again.

“Be on your best behaviour,” you say, soft with your parting words. “The lawyer says the better you are, the easier it’ll be to get you out early.”

Tom has a bit of his spark back. Even as he’s pulled back, he manages a devious smirk. “When am I ever not on my best behaviour, darling?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault. He’s pushed to the very verge of insanity, prodded at and provoked beyond the point of return.

It happens when he’s in the barber, huddled in the back corner of the room as he gets a new tattoo. Tom is used to the pain of the burning needles as he already has a few pieces on his arms and his hands, so he’s able to take the fresh marks to his knuckles as the ink stains black against his skin. However, he’s a bit on edge from the sharp buzzing, which is perhaps why he responds so negatively to the taunting he starts to receive. It comes from Toni and the rest of his snivelling gang. They’re all members of the East London mob, ruled over by Tom’s nemesis Gordy. Most of the time, they stick to their side and Tom sticks to his, but they’ve caught him in a vulnerable position, and Toni never seems to know how to pick his timing.

It’s basic teasing, instilled with a brutal hard edge that would phase him if Tom cared enough about their opinions of him. It doesn’t hurt him when people attack his character or his honour—Tom knows the truth about his life, and he couldn’t give two shits about an outsider’s opinion of him. However, he finds it a lot harder to grin and bear it when the man changes angle.

“Word is, a couple of our guys saw your missus out with Haz the other day,” Toni taunts. “He said they were getting real close if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s jaw flexes. The action is minute, but it doesn’t go undetected. Toni smirks.

“Eh, you don’t like that, do you?” The man steps a little closer and Tom tries to ignore him by looking down at the needle pressing into his fingers. “Don’t like the idea of your best friend hanging around your wife. Can you even trust them?” He breaks off, laughing coolly. “They think you’re so stupid, did you know that? You’ll get out of here, and they’ll have cut you out of everything—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom murmurs. He flexes his right hand, shaking out his knuckles. With every passing day, he’s felt tetchier. He can feel his anger burning, churning deep within his stomach, growing brighter, harder. He knows he shouldn’t lean into it, but… He wants to. He craves that rush of the fight, selfishly so.

“But she’s not your wife, is she? You aren’t actually married. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just using you? Maybe they all are? Look at you, Tom.” Toni breaks off to throw a disdainful hand in Tom’s direction. “You are so weak in here… How are any of your guys going to respect you when their leader can’t even stay out the slammer?”

The guy tattooing Tom’s hand finally pulls away, glancing up at him with knowing in his eyes. “You’re done,” he says. “Don’t do anything with that hand, though.”

“Thanks, man.”

Tom stands up, Toni mirroring him. The man looms in front of him, 6’2 and stocky. He’s larger than Tom in every respect, but he’ll never be the bigger man.

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

“Make me, twat.” Toni smirks. “Or are you too much of a pussy to follow through on that as well?”

Tom sees red. Acting on the edge of adrenaline, he pounces, rushing the man and jumping with so much unexpected force that the larger man goes tumbling to the floor. Tom hears the shouts of the guards, but they pale in comparison to his need to straddle the man’s chest and make him pay. With each meeting of his fist with Toni’s face, Tom feels better. He’s never been an excessively violent person, but old habits die hard, and it’s so, so, so fucking easy to pummel the guy who dared breath an uncomplimentary word in his family’s direction. Tom would put the whole city six feet under if they so much as breathed wrong around his loved ones, so really, Toni had it coming.

The prison guards don’t agree.

He ends up in solitary, and when he’s put back into the normal population, Tom is given restrictions. He isn’t allowed visitors for a fortnight, and his calls are reduced to once a week. All other privileges he’d had are taken away again, and he’s relegated to the very bottom of the pecking order.

It’s still worth it.

When he’s finally allowed visitors again, Tom is surprised to learn that his next meeting isn’t with you or his lawyer. Things only make sense when he shuffles into the meeting room and sees his right-hand man settled in the corner, and if Tom had found the room drab before, it appears even more depressing with the addition of the blond man sitting in it. Harrison sucks the life from the room, any hints of happiness at being reunited with his friend overshadowed by the pinched expression on his face.

The guards don’t let Tom take off his cuffs. He has to sidle into the chair, falling into the heavy silence as he places his hands on the table. Metal links click, and Harrison just stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, his blue eyes almost black.

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

Harrison’s jaw twitches. He brings his hands to rest on the top of the table, flexing them as he takes a moment to find the right words. “Tom,” he says, speaking very slowly. “You are a twat.”

He blinks. “Wow,” Tom mutters, chuckling slightly. “Okay. Good to see you too, mate.”

“Do you…” Harrison breaks off, groaning. His forehead develops angry ripples. “Do you understand how detrimental this has been to your case?”

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been pushed to the bottom of the pile,” Harrison says, voice controlled but simmering with unspoken anger. “We were about to get your appeal passed for early release.” He sits back, crossing his arms as he shakes his head. “There’s been a penalty applied due to your stint in solitary. Your case won’t be assessed until it’s lifted.”

Tom feels his stomach drop. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not ideal.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Harrison sits forward, leaning on his hands. “You are a bloody idiot. Stop acting like a child… Why… Why did you even attack him? You must have known this would happen. Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t like the patronisation in his tone. Tom’s already beat himself up enough about this in solitary. He doesn’t need Harrison questioning his judgements, doesn’t appreciate his friend breathing down his neck so obviously.

“He deserved it,” Tom says firmly. “I would do it again.”

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, Harrison.” There’s a stupid smirk on his lips now. Tom’s missed being a little shit to his friends. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s vibrating. The callous concoction of shame, anger and isolation make him volatile and abrasive. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually.”

The expression that mars Harrison’s face looks very out of place against his demeanour. The man is in a long black trench coat with a tight grey turtleneck layered beneath it. He has a few pendants hanging from his neck, the gold metal bringing out the warm tones in his curls, mussed in a way that screams of old charm and perfect romance. Harrison’s illusion of control falters only under the pressure of the anger that manifests itself so clearly on his face.

“Tom.” Harrison bangs his fist on the table. The ring wrapped around his pinky clangs against the wood. “You can’t keep this up. If you do, the case gets pushed further, and that is unacceptable.”

Tom scowls. “Well, Haz, last time I checked, I was the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not you.” He can’t stand the expression of condescension hanging over Harrison’s face. “If I want to throw a few punches, I bloody well will. You have no idea what it’s like in here. No idea at all.”

Harrison’s angered expression fades a little, but only for a moment. When Tom hardens the curve of his eyebrow, Harrison devolves into irritation again, almost snarling as he narrows his eyes. “Your actions affect everyone in your life,” he snaps. “Stop pretending you’re the only one paying for the things that you’ve done.”

“I’m the one with the cuffs, Harrison. I’d say I’m paying considerably more than anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah? Tell that to the men who had their property searched and their possessions seized. Tell that to your family, who continue to be pulled in for questioning. Tell that to Y/N, who—” he breaks off awfully quickly, cheeks flushing slightly. “Nevermind.”

Tom’s blood goes cold. “Y/N?” he repeats sharply. “What about Y/N?”

“Nothing.”

He sits up straighter. “What about Y/N, Harrison?”

“Nothing.”

Tom is angry now. “Tell me right now or god help me, I will find a way to kill you.”

Harrison rolls his eyes, then covers the movement with a sigh. “I can’t. It isn’t my place.” He seems regretful as he jumps in to add, “she’s fine. She just needs you. We all do.”

The guilt returns. It falls over Tom like a wet blanket, extinguishing his frustration and leaving him cold. “Does she… Does she hate me?” He’s looking down at his cuffs.

“What— no. No, Tom.” Harrison looks guilty for the first time, but at least he isn’t confirming Tom’s deepest insecurities. “Nothing like that at all. Just… Listen to me, alright? You need to behave. I know it’s hard in here, I know that, and I understand it must be frustrating. You just… You can’t let that rule you, Tom. You have to look at the bigger picture. You need to come home, and the sooner the better.”

It’s easier said than done, but he knows Harrison is earnest with it.

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

Harrison nods. “Thanks, mate,” he mutters. “We all miss you, myself included.” He glances up at him, eyes finally back to the cool blue tones Tom grew up beside. “It isn’t the same without you around.”

Tom manages a tight smile. “I miss you too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS since Tom was taken away, and you are miserable.

Every day has been the same. You wake up, nauseous and alone, always on Tom’s side of the bed despite forcing yourself to fall asleep on your own. The mornings are a blur of paperwork and phone calls that follow you into the afternoon. You work around the clock, Harrison, Harry and Sam at your side as you go over Tom’s case, again and again, only stopping when night falls, and one of you throws in the towel.

You had been so close to springing him until he’d gone and got himself demoted to solitary, and there’s not a morning that you don’t think about that. You’d submitted the appeal, stacked full of so much evidence that there was no way the judge would deny him freedom, only for Tom to get into a fistfight the day before the hearing. Just like that, the floor had vanished from beneath your feet.

You’d taken it badly, the others too. Losing Tom to the judge’s gavel had been hard enough, but for his escape to be taken away by his own actions hurt a thousand times worse. You know it’s worse for him, being alone in a cell, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness seeping into your mouth every time you think about the lost chance. Harry and Sam had been incensed, their anger fuelled by the void of a missing brother, and you know Harrison’s frustration comes from similar veins.

Even now that Tom’s served his time in solitary, the frustration lingers on, manifesting itself in the way none of you could decide who should go and visit him first. Under normal conditions, you would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but… Things have been complicated, even without recent events, more so than they’d been when you’d visited two months ago. When Harrison had bitten the bullet and volunteered himself, all of you had been more than happy to let him go.

He’d left this morning, and the house has been quiet ever since.

You’re sitting up in one of the spare rooms as you wait for Harrison to return, your back aching and your mind spinning. You twirl the rings on your fingers as you think, taking turns alternating between your engagement ring and the silver signet rings you’d taken from Tom’s dresser. Keeping him close makes everything easier. You’d take any reminder of him you could get, be that his rings, his shirts, his cologne, or…

The baby.

You shift a hand down to sit on the swell of your belly. Tears prick your eyes as you let them close, a frustrated sigh tumbling past your lips.

You’re four months pregnant, and that throws a spanner in the works.

Sure, you would’ve tried equally as hard to get Tom released under normal conditions, but the biological countdown that has now been sprinkled into the mix has only given everything an air of desperation. Even if it isn’t you vocalising what everyone else is thinking, the fervour to get Tom out before it’s too late is there. You can see it in the way Harrison never lets you go anywhere unaccompanied, and Harry and Sam have been working nonstop to get their brother’s freedom. Everyone around you is aware of how vital Tom’s release is, even when the man himself remains oblivious.

Exhaling gently, you shift around on the cosy armchair. The nursery smells of fading paint, and as you move around, you glance at the messy borders of the walls. The sex of your baby is still a mystery to you, but a few days ago, the twins had freshened up the room with a shade of light green whilst you and Harrison were in court. Neither of them is particularly artistically inclined, but they’d done a pretty decent job, all things considered.

Tom’s family have all been good to you—very kind. You haven’t felt alone, even with half your heart locked away in the outskirts of London. It just hasn’t been the idyllic pregnancy you’d dreamt about with your fiancé.

Guilt falls across you as you look down at the rising swell of your belly.

It’s been hard trying to decide whether or not to tell Tom what you’d tried to come clean about three months ago, down by the Thames. You’d wanted to tell him when you’d gone to visit him, but you couldn’t find the heart to come clean and admit that he’s missing out on the one thing he’s waited for his entire life. Telling him would hurt him immensely, and he’s already hurting being away from you. You don’t want to tell him until he can be part of it, and with that uncertainty present, you’ve kept your lips sealed.

