#sometimes it looks like absolute terror and having a desperate cry in the corner. but continuing forward nonetheless

[thebleedingeffect]

More than anything I think we all need to remember that while John is a very pathetic, scared little guy, he's also the guy who will quite literally go through hell because he's so guilt ridden that he truly believes no one else deserves to go through what he's currently dealing with

[judjira]

dreams

AN: publishing a drabble i wrote based off a dream i had, i am a sucker for reconciliation stories (but not for cheating!! don't cheat guys that's bad)

pairing: jeongmi

themes: cheating (tw), making up, hurt and comfort

wc: 1786

mina wakes up in the night, sometimes. or jeongyeon has to wake her up, because she’s sweating, and groaning, and pale under the glow of the nightlight by their bed.

“u-ugh. mina. mina. hey, mina.”

a stray fist lashes out and hits jeongyeon square in the cheek. the force isn’t enough to actually physically hurt her, but the reason for it is enough to have jeongyeon doubling over, bruised and battered emotionally.

“mina, hey. mina, wake up.”

she massages her jaw, crawling over and gently holding mina by her shoulder, as the younger woman thrashes about in her sleep, soft and fitful moans escaping her lips.

“mina, shhhh…mina, i’m here.”

her eyes flash open, and the fear, desperation, and longing all come to a peak in the brightest of stars that are her eyes.

“j-jeong?”

it’s not the first time she’s woken up from a nightmare, nor does jeongyeon think it’s going to be the last.

“bad dream?”

a croaking sob leaves mina’s mouth, and she grasps fistfuls of jeongyeon’s shirt, burying her face into it as restless tears fall from the corners of her eyes.

“shhh…it’s alright. it’s alright.”

she never shares what the dreams are, what happens exactly for mina to wake up in absolute terror and despair, more often than not crying out or mentally shutting down.

“i-i…i was…you—”

“hey, calm down, first. breathe with me.”

jeongyeon sits both of them up onto their knees, sitting on the back of their legs as she grasps mina by both of her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes. her eyes which, illuminated by the lamplight, are red and stricken, blinking rapidly as she takes heavy gulps of air.

“in…and out. in…and out. in…and out.”

it does a remarkable job of calming her down immensely, but mina’s still softly sobbing as jeongyeon takes her into an embrace, shushing her quietly.

“this is the third time this week, mina…”

mina pulls away from the hug, biting softly on her lip as she looks down at the sheets between them.

“do you want to talk about it?”

it’s a new occurrence, ever since they’ve moved into their new apartment. they don’t talk about the old one anymore, because all that comes to mind when they think about it are broken dishes and venomous words.

“i…it’s dumb, jeong. let’s just go back to sleep.”

there it is again, that nasty old habit of hers. jeongyeon resists the urge to click her tongue, because she knows it will do no good here. instead, she softly calls mina’s name.

“if it’s enough to keep you up and have you screaming for my name at 2 am, i think it isn’t that dumb.”

mina looks almost shameful, twiddling with her fingers the way she does, like a child being scolded for lying.

“i don’t…i don’t want you to feel bad.”

“bad? i won’t feel bad, mina. i want to help you. i’m here for you, remember? we’re in this together.”

it’s been a long and hard road, and there were times when jeongyeon herself wasn’t sure if it was the right call. but where they are now, jeongyeon’s never been so sure of it in her life.

“i…”

mina hesitates, and jeongyeon reminds her of the mantra they picked up when they started this new life together.

“no more secrets, remember?”

there’s clear trepidation in mina’s shoulders, jeongyeon can feel it, but she eventually exhales, her breath trembling. she doesn’t look up from the sheets as she begins to speak.

“i…i wake up alone.”

jeongyeon feels a chill wash over her.

“i-i…i check my closet f-for clothes, and…only my side’s full. the other is…it’s e-empty.”

the way mina’s speaking, it’s as if she’s really there, and for a time, she was.

“t-the bathroom…only my toothbrush is in the cup. a-and there’s only one bottle of shampoo…j-just mine.”

jeongyeon almost wants her to stop speaking, stop dredging up old scars, but there she is, and they’re bleeding afresh.

“i…i go to cook breakfast…and i-i…i…only set one plate, one pair of utensils, o-one glass, and…i eat…b-by myself.”

mina’s eyes are lost. so, so lost in an echo of the past that is hauntingly real to her, to them. a past that both of them are trying so hard to move through.

“a-and then i get to the door, a-and i-i…see the n-note, and i-i…”

that is where jeongyeon stops her, cutting her off by pulling her close into her arms, as if her very soul depended on it.

mina almost screams into jeongyeon’s shirt.

“y-you left me, jeong. y-you were…you were g-gone, and…and it was a-all my fault.”

jeongyeon’s heart cracks, and the bandaids and bandages she’s tried so desperately to wrap over the seams, the broken edges, and the ruined corners are coming off.

