#past emotional abuse

[paingoes]

actually obsessed with restoring dignity in recovery

[honeycollectswhump]

Augusnippets Day 17

day 17: forgiveness/grace/resolving a misunderstanding

CW: implied past emotional abuse / scapegoat

Being on their knees, hunched over like in a prayer, felt almost natural to them. It was, after all, how they had spent most of their childhood, and most of their adult years too. There was always something to apologize for, something that was inherently their fault.

This was worse though. Because this was truly their fault. 

Without success, Whumpee tried to keep themselves from sobbing at the sight of the broken mug in front of them. Even worse was the sight of Caretaker’s unbelieving face, as she looked at the broken remains of her late childhood friend’s last gift.

 “Wh-why did you do this?” she stuttered and it broke Whumpee’s heart even further. Maybe they should worry about losing their only saving grace and being thrown out, but they could only think about Caretaker’s distraught expression and the fact that she was the last person on the entire planet to deserve this.

“I’m sorry!” They choked out, “Please, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I promise! I wanted to make you a coffee, and– and you know I get these tremors and– I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know!” 

Finally, they breathed out in defeat as the tears overwhelmed them. “Please punish me as you see fit. I know I deserve it.”

Caretaker knelt down, to better look at the destruction Whumpee caused, they thought. But instead she just gently pushed the shards aside and cradled Whumpee’s face. 

“It’s okay, Whumpee. You’re okay. It was an accident.” There were tears in her eyes too. “I forgive you.”

It felt like a stone was lifted from their heart. For the first time, for the very first time, it was okay. And they would have gladly taken the punishment too. Instead, they felt their pulse speed up with an idea sneaking into their mind.

“C-can I try to– to glue the mug together again?”

Caretaker smiled, giving them a kiss on the forehead.

“I’d like that very much.”

@augusnippets

[snowdice]

Face the Music (Sometimes Labels Shift Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, (background) Patton & Virgil, Logan & Virgil

Characters: 

Main: Patton, Logan

Mentioned: Virgil

Summary: Patton and Logan have a small chat about healing between Wind Symphony and Wind Symphony: The Sequel.

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Notes: Superhero AU (not that it matters), past emotional abuse, references to a nontypical trigger, though said trigger has been dealt with in therapy and is mostly under control though not gone

“You don’t have to go,” Logan said when Patton was halfway through pulling off his shirt. Patton finished pulling off the shirt to squint at him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so Logan’s form was blurry, but he was sitting on their bed looking at him.

“I know I don’t have to go,” said Patton. He turned to grab the sleeping shirt he’d set out and pulled it over his head.

“Virgil wouldn’t care,” Logan said. “I would be the more likely candidate to take him shopping for such a thing considering the research I’ve done into the topic anyway. I doubt he has any expectations that you will come.”

Patton frowned as he slipped his glasses back onto his face, turning Logan from a blurry mess of blue into a man wearing a blue t-shirt. “Maybe he wouldn’t,” Patton said, “but you don’t know that.”

“Patton,” Logan said, his brow creased in the way that it did only when he was attempting to do a very difficult math equation or was trying to process emotions on the fly. “You once almost had a panic attack because a musician attempted to hand you a violin.”

“That was years ago,” Patton bristled, “and I’d been having a bad day. The violin was not the problem.”

“Perhaps not,” Logan agreed, “but it was a problem.”

“A music shop is not a house of horrors for me,” Patton said. It was the truth even if it felt just a bit like a lie. What he remembered from the music shop of his childhood, the one he’d have to go to for new music books every time he completed his old ones, was an old man who would freeze Patton in place with his gaze (even when he wasn’t actually doing so with his powers), ancient instruments on the walls that Patton’s young mind had imagined being used in blood rituals, and an overwhelming sense of foreboding. He thought normal music shops probably were not like that.

Logan was still frowning, so Patton crossed to the bed and reached for his face. He kissed him on the nose.

“I want to be there,” he told Logan. “Playing the clarinet is something that Virgil loves, and I want to support him in every way I can. I will not be like my mother and that both means not making him play an instrument if he doesn’t want to and encouraging him to do so if he does want to.”

It was easier said than done. If Patton had ever gotten joy from playing a violin, he did not remember it. Thoughts of playing a musical instrument filled him with an uncomfortable squirming sensation even after all of these years. It was a knee-jerk reaction to not want Virgil to experience the same thing, but he was not his knee-jerk reactions. He’d been very careful to keep his instinctual thoughts to himself (and occasionally to Logan when it felt unhealthy to keep them bottled up).

Virgil liked playing music. It made him happy. Sometimes Patton had to remind himself of that in order to react appropriately, but that was okay. It was a little more effort in an area most people wouldn’t even have to think about, but it was worth it.

“He does want to,” Patton continued, “so even if that desire isn’t something I will ever be able to relate to, I still need to show up.”

The face between Patton’s hands still seemed unsure. “This is just a small thing,” Logan said. “We already know you’ll be going to all of his performances. You can show up for him without going on this specific outing.”

“Life is made up of small things,” Patton said, shaking his head, “and it’s also short. I am a 56-year-old man. I refuse to live my life in fear of a string instrument. Anymore.”

“Still,” Logan said, reaching up to cup Patton’s hand still on his cheek.

Patton just rolled his eyes fondly. “I appreciate the concern,” he said, “but I’m going.”

Logan opened his mouth to speak.

“No more talking,” Patton said, using his hands to gently push Logan back onto the bed. He leaned most of his weight on him, though his toes still touched the floor. “Just cuddles.”

Logan hesitated, but then gave in. “Very well,” he agreed and then paused a moment. “Could we perhaps cuddle in a more reasonable position?”

“No,” said Patton, tucking his head into Logan’s chest with a smile. Logan sighed under him and reached up to pat his hair.

Patton knew he’d be able to face any music store as long as Logan was with him.

“Face the music,” Patton whispered with a giggle. Logan groaned.

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish

[whumpberry-cookie]

Caretaker does NOT have patience to meet Whumpee's needs atm.

Are they bad... or just tired?

(Cw: bad caretaker, victim blaming)

_____________

"You won't fall asleep in your state anyway. So PLEASE just be quiet so I can rest at least. I'll be the one carrying you on my back tomorrow."

"I don't have energy to comfort you right now, Whumpee. So just focus on breathing.. or stuff."

"When I tell you what to do to deal with pain, you just don't listen. What do you expect from me?"

"How many times do I have to calm you down? My best clearly isn't enough for you, if you need me to repeat that moment after".

*Wearing noice cancelling headphones, because Whumpee's just crying and whimpering SO loud. Non stop*

*under his breath* Gosh I'm not surprised Whumper was gagging him.

"Whumpee GO. to. sleep. (...) Then lay down with your eyes closed and don't get up."

(C:) "What do you want me to do?! I can't help you! I don't know how!" (W:) "hug me.. just hug me" (C:) *sigh* "Come here."

-------------------

[timetravelsong]

𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐈 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞

My Teenage Self by timetravelsong

[bitchapalooza]

I relate to Sanji too much because it really does seem like he’s adopted the mentality that physical and mental abuse is a form of significant affection but only directed towards himself, like he sees it’s wrong and unjust when other people are being abused, but when he’s the victim he feels this conflicted sense of I deserve it and Wow they love me so much! It’s heartbreaking just to think about tbh

[spicedginger]

Mentally Well Jeverus Shippers: Typically ignores The Shrieking Shack Incident and Snape’s Worst Memory in order to enjoy the ship with no worries, as they should

Me, an Insane Woman: *DIVES INTO THE TRAUMA BARREL, BOBBING FOR APPLES*

[bloody-bee-tea]

Emotional Spring 2025 Day 6 - Your eyes are so pretty

Hitoshi just slumped over the desk in the office he barely gets to use in the agency he's signed up with when a commotion catches his attention.

It's nothing much, just some hushed whispers but all of a sudden the energy is entirely off and what kind of underground hero would Hitoshi be if he didn't notice this immediately?

Still, he doesn't pick himself up from his slumped position because he's tired and there are enough pros in the vicinity to handle whoever just stepped into the building. It isn't until he catches an almost reverently whispered "Dynamight" that Hitoshi blinks his eyes open and rolls his head around until he is at least able to see something.

And the something he sees is a pair of red eyes, staring right at him. Because Bakugo is standing right in front of his desk.

Hitoshi is pretty sure that there's supposed to be security around somewhere, so it's kind of rude that Bakugo was allowed this far in, but Hitoshi is too tired to complain.

"I'm going to do us both a favour and not comment on your work morale," Bakugo says and Hitoshi sighs, melting even more into the table.

"Wonderful," Hitoshi mutters and then, finally, picks himself up and moves his body into an upright position.

He's not quite motivated enough to care about his posture, but he feels marginally better like this. Less like Bakugo is staring down at a bothersome insect and more like an actual human being.

Hitoshi bites back the urge to ask what the hell Bakugo is doing here because he's not quite sure where he stands with Bakugo, regarding his quirk. They are—acquainted at best, not friends by a long shot, and even though Bakugo has never seen put off by Hitoshi, his quirk, or his general look, Hitoshi is very careful not to provoke him.

It really wouldn't do to get on Bakugo's bad side.