Visiting him today in place of Harrison is all you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’re vulnerable and explosive, and you want to come clean to Tom when the situation is better. There would be nothing worse than storming into that dingy meeting room, flaunting your obvious pregnancy but being too distracted by your anger at your fiancé to explain everything else. You won’t hurt him like that by taunting him with the one thing he wants but can’t have. You refuse to.

All you can do is hope that he forgives you for holding the information back, pray that he understands your motivations, and, above all, hold onto the hope that he’s there when your child comes into the world.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Blinking yourself from your reverie, you look up through the open door.

“In here, Sam.”

A moment later, Tom’s younger brother appears in the doorway. The man looks as exhausted as you feel, deep shadows hanging beneath his hazel eyes. When he sees you, his mouth pulls into a small smile and he lifts his hand in greeting, and you can tell that he’s trying. You try to match him by sitting up a little straighter and smiling back.

“Hey,” he says. “I was just… bored, I guess. Thought I’d come and check on you.” Doubt briefly flickers across his face. “Is that okay? Are you busy?”

“I’m bored too,” you admit. You stand from the armchair and groan as you stretch your arms, your stiff back aching. “Do you want to do something?”

Sam grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Can we try the mural?”

Wincing, you manage a smile. “Okay… But if it looks terrible, I will paint over it.”

“As if. I’m the artistic one here, Y/N. Just be glad Harry’s still away.”

“Did someone mention me?” Harry’s voice rings through the air, startling you. With a hand clutching your heart, you look to your side in time to see Sam’s twin taking his place at your side. Where Sam is in a shirt and tie, Harry is clad in a pair of deep denim dungarees. He offers you a rusty smile. “We’re just filling in these lines, yeah?”

Sam’s the one to nod. He gestures at the wall and you notice the faint outlines, scratched in pencil. “Be precise,” he informs, “it took me bloody ages sketching it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shooting you a silent smirk. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. “Anything you want, sir.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Well,” he says, looking at you pointedly, “I hope you’re keeping a record of how many times Sam is swearing around the baby, Y/N.”

Brows furrowing, you pick up a paintbrush. “Why would I be doing that?”

The ginger grins. “Just betters my case for being the better uncle,” he says.

“Oh, what? Don’t you mean the boring uncle?” Sam chides, bristling beside you.

Harry laughs. “I will be the favourite uncle. I don’t care what you say, Sammy. Both of us know it.”

Rolling your eyes at the argument you’ve heard a thousand times before, you give them both a nudge. “Shh,” you plead. “Paint, don’t fight.”

Sam shoots you a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a smile lingering on your lips, you watch as Harry puts on one of his playlists, then relax as the three of you get to work. None of you say anything, but the air is full enough—tickled to life with Sam’s quiet whistling and the sound of paintbrushes thick against the wall. You concentrate on the intricate details of the mural, like the outlines of the clouds and the spirals of the grass, and marvel at how wonderful it is to be so content in silence. It’s indicative of how tight your bond has grown, you think.

No longer despising solitude, you’ve found a comfortable middle ground around the men. You and Tom’s inner circle have learned to work together well, stringing together complex case files as you’ve organised accounts. Nothing you’ve been doing recently is legal, but you would’ve left a long time ago if you genuinely cared about the law. You can stomach a few fixed accounts if it means Tom gets to walk free—you can stomach a whole lot more than that, actually, for Tom. You’d set the whole world on fire just to see him smile.

Like the splotchy mural covering the walls, your team has got the job done. Your case for the court is watertight, if a little messy, but you know it’ll be enough to spring Tom. It has to be. You need him, and your child needs him. Everyone in the house needs him.

“Guys? Where are you?” Harrison’s voice joins the mix just as you’re stretching up to flick a few rays of gold into the sun. Harry is at your feet, crouching on the balls of his feet as he tries to paint a few red flowers to the sprigs of grass.

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

A few moments later, Harrison joins you. You fail to meet his eyes as the focused man sweeps into the room, billowing coat swirling around his feet. His expression is terse as he jerks off his jacket and grabs a paintbrush, dipping the tip in a bit of sky blue paint before standing at the end. You don’t rush him. He’s vibrating with something, his face flushed and his eyes dark, so you give him space.

A few minutes pass, illustrated by Harry’s playlist and the colours of the rainbow. Just when you’re beginning to worry, Harrison speaks.

“Tom is an idiot,” he states, drawing a laugh from one of the twins.

You bite your lip. “Did you explain?” you ask.

Harrison nods. He glances at you, and you note the fleck of purple paint pressed into the pale arc of his cheek. “He said he wouldn’t do it again,” he tells you. “He was angry, though. I think he’s having a bad time.”

Harry hums. “It’s hard in there,” he mumbles. “Was he still himself?”

The blond nods. “Yeah,” he says. “As snarky as ever.”

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

“Good news, though,” Harrison adds. “I went to the courthouse on my way back.”

“Oh?” You look away from your cloud, your heart skipping a beat. “And?”

“And,” Harrison continues, a semblance of a smile twitching across his lips, “I submitted the appeal again. They said they’d probably process it next week. So, if things go according to plan this time, he might be out by next Friday.”

You almost drop your paintbrush. Eyes widening, you turn to face him properly. “Wait, really?”

Harrison’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He puts his paintbrush down, tugging yours from your fingers as if he can tell you’re close to dropping it. “He’s almost out, Y/N.”

Relief spills across you, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Closing your eyes before those easy tears can fall down your cheeks, you step closer and push your way into Harrison’s embrace. He’s ready and waiting for the action, eager to comfort his friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Harrison’s chest is warm, and though his hugs aren’t as good as Tom’s, you’ve come to rely on them. You’ve come to rely on all of them. “That’s amazing news.”

“Mhmm.” He squeezes you. “This nightmare is almost over.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry speaks up. You pull away from Harrison’s hold when you hear the quivering tones in his voice, quickly glancing to the man to find him glassy-eyed and flushed. Biting your lip, you extend a hand towards him.

A group hug unfolds, as it’s had the tendency to do since Tom was taken away. The first time had been stoic and cool, with frozen elbows and embarrassed shuffling, but slowly, each one of them has loosened. They’re tough men, burdened and hard, but love ties them to you, and at your request, you know they’d do anything for you. You also know that they all enjoy the physical comfort more than they’d ever let on.

It’s been hard without Tom, and you’d do anything to have him back, but if there’s anything his absence has taught you, it’s that his brothers have become your brothers as his best friend has become your own, and you’ve never really been alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s release day comes quickly, hidden behind the retrial and the quick-paced days in court. It’s busy at the trial, and spaces are limited, so Harry and Sam attend in place of you and Harrison. You get them to take in a few letters for Tom and pass on your condolences for your absence, but you don’t allow yourself to get too hung up on it. When Tom’s release is announced, the weight that rolls from your shoulders is immediate.

As you wait outside the prison, you try to find solace in the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. It’s quiet in the car park, allowing you to ruminate in peace, and though you’re comfortable resting against the bonnet of Tom’s car, your thoughts are far from restful.

Anxiety weighs heavily in your chest, mixing with your excitement and creating a volatile concoction. You find yourself pacing, biting back your nerves as you try to reason with yourself. Draped around your shoulders is a long coat that obscures your bump, chosen as you’ve decided you don’t want to overwhelm Tom with too many things at once. You hope it does the job. The coat twitches in the wind as you walk, noisy and obnoxious.

Things around you are still until there’s a sudden, loud buzzing noise from the prison compound. You jerk your head around to see two men leaving the main building, small in the distance but gradually growing larger. They’re still enclosed in the fenced courtyard, but they’re on their way to the exit, and every rational thought you have flies from your mind as you see him. Tom. Your Tom.

He’s in the clothes he’d been arrested in—red shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes. Looped around his hands is his Rolex and his rings. Tom seems almost identical to how he’d been on that cursed day, just his head is buzzed and he looks a little smaller. He’s carrying himself with confidence, though, and when he looks fervently around the car park and spots you, his entire face swells with happiness. The sight of that large, lovely smile hanging from his lips brings immediate warmth to your eyes.

Every breath is easier now you have him in your sights. Overwhelming love gluts your insides, warm and emotive, choking you up. It takes everything in you to stay still as you wait for Tom to finish talking with his guard, a tall man you recognise from all of his stories, Luther. Tom’s smirking in a way that’s obviously infuriating, and the guard doesn’t hesitate to give him a light punch as your boyfriend saunters out of prison, leaving the compound with a swagger to his stride and a smile the size of Saturn.

The sight of Tom jogging towards you breaks you from your reverie, and you push yourself away from the car to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nothing matters until you’re colliding with his front, finding warmth in his arms, feeling his entire body shake as his tears fall into your hair. Nothing matters unless it’s him.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. Your grip on the back of Tom’s shirt is hard, a violent sprawling across your knuckles, but you won’t let go. You’re giddy with love. “Fuck, Tom, I missed you so, so much.”

You pull away from his chest and look into his eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you note the fresh tears on his face. You use your thumbs to brush beneath his cheeks, flicking away the tears as you clean up his handsomeness.

“I missed you so much more,” he promises. Tom brings a hand to rest on the back of your head, breath hitching as he meets your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses you, and it’s so intense you end up pressed against the side of the car. Tom moans with relief as he strokes his fingers over the side of your face, delicately reacquainting his lips with yours as they meet again and again. You keep your hands gliding over his back, his arms, his shoulders, letting your tongues come together as tears flow down your cheeks. The kiss is everything and nothing, familiar and new. The kiss says I missed you. It says I thought about you every day. It says I would wait a thousand dawns if it meant I got to wake up beside you again, but thank fucking god you’re here right now because I missed you more than I ever thought was possible.

“Baby,” Tom murmurs. He pulls away but keeps your foreheads pressed together, the cool tip of his nose brushing yours. “You’re so perfect. I missed you so much that it hurt me.”

He tries to move closer, but you become aware of the pressure to your belly, so bring a gentle hand to push his shoulder away. Hurt immediately floods to his eyes, his expression twitching as Tom takes a few steps back.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. “I need to tell you something.”

Tom’s jaw twitches. “What is it?” he whispers.

“A good thing,” you clarify. You reach up to wipe the residue of your tears away, then bring your hands down to the tie of your jacket. Biting your lip, you take a steadying breath. “I hope you aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” you preface, “but I did it for you.”

Tom nods intensely. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’m… I’m here, okay? For anything. It’s me and you. Just… me and you forever.”

A smile flickers across your face. “Me and you, and…” You gently open the front of your coat, then reach out for Tom’s hands. Guiding them slowly, you bring the warmth of his palms to rest on the rise of your bump.

“Wait…” Tom shifts his hands around your belly before staring up at you, slack-jawed. He doesn’t try to hide the obvious tears in his eyes. “You’re…?”

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

“Oh god.” Tom sniffles. “What?” He immediately drops to his knees in front of you, his fancy dress trousers getting dirty in the dust. “How— how far along?”

“Almost five months,” you whisper. “I found out right before you got back from Liverpool. I was going to tell you when we went on that date, but…”

“But I fucked up.” Tom sounds wrecked, his aching eyes fixed on the curve of your belly. “I fucked everything up. I… I left you alone for this entire time, and you had to do this all without me.” He rests his forehead against your bump, very, very gently, and you see him close his eyes. “I am a terrible partner.”

Rolling your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you guide him up to look at you. It’s second nature as you roll a thumb over his cheekbone, trying to instil the action with love and reassurance.

“I’m not angry,” you tell him. “You didn’t know, and you didn’t get arrested on purpose. If anything, you should be angry at me for keeping this a secret.” Your teeth catch your lower lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought telling you would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologise.” He rests a hand on your leg, the other still on the curve of your front. “I’m sorry.” He drops his voice and looks at the bump. “And I’m sorry to you too, little one.” He nudges his mouth forward and deposits a soft kiss to your stomach. “I love you too.”