"why did you leave me, jeong?”

no other words leave jeongyeon’s mouth as she hugs mina tight, kissing her lover by her hair as she whispers frantically.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry. it was a mistake. i didn’t mean to. i’m sorry. i was being stupid. i didn’t know what i was doing, i’m sorry. mina, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i won’t do it again. i’m sorry.”

it’s only been a year since jeongyeon left, with no word but a scrappily written note pasted onto the front door of their old apartment. it’s only been two months since they’ve gotten together again under the light of new circumstances and beginnings.

but old endings still come back to haunt them.

jeongyeon sees it everyday.

it’s in the way mina’s so adamant about their texts, always wanting jeongyeon to respond as quickly as she can, often complaining when she doesn’t reply fast enough.

it’s in the way mina never sleeps until jeongyeon gets home from work, the younger woman quite literally nodding off at the dinner table until she hears the door unlock and jeongyeon’s tired sigh.

it’s in the way mina goes quiet, with her eyes turning to the floor, when jeongyeon talks to other women with that same boyish, handsome charm that she’d used on others, most especially her.

it’s in the way mina dreams as well, apparently.

mina’s still crying when jeongyeon feels her throat go dry, a helpless pain filling her with dread as she draws back, her hands unfit to touch mina’s form. how could they be, when they’ve caused such pain?

“i-i…”

her words die in her throat as mina’s sobs turn to sniffles. there are no words, really, that can make up for what she’s done. no actions, either. it’s irredeemable, she thinks, to have committed such a heinous crime as she has.

“it…it was a mistake.” jeongyeon repeats.

she’s not sure which is the mistake. cheating? leaving? coming back? they all blend into one colossal fault on jeongyeon’s end, for hurting who she now knows is the love of her life.

“should…should we have really done this? g-gotten back together?”

mina whispers, and the way mina clutches her hands close to her chest, protecting her heart from another pain that jeongyeon might inflict on her, wounds jeongyeon to the core.

“m-mina…”

mina shakes her head.

“no, i-i…i’m sorry…i told you this was dumb. we should just…just go back to sleep.”

jeongyeon almost falters. as she always has.

she faltered when she was with that girl that barely mattered. she faltered when she packed all of her things from their old apartment. she faltered when she wrote those stupid words on that stupid piece of paper.

she faltered when she saw mina again, working the counter in that subtle but cozy café. she faltered when she asked for her number, as if she didn’t have it saved all those months they were apart. she faltered when she asked mina if they could try again, properly this time.

she had always faltered when it came to mina. perhaps it was in the sparkle of her eyes that spoke of a million dreams. perhaps it was in the curve of her lips, pink gums and teeth peeking out like a hidden treasure. perhaps it was in the touch of her skin, which always slotted itself so perfectly against jeongyeon’s.

now, however, she does not falter.

she does not falter when she takes mina’s face in her hands, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head up to hers, staring oh-so-tenderly into mina’s eyes, before leaning up to press a kiss against the cool skin of mina’s forehead.

“…a lifetime wouldn’t be enough for me to express how sorry i am for leaving, mina.”

she whispers into mina’s skin, hoping that the words will carry themselves into her veins, blood pumping until her apology reaches mina’s heart.

“i can’t…there’s nothing i can do to ever make up for hurting you. i can think of nothing i can do that will be able to soothe your pain.”

jeongyeon feels her own tears well up, and she lets them flow. she’s done trying to hide how she feels.

“but…but i try, anyway.”

she pulls away from mina’s forehead, and mina’s staring at her, eyes sparkling with those dreams that she’s always chased after every time she’s fallen asleep alone and unfulfilled.

“i try because…because i am. i’m sorry. i…i really am. i-it…it tears at me everyday to know that…to know that you’re here, with me, and you’re making me so, so fucking happy, and yet all i’ve done is…is hurt you.”

jeongyeon struggles to get the words out, as she always has, but she needs to. because this is mina. and every other person she’s seen has only been a disappointment, failing to measure up to her love.

“i-i don’t know what…what possessed you to give me another chance, but…i want it. i want t-to—to show you. that i-i’m…i’m better than i was before. i’ve…i’ve grown. and…i can…i can love you better.”

mina’s quiet when jeongyeon finishes. the night has never been so loud in her ears, the only sounds she can hear being the faint cars in the distance and the fan gently blowing.

her hands go up, and when she takes jeongyeon’s hands, jeongyeon’s breath catches in her throat.

“th-there’s a way. a way you can make it up to me.”

her heart pounds, furiously, echoing, screaming words into her mind that she will never forget. don’t let her go this time.

“anything.”

mina whispers, with all the desperation, fear, and longing that she’s carried with her in the year that she was alone.

“stay with me. please.”

jeongyeon doesn’t falter.

“always.”

mina’s hand clasps around jeongyeon’s, as they lie back down together, wiping at each other’s tears.

they drift off together, into dreamless sleep, because what they have right now is already something they’ve dreamed of, together.

[salparadiselost]

little jason doesn’t feel safe without dick around for the first few (days? weeks?) he spends at the manor, but is worried he’s being too clingy. dick, meanwhile, is driving himself crazy trying not to make jason feel trapped and holding back from physical contact unless jason initiates

Jason hated when Dick left.

He wouldn't say that he particularly loved the human, but Dick felt safe in a way that Jason hadn't had since he was an even smaller impling. The human held his emotions out on an offered hand, and he never punished Jason for taking a taste.

And those emotions were always... affection, friendliness, and openness.

There was never the lick of lust that he had come to expect of humans. There were never any of the bad emotions that had always came from humans when they saw him. There was never any disgust or flinching away or whispering that Jason was something dirty.

All humans had always treated him like that.

All humans... except Dick

Dick was just food and love and someone who could fill the hole inside Jason's heart.

He was Jason's anchor in the chaos that was moving into a new home and living with humans that all towered over him.

He was someone that Jason thought he could trust.