"I'm guessing your presence here is not an accident," Hitoshi drawls out, careful to keep his eyes avoided as best as he can because old habits die hard and after the day he's had he's not in the mood to see someone else flinch away from him.

"Astute observation, troll doll. Do they teach you that in underground heroics?"

"Observational skills come with asshole families who are out to hurt you," Hitoshi shoots back, because the entire fall-out with his foster family and his subsequent adoption by Aizawa and Yamada kinda turned into a public spectacle at school and so Bakugo damn well knows about it anyway.

"Fair enough," Bakugo shrugs, clearly not fazed by it at all and then he lightly kicks Hitoshi's boot.

"You're meeting me for dinner tonight."

It's not a question, not even a suggestion, but an order through and through and Hitoshi blinks at the floor.

"I kinda had plans," he tries but Bakugo scoffs.

"Rotting away at home doesn't count as having plans," he shoots back and Hitoshi glares at him from underneath his bangs because how dare he even know that.

The effect gets lost because of all the hair in the way, which was kind of the explicit intent, but right now Hitoshi curses his fashion choice.

He would have liked to full on glare at Bakugo but he did this to himself, he guesses and contents himself with knowing that he is glaring. It's the little things that tie him over these days.

"Dinner," Hitoshi repeats after a while because it still doesn't quite compute.

"You do eat, right?" Bakugo says and drags his eyes over Hitoshi's body.

Hitoshi refuses to admit that the look gets him a little bit hot under the collar and instead puffs up in indignance because he might be lanky and not a gym rat like Bakugo is but he put on some weight and muscles, thank you very much. Besides, he needs to be fast and agile for his work, so Bakugo gets to judge shit about him.

"Depends on if it's any good," Hitoshi gives back, crossing his arms over his chest and Bakugo snorts, even as his eyes avidly track Hitoshi’s movement.

"Course it will be. I'll text you the details. Try to show up in something appropriate," Bakugo tells him with one last look at Hitoshi's torn up hero outfit and then he leaves without giving Hitoshi time to say anything.

"What the fuck just happened," Hitoshi grumbles to himself once he's sure that Bakugo is gone and then he promptly flops back down over the desk.

Whatever it was, it has time until after Hitoshi's nap.

~*~*~

Hitoshi still doesn't know what happened with Bakugo, even two hours later when he's on his way to meet his parents for lunch. He has half a mind just brushing him off and telling him that there's no way in hell he's going to meet him for dinner, but the restaurant Bakugo send him is one Hitoshi has been dying to try out and in all honesty, he can't quite find it in him to tell Bakugo no.

Hitoshi never really managed to grow out of his stupid crush on him, so this is really fucking with him.

Enough so that his parents can tell with just one look.

"Sit. Talk." Aizawa doesn't even give him enough time to take off his shoes before the orders hit him and Hitoshi rushes to comply, even though he'd rather not talk about any of this.

"Oh, those are some deep worry lines," Yamada mutters under his breath and vanishes into the kitchen, only to come back with a cup of coffee. "Here," he offers it to Hitoshi and now he knows that he must look really bad because for Yamada to so freely offer him a coffee in the middle of the day doesn't mean anything good.

"I just came off a mission," Hitoshi tries to explain because surely the prospect of going on a date with Bakugo can't have him looking that much like shit but Aizawa and Yamada share a look between each other that tells Hitoshi that yes, it's exactly that bad.

"And now the real reason please," Aizawa says, one eyebrow raised, and Hitoshi sinks deeper into the couch.

"Bakugo asked me to meet him for dinner."

"A date?" Yamada excitedly asks and clasps his hands together.

"You don't seem very receptive. Finally grown out of your crush?"

"Ugh," Hitoshi says with feeling and hides his steadily growing blush behind his cup of coffee.

"I'll take that as a no," Aizawa says with a nod and then steals Hitoshi's coffee right from between his hands.

"Traitor," Hitoshi hisses because now he doesn't have anything to hide behind but Aizawa only levels him with a flat stare as he takes a sip of Hitoshi’s coffee.

"What got your panties in a twist then?" Yamada asks, poking at Hitoshi's burning cheek. "Your crush seems to be going strong, still. You should be elated!"

"It's just—" Hitoshi cuts himself off, mulling over what he wants to say. "It doesn't seem real?" he then carefully offers and Yamada and Aizawa both frown at him.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Aizawa asks and Hitoshi drops his head onto the backrest of the couch.

"Because," Hitoshi says and waves his hand while staring at the ceiling. "He just showed up at my agency and told me I'm meeting him for dinner. That's not something that just happens."

"Why not? You're friends, aren't you?"

"Eh," Hitoshi breathes out because he wouldn't call them friends exactly. They run in the same circles, mostly, but they barely talk and they never run into each other professionally, seeing how Bakugo is like the spotlight hero and Hitoshi is very much not. "We're acquainted," Hitoshi finally tells them.

"So him asking you out is strange?"

"It's unexpected," Hitoshi mutters and crosses his arms in front of his chest when he amends "It is strange."

"You think he doesn't mean it," Aizawa carefully says, and Hitoshi presses his lips together.

He doesn't like to admit it, but it's been at the back of his mind ever since Bakugo showed up at the agency. Hitoshi is convinced that at best it's a friendly dinner and at worst it's a joke, but he's not about to say that to his parents.

"What other reasons could he have to ask you out for dinner?" Yamada asks, tilting his head curiously and Hitoshi works his jaw.

He's not going to say 'as a joke' because he can just imagine the worry that'll set off in his parents and he's better these days. He doesn't question his worth anymore, not like he used to back in school but sometimes it's still hard anyway.

Instead of saying that he rolls his head around, signalling that he's thinking about it before he finally mutters "It could be work related."

As soon as he says it, he's convinced it must be the truth. The restaurant Bakugo wants to take him to is high-end enough that Hitoshi wouldn't be surprised if any suspicious dealings were done there and this makes much more sense than anything else.

"You think he wants your expertise on a case?" Aizawa doesn't sound convinced, but Hitoshi doesn't let that get to him.

"Yeah. I mean, what else could it be?"

"A date?" Yamada offers, clearly just as unconvinced than Aizawa is but Hitoshi shakes his head.

"No, this makes more sense. It's work related, of course it is. How could I ever be so stupid?" Hitoshi mutters and then yelps when Yamada flicks his forehead.

"You're not stupid and a date is a perfectly valid conclusion to come to," he reprimands him while Aizawa nods to the side and Hitoshi rubs his forehead.

"Ouch."

"Get over it," Aizawa heartlessly says. "It could be a date."

"It won't be," Hitoshi says with more conviction now because this he understands.

He's good at his job; he has an almost perfect record and he takes extra care to end his missions with as little collateral as possible. He has something to offer, in that regard, unlike in the romantic department.

Hitoshi knows he's not the easiest person to get along with, his resting bitch face keeps people at bay usually and he knows people are freaked out by his quirk and his eyes so there's no chance in hell Bakugo wants anything romantic from him.

"He convinced himself," Yamada sighs out and Aizawa presses his lips into an unhappy line as he nods.

"And possibly of the completely wrong thing," he says in the same tone as Yamada had and Hitoshi glares at them.

"You don't know if it's the wrong thing," he tells them as he gets up. "I'll let you know who was right at the end."

"Yeah, you do that," Aizawa says and just his tone lets Hitoshi know what he truly thinks.

"Regardless of the reason, food in that restaurant is supposed to be very good, so at least enjoy that, alright?" Yamada adds and Hitoshi nods because that at least is something he can do.

He leaves his parents after that, desperate to get at least some sleep before he meets Bakugo and it's easy for him to not get his hopes up. It's not going to be a date, he's mostly convinced of that, no matter how much he wants it to be, and a work dinner he can handle.

But mostly Hitoshi is just going to enjoy the food.

~*~*~

Bakugo looks amazing. Hitoshi did dress up as well, simply because the restaurant deserves it, but Bakugo is easily the best looking person in the entire restaurant, and that's Hitoshi's objective opinion.

His crush has nothing to do with it.

"You look tense," Bakugo says once they ordered their food and Hitoshi shuffles his feet under the table.

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Is there a reason for you to be?" Bakugo shoots back and Hitoshi sighs before he decides to simply get it out of the way.

If he doesn't mention it, he'll probably wonder the entire dinner why they are here and Hitoshi would prefer to know now.

"Why are we here? What are we looking for? Is this a debriefing dinner or are we checking something out?"

Bakugo blinks at him, clearly completely taken off guard and Hitoshi quickly averts his eyes. He already asked questions, there's no reason to freak Bakugo out more by keeping eye contact.

"You don't have to answer," Hitoshi mutters when Bakugo stays quiet and he thought he was over the hurt of people not answering him but clearly Hitoshi was wrong.

It hurts just as much as it always has.

"Are you goddamn stupid?" Bakugo finally says and even though he tries to sound angry, he just sounds confused. "You think this is work related?"

"What else would it be?" Hitoshi gives back and then winces.

You'd think he knows better than to ask questions back-to-back like that but he's grown used to wielding his quirk in his work and it's going to come bite him in the ass now.

"You fucker," Bakugo breathes out and leans back in his chair. "You think I'm taking you here for work?"