Digging one of your hands into your coat pocket, you pull out a photo. “Here,” you urge, handing it to your boyfriend. Tom takes it after a moment, his eyes slow to move away from your front.

He releases a noise somewhere between an exclamation and a choke, nimble fingers gripping the image from your ultrasound. His cheeks flush a brilliant rose.

“When was this?” he whispers.

“At three months,” you reply. You continue to run your hand over the top of his head, trying to soothe him as he absorbs so much information at once. “I went with my mum and Haz.”

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

Tom hums. He looks between the photo and your bump, then nudges forward to kiss the rise again. His lips are so warm you can feel them through the material of your dress. “Have they been looking after you well enough?”

A light laugh slips past your lips. “Yeah,” you promise. “They helped so much, Tom. It was hard at first… Really hard. Especially when we thought you’d be in there for five years, but… Things worked out.” You have to pause to gather your thoughts. “We converted one of the rooms into a nursery. There’s still stuff left to do, and we can do that together, of course, but… They were all really helpful.”

“Good.” Tom looks up at you, still kneeling, and your hand slips down to cup his face. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I wish I could’ve been here for all of this.”

Shrugging gently, you squeeze his face. “You can be here for the rest of it,” you promise. “And, I guess… If we have another one, you’ll be there for all of that, right?”

“Of course, darling.” You smile as Tom tilts his lips to knock against the side of your palm.

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling softly, you nod. “Yes,” you promise. “I love you, and I’m so happy this has happened for us, even if the timing was difficult.” Feeling yourself well up, you exhale slowly. “We’re going to be parents, Tom. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It’s brilliant.” Tom’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be a father.” He blinks. “What the fuck.”

Laughing, you move your hands to the crown of his head. “Yeah, it’ll take a while to get used to that.”

“I’ll get there,” he states. Tom returns his attention to the bump. “Hey, little one,” he coos, voice all silk and amber tones, “it’s going to be the biggest honour of my life being your dad.”

Tom spends a while at your feet, speaking softly to you and your bump, and you keep your hand resting on the back of his head. He’s weary when he finally climbs to his feet but regains some of that spark when you step forward to kiss him. You don’t mean to make it as heated as you do, but it hasn’t only been your heart that’s missed Tom. You’ve craved him, constantly, during every single lonely night, and now that he’s here, you’re willing to take everything you can get.

“I love you,” you say, hushed against his mouth.

Tom’s teeth brush over your lower lip, and you moan when he tugs. There’s a fervour to it, hot lust burning through sensitive emotions. He releases your lip and pulls back to stare at you, his eyes rippling darker.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love everything about you.”

Your mouths come back together, and it’s messier than before, your lips wettening as your kisses become wilder. Tongues dance and teeth clash as your body temperature starts to rise. Now you’ve moved through the emotional reunion, you’re left with an underlying pulse—a heat throbbing persistently between your legs. The fire builds as you hear Tom’s grunts and feel the desperation in his hands when they grab at your sides and jerk you closer, his mouth devouring yours until your lips are puffy and tender. You’re greedy, chasing more, desiring everything you’ve missed out on in the months you’ve been apart from your lover.

“Darling,” Tom murmurs, breaking the kiss to whisper hotly against your lips, “I missed you, but if you keep this up, we’re not going to get home.”

Desire takes hold of you. “Who said I wanted to go home?” You push in closer, shifting slightly until you’re able to feel the hardness of his crotch pressing up against your thigh. The familiarity of it all makes you inhale sharply. You drop your tone, trying to seem coy as you speak, “I don’t think you understand how badly I needed you whilst you were away, Tom. I missed you.”

The tips of his teeth glint as he arches his brows. “Well…” Tom mumbles. “I owe you about four months of lost opportunities.” He swallows, briefly breaking from the lust-filled headspace to look guilty. You smooth it away by reaching down to squeeze at his hands. “If my radiantly stunning fiancé decides she wants me to start repenting for that now, then who am I to stop her?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the car. “You’re a suck-up,” you taunt. You plant a light kiss to his lips. “C’mon,” you urge. “The car.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “The backseat?” he teases. “Shit, angel. You must be desperate.”

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

Tom smirks deviously. “It’s okay,” he soothes. He darts forward to open the car door for you, resting his hand on your lower back as you step forward. “I’m just as desperate as you, baby.”

“I hate you,” you murmur. Tom follows you into the car, shutting the door behind you both. You wait for him to sit before straddling his lap, your legs stretching until you have a shin planted on either side of his thighs. The position is comfortable, with enough space between your bump and his chest for you to breath, and you whimper as Tom bends nearer to ghost his lips over yours.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to tease him, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You’re alright with too much adoration to even think about pressing it down.

“I really don’t,” you agree.

Tom makes a soft noise of vindication, the tip of his nose brushing yours for just a moment until he’s bearing down and bringing your lips together. You sigh, reaching up and urging him closer. His lips are lovely, and you enjoy kissing them for a while, but then you find yourself distracted by the open expanse of his neck. With his hair buzzed, you’re keenly aware of his throat, pale and sensitive, and if there’s one thing you remember about your boyfriend, it’s his affinity for lovebites.

You bring your lips to the side of his neck, nuzzling your mouth against the long, pale stretch of his throat. Smirking against his skin, you start to suckle deep hickeys against the side of his neck, revelling in the throaty gasps Tom deposits into the air in response.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom whines. He has a hand on your back, urging you closer. When you graze the tips of your teeth against his skin, he whimpers. “Shit. More.”

“More?” you tease. “Forgotten all your manners, Tom?”

He growls. The hand on your back shifts to the back of your head, and he jerks you ever closer. He’s still mindful, especially of the bump laying between you, but he knows just as well as you that you aren’t a piece of porcelain; you like being tugged around. You’ve missed it.

“Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll return the favour.” He says it like you’re oblivious to the desperation in his words. You decide to oblige him.

“Okay,” you murmur. You look up to meet his gaze, his honey-brown eyes full of appreciation. For a moment, it knocks you off balance. It’s so strange readjusting to having Tom back—almost overwhelming to be able to touch someone who had existed only in your memories for so many weeks. You drop your head and give him what he wants.

Tom’s skin tastes clean, and it smells distantly of pinecones. He groans, fisting at your hair and holding you close as you kiss and suck along his skin, drawing deep hues to the surface of his neck. He shifts in his seat, basking in the pain and whining every time you soothe a fresh mark with the warmth of your tongue. You keep your hand resting on his hair, the cropped length of his buzz prickly and coarse beneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Oh god yeah,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the wet noises coming from your lips. “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby. I missed it.” Grunting, he brings a hand to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips hard. “I thought about you all the time in there.”

Tom releases his hold on your hair and begins to stroke his hands over your back. As you continue to mark his neck, he starts to tease you, gradually dropping the heat of his palms lower and lower. You can’t stop yourself from bucking down into his hold, moaning against his neck as he grabs handfuls of your ass.

“Tom,” you break off to whimper, panting softly. You feel dizzy on the taste of his skin. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “How am I being mean?” Tom squeezes the curves of your figure, his slender fingers warm against your skin. You’re in a dress, the material thin, and he doesn’t hesitate to curve his hands beneath the hem and bring them to rest over your panties. “You’re the one who wanted to come in here and get your hands all over me… I’m doing what you asked.” He breaks off, chuckling darkly. “That’s not how things usually work, though, is it?”

The air between you shifts.

You pull away from Tom’s neck, your mouth inflamed and throbbing. You have to dig your teeth into your lower lip to muffle your whimper when Tom brings a hand to the front of your legs, gently brushing two of his long fingers over the front of your panties. He’s teasing with it, eyes alight with deviousness, jaw set in a determined line.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I want to be in charge this time.”

Tom laughs gently. “Oh, yeah?” He rubs your cunt a little faster, causing you to suck in a sharp breath as you feel the delicate pressure on your clit. The contact makes your passage clench, growing wet enough to dampen the front of your panties. “So you don’t like this, hmm? You don’t want me to follow through on everything I have planned for you?”

“What have you got planned?”

He tuts. “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, angel. That’d be too easy. Either you want me to be in charge, or you decide to call the shots.” Tom smirks as he feels you buck down against his hand. Maybe if the circumstances were different, you’d find the strength to push back, but you don’t. It’s been so long, and your cunt is weeping already just from the husky tones in his voice.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper. The vindicated smirk he flashes in response is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Damn right, baby.” Tom moves his hands away, pressing them to your waist instead. “Can you lay down for me, please?”

You shuffle across the car seat as instructed, Tom shifting until he’s kneeling in the footwell of the backseats. It’s a good thing the car is obscenely huge, otherwise, the already-cramped fit would be unworkable.

Draping your legs over Tom’s shoulders, he pushes the hem of your dress up, bunching it just above your bump. The hungry fire in his eyes fades slightly.

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

“It’s fine,” you soothe. “Are you okay down there?”

Tom nods. The scruff of his buzzed head scratches against your inner thighs. “I’m bloody perfect,” he responds. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

The tip of his nose nuzzles against your covered clit. “Perfect,” Tom purrs, his breath hot against your panties. “I think it’s time I remind you who owns this fucking pussy… As hot as it was when you were trying to tell me what to do, it’s not on.” He brings his mouth away from your core, and you whimper as his tongue laps gently across your thigh, the muscle deliciously slippery. “I’m the one calling the shots.”

You’re throbbing, every inch of you aching for his touch. The burn is visceral—pulsing, wet. “Yes, sir,” you return. Tom’s eyes snap to yours. “Do whatever you want.”

“Say please.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you add, “please.”

“Good, baby. You sound so pretty begging for me.” Tom easily pulls your panties down your legs, returning to push your thighs further apart. He brings both of his thumbs to your sensitive lips, humming when you whimper. Using the pads of his fingers, he gently parts your centre, groaning softly at the sight. “Say it,” he murmurs, entranced by the paradise between your legs. “Tell how badly you want me.”

He’s incredibly infuriating, but you play right into his hand. “Please, Tom,” you whine. “Please touch me.”

He hums. “Of course, lovie,” he murmurs. He glances up at you. “All you had to do was ask.”

The first touch of his tongue against your slit makes your eyes roll back. A breathless whine slips past your lips as his mouth envelops your clit, the strong tip of his tongue nuzzling over your sensitive skin in a way you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve been able to get off in his absence, but nothing can simulate the sizzling heat of his mouth and his tongue, nor the scratching of his short hair against your fleshy inner thighs.

The way he unravels you is obscene, toned with the sounds of spit and lazy lips, the sensations of desperation. Tom devours you, using his elbows to push your thighs apart as he buries his face as close to your centre as possible. You can barely see him over the rise of your belly, but you can certainly feel him. When you start to grind down against his face, things only escalate, your eyes fluttering shut as your spine arches in response to his feverish movements.

“Oh god,” he murmurs, voice thick as it vibrates across you. “Missed this… Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Your high rolls over you suddenly and without warning, manifesting itself in a silent cry as your body goes rigid. You hear Tom hum in surprise, then feel his hands lock around your thighs, holding back your legs as they shake in the face of absolute pleasure.

“Sorry,” you pant, recovering gradually, “I didn’t know that was going to happen then.”

Tom runs his tongue over your slit, still sensitive and throbbing. “‘S okay, lovie,” he replies, voice warm. He nuzzles in closer and brings two slender fingers to push against your entrance. Your hole is hot and pulsing, pooled with your arousal. You hear it pucker as he gently presses against your cunt, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. “I’m not done making it up to you, though. Is that okay?”