So Jason got really anxious when Dick left.

He whined as he saw Dick's sleepaway bag get put out into the hall, already full of clothes. Jason was half-hidden behind one of the pretentious statues that Bruce had in his front entry, and glared at that bag like he could burst it into fire.

He had hidden it this time, stuck it behind a cabinet in an abandoned room far where he thought that Dick could find it.

But the human was trained by the "Greatest Detective in the World" and had found it after an hour delay.

Next time, Jason was going to throw it in the pond out back.

“I don’t know how it got there,” Dick said as he walked into the main room with Alfred. He had his bathroom items in a plastic bag, the last things he gathered up right before he left. "I swear that I put it by my bed last night."

"I might have an idea," Alfred said with a sly knowledge in his voice.

Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Master Jason gets restless. I imagine that this is a symptom of that agitation."

“Oh,” Dick said in a suddenly small voice. “Well… then I better be getting out of your hair quick. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Alfred patted him on the shoulder, and gave Dick a gentle smile that made Jason’s own heart ache.

“My boy, you can never overstay your welcome here. Please return to us soon.”

“I will as soon as I’m able,” Dick said with another heart-aching smile. The emotions in the room were all sadness and don’t go. So many emotions that wanted to keep Dick here, and yet he still picked up that damn bag.

Jason had to physically hold himself back from crying for the human that was rapidly becoming the closest thing he had to a packmate. Dick was soft. Dick was safe. Dick was filling that space that had been empty ever since Mama died.

When he curled up on Dick’s lap, their emotions lapping at each other’s, he felt like he was in the safest place in the world.

And when Dick left, he took all that rare safety with him and left Jason desperate for him to come back.

“Alright, well, please say goodbye to Jason for me.”

Dick slung that bag over his back and Jason had to swallow down a pathetic impling whine. His instincts were screaming, and his emotions were bouncing all over the place because he couldn’t keep them in control.

He wanted to throw himself at the human, wrap his arms around his legs, and keen until his pack stayed.

But he didn’t. He held back because no one liking clingy implings. Especially Incubi implings who were already prone to being too needy.

So he stayed quiet when his pack opened the door and left him behind.

When the door shut, he burst from his hiding place and ran up to the front window, staring through it to catch the last glimpses of his packmate as they drive off without him.

And when Dick became a small dot in the horizon, Jason left himself cry. He cried, and cried and cried, his keenings filling every one of the mansion’s corners.

Bruce came and picked him up in that cautious, uncomfortable way of his. It was so obvious that he hated touching Jason, that both of the oldest men hated touching Jason. They were awkward and pulled their hands away as quick as they could from his skin. They never touched him outside of feedings, and whenever he tried to nuzzle against them (it was stupid. They weren’t pack. He didn’t know why he kept trying to do pack things with them.) they went tense.

Even when he fed, they only did so for as short of a time as possible and when Jason said that he was full they left the room as quick as they could.

They never stayed for the bonding, the quiet moments that were supposed to be used to strengthen pack bonds if they had any. They didn’t have bonds, but it would still be nice to curl up next to someone instead of being shut into a room by himself.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Bruce said as he tried to bounce Jason on his hip. Jason’s stomach rolled as he sensed the anxious coming from Bruce because he was holding Jason. And feeling himself cause if those bad emotions, he only made Jason cry more.

“Jason, Jason, please talk to me. You don’t have to cry, baby.”

Shut up, you stupid little thing.

“Master Jason, whatever is the matter?”

There’s nothing to cry about, sex toy.

“Please, sweetheart, calm down.”

Stop.

Jason couldn’t take it anymore. He twisted out of the human’s hood and fell to the ground. They looked even taller from his shorter height, and his heart raced faster. Hands were all around him, trying to scoop him back up, and he ran away.

He ran up the stairs and into the family wing and into the room that smelled like Dick and all his bubbly love emotions.

Jason heard them coming, footsteps hot on his heels, so he shoved himself under the bed. He wedged himself deep under it, with only one of Dick’s crumpled sweat shirts. It smelled like him and helped ease the terror.

He didn’t come out, even though the other men sounded like they were begging.

*****

Jason snapped awake to the sound of a familiar voice.

“Little Wing, what’s wrong? Why are you hiding buddy?”

Two blue eyes were staring at him and he had to blink to make sure they were real.

Dick.

He came back.

He scrabbled out of the bed and into Dick’s arms, making incessant little impling chirps as he shoved himself under Dick’s chin. Two warm hands caught him, held him close, and clutched him like they would never let go.

His instincts thrummed pack. Pack. Pack.

He flexed his claws and dug them into the jacket Dick was wearing. As if he could keep the human here by sheer force if will.

“What’s wrong?” Dick repeated.

“You left. You’re the only one who likes me and you left.”

Dick tensed against Jason and the felt the human’s emotions drop in shock. His packmate unconsciously held him closer and Jason purred into the physical contact. Something anxious that had been coiled up inside him finally loosened and fell apart.

“Oh baby,” Dick whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

The human shifted, pulling Jason fully into his lap. His young instincts told him to fold up small, to tuck himself into his packmate’s chest, to purr impling sounds up at the man whose emotions felt like Mama’s.

The human wouldn’t understand the actions. He couldn’t know what it meant to have an impling pliant and purring in his lap like this. What a demonstration of trust it was for an impling. What kind of faith showed that a child of a species who guarded their young zealously and had been raised to fear humans, would willingly place himself in one’s lap.