Hitoshi nods because he doesn't trust his voice anymore and Bakugo lets out a harsh breath.

"You're so goddamn stupid," he mutters, again, and Hitoshi would be offended, but he no longer knows what's going on and he doesn't trust his judgement anymore. "Now listen here, troll doll," Bakugo says and leans forward, piercing Hitoshi with his gaze.

Hitoshi isn't scared to meet his eyes, he's faced more dangerous people on his missions, but he doesn't want to upset Bakugo further, so he keeps his gaze down.

"This is a date. I asked you out on a date. There is no work-related reason for us to be here."

Hitoshi has half a mind asking if they are being monitored but Bakugo seems so earnest that the words die on his tongue.

"Why would you?" he finally blurts out and to his credit, Bakugo doesn't hesitate to answer at all.

"Because I like you," he gives back and even though Hitoshi has no intention of seizing control of Bakugo he can feel his quirk humming under his skin.

It's a good opportunity, because Bakugo is still looking at him, so Hitoshi allows his quirk to fill him, and he knows what it does to his eyes. They are already creepy, with their white pupils, but when he allows his quirk to flow through him, when he reaches for it, the purple of his eyes bleeds out onto the sclera until the pupils are the only white left.

It's creepy and freaky and it has been the reason people hated him more than once in the past. And Hitoshi fears that Bakugo forgot just what kind of freak Hitoshi really is.

Hitoshi doesn't feel the change to his eyes, but he knows it's happening and he catches Bakugo's gaze, practically daring him to jerk back.

Instead of doing that, of doing the rational thing, the one thing Hitoshi came to expect, Bakugo leans forward, clear admiration on his face.

"Your eyes are so pretty," he breathes out and Hitoshi sees his hand twitch and for once he thinks it's not because someone wants to beat him but because Bakugo wants to reach out and touch.

"You're insane," Hitoshi says, completely taken off guard as he lets his quirk fizzle out. "I'm a freak. It's not enough that I have the most villainous quirk, I also have the looks to match it!"

"I thought you went to therapy," Bakugo says because of course he would know that and Hitoshi sinks into his chair.

"I did, fuck off. What's it to you?"

"Shouldn't you be more confident then? Less of a mess?"

"I can be as much of a mess as I want to be," Hitoshi grumbles out and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Why are we here, Bakugo?" he then asks again, hoping to get an answer that makes more sense than being on a date, but Bakugo doesn't do him that favour.

"We're here because I wanted to take you out on a date," he almost mercilessly says. "And I would appreciate it if you could tell me if you want that or not, and stop with your stupid self-deprecating shit."

"You—want to be on a date with me," Hitoshi repeats and Bakugo looks at him as if he's stupid.

"Yes," he still says and Hitoshi tilts his head in question.

"Because you have—what? Feelings for me?"

"That's usually why people go on dates, yes," Bakugo gives back and then leans back with a sigh as he rolls his eyes. "I've had a crush on you since you joined our class," Bakugo finally admits and Hitoshi blinks.

"It's been years."

"Yeah, don't I fucking know it," Bakugo grumbles. "So. Date, yes or no?"

"You think my eyes are pretty."

"Unfortunately I think all of you is pretty," Bakugo shoots back and Hitoshi is fascinated to see a slight blush on his face. "It seems resting bitch face is doing it for me."

It's surprising enough that it startles a laugh out of Hitoshi and just like that, all the tension is broken.

"Well, lucky you, because murderous glare is doing it for me," he admits, because there's no way he can spin Bakugo's words into something else anymore and maybe, just maybe Hitoshi gets what he wants for now.

"Is that so?" Bakugo's lips twitch up into a small smile.

"A date it is, then," Hitoshi says before he can second guess his or Bakugo's words again and the smile that takes over Bakugo's face for just a second does more to convince him than any words could have.

It's not what he expected, not what he even dared to hope for, and he's going to be endlessly teased by his parents, but this is the best thing that happened to Hitoshi all year and now he's going to enjoy it.

And he already knows that it's going to be easy with Bakugo.

[enemylv1]

The old painting speaks back.

"Why had you forgotten me? Why did you leave me? Do you even care for me?"

I know her better that everyon, yet I do not answer, the lost girl, my magnus oppus

"Why do you keep ignoring me?! Father! Father?!"

Her screams and words are the same as before, she did not grew a day at all

"Hear me! Hear me! Hear me!"

Pathetic begs and wails, a fake call for help at will never be answered.

"Please! I be good! I be good!"

It does not even made sense, it is unable to be happy, it is merely a picture

"PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE"

And as any picture it will stay the same

[citricacidprince]

Thinking about Psychonauts and how much I love the Aquato family once again

They mean the world to me your honor

[bilightningwhumper]

Trying something, let me know what you think. I'm not usually one to write in this format often, let alone this long (even if this piece is pretty short), so I'm a little rusty.

It's just a draft, so I'm welcome to any other suggestions the Examiner could ask the Whumpee before I put it in the "final" draft for Chapter One of my new story I'll be starting called "A Hero's Promise" (story of a ex-villian trans man whumpee joining a hero team with his ex girlfriend on it; semi-slow burn romance for the two; blurb coming soon-ish)

Anyway, here's the bit:

Assessment Interview for Former Company Member #5137

[edit: here's the masterlist for this story!]

Tape begins

Examiner Sonia: For the record, this is an assessment for Company Member listed as number Five-One-Three-Seven. I, Examiner Sonia, will be conducting this interview. Now, young man, if you could please state your name for the record?

#5137: Boy, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: …Pardon me? Just… “Boy?”

#5137: Yes, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: Was that your Company Name? What is, or was, your civil name?

#5137: That was the name I was called when I discarded my old one, ma’am. The Company picked it for me, I was not given a choice.

Examiner Sonia: And your former civil name?

#5137: Is it relevant?

Examiner Sonia: To find your family and restore your memories, then yes.

#5137: Then it’s not relevant.

Examiner Sonia: …Technically, no, it is not relevant, however-

#5137: Can we move on? …Please, ma’am?

Examiner Sonia: [sighs] Yes, we can. As we have already discovered, you do not know your age, but that you know were with the Company for at least five years, correct?

#5137: Yes, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: What was your role in the Company?

#5137: …Whatever my teams’ leaders ordered me to be, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: Leaders? Your team had more than one?

#5137: No, teams, ma’am. When one grew tired of me, I was transferred to another.

Examiner Sonia: How many teams were you with?

#5137: Three… I think. My early memories are still fuzzy, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: Understood. As to my previous question, then, what were your roles on these teams?

#5137: [silence]

Examiner Sonia: Are you alright?

#5137: [voice cracks] I was the expendable, ma’am. On occasion, I was ordered to kill to test my loyalty to the Company, but that… that wasn’t my main purpose there.

Examiner Sonia: … I see… How many did you kill?

#5137: [silence]

Examiner Sonia: We can stop and take a break if you need to.

#5137: No, no, I can keep going! I, um… I- Just… just one, ma'am.

Examiner Sonia: Only one?

#5137: Yes, ma’am. I… I would rather not talk about it anymore. If that’s okay with you, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: Let it be noted I am honoring this request for the time being. However, I do want to warn you that this may come up in later assessments.

#5137: … I understand, ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: Do you have any remaining feelings of loyalty to the Company? Any ties left behind of note?

#5137: Ties, ma’am?

Examiner Sonia: Yes, romantic partners, friends, similar bonds that could be used against you.

#5137: … I had a romantic partner, but it… It didn’t end well. Is that what you’re asking about, ma’am?

Examiner Sonia: If this former partner were to be held hostage or threatened with the intention of gaining your cooperation for the Company, would you comply?

#5137: No. …ma’am.

Examiner Sonia: I see. Well, in that case, I recommend the individual known as Boy to be kept under monitored observation, but see no reason as to keep him from joining one of our teams. And… I also recommend he be aided in an official name change, one of his own choosing.

#5137: Th-thank you, ma’am!

Tape ends

{Audio file later renamed: First Assessment Interview for Rex Sparks}

[now including the masterlist!]

[sleeplessv0id]

play fighting with him and suddenly being reminded that I really couldn't get a man off of me even if I tried the hardest I could.

[lostmf]

I wish I could meet you in the street

Maybe one of us will be lost and would stop the other to ask for directions

We will share a laugh on how we are the worst people to ask for directions

You would feel comfortable enough to have coffee with me

I would remind you of your daughter that looks like me

Maybe you would say some kind words about her

Maybe you would ask me for advice on being a better mother

Maybe if I met you as a woman and not a mother we would like each other

I pray that you never know how much you hurt me

I hope you never realize how you tortured and broke me every day

It would kill you mother

I hope you never know

[cookies-and-mirrors]

Chapter Forty-Four

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier, @faceless-mirror & @comforting-madness

Dividers by @samspenandsword @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Authors Note: After some emotionally triggering moments between mates, Ricky and Justin talk of past concerning the former handler... Leading to intimate moments. Smut ahead.