Exhaling, you nod quickly. “Fuck yeah,” you say, struggling to think. “Oh.”

He slips two fingers into you, your eager walls parting and welcoming him in. Tom removes his mouth from your heat and replaces his tongue with the pad of a thumb, and when you release a loud noise of strangled enjoyment, he begins to crook his fingers into you. He strokes his digits against your walls with poise and elegance, nudging up against your g-spot and stroking, again and again, chasing the noises you release.

“So pretty,” he coos. “My pretty baby. Making all those beautiful noises.” Tom smiles almost proudly. His chin is wet with your arousal. “I love your cunt… Look at how well it's taking me.” To prove his point, he feeds a third finger alongside the others. “So greedy for me, eh? Greedy little pussy. So hot. So wet. God…”

Tom drops his head again, disappearing from your sight of vision. You moan, body jerking as you feel his tongue move around his fingers, catching the arousal that seeps from your pussy as he works you open. He releases an obscene moan before dragging his mouth to your clit, stimulating you with his hands and tongue in tandem.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper. You feel hot in the best way, your skin becoming sweaty as you writhe over the leather seat. “Feels so good, Tommy.” It feels like heaven—especially when he bends his fingers and the tips of them stroke up against your sensitive spot. “‘M gonna cum again.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m so good at this,” he murmurs. “Go on, angel. Don’t hold back on my account… You’re so pretty when you cum.”

The tide breaks, and your climax rolls across you, legs trembling as Tom holds you in place. You writhe as you bask in the heat, your knuckles losing blood as you clench your hands into hard fists. The press of your nails against the soft flesh of your palms hurts, but you don’t care. It feels far too good to think about anything beyond Tom.

You ride it out, and Tom eventually draws his face away from your clit. He kisses along your inner thighs as you gasp for air, only removing his fingers when you start to whimper. As good as the climaxes have felt, panting for breath on the backseat, it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough by far.

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

Tom chuckles as he appears from between your legs. He gives your thighs a little tap before he closes your legs, wriggling out of the footwell as you sit up. Easily, like you’ve done a thousand times before, you swing a leg over Tom’s lap, straddling him when he sits with his back against the car seat.

“Are you okay up there?” he checks, bringing his clean hand to rest on the curve of your stomach. When you nod, his brown eyes darken. “Perfect…” he hums. “Clean off my fingers, will you?”

You nod, opening your mouth expectantly and moaning as Tom slips three of his fingers between your lips. Fighting your smirk, you maintain eye contact with him, your pride swelling as you see his cheeks darken. He gently fucks his fingers into your mouth, making you moan at the movements and the taste of your heat as it spreads across your tongue. He’s messy with it, and you feel your lips and chin grow heavy from spittle.

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

Tom goes to move his fingers from your mouth, only for a detail to make you pause. Eyes straining, you reach up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in place just as his fingers pull away from your lips.

“What’s this?” you query, narrowing your eyes. You drag Tom’s left hand nearer your face, gasping softly as you take note of a new tattoo resting at the bottom of his ring finger.

“Oh.” Tom shifts around slightly, biting at his lower lip. “I got your initials tattooed… When we get married, the ring will cover them, but I wanted you with me—I want you with me—all the time, even without a bit of metal.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

You press a delicate kiss across the letters. “Yes,” you say. You feel shy as you meet the eyes of the man who loves you so immensely. “That’s really, really sweet, Tom.” You bite your lip as you look up at him. “Gone soft on me, baby?”

“‘M always soft on you,” he says gruffly, guiding a hand to your face. He brings you closer, encouraging you to lean higher on your knees. “Love of my life, angel. You know that… My wife.”

You shift on his lap, smiling bashfully. “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

Both of you come together, no words needing to be exchanged for you to know what to do. Tom loses his clothes as you sit up a little straighter, one of your hands curling around the headrest of a seat as Tom angles himself slightly. With the rise of your bump between you, you aren’t able to be flushed together like times before, but the man beneath you is quick to readjust so he’s laying further back, giving you plenty of room to move in a way that’s comfortable. He kisses over your knuckles as you run his hard cock through your slit, his interested eyes fixed firmly on the sight of his length as you finally begin to move down.

The moment the head of his cock pushes into you feels indescribable. The ache of the stretch falls away as relief pours over you, the closeness satisfying far more than just your arousal.

“Gentle, gentle,” Tom murmurs, hand resting on your belly. “Be careful.”

You chuckle, beginning to move but only slowly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “it won’t hurt them.” Your eyes roll back slightly as you bring your hand down to rest on Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly. “You can move too… Please, move.”

“Okay, darling.” Tom gently starts to move his hips. He groans as he slumps back against the seat, beautiful face coloured light pink. You’d missed the expressions he makes, how emotive the slants of his features can be. His nostrils flare and his jaw tenses as you ride him, your cunt so wet the movements are almost effortless. “That feels… so good.” His voice is hollow, gutless. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about you. You, and your hot cunt.” He moans again, unable to sit around the words. Tom ruts into you a little harder, guiding you to move faster with the hand on your hip. “Taking me so well, darling. So fucking well. I’m not going to last at all.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t either.”

Tom manages a lazy smirk. He opens his eyes as he brings a hand to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. You jerk a little at the stimulation but start to ease into it, basking in the pleasure from the bud and Tom’s cock. He’s buried deep within you, pressing your walls apart, the curved tip of his head brushing deeper than you’ve felt in months.

“So tight,” he murmurs. Tom leans back, clearly enjoying the sight of you riding him. “My darling. You look so beautiful like this… I swear your tits are bigger, too.” The hand on your belly gently caresses the bump, Tom’s tongue briefly wandering out to wet his lower lip. “Look at how beautiful you are… I can’t wait to knock you up again.”

Stifling a moan, it takes everything in you to focus on your movements. “You feel so good, Tom,” you whimper, unable to hold back the praise he loves to hear. “I missed this so much.”

“I know, baby. I missed this too… Come on, now.” His voice hardens slightly. “I’m about to cum, but I don’t want to unless you’re right here beside me. So… will you be a good girl and finish with me? Please?”

Heat flushes through your system as you bounce your head quickly. Your eyes close, breath hitching as you feel your climax rise. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a coil pulling tighter and tighter until it bends and snaps, bursting wide and spilling pleasure across your body in warm waves of enjoyment. You cry out as you fall apart, holding Tom’s shoulder tightly as his hand clamps around your waist. You feel him mirror you, hear his loud groan as his cock pulses inside you, your movements unceasing as you ride it out together.

It ends, but you stay joined. Tom sits up, the distance put between you by your belly requiring him to stretch closer and seize your lips in a smouldering kiss. His hand returns to your cheek, yours to his, and the look in his eyes is dizzying.

“I love you so much,” he speaks, words soft like a promise. “Everything I do from here on out is for you, and…” He glances back at your stomach. “And our child.” Words thickening, you see Tom’s eyes well with tears again. He chuckles, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get a bit choked up thinking about it.”

You stroke your fingers over the back of his hair, spiky strands smooth against your hand. “Don’t apologise for expressing your emotions, baby,” you whisper. “It’s been a very long day.”

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[yandere--stuck]

Hello, okay I. am. Obsessed. With you’re joker fics 💕💕💞💞 if you ever write anymore don’t be shy to tag me in them if you want. Kay? :D

Have a nice day! :DDDD

@thephantomnoseblower

Aaaaaa thank you so so much!! I'm so glad you like them! Also I'm so happy to meet another Joker Liker. He's the best!! 💚💚💚

And! You inspired me to write more, so I made some general Yandere!J Headcanons. I hope you like them ^^

---

💜 When it came to love, the Clown Prince of Crime could find it most anywhere, if he looked hard enough. In his mortal enemy, in his former psychiatrist, and… In you. You don't have to be anyone of particular importance, or of a particular personality - really, Joker could build rapport and hit it off with most anyone. Or, at least, that's what he believed. Joker liked you, grew to love you, exactly as you were. After all, you accepted him and took him exactly as he was, without pleading to be let go or have mercy, begging him to change and reform. No, no, no, you were different. Sweet. Charming. Funny!

🃏It's a hostage situation, when he first met you, got real up close and personal with you. The other hostages all trembled and whimpered in the corner, looked over by his men. But you seemed calm, whether you were brave enough or so afraid you had gone frozen didn't really matter. It was a bore waiting for the news crew and the Bat, so he went around, talking to the civilians - a mix between making idle chat and intimidating them to tears. None of them could bother to even speak, some bursting into tears. Finally, he made his way over to you, kneeling down to your level. "How about you, dear? How's your night going?" Your heart rabitted within your chest. You could barely breathe, but you tried to steel yourself. Show no fear. You managed to exhale with hyperventilating, a breathy chuckle escaping your throat. "Eh, could be better, I'm not gonna lie." The Clown snickered, which egged you on. This was good, right? You continued, "It's my first time as a hostage, so I hope I'm doing it right." The Joker beamed as he barked out a laugh. "You're doing just fine! At least someone here has a good sense of humor."

💚 It wasn't long before police helicopters began to swarm the building the Joker had stashed you in. Through the glass exterior of the high rise, you watched as the choppers circled the building, circled the Joker and his men, circled you and your fellow hostages. Somehow, dread managed to sink even further into the pit of your stomach. The GCPD had a poor reputation for a reason - filled with corrupt, crooked, and reckless cops. The entire police force was filled with more bad apples than good. Someone here was going to get hurt. God, why couldn't they have just waited for Batman to deal with this?! Through the glass, you could hear the voice of an officer shout something unintelligible. The Joker turned to one of his men, tilting his head toward the copter. "Tell 'em I'm not talking to anyone but Bats." The lackey seemed to hesitate, but only for a second, fumbling to pick up a speakerphone while also keeping his weapon in hand. He approached the chopper, stepping out onto the balcony, raising the speakerphone- and you let out a scream as a shot rang in the air, the man flying back as he was shot.

💜 The other hostages descended into hysterics as Joker's men began firing back at the chopper. "And I thought I was crazy," The Joker spat. "I thought these guys were supposed to be protecting you." You winced as glass shattered, shards exploding into the room. You opened your eyes, staring straight down the barrel of the helicopter's aerial gun- and in an instant you were pulled away, pressed against a solid chest as you were pulled away. You began to hyperventilate, heart beating so hard you could barely comprehend what was happening, vision swimming as you began to lose consciousness in your panic. As your vision faded, Joker's visage came into view. You felt a hand cup the side of your face. And then, it all went black.

🃏 You woke up not long after. People don't really stay passed out after fainting, just a minute or two, really. Long enough for police to storm the building and find you, taking you to safety. You were transferred to a hospital, where you were overlooked. You had minor cuts and bruises, the only major damage being that of psychological trauma. Before they released you, you watched a news report of the crime - the one you had just been a victim of. The Joker had managed to escape. Most of his men were taken out. It was a miracle that none of the other hostages hadn't died, and Gordon reprimanded his men and their reckless actions. But, you knew nothing would change. In spite of the traumatic experience you had been through, you knew you couldn't seek help for it. Mental health was a very, very touchy subject in Gotham. If someone caught you going to therapy, they'd probably think you're just one bad day away from becoming Gotham's next supercriminal. Life returned to relative normalcy… Until you received a package. It was specifically labeled "CARE PACKAGE" on the side in black marker. It was heavy, slightly damp at the bottom, had a foul odor, and had no return address. You hesitated, not knowing what to do with it… Before deciding to bite the bullet and open it. It contained a bouquet of flowers, (containing one trick flower that spurted out water, drenching your face), a whoopee cushion, a teddy bear, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and… Your eyes widened in horror and disgust. The last three items were a note, a Joker playing card, and… A human heart. You hesitantly reached in, making sure not to touch the organ as you did, shaking as you read the note. "So sorry the other night, my dear! I didn't expect things to get quite so hairy. Those animals! If they had hurt a hair on your head, it'd be no more Mr. Nice Joker! I wanted to check in on you and make sure you're doing well. I know that if I don't get proper care after something nasty, I go a bit looney, myself. I just wanted to look out for my favorite hostage! … And perhaps, something more? See you soon, love. ~ J" Oh, God. Oh, God. Your legs went weak as you slowly sunk to the floor. You suddenly realized you had been crying.