But he liked to think that Dick did understand when he began petting Jason’s hair and washing over him in warm, loving emotions. Dick’s claws (no. Fingernails. Humans had fingernails.) began scratching Jason’s back and he absolutely melted.

“Jason,” Dick nudged just as he was beginning to fall asleep. “Why do you think that Bruce and Alfred don’t like you?”

Jason scrunched his nose. “Humans don’t like touching Incubi and Succubi. They think we are dirty,” he spat the word. “Bruce and Alfred always get nervous when they touch me.”

Dick’s face scrunched now. “How do you know that?”

Jason’s face fell flat and Dick gave a sudden chuckle. “Right, Incubus. Sometimes I forget that you can sniff out everyone’s feelings.”

He fell silent but his fingers didn’t still.

“That must be pretty scary for you, huh.”

Jason nodded, not even embarrassed about being wary of the two larger men. Large men were scary. They hurt and held him down. They were the ones that picked off packless implings and locked them in basements to never see the sun again.

“I’ll talk to them because Jason, they love you. They don’t know how to show it, but they do. They are just worried about scaring you more.”

He didn’t know how to take that. He didn’t know what to think about that.

Humans… being scared of him? Being scared for him?

It seemed like an impossible thought.

But sleeping in a human’s lap also seemed impossible and that was exactly what he wanted to do.

Thoughts were hard, so Jason just stopped thinking. Dick was here again, after all.

He would keep Jason safe.

[skitzlee]

How (not) to train a child

How do you train a child with super strength? You work him to the bone, make him lift heavy things under worsening circumstances until he drops. He will inevitably collapse, out of exhaustion, or weakness, or fear, eyes wide with shame, shying away from your disappointment. When this happens you give him a stern look and tell him, “Number One, you’re the leader. You should be better than this.” 

How do you train a child who can hold his breath underwater and control the trajectory of weapons? You hold him in a glass tank, nothing but the scratching of your pen taking notes and the dull thunks of knives being thrown at him. He sometimes forgets to hold his breath as he twists another dagger from his face and bangs desperately on the glass ceiling. He screams, shouts, sobs, “L-let me o-out!” You watch in disappointment, unlocking the tank and sighing at the wet, shivering form at your feet. “Number Two, If you ever want to be better than Number One you must be strong,” you reprimand with no warmth in your voice. 

How do you train a child who can bend minds with her voice? You make her talk until her voice is scratchy and hoarse, make sure she has no reservations of her power. She will beg you to stop, beg you to not do this, but you will force her anyways. It is for the better of this world, you tell yourself as you make her cough out the command. The nanny is panicked when she slices her finger off, but not as terrified as the crying child in your hold. You drag her away from the bleeding employee and make the annoyance known in your voice, “Number Three, you cannot let your emotions and fears get in the way of your job.” 

How do you train a child who can see and talk to the dead? You lock him in the mausoleum, heavy door clicking with the lock. His fear of ghosts is irrational. You must condition him out of it if he is to ever be useful to your prestigious academy. He scratches at the walls and writes nonsensical phrases on the floor in his own blood. He clings to the hem of your pants when you open the door, tears mixing with blood as he shouts at you to please, please, please let me out. “Another hour, Number Four,” you tell him and shut the door on his screams. 

How do you train a child who can summon portals though space and time? You make him jump, faster and longer every time. He will puke at the end, on his knees and spewing vomit with drops of water lining his eyes. You force him to his feet and make him go again, no interruptions this time. Sometimes he will try to run from the course you’ve set up, act mouthy with you when you catch him again. You will hit him, again and again and again, look him in his tired eyes and say, “You have a job, Number Five. And that job is to listen to me.” 

How do you train a child with monsters in his stomach? You set up a reinforced room, numerous ways to subdue the small boy huddled in the corner. You have a wary staff member pull up the child’s shirt and watch the tentacles pour out from your safe perch behind the sturdy glass. They rip into the employee, training dummies, and everything else in the room as the child sniffles and rubs at his head. He will fall to the ground and try to shove his shirt down, but he will fail because he’s too weak compared to the terrors he can summon. You will use you security robots to hold him down and look down at his trembling form with a sneer. “Number Six, you need to grow up and take control.” 

How do you train a child with sound powers too catastrophic to release? You don’t. You can’t control her, not like the other children. She’s strong willed and strong powered, something you haven’t seen before. The room is expensive to build but you make it anyways, locking her powers and the girl inside herself. Inside her head. She will never get out now, you know. forever tossed to the sidelines with no idea how strong you could possibly be. You don’t say anything. You have more important things to do, pushing her out of the way. “Move aside, Number Seven, I have to talk with your siblings,” you tell her, and don’t look down when she falls to the ground under the force of your push. 

They all leave, one by one, gone from the mansion they once called home. There is absolute quiet for the first time in very long, Grace standing completely still and awaiting her next job and Pogo hiding away in on of the rooms. You think of all seven of the children briefly before shoving the thoughts from your mind and standing up. You have a job now, plans to make. There is no time to waste reminiscing on those children. 

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Dreams

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 1855

Content warnings - lots of fluff and comfort, platonic relationship

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon has a nightmare and MC comforts him

Summary - Mammon is forced to sit through another horror movie with his brothers, and you decide to go check on him once he’s gone to bed.