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Bands Included: Motionless In White, Bad Omens, Bring Me The Horizon, Ice Nine Kills, Sleep Token (to be added as characters join, no spoilers)

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, violence, kidnapping, suicidal ideation, torture, racism/speciesism, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness

@missduffsblog @witchyweeb34 @spicywhenspeaking @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny

@latenightmusiclover @dontdiganothergravetoday @high-wire @awkwardalex @ofelia19

@retriibutions @mylittlehatefuck666 @daddy-sir @punkprincess1999 @31miw-inkpsycho

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Forty Four

Justin felt intensely guilty when he thought about the fact that the others were picking up the slack when it came to patrols. He hadn’t gone out nearly as much as he knew he should since he had discovered Ricky was pregnant with the twins. Part of him was waiting for Chris, or Ryan to approach him, give him a talking to about that, perhaps not like Jerahmiel used to, but remind him they all worked together… they never did. Then he remembered how others had been now, when their mates would be partners in the breeding program. It did not matter that the young that were to be born were biologically were not their own, the children were their mates.

Until now, Justin wasn’t aware if any gargoyle was actually looking forward to their mate carrying their child, it would have been forbidden by the edicts. It wasn’t how the breeding program worked. He knew Ryan and Gwynn could have gotten around it, but he’d not been alive, never gotten to meet Gwynn, didn’t know why they had never… he didn’t dare ask either of the pair now.

Despite his guilt, and waiting for the other foot to drop with a lecture that had yet to come, he couldn’t bring himself to be far from Ricky at the Church. It wasn’t even the added threat of Jerahmiel over their heads, that only made matters worse… 

He had been spending his mornings working on preparing the nursery alongside Chris, who had joined him after the lunch rush, getting it ready for the twins. They’d finished painting it, which was curious considering they didn’t know whether they were having boys, girls, and knowing their nature, could be either should they choose. Now, settling on colors, it was rainbows all over one of the walls, but in colorful splotches, not the typical arches, splotches only… Justin looked a bit of a mess, and he hoped Ricky wasn’t going to bite his head off… All he knew was whenever they mentioned rainbows, one of the babies went crazy and not in a good way, but they both loved the idea of a colorful nursery… so… he’d done this. Hopefully, when Ricky got home, he’d like it.

Ricky got home, waddling into the apartment with a smile, carrying multiple bags. “Hey, baby boy, I got something for you.” He called warmly as he pulled out the leather journal he had selected for Justin with the nice lock on the cover. After dispensing the gifts, he knew he needed to lay down. Hopefully, with Justin for a bit.

The thought of cuddling with him felt heavenly, and he beamed, holding the boxes with the chain and the one with the ring in his other hand.

Justin smiled as Ricky came in, cleaning his hands with a cloth, the room was still mostly empty, the furniture hadn’t been brought in as they were still painting the room. Sure it had all been put together, and was ready, it all had been sorted, Justin was excited… the room was ready to be put together almost. They were getting so close… It was both exciting, and scary. “You didn’t need to get me anything. Did you have a good time with Ryan?”

Chris looked up from the containers of paint he was sealing, thankfully the runes they’d used had allowed the paint on the walls to dry quickly, or Ricky walking in here, would have just bombarded him with fumes. None of them would have allowed that. It had been frustrating, watching all the workers around the Church, coming, and going, through the time they’d been tearing their home apart as Chris had once seen it, everything going so slow, when it was so different for them. They were used to having to do things on their own, and making sure they could live in different ways. Chris still hoped when Vinny and he had their own children, she didn’t have a problem with him making their cribs himself, just putting them together hadn’t been the same.

Ricky giggled and hugged Justin, “I know but… just think of it as silly… but… this is the big part,” he whispered and opened the box, showing him the ring. “And yes, I did have fun. This is a chain for you to put it on when you're on patrols.” he explained, offering him the other box. “I also got things for the others too but…”

Justin was curious what this big thing that Ricky had actually gotten was. Sure, it wasn’t really his thing today, they had been going out to some big book store thing, Justin had just known Ricky had been looking forward to going out, so he was happy he had enjoyed himself. What was more, it had given him time to work with Chris in the continued adjustments to the apartment, including painting the nursery. They had expanded the nursery much like they had the alcoves all through the upper levels of the Church, not that the humans had ever been able to get to them before the gargoyles had allowed Ricky and Vinny into their lives. Now the apartment was more than twice the size it had been before, and the nursery was a whole new room for the babies. 

Looking down to the box, with the ring, the chain, for when he was on patrols? Then Ricky was offering him the other box, and Justin looked towards him confused, “I’m, I don’t understand, I thought you went out for books, these, these are rings? What, what are these for?”

Chris looking over from across the room as he reached for one of the discarded clothes that they’d been using to clean up, he finished wiping his hands and said nothing. He saw the ring boxes, and smiling, oh, that was an interesting development, though, if he were to get a set for Vinny, he’d be partial to an actual ceremony, and he didn’t know how they could. It wasn’t like he had any legal documents for the humans, who would marry them… would it matter… then again, to them, it was only for god's benefit, not the humans. 

Ricky smiled, “I wanted to give you a reminder of what you’re fighting for. Our babies… our future and for humanity.” He breathed softly. “I got books too.” He admitted, “There was a store next to the bookstore.” He mused, slipping the ring onto his finger.

He moved and pulled out the journals, tossing a large, thick one to Chris, knowing he would see the lock and keys. 

Chris looked over at Ricky and wondered what he was doing, did he, he could have bought Justin anything as a memento, to be a reminder. Anything at all. He went with rings. Such a symbolic gesture in human society, culture, and when Justin realized what Ricky wasn’t telling him… By the angel… “Justin, rings are a mating symbol in human culture, Ricky is giving you a mating symbol, and he is just too chicken shit to tell you.” Justin had had his head messed with enough, Chris was not going to stand by and let Ricky beat around the bush. Symbol of what he was fighting for his ass… they were mates, if Ricky wanted to say husbands, than admit it.

As it was, when Ricky was just tossing him the journal, Chris caught it, seeing the lock, the keys, he huffed a little… “I’ve learned my lesson about keeping secrets, they are dangerous and hurt those I love, why would I need a book only to lock it?”

Justin blinked at the rings, first hearing Ricky, smiling slowly hearing about the idea of them being a reminder of what they were fighting for. Of their babies, why he would need a ring for that he didn’t know. He could feel them always, they were a part of him, in his very soul. Seeing the way Ricky slipped the ring onto his finger, it looked so good, but as he reached for the other ring box, that was when Chris spoke, and Justin looked over to his commander… What? Why wouldn’t Ricky just tell him they were for mating? Was it so bad for him to know… sure he wasn’t human… was it bad he wasn’t human, was there something that he should be doing because he wasn’t human… He felt stupid because he didn’t already know what the rings were supposed to mean… it was like… like… him all over again.

Swallowing, he opened the ring box slowly, trying not to shake as he looked at the ring… “It, it looks good.”

Ricky realized his mistake… trying to make it more casual than wedding rings- well that went out the window. And the look of defeat on Justin’s face, guilt ate at him. “I didn't… I wanted them to be more casual. I'm sorry I didn't…” he slumped before focusing on the journal. “...I wanted you to have a safe place to write your thoughts without anyone prying… I got one for everyone. I…” he sighed, swallowing.

Nothing was casual about mating though, not for Justin, and looking down at the ring in the box, it was beautiful, he just didn’t understand, he was confused now. Ricky had said this was the big part, but then said he wanted it to be casual? That didn’t make much sense at all to him. He did, however, understand Ricky’s desire for them to have something between them. Something to remind them. “Daddy, there, is nothing casual about these, nothing, the meaning behind them, our babies, fighting for the future of mankind? It means the world, they mean the world.”

Chris looked down at the book, he wasn’t sure how he felt about Ricky editing the information for Justin still, trying to make things easier for the gargoyle benefitted who? Nothing was casual about anything that was happening in their lives, and pretending that they weren’t going to be parents… They didn’t have to get married, they didn’t have to have a wedding, but he should have been honest about the rings. Humans were so strange about relationships sometimes, then again they didn’t have mates. 

Now, the journal… “My thoughts? Who would want to pry-” Chris cut himself off swallowing, oh, he knew off the top of his head people who would want to pry into other’s thoughts, but he doubted they’d need a book to do it… Usually, the only reason he’d ever written anything down was for patrols, and briefings if needed, but not usually. “I’ll consider it, not sure if it would have much purpose for my thoughts.”

Ricky looked up at Justin, he hadn't wanted Justin to think they had to be married… but why didn't the thought of being married… not scare him? Ricky used to be terrified of the concept… but when thinking of being married to Justin wasn't terrifying. It excited him. 

Ricky didn't know whom to talk to about this- this was… so much more, and his heart ached. He wasn't used to wanting to keep someone so close as he did Justin. He wanted him. But part of him was still so scared.

Maybe It was memories of how his father had treated marriage. Maybe since he now looked more like his father… what if he turned out to be like him…

But he looked at Chris, smiling softly, “use it for writing down all of gargoyle history. Maybe that’s a place to start?” He offered, trying not to let his voice shake, both from anxiety and the fact he had upset his mate, What if he hated him now?