💚 Joker liked you. Joker more than liked you. After your first meeting, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was obsessed! He was… In love. He was so glad that Harley understood and was supportive. You and he were meant to be. He'd ask Harley or his men to spy on you, gathering the information they knew. What you liked, your schedule, your favorite foods, what made you laugh. And if he got any word that his fellow Rogues were targeting places you frequented, they'd get an earful from him! And a bullet to the brain if they didn't take him seriously… He couldn't let harm come to you. And he had to make it perfect for when he finally took you home, with him. Forever.

[bluejayblueskies]

oh if you did a little something for jonmartin and "hiding their face in the other’s neck" i would be so 🥺💕

touches prompt list

a little post-circus kidnapping hurt/comfort! cw for wounds/injury, mild blood, mentions of non-consensual touching, and mentions of kidnapping

.

There is a stranger’s elbow digging into Jon’s side.

He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his side while surreptitiously giving the stranger a glare that he hopes adequately conveys his dislike of the current situation. The tube is packed, as it always is at this time of day, and there are… so many strange hands. An elbow, at least, is better than the hand that had pressed to his back as the individual it belonged to had instinctively tried to maintain their balance.

After all, Nikola didn’t touch him with her elbows.

Jon doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He wants to lie down in a soft bed and get his first good night’s sleep in a month and finally have the space to process. Alone.

Instead, Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

“I have a flat,” Jon had said uncomprehendingly when Martin had suggested (or rather, gently begged) that Jon come back to his flat with him. “It’s, um. It’s nice. Spacious. S-sturdy locks.”

“You… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Martin had said, sounding and looking very much like he wished Jon would anyway.

“I’m fine.” Jon was not fine. But he could be fine until he got back to his flat. It was always good to have a short-term goal.

Martin gave him a look that clearly said that he thought Jon was full of shit. Jon was, but it was still unnecessary. He was just trying to keep it together. What did Martin want—him sobbing and crumpling to the floor right here in the Archives? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You were kidnapped. Twice now. I really don’t want it to happen a third time. Besides, I…” Martin trailed off and fluttered his hands at his sides. “I—I should take a look at your hand. And your, um. Wrists.”

Jon looked down at his arms. They were, indeed, quite red and raw and scabbed over and likely to scar. Nikola had been irritated when she’d seen that he’d been tied up so tightly, but she’d decided there was nothing to be done about it. She would just ‘make do with what she had.’ And, well. She had never stopped Breekon and Hope when they’d cinched the ropes just a little bit tighter each time.

“I have first aid supplies in my flat,” Jon lied. He was fairly certain that he had a backpack of What the Ghost merchandise and a single mattress to his name at the moment. “I can take care of it.”

“So can I.” Martin took a deep breath. “I just… I don’t want to see you hurt, Jon.” His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, and he looked over Jon’s shoulder at the wall behind him. “J-just for tonight, at least? I want…” Martin swallowed. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

And then Martin had turned those lovely blue eyes to his, and, well. Here they are.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have long-term goals as well. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying. He achieves this easily enough. He finally escapes the cloying presence of strangers as Martin’s door shuts behind them, and then it’s blissfully quiet. Martin flips on a light, illuminating the space in pale yellow. It’s a little bit messy but otherwise spartan. The walls are painted a dull eggshell white, the floor made of cheap lino. Martin sits Jon down on the couch and disappears into the bathroom. Jon stares at the wall and focuses on breathing evenly and thinking about anything other than how smooth his skin feels when he slowly rubs his fingers together.

Step two: let Martin bandage his wounds without crying. This is… more challenging, if only because it hurts. Martin apologizes profusely as he wets a cotton ball with isopropyl alcohol and gently cleans the inflamed areas. Jon sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, focusing on anything other than the stinging, burning sensation in his wrists and hands. Funny—he’d thought that at this point, he would be used to the pain, but he’s not. All he knows now is what to expect.

Martin carefully wraps his hand and wrists in bandages. For a moment after he’s done, he delicately holds Jon’s hands in his like they’re porcelain. His hands are warm and soft, and Jon imagines how lovely they would feel against his cheeks. He thinks briefly that Martin is going to raise his unbandaged hand to his lips and lay a kiss across the back of it, but Martin doesn’t. Instead, he sets Jon’s hands back in his lap and stands, mumbling that he’s going to go make some tea.

Jon scrubs his uninjured hand across his eyes, just once.

Step three: sit on the couch with Martin and drink tea without crying. Martin presses a mug of steaming chamomile into his good hand and lays a plate of biscuits between them. “Th-they’re your favorite,” Martin says with a small, nervous laugh, like Jon’s not already staring at the plate with something choked sitting in the back of his throat. “I—I figured you probably haven’t really eaten today, and… I don’t really know what you’ve eaten lately. So, um. Yeah.”

Jon thinks of the things that Nikola had called food, then chooses not to think of them at all. He tucks the memory into a box next to cold hands and exposed skin and burning ropes and slams the lid before it can all come spilling back out again. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. He gingerly takes a biscuit in his stiff, aching hand that hasn’t had the time to heal properly and probably won’t get the chance to do so in the future and pops it into his mouth whole so he doesn’t get crumbs on Martin’s couch.

Step four: eat a biscuit that tastes like the best biscuit you’ve ever had and is the first palatable food you’ve had in weeks without crying.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks and comes back to himself. He’s staring blankly at Martin’s face, at eyebrows folded in concern and mouth curled into a small frown. Martin’s freckles are smudged into smears of tan, and the lines of his jaw waver like a mirage in front of Jon’s eyes. That’s odd, Jon thinks. Then, he feels something wet hit the top of his cheek.

Oh, no.

Quickly, Jon reaches up and scrubs the tears away from his eyes. As soon as he lowers his hand, more spring up in their place. He curses and sets his mug of tea down heavily on the table, taking one more look at Martin—whose eyes are now wide with worry—before turning away and attempting to pull himself together.

Step five: stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying.

(Stop crying, his grandmother says as he stands in the living room, hands and knees dirty and hair a mess. He’s managing to say words between his sobs, words like book and stole and spider. She’s frowning at him, but her voice is still patient and calm when she says, You’re not making any sense, Jonathan. Stop crying, please, and speak clearly. You had a nightmare?)

“Jon, what’s—” Martin catches himself, which Jon is thankful for. He thinks that if Martin had finished that question—asked him what’s wrong—Jon wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from saying, what isn’t? “What can I do to help?” he says instead, a hand hovering carefully in the air between them like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Jon or not.

“Don’t look,” Jon manages to say. He immediately feels ridiculous and follows with a quick: “S-sorry, it’s—I don’t k-know how to—I’m not—I’m n-not good at—”

“I’m not looking,” Martin says softly.

Jon cuts off, takes a breath, and turns his head back toward Martin. True to his word, Martin has his eyes closed, though his hand remains in the air between them. Jon presses his good hand to his mouth for a moment to hide how the sight rips a new, more ragged sob out of him. Then, tentatively, he reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand.

Martin inhales sharply. Jon almost lets go, but Martin curls his fingers around Jon’s hand and squeezes. He holds Jon’s hand tightly yet so achingly softly, and Jon could weep. (Or rather, is weeping.)

“Can I hug you?” Martin says abruptly, like he’d been fighting an internal battle about whether or not to say it and had just lost. His cheeks darken, but he doesn’t say anything else or take it back. His jaw shifts as he pinches his lips together and worries them back and forth.

Jon is… not the kind of person who initiates or seeks out hugs. He always makes them too stiff, or he holds on just a bit too long and makes them awkward, or he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and ends up just dangling them uselessly in the air. He’s also never really seen the point of them if he’s being honest. As a form of greeting, surely handshakes or waves or head nods get the point across just fine. Right now, though, there is truly nothing in the world that Jon thinks would make him feel safer than having Martin’s arms around him.

Jon nods, then remembers that Martin can’t see him and whispers, in as composed a voice as he can muster: “Please.”

Step six: hug Martin Blackwood without falling apart completely.

Martin’s arms are soft and warm around him. His chest is flush with Jon’s, and he’s holding him so close that Jon is practically on Martin’s lap. All Jon can think is that it’s been so long since he’s been held by something not made of sawdust or plastic. He grips the back of Martin’s jumper with lotion-soft hands and cries tears that have been collecting for a month into the fabric as he buries his face in Martin’s neck. Martin’s hands rub large circles across Jon’s back, and he’s whispering gentle words into Jon’s ear. Things about safe and okay and time and here.

By the time Jon feels thoroughly wrung dry, his cheeks are sticky and his head is throbbing and he’s desperately in need of a glass of water. He takes a few deep breaths, then carefully extracts himself from Martin’s arms. Martin lets him go easily, though his hands remain resting lightly on Jon’s elbows as if he can’t bear to let him go completely.

Jon thinks he knows the feeling.

Martin’s eyes are still closed, and Jon is hit with such a swell of affection he can hardly breathe around it. “Y-you can open your eyes,” he says, a bit sheepishly. Martin does, and if he’s affected by the state of Jon’s face, he doesn’t show any indication of it. “Sorry,” Jon mumbles, twisting his ring—now on his left middle finger instead of his right—around and around mindlessly. “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s elbows gently. “I understand. Any time you need me to look away, I will. Okay? I just…” He takes a breath. “I’ll always be here. F-for you when you need me.”

If Jon weren’t thoroughly out of tears, that would make his eyes water. Instead, he nods and offers a small, weak smile. “I know. Thank you, Martin. It… just. Thank you.”

Step seven: fall asleep safe against Martin’s side in the bed that he insists is big enough for two, face pressed into Martin’s neck once again and hands curled loosely in Martin’s sleep shirt.

He’s so drained by the time they’re there, so wrung-out and empty and relaxed, that he manages to do so almost immediately. He thinks he hears Martin murmur, “Sleep well, love,” as he drifts off. But it disappears into the fuzzy border between sleep and wakefulness, slipping from Jon’s mind entirely as he fades to black.

[moririki]

⤷ A BLOODSTAINED CONFESSION

RENGOKU KYOJURO X READER -> 3.6K
you patch up your fellow hashira after the hardest fight of your lives

REQUEST -> ✰
CONTAINS -> MUGEN TRAIN SPOILERS like before the cut and everything, mentions of blood + gore, so kinda angsty but definitely a fluffy ass ending, reader is a hashira but it's left ambiguous as to what element you are👍, i watched the movie two months ago so my recollection of dialogue and plot may be *slightly* off, near-death experience, idk how to write combat so i just... didn’t, reader lowkey thirsts over rengoku's back muscles and shit because why tf not, idk how injuries work aaaa
MORI'S THOUGHTS -> rengoku my beloved,,, he deserves the world,, i think i should have made this less angsty im SORRY (i rlly heard "extra fluffy" and it just went 👩🏻➡️ straight through my head huh) also i bet you guys missed me and my late-ass posting <3 but here i am!! for now!! yeahhhh!! i feel like the writing in this got a little repetitive so i apologise for that

APPARENTLY, THE DESTRUCTION OF AN ENTIRE TRAIN wasn't enough to end this mission. even with one lower six demon defeated, another much stronger one had replaced it. the arrival of akaza was a significant turning point in the battle, and one that you cursed yourself for missing.

you should have known that this mission would he more dangerous than expected when both you and rengoku had been deployed to the train, alongside three rookies. you should have known better than to let rengoku convince you to stay back and help evacuate rather than let him handle it alone.

he had been so full of confidence- squeezing your hand firmly before rushing off, leaving you feeling slightly lightheaded from the brief contact of his warm palm. you should have wished him luck, told him to be careful, anything, but he was gone before you had the chance.

you made quick work of evacuating the passengers of the derailed train, making sure that they were all confirmed to be outside of the carriages before entrusting their safety to zenitsu and nezuko. it was around when you had carried out the last passenger that you felt the ground rumble beneath your feet, coming from the other side of the embankment that you were currently placed at. 

before you gave yourself time to really think things through, you were shouting instructions to the pair of demon slayers and dashing off towards the source of the noise, hand readily placed on your sword. that was the direction that rengoku ran is all that went through your mind.

the scene that you found yourself facing did little to quell your fears. you reached two bodies first, recognising them as the hapless figures of inosuke and tanjiro. from a glance you could see the extent of their injuries, with the latter laying on the ground barely conscious. the boar-headed one could only stare at the fight happening several metres away, his shoulders slumped in defeat and swords hanging by his sides.