AO3

You didn’t know how it happened exactly, but somehow movie night had turned into “let’s see how many times we can make Mammon jump before he pisses himself.” Since you had been helping Beel gather snacks (someone has to make sure he didn’t eat them before he even left the kitchen), you weren’t involved in the movie selection process. You had already told everyone you had no preference, so they didn’t wait for you to return.

As soon as you took your seat between Mammon and Beel though, you started to suspect something. Mammon was flinching at every little thing - from the sound of your can of soda opening to the sound of Beel opening a bag of chips. You tried to ask him what was wrong, but he said it was nothing. That you didn’t need to worry. And since the movie was now starting, all you could do was watch him skeptically out of the corner of your eye.

About 10 minutes in, the first jump scare occurred, and you heard Mammon muttering obscenities under his breath. It didn’t seem that scary to you, so you were about to just let it go, when the next scare happened and he almost spilled your drink with how hard he jerked into you. You thought about suggesting that they change the movie, saying you didn’t like it, but Levi already knew just how much you loved horror movies and was sure to call you out on it. And seeing as Mammon was trying so desperately to contain just how freaked out he was, you didn’t want to draw anymore attention to him and make him feel even worse.

So you decided the best course of action was for you to just snuggle up to him and hold his hand. There were several times you thought for sure he was going to crush your own with how tightly he was gripping you, but somehow you managed to make it through the entire movie with all your limbs and digits still attached and in working order. When you finally stood up to stretch, you got a good look at Mammon. Poor boy was white as a sheet (which is saying something with his dark skin tone), and made a hasty retreat as soon as possible to his own room, his brothers snickering as they watched him go.

“Y’all really can be assholes, you know that?” you said, sending a glare towards Asmodeus, who you were sure suggested the movie in the first place.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he replied, smiling innocently at you. You rolled your eyes at his mock confusion. He knew exactly what he did. Just like the rest of them.

As you walked towards your room, you thought about stopping by Mammon’s to check on him, but decided better of it, and opted to  text him first instead.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

“Fine. Just fine. Already in bed. Goodnight.”

Well that was odd, you thought. Usually he was more chatty with you. The other times he had been tricked into watching horror movies with his brothers, he usually made up some lame excuse as to why he was going to spend the night in your room, “in case you got scared”. But tonight, he didn’t and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

————

Mammon collapsed on his bed as soon as he got to his room, not even bothering to lock the door behind him or remove his clothes. He was absolutely exhausted at this point. Watching those shitty movies with his brothers always drained the life out of him. He had to concentrate so hard just to stop from humiliating himself and giving them something else to mock him for for the next century.

And tonight’s movie seemed to be the worst one yet. He seriously had to wonder what dark pit of hell the director must have crawled out from to make such a twisted movie. No one else seemed to mind it though. Even you, the weak, fragile human, were enjoying yourself. But he had been too nervous to even register the fact you spent the entire movie pressed up against him, as he squeezed your hand for support.

Part of him really appreciated having you there, but another part of him absolutely hated it. It was bad enough when he got spooked during the other movies they had watched together before, but just the thought of you bearing witness to his shame this time was almost enough to make him cry. Why couldn’t he pull himself together? You’d think the fact that he had resided in the Devildom - literal hell - for over a millennia would be enough to desensitize him to such things.

He flopped over on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he should just go to bed now or give up on sleeping tonight altogether. When suddenly a loud “DING” echoed through his room, causing him to practically throw himself out of bed as he struggled to figure out what the hell that sound was.

Oh.

It was his DDD.

You had just texted him.

Mammon sighed in relief, before feeling utterly embarrassed at his own reaction and simultaneously grateful that no one else was around to see it. When Mammon opened his messaging app, he saw that you were just checking up on him, and his heart warmed a little knowing you were thinking of him. But he also knew he was in no shape to see you right now because he’d surely only add to his embarrassment. So even though the idea of spending the night with you sounded really enticing, he decided to tell you he was fine.

After sending the text, Mammon crawled his way under his covers. He thought briefly about turning the lights off, but quickly decided that would be a horrible idea. He’d just have to sleep with the lights on tonight and hope no one walked by his door and took notice.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“MOTHERFKERRR….!” Mammon yelped, sitting bolt upright as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

“Mammon? It’s me.”

For the love of….it was just you. Not his brothers. Not the vengeful shadow lady murder spirit from the movie. Just you.

“Yeah?”, he said as he tried his best to keep his voice calm and even.

“Hey,” you opened the door and let yourself inside. You immediately noticed that the lights were still on, which honestly didn’t surprise you even though Mammon had told you he was going to bed. The second thing you noticed was that Mammon was sitting in his bed fully dressed, with a death grip on his blanket while he watched you enter his room, having changed into your pajamas. Looks like you had made a good decision to come.

“I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight?”

“Huh? Why ya wanna do that for?”, he asked. He had thought for sure you enjoyed the movie, so it shouldn’t be because you were scared, right?

“Just feeling a little uneasy you know. My imagination can get the better of me sometimes. So I thought I’d sleep better with you.”

“Um yeah. Sure. I’ll look after ya,” Mammon replied.

“Can I turn the lights off?”, you asked. Mammon nodded with a grunt, so you flipped the switch and headed towards his bed, using the light from your DDD to guide you so you didn’t trip over all the junk scattered on his floor. He didn’t really want the lights off, but he didn’t exactly want to say that either, so he convinced himself it would be ok since you were here now.