Gargoyle History? Whoever would want to hear about such, horrifying atrocities… Angels had created them for such… Gwynn might be a shining beacon of an angel, but so few of others could be said of those that had created them, and it would bleed through of anything that he write of his kind's past. He would detest putting down that kind of sentiment, of what they had bred them for, how they had made them to be, instilled in them, onto paper… “I'm not sure, I, I could…” Chris sighed… “I’ll consider it, though… Thank you, Ricky. I should go, I’m going to check on Vinny.” Holding his book close, he slipped out the door, leaving the mates together.

Justin wasn’t thinking about marriage, marriage wasn’t a concept for him, at least not in the modern sense. Now, if they went back to the ages when it was more than legality. When it was about the Church, and not about assets, and divorce, and signing your names to paper. Too many people threw their ties away now, and it was horrifying just how easy it was to destroy their binds, and Justin couldn’t destroy his mating with Ricky, he never would.

What he was thinking about now, was the added stress his mate seemed to be under… “Ricky? You, why did you want to get us rings… really?”

Justin spoke. 

And the nephilim looked up at him. So many similarities between that young child who looked up at him as if he were the most beautiful thing in the world among the tatters of their home life. Except the fear. The fear wasn’t of the father waiting at home. It was fear of becoming him. Ricky hadn’t realized he had started crying when he opened his mouth to try to answer. “I-” one letter and his voice cracked sharply, and he shook like a leaf. 

No. Don’t look at me. I look like him. Stop.

Ricky stumbled back, and he looked at the cribs and ran to the bathroom, shutting the door, breaking down in tears. Don’t look at me, don’t look at me- I look like him, how can you not hate me?

The gargoyle’s suspicions that Ricky not telling him about the ring’s being a mating symbol might not have been as much an issue as Chris had thought, and more… something else. Justin had a horrible feeling something else was going on here and if he was honest, he had been growing worried about his mate over the weeks as they went by. Ricky had been doing so well; however, he had hoped, hoped that everything was going so well… He had been in such high spirits with Ryan when he left this morning that Justin had counted his blessings…

This afternoon, didn’t look to be going so well. 

As soon as the smaller man, well, smaller in the sense that he was shorter, Justin was not saying a damn thing to his size otherwise… he was beautiful and carrying their children… Well on his way to full term, well on his way, it wouldn’t be long now. He was not saying anything… Rushing after him to the bathroom door… he paused outside…

“Ricky, Rick, it’s okay, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, I love the rings, I do, I just… you can talk to me, about anything, you know that, right?”

Ricky was leaning in front of the mirror on the sink, knuckles white as he panted looking into the sink. He sobbed softly and looked up at himself, feeling sick all over again. He heard Justin and he sniffled, “Justin… I look like him! How can you even stand looking at me? I…” He choked for a moment on his tongue and moved, fumbling before pulling out scissors, looking in the mirror had become so difficult. Maybe this would help- 

Snip. Snip.

Snipsnipsnipsnipsnip.

It was shorter. Much shorter… maybe this would be easier. Dark and short hair. That… that was enough… maybe not… He trembled and couldn’t stop seeing his dad in the mirror. You’re not good enough, girl. He could hear his father in his head like a worm hatching. 

“You’re going to die, what are you trying for?”

Ricky could swear he could hear his father’s voice… Or was it his own? He didn’t know-

”You’re going to die, and you’re so fucking desperate to be remembered despite how forgettable you are-”

No…no. No! Justin wouldn’t forget him!

There was the sound of something breaking and Ricky felt… something. Pain in his hands and… warmth… rolling down his arms… but he was blinded by tears as he stumbled back, curling up in the bathtub sobbing. 

Maybe he was just like his dad… violent and horrible in every way.

Hearing Ricky from inside the bathroom, at first, it was clear he was talking to him, the way he was asking about looking like him, and Justin caught his breath. No, Justin didn’t care. He’d accepted that his mate was related to Jerahmiel, and the angel that Justin remembered and saw in his mind was not the one that had walked in here and tormented them. The one that he remembered was the blonde, twisted and cruel one… Gwynn was closer to him, and yet, Gwynn was nothing like Jerahmiel, they were kind. Not that Justin had gotten much time with them thus far.

“Da- Rick, Ricky, I love you, I don’t care what you look like.”

Then Justin heard the sound of metal, a click, snip, what was that… What was Ricky doing in there? “Ricky, Ricky, are you okay?”

That was when he heard his voice… change, as he kept talking… wait… what… what was he saying? 

“Ricky? Ricky, what is going on? Is someone else in there…” Turning his head, listening for heartbeats, no, no, there were no extra heartbeats, just Ricky’s, the babies, though the babies were going absolutely crazy, and Justin, oh Justin was worried with the sobbing, the stumbling. Fuck… was he smelling blood…

“Rick!”

The wood of the door was no match for the protective gargoyle as he smashed it open with the force of his shoulder, and he made for his mate curled up in the tub at the sight of him… “What, what are you doing?!”

Ricky sobbed hugging his knees, “I… I just didn't want to look like him-” he sobbed out after a moment, trembling. His hair was shorter, and he looked as if he was going insane on his own. “Baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He whispered, hugging himself and breathing hard.

He was coming out of his turmoil, seeing Justin, and he hesitantly reached for him, ignoring the shattered mirror on the floor.

Justin didn’t even blink at the sharp shards of mirror glass on the floor as he kneeled next to the tub by his mate. Lifting him up with ease, fingers brushing tears away from his cheeks, it was terrifying seeing his very pregnant mate in such a state, curled up. His knees folded up against him, as high as they could go against his rounded belly. The way he reached for him from being wrapped around his legs, Justin could see the bruised, bleeding knuckles where Ricky had punched the mirror… The mirror was nothing, nothing that couldn’t be replaced.

“Come here, I got you, I’ve got you.”

Just picking Ricky up out of the tub, away from the broken glass on the floor, Justin rose to his feet and walked him out of the bathroom and to their room.

Ricky leaned on him crying, “I'm sorry…” he whispered, still shaking like a leaf against him, swallowing tightly as he held onto him, “I'm sorry…” his voice was shaking bloody hands clinging to Justin. “I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't want you to forget me- I don't want-”

His sobs started up again, that look of hurt in Justin's eyes. It killed him. It killed him, and then the fact he knew Jerahmiel had made him feel-

He had done it without meaning to. 

The fact he looked like him.

Nothing was okay.

It killed Justin to hear Ricky talking like this as he sat on in their big rocking chair holding him. They’d moved it in here until the nursery was completed. As much as Chris had tried to insist they could make most of the furniture like this themselves; Justin was sure the elder gargoyle was still going to try to convince Vinny for their babies, Ricky had fallen in love with this chair. Justin had made sure they’d gotten it for him.

Holding Ricky, and just rocking them both in the chair, reaching up to brush his now short hair back, short, dark hair…

“You are not going to die, I won’t let you, we won’t let you… we’ve been preparing, we have so many plans… He isn’t going to get anywhere near you, you know that… We didn’t know he was coming before, we know now. The wards are Archangel strength thanks to Noah, we’ll know the moment he or that hell beast even gets close… and Daddy… Daddy… Me… Me, forget you? Never… Never!”

He looked up at Justin, blue eyes tinged red as he cuddled closer, hanging onto his words tightly as he was his shirt, “Baby…” he whispered, moving to hide into him. He was relaxing, “I'm scared I'll turn into him.” He whispered, “I hate looking like him. I don't want the blond either, though.”

“I thought I looked different enough…” He whispered and hid into his chest, He was happy for the large chair. Who knew it would end up getting so much use… maybe it would just stay in their room. Or they would get a second one. His wings shifted under his shirt, trying to wrap around himself, trying to be as small as he could. 

Justin just kept rocking him in his arms as he held him, he wasn’t worried about the chair, or worried about where it was going to go, certainly not the color of his mate's hair… “Oh, Ricky…” Justin brushed his finger through Ricky’s shorter hair gently, carefully, tenderly. “Nothing about how you look, makes you like him, nothing.”

Taking in a deep breath, “you know who reminds me of Jerahmiel when I look at them? Gwynn. They are nothing like him, either. The way they look, that is the Jerahmiel that affected me, you are not him, anymore than they are Ricky.” Brushing his hair back, Justin leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Ricky’s temple.

He made a soft sweet noise pressing into him and sniffled softly grabbing at him more gently nuzzling him. “... I'm sorry…” he whispered again, hiding into his chest. His body slowly released the tension that was keeping him wound up.

“No, Daddy, it's okay, there is nothing to be sorry for, nothing.” Justin just held him. He knew everything about this was so hard. He remembered how Ricky had grown up, he knew the pain, the torment his father could inflict, even mentally, with nothing but words… just simple words… Justin knew… Possibly better than anyone in their troupe. The angel had never raised his hand to him to even punish him, he’d used words and allowed Justin to punish himself, Chris and Ryan over the years had allowed him to see that in turn. 

Ricky nodded slowly, “Can…” he stopped himself. He didn't want Justin to think he saw him as… a novelty. As much as he wanted to be wrapped in his wings and just feel smaller than he already did… he wanted that comfort of being safe… Justin, whether in human form or not, was his safety. His guardian. He just had never realized it before. But he cuddled him more, melting into his embrace, letting his thoughts and fears drift…

Large hands ran down the smaller man’s sides, curving around him, even as Justin could feel the way Ricky’s wings had wrapped around himself under his clothes… Justin wished he could bring his wings out, but with the chair, the room, his wings were too big, and it would only destroy half the new furniture in here, he knew that wouldn’t work. “Can, what, talk to me, I’m here, anything you need?”