“there’s no opening,” he only whispered, barely audible. that much was true. even you had difficulty keeping up with the movements of rengoku and the demon that he was fighting. the fact that it had already been several minutes and that there was no clear advantage concerned you, and you unsheathed your sword.

“you two stay put, and learn what it means to be a hashira, alright?” you tried offering a brilliant smile, much like you had seen the flame hashira do so many times, but you hoped that yours didn't fall flat. from the slight relief shown on tanjiro’s worn face, though, you took that as a good sign.

without wasting another second, you rushed towards rengoku and the demon, assessing their movements. inosuke wasn’t joking when he said there wasn’t any opening, their movements equally matched. you took the chance and struck when rengoku managed to get the demon to stumble back. bringing your sword down in a vertical strike, you severed one of its arms, before taking a cursory glance back at rengoku to make sure that he was alright.

your wound did little to hinder the demon, as it simply chuckled before regrowing its limb.

“oh? another hashira? don’t tell me you think that this is a fair match,” the demon sneered as you held your sword in front of you, still nervously eyeing the blood that was beginning to drip at rengoku’s feet. it amazed you as to how he was still standing, let alone also ready to keep fighting, but you weren’t going to stop him with that amount of determination in his eyes.

“i wouldn’t say that you appearing after we had to fight an entire train was fair either, but here we are,” you glared at the demon, adjusting the grip on your sword.

“think you can hold on a little longer?” you asked rengoku, still facing the demon.

“always.” you could picture the steadfast smile on his face, lending you his strength whenever you needed it. you took a deep breath, starting your total concentration breathing and launching off of your foot, propelling yourself forwards.

you heard rengoku's footsteps right behind you, dependable as ever. when you swung your sword and sliced through, you knew that the flame hashira was there to follow through with a co-ordinated attack.

despite your best efforts, the upper six demon lived up to its status and provided to be more than a challenge for even both you and rengoku fighting him simultaneously. in fact, akaza had even managed to gain the upper hand a few times, leaving you with a cracked rib that was making it more difficult to focus and control your breathing.

but you and rengoku's big break arrived in the form of a rising sun that leeched itself into your surroundings. the glow was nothing but welcomed by you, though your demon opponent let fear flicker across its face for the first time this night as it turned foot and fled. the invisible adrenaline-fuelled strings that held you up snapped, and you felt the strength from your body sap, too spent to gove chase to akaza.

the bitter taste of defeat crushed you, numbing your senses as you barely heard the cries of tanjiro as he yelled at the retreating figure of akaza. you turned to your fellow yashira, eyes widening and senses returning as you took in the way he had slumped to the floor, head bowed as he kneeled.

"no, don't you dare," you mumbled, dropping to your knees too in front of him. panic gave your limbs a new purpose as your hands stretched out in front of you, seeking out the warmth rengoku still emitted even when mortally wounded.

the most pressing matter was the dark stain of blood that gave his uniform an unnatural sheen that was still spreading. you pressed a hand to the source of it, a large gash across his stomach that was much too deep for your liking. your other hand came to rest on his face, tilting his head up to look at you for any sort of good sign to cling onto.

"you better stay alive!" your voice was shrill, harsher than you wanted it to be, but those were factors you could hardly control more than the blood oozing from rengoku's stomach. you could see how unfocused his eyes were, and how heavy his head was when only being propped up by the waning strength in your hand. your own injuries had been forgotten, cast aside in favour for you to fear for the flame hashira's life.

and still, despite everything, the man still smiled. the blood covering half his face did little to mar its radiance. rengoku raised a shaking, bloody hand of his own, letting it fall heavy against your own as you felt your hold begin to slip.

"you're hurt too, you know." his words were more of a shaky exhale, though you heard it all the same. you felt a smile slip onto yours too as rengoku proved to still be so vigilant in the wellbeing of others.

"you don't need to remind me, shut up and save your energy," you whispered back. you didn't trust yourself to speak any louder in fear of your voice cracking.

"but.. i have to tell you something." the insistence in his eyes was back, burning into you so mich that you couldn't help but lean closer, trying to ease his burden of being audible.

"quit talking like you're dying." you were practically whispering into his ear, close enough to feel the rasp of his breath as he laughed, holding your hand tighter. his other hand came up to your own face, rough thumb brushing against the skin underneath your eye, wiping away a tear you never realised had tracked its way there.

"let me bandage you up." your voice may not have shook, but your hands definitely did as you disentangled them from rengoku's hold, urging him to put pressure on his wound while your fingers found purchase on the hem of your uniform and ripped off a strip of it. it was barely enough to cover his injury but you managed to wrap the severed cloth around his middle a few times, tying it tight and hoping that it was enough to stop the bleeding.

"just.. stay with me until backup comes, alright? you've got tell me something once we get out of here, remember?" rengoku nodded into your palm, smiling at your words as his eyelids fluttered shut. but you were close enough to still feel that he was warm, to feel the slight rise and fall of his chest as he managed to still breathe, and that gave you some comfort.

minutes felt like hours when you had to talk to fill the gap. whether it was to give rengoku something that tethered him to this mortal realm, or a way for you to distract yourself from your own pain, you onew that you would both have to tough it out a little longer, just until the others arrived.

"you know, i've always admired you." you were surprised at both his words and how clear rengoku's voice sounded. your grip on his hand tightened a little, and you leaned towards him so that your forehead pressed against his.

"this is hardly the time to say something like that, kyojuro." you tried not to laugh, the pain of your ribs starting to edge back in as the adrenaline left your body as the sun soaked your bodies.

"i just wanted you to know." you would have responded to the man if it weren't for the shouts that became all too clear. help was here, and everything was going to be okay now.

you didn't want to let rengoku out of your sight, but many insistent hands prised his body from your grip, and with barely the strength to speak there was little that you could do about it except succumb to the pain of your wounds and finally fall unconscious.

recovery was never an aspect of fighting that you looked forward to. when you finally came to, there were a few gripping moments of panic when you asked a nurse if rengoku was here, if he was alive. you had been assured that he was before the pain and medication kicked in again for a fitful sleep as your body healed.

but no matter how you were pressed back into bed, into the constraints of sleep, you never really felt like you were at rest. your mind was still racing to places your body couldn't as it pieced together the events just before you got hospitalised.

when you could finally get up without keeling over, you were stumboing your way through the hallways as stealthily as possible, leaning on walls for support and peering into rooms as you walked past, in search of your fellow hashira. your cards of luck had lined up when you stumbled upon his sleeping figure less than three rooms down from yours.

he looked a lot cleaner, still donning a serene smile even when unconscious and you felt the panic gripping your body loosen its hold. the throb of your most likely broken ribs was enough of an edge to keep you awake, and you made your way over to rengoku's bedside.

there was a convenient chair placed next to him, and you tried not to grunt in pain as you sat down in it. rengoku didn't even stir at your approach, and you resigned yourself to sitting there, studying his figure and resisting the urge to check whether he was actually breathing or not. if you focused enough, you saw the subtlest rise and fall of his chest, just enough to qualm your fears.

your concentration was broken as you heard the sliding door open again, and the hesitant voice of a nurse breaking your intense silence.

"ah, i'm sorry to interrupt but i need to change rengoku's bandages." to prove her point, the nurse raised her arm to emphasise the strips of fabric held by them. you stood up hastily, sending a cursory glance back at the still-sleeping form of rengoku.

like all matters regarding the flame hashira, you found your mouth and body working a little faster than your brain.

"it's alright, i can change them for you. i'm sure that you have plenty of other patients to tend to." the nurse nodded, though she still looked hesitant to hand you the bandages. you gave her a reassuring smile, stretching out your hand to take them. "i've had plenty of experience with this, don't worry."

the nurse appeared relieved, giving you a quick thanks before exiting and letting the door click shut behind her.

you turned your attention back to rengoku's sleeping figure only to watch him crack a single amber eye open and give you an almost sheepish smile. you couldn't help the flooding sensation of relief that drenched your bones, and you returned his gesture.

"i'm glad to see that you're alright." rengoku's eyes never left yours, and you felt yourself grow hot underneath his gaze.

"glad to see you too." you offered a hand, helping rengoku shuffle further up the bed with minimal effort on your side. despite the bandages covering a large expanse of his upper body, his grip on your hand was still stable and you bit back the fond smile threatening to bloom on your face.

luckily for you, rengoku seemed to get the message that he needed to get shirtless without you asking him, which saved you a whole lot of embarrassment. you weren't confident in your ability to look him in the eye and ask him to strip without blushing, though you did exactly that as your eyes raked over his bare skin.

littered with scars and covering taut muscle, it was hard not to let your eyes wander down his form. from the look on rengoku's face, he looked well aware of the effect that he had on you and fixing you with a practically imperceptible smirk. you were quick to ask him to turn around, and he obliged as quickly as someone with broken and bruised bones could manage.

his back was the same story, with broad shoulders and defined shoulderblades that had muscle twitching without you touching it. you sucked in a breath, way too audible for your liking, and tried not to let your hand stretch out to run your fingers down the expanse of his back. you were here to help treat him, not indulge in some fantasy of yours.

your mindset snapped back to professionalism as you grabbed hold of the fresh bandages, opting to put them on after you removed the old ones. while there was no sign of infection, you still grimaced at the bloody sight of rengoku's major wound. you tried not to show how much it had upset you, both now and in the moment, and your attention turned to your slightly trembling fingers.

you were careful to avoid where his skin was obviously discoloured from bruising, not wanting to cause him any unnecessary pain. he was warm to the touch, enough to invite you in with some false sense of confort before burning you alive. the way his back muscles jumped at your touch did little to help your concentration, but you shouldered on.

your mingld escaped you, insisting on recounting those painful minutes where rengoku was vpeeding out on the battlefield. there was a particular focus on his insistence to tell you something, and you bit your lip. surely, he would ask you at some point from now.

"how are your ribs?" rengoku's voice cut through the silence, its rasping edge acting as evidence of hiw soundly he had been sleeping earlier. while it wasn't the question you wanted him to ask you, you were never one to turn down conversation. especially from him.