As you settled down beside him, Mammon started to relax as well. It didn’t take him long at all to realize that you were just fine and only giving him an excuse to not sleep alone, without him needing to do it himself. He smiled to himself as he rolled on his side and felt you rest your head against his back.

“Goodnight, Mammon.”

“G’night.”

————

After only a few hours of sleep, you were awoken by the movement next to you. Mammon was now on his back, hands gripping at his blanket, as he occasionally kicked his legs or jerked his head like he was running from something, trying to escape.

Realizing he was having a nightmare, you sat up and placed a hand on his chest, giving him a firm shake, “Mammon. Wake up,” he didn’t respond, so you raised your voice just a little louder and shook him again, “Mammon. MAMMON.”

Suddenly his eyes flew open, while he gasped for breath, his thoughts still frantic and confused. As he gradually became more fully aware of his surroundings, he noticed you were propped up on your elbow next to him with your hand on his chest. Wanting to make sure you were really there, he grabbed your wrist.

As soon as he felt the warmth of your skin in his hand, tears started pouring down his face from relief. You were here. You were safe. He didn’t remember why he felt it so important to check just then. His memory of his dream was already fuzzy and quickly disappearing. But that didn’t stop him from still feeling those lingering emotions of terror and loss.

“Hey, Mammon. What’s wrong?”, you asked. Your eyes had adjusted to the dim light of his room by now and you could see how hard he was crying. Not only that but you felt his hand shaking as it gripped your wrist. Whatever he had been dreaming about clearly left him terrified.

All he could do in response was shake his head, trying to reassure you that he was fine and it was nothing to worry about, but his words were caught in his throat and the tears just wouldn’t stop. Seeing that Mammon wasn’t going to be talking anytime soon, you leaned over and wrapped him up in your arms, a gesture he was all too happy to return as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You held him like that for a few moments, rubbing his back and soothing him. After a while his erratic breathing began to calm, so you carefully laid back down on the bed, holding him close to you so that he was mostly on top of you by the time you had gotten comfortable.

“It’s ok. It was just a dream, Mammon. Just a dream.”

As his panic subsided, Mammon adjusted his position slightly so that his head was more on your chest and shoulder. He could hear your heartbeat better this way, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the familiar, comforting sound. Yeah it was just a dream. You were here. You were safe. It was just a dream.

Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you continued to hold him close as he tightened his arms around your waist. Snuggled together, it wasn’t long before the two of you drifted off to sleep. And this time, Mammon’s dreams were much more peaceful.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

I was going to actually post this before asks closed (didn’t get the chance), but Teddy Bear Anon, you are one of my favorite people and a magnificent creature. You get my vibe. 

About Bad canonically being Sapnap’s dad I feel like that has so much extra angst potential when we consider the rest of the found family. Like. Sapnap, Tommy, and Fundy all have dads who started with the best of intentions but for one reason or another ended up slowly becoming a danger to them. I imagine Tommy and Fundy one day showing up with a cake and telling Sapnap “We regretfully welcome you to the shit dad club” and Sapnap is torn between being upset still and laughing over the absurdity of the situation.

Bonus points if Tommy made the cake using a recipe book that Niki gave him, the last gift Niki ever gave to Tommy. Tommy was originally a really bad cook/baker but after the egg really started to take over he went full survivalist. Leaning to cook was necessary but learning to bake was something he did as a way to raise everyone’s spirits. He’s never gotten the flavor quite to match with Niki’s perfectly but everyone agrees he’s gotten pretty decent in terms of skills. He and Fundy in particular will sometimes just spend an entire day in silence baking and then quietly eat their creations while reflecting on the friends they’ve made and lost over the course of L'manberg’s lifetime. When the group got back to the past and Niki made cookies for Tommy and Fundy the pair very nearly started crying.

Tommy is in an interesting position as a character since he did commit a lot of minor crimes and acted as a general nuisance but he was also still a child. (A very traumatized one considering I canonize SMP Earth with its unlimited lives but even more wars. Including against God. Tommy fought God just let me have this.) He acknowledges the moments when he went over the line and has tried to apologize. In particular at some point before the egg fully takes over he pulls aside Jack and tells him that he’s sorry for the way he acted when he was still in exile, taking one of Jack’s lives and all. Jack and Niki in particular are an interesting subject to address and a painful one for immune!Tommy to think about when he sees younger Niki because the three never fully tossed out the hatchet but it was obvious in the eyes of someone like Sam that both of them were growing more and more hesitant to hurt Tommy. It was made worse by the fact neither were even marginally immune, and it didn’t take long for the egg to get to them.

He never stopped being chaotic. Tommy at his core is just that kind of person. He did, however, grow up enough to act in a more mature manner. Started to recognize what’s too much. In particular he became a lot less violent and willing to lash out after Sam Nook in essence reparented him. He’s still an absolute wild card of a person, which in the eyes of Sam and Sapnap is a good thing. For this au I think we should actually address Tommy having severe ptsd and during the building of his hotel/the early days of the egg before it becomes a noticeable threat it shows. He’s a lot more subdued. Shows of aggression all carry a kind of desperation and his typical jokes feel flat. Lashing out at people slowly becomes more of a defense mechanism to see if someone’s going to leave or betray him, to test the limits of how nice they’re willing to be. After all, nice people have only ever been nice to Tommy when they wanted something from him. His eyes, especially after L'manberg is blow sky high, are well and truly gray. The first time Tommy genuinely laughs after filling Sapnap’s room with chickens is considered celebration worthy to them. His pranks take on a more hermitcraft-esque feel to them which honestly makes them more funny.