“I want to be wrapped up in you. I don’t want to think.” he whispered, muffled by Justin’s chest softly, “I don’t want to think…” he whispered softer voice shaking slightly. Pressing closer, encouraged by his mate’s gentle touches. His body wanted nothing more than to hide and collapse. A nap. A nap. Much, much, much needed. Fuck, going for a walk right now. He wanted a nap with his mate. “ ‘m sorry…” he mumbled again.

Justin’s arms wrapped him just a little tighter around him as he felt Ricky shake with his words, sighing softly, “Then don’t think, you don’t need to, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.” Rocking him in his chair, humming softly hoping to lull him and get him to rest, he needed it, he needed all he could get. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’s alright Daddy, I’m here, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere… I love you…”

Ricky sighed softly, sore red puffy eyes fighting for a moment, but as Justin's arms held him tighter… he couldn't resist. His eyes fell shut and steadily fell asleep, crashing into dreamland still clinging to his mate. He ducked his head closer, cooing like the doves and pigeons that once kept the gargoyle company during the day. 

Feeling him drift off in his arms, the way he leaned against him, not only the way his breathing evened, but his heart calmed, and the babies soothed once more… Justin sighed. All of this, it was such, it was all so overwhelming, and that was for him, so he couldn’t even say what it was for Ricky. The gargoyle sat there for a few more moments, rocking his nephilim mate, soothing him, until he was well and truly sure he was asleep, before he risked moving him. Lifting his smaller body up in his arms, and carrying him over to their bed, so he could rest them down. He didn’t let him go, no, no he let Ricky stay curled around him as Justin laid with him.

Ricky wiggled adjusting himself in his sleep moving impossibly closer with a soft coo and hid his face more sighing out sweetly as his grip slowly relaxed as exhaustion was banished, and he sighed sweetly and oh so contently.

It was later when the nephilim stirred and blue eyes blinked open, sighing sweetly, breathing in the scent of his mate and hugged him gently, nuzzling his neck and shoulder for a moment, almost aggressive. “Mmmm, Justin…?” he whispered softly, looking up at him with a soft smile of delight.

Justin hadn’t slept, not deeply. His rest had been light, holding his mate carefully as he protectively circled Ricky in his arms and held him, until the other man was stirring and drawing Justin so easily from his dozing sleep. The smile was perfectly heartwarming the moment he saw it on his face, and had the gargoyle returning it without a second thought, “Hey, feel better?”

Ricky nodded tiredly, “I do.” he whispered, nuzzling his shoulder, rubbing his hands over his mate slowly. “Mine…” he murmured, tucking his head into his mate more, his tiny wings fluttering and stretched big as they could be. The noise of small feathers against his shirt made him jolt as a feather tickled his back.

“Ah! Itchy…!”

The gargoyle chuckled, the way his mate rubbed his hands over him, and then he saw the way Ricky’s shirt was moving behind his back in ripple. Hearing his murmuring of the itchiness just had him ducking his head to Ricky's shoulder… “Your shirts aren’t that mindful of those wings.”

Ricky whined softly, “there's feathers that are itchy…” he whispered, hiding his face. “I don't know what to do about my wings, sometimes They just… pop out.” His eyes fluttered softly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Justin paused, he didn’t actually know much about angel wings, how different they were from gargoyle wings. He knew how to teach gargoyles to control their wings involved flying; however, he knew that likely was never going to be a possibility for Ricky, so he wasn’t sure how this was going to go. “How about, to start, we free them to give them a bit more room to move so they stop irritating your skin as much right now?”

Ricky whined but nodded, “Okay… but you need to take off my shirt.” he teased softly, petting his face gently as close as he could with the babies between them, his belly proudly peeking from under the shirt playfully.

Not the only one that whined then, he knew he would have to take off his shirt, that was the intention, but to do so, Justin also knew he’d have to move. Kissing him quickly, just a peck on Ricky’s lips, Justin shifted back slightly, his hands curving over his mate's firm swollen belly, smiling before carefully bringing his shirt up. He did his best, so his wings weren’t pulled, feathers were different from gargoyles wings, he knew that much.

Ricky sat up enough and moaned, his wings spread and whined some thin sheaths covering some new feathers and sighed, looking up at Justin with a soft smile. “Thanks…” he whispered, his face framed by the short black locks now, and he leaned in, face pressed to Justin’s chest lightly and lovingly.

Discarding Ricky’s shirt to the side, Justin was curious about the differences with some of his feathers as they were revealed, he wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe they should ask Gwynn, but Justin didn’t know… Shifting, he reached for his phone that he’d left on the bedside table, “some of your feathers are looking different, I might text Ryan and see if Gwynn can come and have a look later. That might be why they are itchy.”

Ricky nodded and sat back, belly on display, smiling softly, “Sounds like a plan. It might be a good plan… but…” he smiled, “Did you know the babies can hear now? Clearly. They should be able to hear clearly…” he whispered, putting a hand on his round belly, smiling at him. “After you text… do you want a moment to talk to them?” he asked softly, feeling much calmer and better than previously.

Justin quickly texted Ryan the moment Ricky agreed, hoping that Gwynn would know what was going on with Ricky’s rings. Now though, wait, he knew the babies could hear in the womb, but they could by now? Oh! Justin grinned so brightly as he set his phone aside, he could wait to see if Gwynn could help, shifting down, he wiggled down the bed until his head was closer to Ricky’s belly. “Yes, oh yes… We still haven’t thought of any names… you hear that, we have no idea what to call you, I know, I know, your Dad and I have been slack, but don’t worry, we’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Pausing though, Justin’s hand rubbed on Ricky’s belly, as he talked to the babies thought he looked up to Ricky. “Is it wrong I would like to meet them first? We don’t, we can’t even know if they are boys, girls… they might not even know themselves.” Gargoyles could change after all if they chose, for all they knew, maybe so could tribrids… Who knows if Noah could change, they had never even asked him!

One of the babies wiggled happily, a little foot or hand pressing towards Justin’s voice curiously. “I don’t mind waiting one bit, meet them first… It’s fitting…” he sighed softly, smiling, seeing the other baby stretch too, unable to keep his smile from growing as he watched his belly move.

As the babies moved so exuberantly in Ricky’s belly, the nephilim laughed quietly, “They very much love their daddy.” He breathed out sweetly, “Look at that.” Ricky whispered, savoring the feeling of his mate’s hands on his belly.

Justin’s large hand continued to rub over Ricky’s curved belly as he felt the twins move, chuckling low at their intensity. Leaning in to press his cheek alongside his palm to his skin, still gauze longingly up to Ricky, “Both their daddies.”

Ricky smiled and stroked his fingers through his hair slowly and tenderly, eyes fluttering softly. “Justin…” he breathed softly, eyes tender as he looked him over lovingly.

Justin just laid there, looking up at Ricky, happy to have that moment, listening to the heartbeats of both their babies, his mate. Chuckling after a moment, “Your dad is getting mushy kids, watch out.”

Ricky laughed, “I can't help it. I just… hope I get to enjoy our family.” he murmured some of the dark thoughts peeking in for a moment like a nightmare during the day.

When Justin’s hand rubbed at his belly again, he frowned at the soft murmur, not sure at all what Ricky was meaning, why wouldn’t he get to enjoy their family… Of course, then he thought of what he’d said about chubby toes and baby giggles, and he smiled just a little ruefully, “Don’t worry, we’ll get at least some chubby toes, and baby giggles, I promise.”

Ricky smiled, trying not to laugh, “I was meaning… I hope I make it through the birth…. I've read so many stories.” he admitted. “It scared me when I was young… I suppose it still does. I'm going to have two battles in one day…my father and labor…”

Justin took in a deep breath, sitting up from leaning over Ricky, shifting closer to him to lift him up and place him back onto his lap as he settled against the pillows. “Okay, here is why that is the last thing you need to worry about. Gwynn has helped many gargoyles give birth to babies. Chris, Ryan, even I, have had a hand in the birth of gargoyle babies. I don’t know about Shade and Riyah’s experiences, but in our troupe, we never had the luxury of hospitals, or doctors, we looked after ourselves, we trained ourselves. In everything.”

Brushing the nephilim’s hair back gently with a sigh, “that isn’t even counting the fact that the vampires have both mentioned they have medical experience as well. No matter what time of night or day you go into labor, someone will be with you that will know exactly what to do. How to look after you.”

Ricky smiled softly and hugged him, settled on his lap, knowing that… it helped. A lot more than his mate knew… “Promise you’ll be there for the second twin… if you can.” He breathed. “I want you there.”

While he didn’t know what was going to happen, if Justin had his way, he was going to be there for the birth of both of their babies, both of them. “I will be there for both of them if I can, I will do everything remotely possible to be by your side.”

Ricky smiled softly, leaning into him more, “I need you. And I want you beside me.” He admitted, “I don't want to give birth without you right there… I love you.” He breathed softly. 