"worry about yourself, kyojuro. i'm fine." your appliance of the fresh bandage meant that you would now have to be stood in front of him, a development that had your face flaming from the close proximity. silence set in, and all that distracted you from the rise and fall of his stomach was his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. your eyes flickered towards the ceiling, relying on your hands to guide yourself instead.

you dared to glance down and saw rengoku’s eyes fixed on your face already. there was something about his softened features and the look in his eyes that had you scrambling to stare at the blank ceiling again. as much as you would like to retreat at every first sign if danger or confrontation, you knew that you woukd have to talk to him soon, whether it was you or him who brought up the conversation topic from that day.

taking a deep breath, you perched yourself on the edge of rengoku's bed, still maintaining a professional amount of distance from him. still close enough to spot how his smile brightens when you choose to stay. you glanced down at your fingers, twisting knots into themselves as they were placed in your lap. you almost cursed and placed them underneath you to stop that, but instead you fixed your gaze on the flame hashira's ever-present smile.

"do you remember when you said you had to tell me something? right after akaza?" rengoku straightened up a little, nodding. you gave a cursory glance to the bandages safely wrapped around him, and winced as you remembered how much blood had left him that day. 

as if he could tell what you were thinking, rengoku reached forward and took your hand in his. you sucked in a breath at the sensation of his calloused hands, wincing as your ribs ached in protest. you couldn’t bring yourself to break his stare as your fingers intertwined, and rengoku brought you slightly closer to him. the tension was palpable, and you squeezed his hand in an attempt to alleviate some of it.

“what did you want to tell me, kyojuro?” you were still closing the distance between the two of you, voice barely above a whisper because there was no need to talk any louder for him to hear you. everything about him drew you closer, and the thought of pulling away never crossed your mind. you finally stopped, inches away, staring at him expectantly.

“well, there was a chance that i was going to die that day, so i was going to be selfish and tell you that i love you."

it amazed you how he could say that with such confidence when that statement had effectively swept you off of your feet. you were well aware that you looked more than caught off guard- your eyes had widened, and your mouth probably hung open from shock. that was nothing to stop rengoku’s words, though. if anything, it only encouraged him to keep going.

"and when i said that i admire you, i meant it. i admire your strength and how willing you are to help others. i admire you when it's sunset and you're laughing and i admire the way your hands feel, especially here." he guided your hand to his face, letting it cradle his cheek as he rested his own hand at your wrist, not willing to let go. you were sinking into the warmth of his body, letting his borrowed strength keep you upright.

“and most of all, i admire you because i find your beauty striking in everything that you do.” you were silent as rengoku’s eyes searched your own, watching as his lips split as he laughed. “you’re crying again.” you raised your other hand to your cheekbone, feeling the liquid there that began its trek down the planes of your face. you wiped them away with the back of your hand, keeping yourself anchored to rengoku as you curled your fingers around his own.

you felt so light that you could float away, and you couldn’t  help but laugh and grin as you fully processed the confession of the man lying underneath you. tears still rolled down your cheeks, and you couldn’t help the bittersweet pang as you remembered exactly why he was here recovering.

“you really scared me back there, you know?”

“it wasn’t my intention.” you laughed through your sniffle, feeling his warm hand trace patterns on the back of yours. you shuffled forwards and, as best as your shared injuries allowed it, you gave rengoku a hug. while your arms were around his neck, his rested squarely on your lower back, and it was better than anything else you could imagine.

you pulled away, relinquishing the comfort of his arms in favour of looking him in the eye as you prepared what to say next. admittedly, it was a lot easier when you knew how the other person felt about you.

“you know i admire you too, rengoku, and i love you. so much.” joy rewrote itself within his eyes, and they almost glowed with how intense his emotions were after you uttered those words.

“you do?”

your yes came out as a barely audible breath before you were being snagged forwards by him again. you practically crashed against his lips, but you welcomed the sensation, pulling yourself closer to him and settling on his lap.

you sighed into the searing kiss, only truly appreciating his warmth now as you felt it spread through you. you kissed him back intensely, ignoring the dull ache of your ribs to chase the addictive feeling that you only got around him.

around the person who loved you back.

take a look at the menu - ,, ⛩ ·˚ ༘ ꒱

[the-bau-quinjet]

Seven Drinks

Bucky x f!reader

Summary: There's a reason Y/N has never had more than 3 drinks around the other avengers, and they're about to find out.

Warnings: depression, thoughts of suicide, panic attacks, angst (don't worry there's fluff too)

Word Count: 4322

a/n: This is inspired by that episode of Brooklyn 99 with 6 drink Amy (I adopted that concept!) and also Halsey's album Manic. :) I hope you like it. Anything in bold is a lyric from one of the songs on the album!

Please let me know if I messed up the trigger warning tags! I've never written anything like this before, so I just want to make sure I do it right.

Masterlist

"We're having a party tonight." Tony's announcement was met with the usual groans of annoyance at having to schmooze with the typical socialites that attended Tony's party. "You know, you are so ungrateful sometimes. here I am trying to throw you a party, and you're complaining!"

"Tony, we all appreciate the effort you go to, but- at least speaking for me- I don't like people." Y/N's response was effortless, swiftly calming Tony and explaining the reactions.

"That is why-" Tony stuttered when he actually registered the words you said. "That doesn't sound like you at all. And besides, this is a party for just us. It'll be more like team building, but without any pre-planned activities. No "smarmy, rich people" to deal with." He directed his last sentence at Bucky, Steve, and Sam.

The team actually seemed excited at the prospect, albeit skeptical of Tony's motivations.

Unsurprisingly, Nat worked up the courage to question him on it first, "what's the catch?"

"No catch. Just friends, food, and lots of alcohol." His grin quickly shifted into a smirk as the entire room turned to look at you.

You groaned slightly, not wanting all the attention. "Look, there is a reason I cap myself at 3 drinks." Holding up one finger, you started to explain, "One drink Y/N is barely any different from my sober self."

Wanda quickly cut you off, "not true! You get louder." She smirked, happy to have added that tidbit of information.

"Fine." With a laugh, you admitted she was right. "I might get the tiniest bit louder." You held up a second finger to continue your explanation, but were once again cut off.

"It's not a bad thing. It's just your happy, bubbly, and slightly louder than normal personality shining through!" Nat added, seeing an opportunity to tease you for being so positive all the time.

"Thanks Nat. Anyway," emphasizing the rudeness of being interrupted twice, you continued, "two drink Y/N is more touchy feely than normal. Not in a creepy way though!"

"I love two drink Y/N. She gives the best hugs!" Thor eagerly added to the conversation, glad to have dropped by when he did.

"Thanks Thor." With a small smile in his direction, you held up a third finger. "Three drink Y/N is the perfect amount of just past tipsy to have fun without doing anything extremely embarrassing. It makes the most sense to stop there." You finished her little speech with your typical smile and a resolute nod of your head.

"Seriously, you need to relax. Just let loose this one time!" Sam tried to encourage you. With the eyes of nearly every avenger set on you, your resolve didn't last very long.

"Fine! Maybe I'll have a fourth drink." You were met with cheers as you rose from your spot on the couch, trying to prepare for the night that was to come.

--

As soon as you stepped off the elevator, you had a drink in your hand. Clearly your friends were going to make sure you got a fourth drink. even Steve seemed excited when he saw you, although his golden boy personality didn't disappear completely.

"You sure about this? I don't want you to feel pressured!" Bucky nodded, weirdly enthusiastically, before adding, "Yeah doll, don't drink more than you want to."

"You two are too sweet. Sam's right, but don't tell him I said that." You winked at the two super soldiers, emphasizing the joke. "I should let myself relax sometimes. I'm in a safe place, with friends who won't let anything happen to me. What could a few more drinks really do?" You couldn't help but smile at how true that was. You were surrounded by people who care about you.

"Oh, so now it's a few more drinks? What are we talking here, six drink Y/N? Seven?" Bucky teased.

"You'll have to wait and see, Ducky." You teased right back, knowing how flustered he got at the pet name. Steve laughed at his friend as you walked away, ready for your second drink.

--

Before long, you had your fourth drink in your hand. It was slightly odd how literally everyone was staring at you, but your were three drink Y/N at the time, so you were drunk enough not to care.

You downed the fourth drink, unprepared for the consequences.

"So, Y/N... how do you feel?" Clint braved the waters, everyone eagerly awaiting your reaction.

"That is so nice of you to ask! I feel great! I don't think I've ever been this happy." You jumped up and down, hugging Clint with a huge smile on your face.

"How did you get even happier?" Tony chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

"Do you not like it?" Like a switch had been flipped, you were nearly crying.

"What?! No!" Tony was so taken aback at the tears pooling in your eyes, he froze, unsure how to fix it. He looked around the room for help, but everyone else was just as shocked as him.

"I'll fix it!" You were at the bar, fixing another drink before anyone fully comprehended your mood swing.

You walked back up to the group, sipping from your fifth drink as if nothing happened. "What?" You questioned the odd looks, but before receiving an answer you squealed, again jumping up and down. "Let's dance!" You turned around, ready to move to the more open area before looking back over your shoulder, "Wanda! Nat! Pepper! Come on!"

The women shared a look, ultimately shrugging before joining you on the makeshift dance floor.

-

"Bucky, you've been staring at her for 20 straight minutes. When are you finally gonna talk to her?" Steve couldn't help but pester him about his feelings.

"I can't help it. I've never seen her dance so much. I mean, I know she's always happy, but this is a whole new level." He didn't take his eyes off of you, even when he was responding. "I can't tell her tonight, though. This is the most she's had to drink in years."

He watched as you moved back over to the bar, needing another drink after dancing so much.

"Here we go, six drink Y/N." Bucky gestured to the bar. Steve shook his head, but allowed the change of topic.

-

About five minutes after your sixth drink, you were somehow bounding around with even more energy. You were nearly running around the room, trying to talk to everyone at once.

"Ducky! Have I ever told you I took gymnastics lessons for 7 years when I was younger?" You were bouncing with pent up energy, excited to be sharing more information about yourself.

"No, you've actually never mentioned that." He smiled, enraptured by your childlike enthusiasm, so enraptured that he didn't notice the mischief in your eyes.

"Well, I did! Watch this." You handed a confused Bucky your now empty glass, turning and throwing your arms up. Bucky realized two late what was happening, and with both yours and his glasses in his hands, he couldn't physically stop you.

"Y/N, wait!" His shout had everyone turn and look as you flawlessly executed two cartwheels in a row.

Bucky would swear your smile got even bigger as you turned around to look at him again.

"Normally I can do more, but" you hiccuped, then lowered your voice to a really terrible whisper, "I'm a little drunk." You leaned into him, laughing as if you just told a joke.

Wanda walked up to you with a seventh drink, hoping seven drink Y/N had a little less energy, but happy to see you having so much fun. "Here ya go! One more of your favorites, just like you asked."

"Thank youuuuuu!" You shifted to hug Wanda, leaving Bucky to miss your added warmth.

-

You sipped your seventh drink slower than the rest, quickly running out of energy. Sliding the empty glass across the bar, you slipped out of the party unnoticed, making your way to the kitchen for some pickles- your favorite drunk food.

Your seventh drink hit you just after you opened the pickles. Gone was the happy, bubbly persona you showed the world. The mask slipped away, leaving you alone to contemplate your life choices.

You made your way to to the lounge just outside of the kitchen, choosing to lay on the floor behind the couch and stare out of the large floor to ceiling windows.

-

"Where's Y/N?" Bucky glanced around the room, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Huh? Oh, she said she wanted a snack." A very drunk Wanda turned to look at where the food was set up, scrunching her face in confusion when she couldn't find you. "Weird. Maybe she went to the bathroom?"

Bucky, having noticed your absence 8 minutes ago, didn't think you left for a bathroom break. "Maybe." Plus, you always took the girls to the bathroom with you. His eyes flitted about the room, taking one more glance before deciding to go look for you.

He decided to head for the kitchen since Wanda said you wanted a snack. He laughed at the open jar of pickles, knowing you at least passed through this room. He put the pickles away before popping his head into the lounge area.

"Y/N?" He called out, figuring this was the most likely location for you to end up.