By the time they get to the past Tommy has recovered, but he still carries the kind of maturity that like Teddy Bear mentioned is reminiscent of age swap Tommy. When he gets especially stressed though, Immune!Tommy will slip into moments where he acts as tired and done with the world as age swap Tommy. With that said, most of the time he just acts like a more mature Tommy. Nothing could ever completely erase his unique vibe which Ranboo has gone on record as describing “Willing to fight God deaf, blind, and backwards just to prove a point." 

Immune Fundy and Tommy get on really well once Fundy manages to catch up with the rest of the group. It gets to the point where everyone from the past is kinda shocked since smp Fundy and Tommy do not get along. At all. Literally the first night Fundy’s back someone goes to wake them up and they find Fundy asleep on top of Tommy which is a wild experience since this Tommy is a goliath who often refuses to take off his full Netherite max enchant armor. He really becomes a "looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll” kinda mans.

Also, yeah, this is Dream’s retirement arc. He is literally just sitting in the corner watching Tommy dote on his younger self and Tubbo before completely pile driving two of the most powerful people on the server straight into the dirt. At some point Tommy sits down with past Punz. He tells this Punz that their Punz died protecting him and Tubbo and that Tommy never got to properly thank their Punz so he’s going to thank this Punz. Tommy then gives Punz an entire stack of Netherite. If we’re gonna go ahead and agree on Phoenix Tommy then Tommy is fire proof, meaning he probably spent a large amount of time in the nether to avoid the egg crew and get rare supplies. Meaning he also probably did a lot of mining just to distract himself and it resulted in him being loaded. Tommy used to have a fear of tnt and explosives but he seems like the type of mad lad to say “exposure therapy” and make a massive cavern in the underbelly of the nether.

I think it would also be really interesting to dedicate like, a couple of chapters to other people’s perspectives. I kind of want to set the time they arrive in the past partway through the Pogtopia arc since I like mildly unhinged but not completely gone Wilbur. Plus then it also makes more sense for Techno to be there. Just prefer the aesthetic really. I want to have Wilbur see this version of Tommy and come to a sudden “oh” moment. I want to have a moment where Tubbo looks between his Tommy and this new Tommy, seeing himself nowhere to be found, and has enough what the fuck moments to become aggressively protective of his own Tommy. Especially if immune!Tommy ever admits to the past Tubbo why he is the way he is, what he faced under the thumb of the people he trusted. Which, out of everyone on the server, Tubbo would be the first one from the past to actively learn. 

I am fully on board with Tommy knowing how to sew. That should just automatically be canon in literally ever AU. Tommy for all intents and purposes is still Phil’s child for me. Survival runs in the family the same way that chaos does, so he’s got a ton of basic survival skills that he just doesn’t show off because it’s still Tommy. He would have been completely fine in exile if it wasn’t for Dream. Whenever someone ruins their clothes in the Immune group they automatically go to Tommy and at first the past versions are very confused (except for past Tommy and Tubbo obviously) and then Tommy’s just “Sapnap this is beyond ruined it can’t be saved, let me make you something new” and within a couple days he makes Sapnap a completely new outfit. Like maybe Sapnap fell into a lava pool because Blaze Sapnap Supremacy and his clothes are beyond saving and everyone is beyond baffled when Tommy just acts like this is a weekly occurrence. He’s memorized Sapnap’s measurements and style tastes and already had a new outfit in the works for him that Sapnap immediately adores upon it being presented to him. It takes about a week for past Eret to learn that Tommy stress sews new clothing and he cannot think of a better model. Eret has never had such a full closet. Eret has everything from three piece suits to ball gowns now. Eret lives in terror of the days where Tommy disappears god knows where with Fundy and the two reappear with a new wardrobe for the entire god damn server. 

Speaking of disappearing I really like the idea of part phoenix and part tanuki Tommy for a couple reasons. Being a Tanuki he’d have access to enough magic to hide his hybrid traits, which if they’ve been present for long enough would be a necessity to him. Additionally think about Fundy and Tommy building a den under Church Prime that slowly turns into a maze. Think about it. It starts off simple and then they both start digging more and it gets deeper and deeper and more complicate and the two just refer to it as their den and the only ones who are fully aware of the connotations of that word are Sam, Sapnap, and Ranboo who remember the absolute hell that was trying to navigate the original. Just Fundy and Tommy bonding over the fact they are literally the only creatures on this server that have this catacomb memorized and at the end of the catacomb is their saferoom which connects to rail way that the two spent a month straight on. It goes at least 25k blocks from spawn and it’s a final emergency resort in case they can’t stop the egg and the Immunes needs to regroup and essentially try again (if they keep bringing their younger selves with them then hopefully they’ll finally get an army large enough to stop this, but everyone really hopes it doesn’t come to that.)

I’m working on the first chapter of my fic right now actually if I’m gonna be honest and phoenix Tommy is absolutely without question canon to it but I’ve still been going back and forth on if I want him to be part tanuki as well or just blessed/favored by one like Teddy Bear mentioned. I’m also tucking away the whole thing about the magma blood for later use. Phoenix Tommy just makes sense. They used to call him Zombie Kid for a reason back on SMP Earth, he just literally does not die ever unless he decides he does.