Justin wrapped his arm tightly around Ricky, he wanted to be able to promise he’d be there no matter what, he wanted to so badly, but knowing that Jerahmiel’s potential arrival was an unknown entity. All he could do was promise that he would do his do everything possible to be there. “I love you too, all three of you.”

“I love you, Justin.” he whispered, cuddling more into him, feeling much calmer and settled, face pressed to his shoulder. “I love you…”

Ryan had gotten the text from Justin, Ricky’s feathers were weird? That could mean anything, he didn’t elaborate on that at all, Gwynn was supposed to be resting… Sighing, he was tempted to wait, tempted to just tell Justin that he could wait for another day, however, from things that had been said, he knew that Ricky had yet to come to Gwynn for anything angel related. Noah, yes, surprisingly enough considering how that first meeting between the young tribrid had gone, and how aggressively anti-angel he had, and sometimes Ryan wasn’t so sure he didn’t seem to still feel. Maybe that was Ryan, he hated angels, most angels, very few escaped that feeling these days, very few.

In the last few days, he’d been staying in the alcove, the more time Gwynn had to heal, the better, and Ryan could sacrifice his time on his gaming unit if he had to. Now, now however, he moved towards where they were resting. “Gwynn, Gwynn, Justin texted me mentioning Ricky might want to talk to you about something happening about his wings?”

Gwynn lifted their head yawning, “Hmm…? Ricky…? Oh!” they said, getting up quickly, leaning on their cane, “Lead the way.” they mused, smiling at him with a warm bubbly look in their eyes, excitement on their face, gentle and loving as ever. “Did… you have a good time out with Ricky, by the way?”

Nodding at the question, Ryan thought back to the day to the book store the day before, well, that morning to those that lived by the day. Gargoyles lived to all hours, and it was well into the night, and Ryan had taken some downtime since his trip out. All in all, he felt it had gone quite well, the box with the rings, however, was down in the rectory, out of the way. “I think it went well, productive. Picked up some interesting books, both educational and just for fun.” Already he had been trying to read through the book on how he could try to help Gwynn. Walking with them towards the door, slower, as quick as Gwynn was moving, glad they were healing, he didn’t want to rush too fast.

Gwynn smiled and gently held his arm lightly, “I’m happy to hear that. My next goal will be getting electricity in here for you… in case you ever want to move back up here with me… permanently. I don’t want to rush you… I just miss our home.” they murmured, “It’s always felt… safe and comforting to be in…. It’s only complete with you here.”

Ryan had read enough of the book to know it was important to make his partner feel secure on their healing journey, which was part of the reason he had been spending so much time in the alcove. He’d barely been down in the rectory in a while now for a reason after all, the thought of moving up here permanently. Glancing to Gwynn… He… Ryan’s heart clenched hearing that, safe… He still thought they deserved better than him, so much better… after what he had done to them… how he had just… “Maybe, we could bring my things up from the rectory, and see how we go?”

Gwynn’s eyes widened and the smile that covered their face, the joy and excitement in their eyes- it was infectious and hopeful. “I would love that… so much, my darling.” They whispered and leaned up, kissing his shoulder lightly as they leaned on him as they made their way down the stairs. “I… would very much love that.” 

As Ryan felt them kiss at his shoulder, he swallowed, heavily, tilting his head to the side, just enough to hide the way his eyes waters, if only for a moment as they walk along the path down the stairs. He said nothing as they made their way down to the apartment that they were all renovating not only for both couples, but for the arrival of the twin's birth, and the hope of more children. The gargoyle had himself together, by the time they reached the door to the apartment, letting them both in.

The angel was quiet the rest of the way and smiled, seeing the now familiar apartment, “Ryan?” They asked softly, “I'm happy you're in my life.” They murmured, hearing a soft giggle from Ricky in the next room. “I just want you to know that.”

He didn’t know how they could be, after how he treated them, after how he’d forgotten them? How could anyone just forgive someone who had forgotten the entire face when they claimed to love them for over a thousand years? Let alone when they came back, everything he’d done while they were gone… Still, taking in a shaky breath, Ryan reached for Gwynn’s hand gently and, just, squeezed their fingers lightly. Words were stuck in his throat, he knew he wouldn’t survive without Gwynn, they were everything to him, but he didn’t, he didn’t know how to say it, not anymore, not yet. “Let’s check in on Ricky and Justin.”

The angel smiled understanding without words and leaned up to kiss his cheek softly, “Sounds like a good idea,” they whispered to him before walking ahead, knocking on the bedroom door before opening it when Ricky answered.

Seeing the nephilim snuggled into his mate, little wings spread out. “Oh dear- you're molting. It happens. Nothing to fret over.” The elder chuckled, moving closer, “Do you mind if I show you how to fix it? Or Ryan can if you're more comfortable with his help.” They offered.

Ricky looked between them quietly for a moment. “Um… I don't… know.” He answered honestly. “Uh…”

Gwynn smiled in understanding. “Ryan? Do you remember how to preen?” He asked, looking at his own mate tenderly. 

Justin looked up from his arms wrapped around Ricky, he’d known the moment Ryan and Gwynn had entered the apartment, however not wanting to move Ricky after his confession, he waited until they came to them. When the door opened, he looked over at Ricky’s wings, and immediately, Gwynn, knew exactly what they were looking at. Molting? Justin glanced towards Ryan when he was mentioned.

Ryan had seen it too, though, Ricky was in desperate need of preening, though, the state of Ricky’s feathers were a little different from the manner of which Gwynn’s could get when theirs were in need of preening. It made him curious as to why. Though, when he realized they were asking him, “Oh, yeah, I remember… its, been awhile, I ah,” glancing at Gwynn, there was a fondness there, as if he could forget. Preening was always something so, personal between them, especially because Gwynn’s wings could be so, sensitive at times. It was something he could gladly say he had never done for Jerahmiel. “Gwynn, why, do some of Ricky’s feathers look… different?”

“He's losing his baby feathers. His adult feathers are coming in.” They explained gently and smoothed their hair back, tying it up, “So the feathers underneath, the soft downy level… are pushing through and let's fix it for you.” Gwynn said softly as Ricky nodded, showing them his small wings.

“Okay. I'm ready, I think.”

Ryan hummed, that was interesting, it also had implications when it came to Noah’s wings. The man was four hundred years old, what-the-hell kind of feather had he shown Gwynn, they certainly didn’t look downy, they looked adult… had he just skipped the awkward grown out stage? Or was that boy, when he was finally able to bring those suckers out, about to go through one interesting, massive molting phase… damn… he was not going to know what hit him. “Usually preening is rather intimate, I’ve only ever done it for Gwynn before, Justin, come around here, watch, you’ll want to help him in future.” 

They didn’t always preen just because of molting, sometimes, it just felt nice, and it was a perfect feeling of self-care for their wings.

Ricky got off Justin's lap to let him see and spread his little wings for them, blushing softly. “It won't hurt?”

Gwynn's cheeks turned pink. “No. Quite the opposite. If you need some more privacy, I can leave. I don't want to overstep.” They assured gently, an understanding smile on their lips.

Ryan shifted closer to the mated pair as he sat down, but not yet reaching for Ricky’s wings when Gwynn asked about needing privacy. He might be helping with the preening here, but he wasn’t about the answer for Ricky. It was his body, his privacy, what’s more, he’d never been through this before, Ryan didn’t even know how he was going to react to this… Now, he could guess from how much Gwynn enjoyed their wings preened, but everyone enjoyed things differently. It was like, pain, there were times… there were times that he needed it now, and he was sure other people wouldn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to talk about that. Everyone was different.

Ricky blushing, he shivered gently, “um… if you could leave if I moan… I'd appreciate that- I get overexcited easy-” he whispered.

“Of course.” They assured, biting back the comment about his father being similar… They needed to talk to the gargoyles later about who Jerahmiel had loved… They needed to know. But they didn't want to broach that right now.

As Ricky had shifted from him, Justin had adjusted his position on the bed to make it more comfortable for Ricky to sit between both Ryan and himself, but also so he could see what Ryan was doing. Glancing towards Gwynn, he smiled, thankful that they had come down so willingly to help, “Thank you for this, Gwynn.” Even if Ryan was the one that was offering to show him how to help Ricky, Gwynn had been asked.

Ryan took in a breath, saying nothing to the mention of the possibility of moaning. “Justin, now, one way to is running your fingers through his feathers, gently, but move with the line of his feathers, not against, that will tug them out harshly… You only want the ones that are ready to come out naturally.” As he spoke, Ryan was showing the other just as he explained, practically stroking along Ricky’s wings, along his back.

Ricky’s breath hitched for a moment, trembling lightly for a moment- Gwynn couldn’t help but smile, nodding to Ryan, already making a line for the door. They knew it wouldn’t be long before Ricky was keening for the pair. Silent permission to help however they could. They opened the door with less than a creak- and shut with a barely audible thump to anyone other than the gargoyles.

The nephilim, just as the door shut- let out a tender moan at the strokes of his fingers. His head fell back, letting his now short hair be on display to Ryan clearly, and his wings flexed gently.