You hummed in response, not moving from your spot on the floor. Bucky walked further into the room, slightly confused as to why he could hear you but not see you. That is, until he realized you were laying on the floor behind the couch.

"Why are you on the floor?" He smiled when he found you.

"I'm just looking at the sky." Your voice held a melancholy air as it floated through the room. Bucky's smile faltered, not used to hearing you sad. In the three years he's known you, he's only ever seen you sad because of a movie or tv show. Otherwise, you were quite literally always happy.

"Why-" he faltered, unsure how to check on you. "Is everything okay?" he nearly choked the words out, feeling slightly stressed at your sudden gloominess.

"Yeah." You took a deep breath, slowly letting it out in a deep sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... I don't know." You sigh again, still looking at the sky.

Bucky chances another question, wanting to get you talking since you're acting so off. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel... so sorry." You words were so soft that Bucky could barely hear them.

"Sorry?" He tried to hide his confusion, matching your soft tone as he sat down a few feet away from you. "About what doll?"

"Just... because I feel so sad." Tears pooled in your eyes, but you didn't stop staring at the sky.

"What are you sad about?" It's taking everything in him for Bucky not to hold you right now. He doesn't want to make you even more upset, especially because he's never seen you like this.

"No one around me knows who I am..." He watched as a tear rolled down your cheek, shining in the light from the moon.

Bucky moves closer, just close enough for him to reach out and hold your hand. You squeeze it, instant relief flooding through him that he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

He goes to speak, but you cut him off. "I'm not breaking. I won't take it. And I won't ever feel this way again." Your voice is harder, as if your angry with yourself.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay to have feelings. You're allowed to feel like this. Don't push it away. Talk to me. Why don't you think anyone knows who you are? We're all here for you, Y/N." He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, trying to convey how serious he is.

You let out a dry laugh, wiping the the tears from your cheek. "My self preservation..." Bucky can tell there's more to, choosing to wait for you to continue. "All of my reservations..." You sigh again, sitting up, you scoot closer until you can lean your forehead against his shoulder. "I bottle it up. I'm my own biggest enemy." You let out another dry laugh, shaking your head without moving it from its resting place on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky wraps his arm around you and leans his cheek against your head. "Take your time. You can talk to me." He whispered, trying to keep you talking without getting mad at yourself again.

"Well, I'd like to tell you that my sky is not blue, it's violent rain." The sounds of your sniffles break his heart. "I just pretend everything's fine because that's what I had to do when I was younger." Rather then interrupting, Bucky continues to rub small circles on your hand and your back, encouraging you to continue when you're ready. "Can I tell you a story? I... I think it'll help explain some of it."

"Of course. Anything you need, doll." He curses himself for the pet name, not wanting you to think he's joking. He just can't help it when it comes to you.

"Thank you, ducky." You chuckle, but your words are just as sincere as his. "You know I have two sisters, and I love them with all my heart, but sometimes growing up with them was hard. My older sister, she put so much pressure on herself to succeed. And, she did. She was so good at everything she did, that I felt like I had to be just as perfect.

With my younger sister, it was like it was effortless. She put just as much, if not more pressure on herself. but, she could do anything she tried to, with almost no learning curve. I always felt this crazy amount of pressure to be just as good.

My parents, they didn't really help with that. I mean, they were so supportive and I'm so grateful to them, but it was a lot of pressure. The summer between my junior and senior year of college, I wanted to get an internship. Ya know, to get some experience. It would set me up better for getting a job after graduation.

I spent months looking and applying, but nothing was working out. So, I went home for the summer. My mom would come home everyday and ask me if I got a job yet.

I spent nearly every waking hour looking for a job, even just a part time one for the summer. So one day, when we sat down for dinner and she asked if I got a job yet..."

Bucky could feel how tense you were telling this story, but he knew you needed to get it out.

"I told her, 'no, not yet' and she just seemed so disappointed. She asked if I was even applying and I snapped.

I yelled at her, something that had never really happened before. I told her I was trying. I was doing everything I could. She yelled at me for yelling and said it wasn't unreasonable to ask for updates.

I yelled right back. I kept saying I spend all day everyday trying and just when I finally get a break, she walks in and brings it all up again. I was stressed enough without her constant reminders.

I ended up running away from the table, in tears. I hid in the bathroom, there... there was a pair of scissors on the counter and I really thought about killing myself that day."

The tears are pouring out of you at this point. Bucky threw caution to the wind. He picked you up, maneuvering you to sit across his lap and lean your head on his chest. He kept rubbing circles into your back, murmuring words of encouragement.

"My younger sister tried to check on me, but I wouldn't open the door. My mom stomped down the hallway to her bedroom. I was full on having a panic attack in the hallway bathroom. I think I stayed in there for an hour before I went back to the dinner table.

My dad was in the kitchen. He put my plate in the microwave to heat up dinner for me. I ate through near constant tears, it only got worse every time he tried to ask me what happened. Why I snapped like that.

I wanted to apologize to my mom for yelling, so after I ate I went to her room. I knocked, and when she told me to come in I opened the door. I just remember her looking so angry.

I apologized. I told her I was sorry for yelling. She said something about not being unreasonable again. I cried again. When she asked what was wrong, I told her I was scared.

I couldn't put it into words though, so when she asked me 'of what?' I just shrugged. Then, she asked me if I was on my period.

God. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell at her again, To make her understand 'I only wanna die some days. But if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?' I decided that day that I would never try to tell anyone how I actually felt."

Bucky holds you as you cry. You're not sure how long it's been when you can finally breathe enough to talk again.

"I just, so many people have bigger problems then me. I grew up in a loving household. I went to college and made friends. I got a job after I graduated. So why am I so sad sometimes? I just wanna scream but what’s the use? At night, I lay awake and I stare at the door, I just can’t take it no more."

Bucky continues comforting you when he speaks again. "Just because other people have problems, doesn't mean yours are irrelevant. You are 100% allowed to feel however you feel, even if it seems like there's no reason for it. Have you ever thought about talking to someone about all of this? I know you just said you haven't told anyone how you actually feel for years, but I think it could help." He smiled nervously when you raised your head to look at him.

"I have actually. I joked about it a lot with my roommate right out of college. I always used to say 'everybody needs therapy' as a joke. Of course, I meant it. Most people probably do need therapy." You laughed, moving your arms around Bucky's neck to hug him. "Thank you for listening to me. I like talking to you."

Of course, Bucky noticed your smile didn't reach your eyes. He was confident in his words when he spoke again. "You can always talk to me. I'll always be there to listen." He followed that with a less confident "What's been bothering you today?"

"Oh, nothing that serious. It's just all pent up inside, ya know?" You smiled again, hiding your face so he couldn't see your lies.

Of course, he could still hear it in your voice. "Y/N, you can tell me. I want to be here for you."

"I... It's just, my insecurities are hurting me." You laughed at yourself. "Here we go with the fucking riddles, again. On the plus side, I think I've cried so much I'm back to one drink Y/N."

"Well, it has been 3 hours since I left to come find you." You were grateful for Bucky's joke, needing something to lift the mood a bit. "But, don't try and change the subject. I still want to know what's got you all sad." His words were light, but you knew how serious he was.

You took a deep breath, burying your head in his neck. "How could somebody ever love me?" You spoke into his shirt, not moving your head back even an inch.

"You know I can't understand you when you talk into my neck like that." Bucky tried joking, but even he knew it would do little to calm your fears.

You moved back, lips still grazing his skin when you repeated yourself, "how could somebody ever love me?"

Bucky wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you how much he loves you. He would gladly spend every day of his life loving you, but he didn't think this was the right time. Not when you just poured your heart out to him. So he settled for the almost truth.

"Anyone would be lucky to love you. You are selfless. You put everyone else first, no matter what. You always make sure everyone has a reason to smile, even when things aren't going right. You tell the best jokes. You're great at cuddling." He squeezes you closer to him, emphasizing the point. "You are beautiful, inside and out. Everyone who comes into contact with you automatically has a better day. You are incredibly strong and independent. I've never met anyone so incredibly good. Even Steve. Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."

His words brought more tears to your eyes, pooling in the corners. "Then how come everyone that I’ve dated says they hate it cause they don’t know what to do with me? I feel broken."

"They were all idiots. You're not broken. Not even a little bit. You're learning how to express your feelings. You just need someone who would take it slow." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, struggling not to tell you everything.

"I wonder if you’d take it slow." Your eyes go wide when that slips out. You hadn't meant to make things uncomfortable. One look at Bucky's face has you freaking out. He looks stunned. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out! Oh god, you've been there for me all night and I go and fuck it up by admitting I'm in love with you."

Your eyes grow even larger. You would move out of his lap, but his arms are still holding you in place. "Shit! Maybe I'm still drunk because apparently I have no filter." You say the last part more to yourself, but he can still hear you.

"Y/N?" Your name comes out of his mouth in a soft whisper.

"Yes?" You cringe internally at messing everything up.

"I would take it slow." He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours while he waits for you to absorb his words.

"Yeah?" You whisper back, a smile ghosting your lips.

"Yeah." You both lean in, exchanging soft, slow kisses and sleepy smiles.

--

The two of you ended up falling asleep leaning against the back of the couch. The sun streaming through the windows, combined with the noise of the other avengers in the kitchen, wakes you up.

You nudge Bucky, grinning when he pulls you closer.

"C'mon. Let's get some breakfast." He groans again, but eventually stands up.

The two of you walk into the nearly full kitchen, surprising everyone by coming from the lounge rather than the elevators. They share amused expressions, unaware of the emotional hurdles you jumped last night.

You head right for Sam, hugging him tightly before moving on to hug everyone else.

"I just wanted to thank you all. For encouraging me to live a little last night, but also for being there for me." Tears spring to your eyes again, shocking everyone but Bucky. "You're all like a family to me and I'm so glad I have you all to lean on." You made your way back to Bucky, leaning into his side while he poured both of you some cereal.

You smile when you look at him, kissing his cheek before sliding into the stool next to his.

As if broken out of a day dream, Sam sputters out a question. "What the hell did seven drink Y/N do last night?" Thrown off both by your behaviour with Bucky and the short emotional speech.

"Oh, seven drink Y/N is an emotional little bitch. I think I cried eight years of suppressed tears." You laughed, grinning at Bucky when he squeezed your hand. "Also, I think I need a therapist." Your casual admission has Tony spitting out his breakfast.

"What the hell happened last night after you disappeared from the party?" He guffaws, trying to put the pieces together.

"Also, why aren't you even a little bit hungover?" Nat chimed in, upset at missing out on seeing you anything but cheery.

"Well, to answer Nat first, I don't get hungover. Never have, even the one time I blackout out." You shrugged at everyone's slightly jealous expressions. "To answer Tony, I had an emotional breakthrough. Bucky helped me talk through it, something I never thought I'd be able to do. Long story short, i'm going to learn how to share my feelings instead of suppressing them all."

"Suppressing them? What are you talking about? I've literally never felt anything but happiness from you before?" Wanda questioned the new development.

"Well, that's because I'm really good at hiding how I feel. I'd rather not go through it all again, so just watch the security footage from the lounge last night, yeah? I want you all to know, even if it took seven drink Y/N to share it." You quickly finished eating, pulling Bucky to the doorway.

"While you do that, we're going out. Bye!" Before they could question anything else, you ran to the elevator, dragging a very willing Bucky behind you.

"We're going out?" He questioned when the elevator doors shut.

"Yep. Get dressed, I want to see all your favorite places in New York. Even if they're different now. Take me to all your favorite spots." You both smiled, sharing another soft kiss before parting to change for the day.

"Hey," Bucky called, causing you to turn over your shoulder, "I love you."

"I love you too."