As much as Ryan hoped that Gwynn wouldn’t leave, he knew with Ricky’s request, that the odds that he wouldn’t moan soon, was unlikely, so seeing them even prepare, left a twinge. Then, the angel was slipping out the door, without more than a word, Ryan watched them go, that smile, Ryan nodded back to them, sighing as the door thumped softly behind them. Turning his attention back to Ricky just as his head tilted back, the newly short hair made him wonder what brought about the change, he couldn’t say he hated it. Now, however, was not the time to ask, as Ricky moaned.

“Justin, come closer, here, join me in stroking his feathers.” Ryan gently had Ricky facing Justin, only to reach for the other gargoyle’s hands and placed them into Ricky’s wings and stroked them through the soft feathers. “See how some of his downy baby feathers are naturally coming out., and his adult feathers are adjusting in place?” Ryan’s fingers scratched gently down Ricky’s back as he guided Justin’s hands.

Justin leaned into Ricky’s front, his wings were tantalizing to him too, and to hear him moan just from the way Ryan had run his fingers through them, oh it was delicious. It reminded him of the night they’d been together, with Ricky riding him, hands brushing through his wings, it had been glorious… His feathers were so soft, feeling them now, he could tell the difference between his feathers. The adult feathers, while they were just as soft, they were pristine, defined, larger, even if you could tell his wings were still small. 

“Justin- Ry-Ryan- oh fuck-” Ricky whimpered, rolling his hips slowly, groaning softly. Glancing to check that Gwynn was gone before folding quickly rolling his hips without thinking, hiding his face. “Oh fuck-”

Outside, all Gwynn could do was listen.

The way Ricky was positioned between them, Ryan could feel all too well from behind him the way the nephilim’s hips were rolling, they were so close together on the bed. “Keep going, and help him, Justin.” Ryan was happy to continue preening his feathers, pressing a kiss to Ricky’s shoulder as he ran his fingers through his wings again.

Justin glanced over Ricky’s shoulder to Ryan as he felt Ricky rock against him again, moaning as he stroked through Ricky’s wings to the side at the edges to the tips of them. “We’ve got you, Daddy.” As his hands came down to the small of Ricky’s back, he let his hands slip around to the front of his pants and start to undo them.

Ricky gasped and moaned, hips rocking smoothly against his hips slowly, and he shivered. “Justin- Ry…Ryan…” he whispered, his wings fluffing up eagerly displaying themselves for him as his jaw went slack. “Oh fuck-” he breathed, grinding into Justin's hand helplessly for a moment. Even at the faintest touch, and his wings twitched eagerly as he trembled.

With Ricky’s belly so prominent, Justin was so careful helping him get his pants off, most of his clothes were relaxed lately anyway. Dressing for comfort was more important now than trying to pull on his jeans, much to Ricky’s frustrations. There had been a morning that had not gone down well, despite Justin trying to help.

Ryan watched as Justin stripped next, stroking through Ricky’s wing’s again as he sat behind him, “He looks, so good doesn’t he, Rick? You are lucky.” Scratching slowly down his spine to gently detach more of the downy feathers as they came away.

He gasped softly as his eyes fluttered as his wings spread to their biggest as he shivered, “Yes-” he moaned, helping Justin with his pants as much as he could, trembling softly. “Ryan- Jus-” he whispered before kissing Justin’s shoulder, burying himself into him as Ryan preened him, feeling so vulnerable in the moment. As his lips parted into a soft expression looking up at Justin.

Sliding back to sit back against the pillows as Ryan was continuing to preen him, watching them both, enjoying the blissed-out expression on his mate’s face as he reached to gently pull Ricky onto his lap. Ryan shuffling closer along with the shift as they position shifted, “You want to ride me Daddy? Feel stuffed so full…”

He nodded eagerly, eyes wide, “Please?” He paused and looked up at Ryan, “Can… can I?” he asked softly for permission, licking his lips, “Please…” he whispered gently, eyes glassy and full of desire and want. Longing and confusion. He had dropped into a much more submissive headspace.

Ryan felt a twinge seeing the way Ricky submitted to him, brushing his fingers down his back, in the thick of his feather, seeing the glaze of his eyes, the pure desire, the lust… the adoration… Ryan was in a haze for a moment as his mind flickered back to a different being with their perfect pale skin, crystal perfect eyes… pale hair… he swallowed… breathing in deeply. Ricky is who was before him, and it would do him a disservice to not be here right then, he would find Gwynn after. Detangling a hand from his feathers, and reaching up and around to brush fingers along Ricky’s jaw, “go on Justin… fill him up, stuff him so full the babies won’t stop kicking.”

Justin knew better than to question whether it was safe for the babies. While he knew neither Ryan nor he had ever chosen to breed before, Ryan had avoided it, and Jerahmiel had never picked Justin for the breeding program, claimed he was scared, too weak to be worthy. Still, being around the others, he knew the physical limits, fucking, even this close to birth, was not dangerous, despite Ryan talking like that.

His fingers grasping Ricky’s hips, “Hold on to me. That’s it.” Lifting him enough, Justin slid him onto his cock slowly, filling him, inch by inch, knowing he’d feel it just as much as he’d feel the way Ryan’s fingers were brushing through his feather’s again.

Ricky moaned softly, wrapping around Justin and cuddled into him as he was filled, eyes fluttering as his lips parted, settling against him, just rocking his hips slowly back and forth. Steady with him, and feeling Ryan’s fingers, he couldn't help but melt faster, feeling heavenly.

Most of the downy feathers had fallen away now, but Ryan was just letting his fingers gently continue to massage through Ricky’s wings, knowing just how it felt for him, and remembering himself. Leaning into the smaller man’s back, the gargoyle couldn’t help thinking of Gwynn outside the door though, even if he was trying to be here, in the present, as he pressed his cheek to the back of Rick's shoulder.

Justin thrust up into his mate, long, slow, not wanting to rush the moment. He just wanted to let him feel the connection, not only the press of his cock, but the stroke of his wings. Leaning in, he brought his lips to Ricky’s to kiss him softly.

Ricky moaned softly, melting into him with a shiver, lips parted slightly and trembled, “Justin- Ryan- oh fuck- oh fuck-” he gasped, feeling Justin press perfectly into him, feeling him as his heat settled between the gargoyles easily.

Outside the angel was listening though, hearing Ryan’s name caught between moans… They couldn't help but miss their mate touching, holding, caressing them, making their heartache.

Ryan’s fingers stroked along Ricky’s wings, all that were left were the adult wings, none of the downy baby feathers were left. Even he had learned something today when it came to angel wings, he hadn’t been aware, then, many angels from heaven in Ryan’s era, were not born, but created. Pure angels were not encouraged to breed, and half angels, such as Ricky, were considered an abomination to the nature of heaven. At least, that was what the gargoyles were taught to believe. No longer did any of them have to follow those ways, so much had changed. 

Hearing Ricky moan, gasping out their names, Ryan moaned out low, thinking about feathers under his fingers. Looking down at his hands as he brushed through them, just straightening them out under his touch. Shifting against Ricky’s back as he thought of Gwynn, wishing they were here, he could be touching them too… As much as he struggled every day to believe he deserved to, he wanted to, he wanted to deserve the love they were giving him.

Justin panted against Ricky’s lips, before they had mated he had been so jealous of Ricky’s connection with Ryan, knowing how much Ryan always drew in angels. At least, that was how Justin saw it, and it was painful to him the thought that Ricky would favor Ryan over him, seeing the way Ricky would look at Ryan. How Ryan could give him something Justin never could… Now, though, the love that ran through him seeing his mate so happy, what else would he ever want for him?  “That’s it, Daddy, that’s it.” Justin rolled his hips with Ricky’s, it was a gentle movement, but keeping the momentum going, and him full, the sensation so intoxicating as he continued to fuck up into his mate.

The nephilim cried out, cumming hard without hesitation, holding onto Justin tightly as his moans were drawn out desperately, head falling back as he submitted so eagerly to him, jaw slack and eyes rolled back happily.

Gwynn waited on the sofa, hearing the sweet noises of the nephilim and desire for their own mate grew. They wanted Ryan. But… They needed to be patient.

As Ryan slowly finished stroking Ricky’s wings, watching as he trembled in the gargoyle’s arms, he could tell all the signs of how Justin chased his own release after him, moaning out as he came undone… “That’s it, good boys.”

His fingers smoothed Ricky’s wings over and settled them down after a moment. “Justin, make sure to go help your mate to get cleaned up, he’s going to need plenty of rest I think.” Climbing off the bed now, leaving the pair be as he let himself out of the bedroom, adjusting his clothes slightly as he did from his own situation. 

Ricky moaned a soft thank-you, settling into Justin’s arms, whining softly.

Gwynn stood as the door opened, “Ryan…? Can we talk? Please.” They offered gently as they reached for his hand, tangling their long slender fingers with his calloused ones, a timid storm behind their soft blue eyes.

Taking in a breath as Gwynn asked to talk, asking that, could not end well, now could it… Didn’t mortals have this thing about asking someone to talk in a relationship? Not to mention, that look in their eyes, he could see that tempest in them… Shit. Still, this was Gwynn, and he couldn’t deny them. “Of course, but not here.” When their hand took his, he led them out of the apartment.