~Snapdragon & Firefly

[buckyownsmylife]

v e l o c i t y - chapter ii

The one where John’s your true mate, but he doesn’t want you to be his.

In a universe where fate grants you a new mate whenever you lose yours, John has lived quite comfortably for many years with the knowledge that he was alone after Mary. That all comes crumbling down the second that he meets you. How could the universe choose someone so young to be his omega?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. It’s being constantly updated

John’s P.O.V.

God fucking damn it. Just what the hell was going on back in Bobby’s house and why the hell wasn’t he picking up the phone?

For the first time since I left her behind, I found myself considering I should have at least given my omega - no, not my omega, just Y/N - enough attention to ask her for her number. At least it would have been handy in a time like this one, where my heart was pumping loudly, shortening my breathing, and making it difficult for me to focus. I just wanted to know what was going on, but there was no way I could tap into an unfulfilled bond to see what had scared Y/N so badly.

A sharp pang in my stomach had me abruptly turning the impala around and returning to the direction we had left behind two weeks before, much to the boys’ surprise. I made sure to ignore their open mouths and raised eyebrows, but I should know better than to hope that they’d quietly accept this change of plans.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, while Sam rubbed off the sleep from his face.

“Back to Bobby’s,” I barked, and I knew that my tone didn’t allow for any follow-up questions. Still, Dean couldn’t help himself. He had been (sometimes not so) subtly teasing me about the girl, making jokes about how I probably wouldn’t even be able to handle the needs of a young body, anything to get a reaction from me.

“Forgot something there?” I knew what he was implying, and even though it couldn’t be further from the truth, I couldn’t find it in myself to explain just yet. Terror made my heartbeat clear and quick on my ears, and I hated it. It wasn’t a feeling that was familiar, but considering it truly belonged to someone else, it was just beyond irritating.

“Something like that.”

Stepping on the pedal as I was once again flooded with a panic that didn’t belong to me, I found myself praying I’d be able to make it there in time to stop whatever the hell was going on. To whom I was praying, I didn’t know, just as I couldn’t explain why the hell I cared.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I squeezed my knees tighter to my body, trying to make myself smaller while attempting to control my breathing at the same time. It wasn’t easy, especially since my heartbeat was all over the place.

At least the screaming has subdued. Although that did little to appease my concern, it did help in my task of hiding in this safe room inside the empty basement. Just before Bobby managed to shove me in here, the last thing he told me was to keep quiet and still until someone came to get me, but now that his voice had been gone for a while and he still hadn’t reappeared, I doubted anyone would come looking for me.

Still, I couldn’t find it in myself to uncurl my body from this somewhat calm-inducing position and actually step out of the room to go explore the house. Not when I could still remember so clearly what I found when my dad was murdered. And I couldn’t see the same done with Bobby. I just couldn’t. Not when that meant that I was completely alone, with no one to worry about me in this entire world.

Tears rose, prompting me to blink them away, scared that once I allowed myself to grieve, I wouldn’t be able to stop. This wasn’t the time or the place. My life could very well still be in danger. And I couldn’t let Bobby’s… disappearance be for nothing. No. He put himself at risk for me, I’d abide by his wishes.

First things first, I’d stay right here, not moving a muscle. If nothing came to find me, then I’d slowly make my way out of this hiding spot… once I deemed it was safe enough to do so. 

But for now, there wasn’t much I could do, other than focus on my breathing and keep quiet. Real quiet. And watch time slowly go by. Praying that if something did come to find me, it would come in with a friendly face.

John’s P.O.V.

“Shit.” It was all I said as I barely managed to park the car right outside Bobby’s place before leaping out of it. It was pretty obvious something had happened over here, if not by the fact that the front door was slammed open, at least by the tracks of something that had been dragged over the front lawn, looking too much like a body not to make every single nerve end on my body stand to attention again.

At least I was feeling something again, and even if it was from my own system and not hers, I considered it a good sign. Halfway through the drive the panic that had been steadily building had completely disappeared, and I almost believed, if only for a second, something had happened to her - only to realize that if someone had killed my mate, I would have definitely known.

I still didn’t want to think about her as being my mate, but the existence of this connection between us was undeniable, especially as I bursted into the house, gun in my hand, to find blood fucking everywhere. The feelings of worry skyrocketed - I wanted to attribute them to her, but I knew they were mine. Just what the fuck had happened here and where the fuck was her?

I could hear the boys walking around the house behind me. I couldn’t give them any attention. My mind was occupied with her and only her, needing to know that she was safe, almost desperate to know where the heck she was. 

Bobby was a smart man. If he had noticed even an inkling of something going South, he’d have found a way to protect her. I just had to figure out what it was. Gun still in hand, although it was pretty clear that whatever it was that had been here had left long ago, I encircled the sofa and started to make my way down to the basement, remembering a conversation I’d had with Bobby one of the many times I came to visit.

“There’s an old closet in the back of the room downstairs,” he’d said. “It’d make for a good panic room, if I ever ended up having something I needed to keep safe.” Despite never having seen it, it wasn’t too hard to find it once I managed to turn on the lights. It really was made to be imperceptible for someone who wasn’t looking for it, but since that wasn’t my case,  the difference in the wood texture of the walls sorely jumped out to my eyes, and I reached out to curve the barely existent nail of my thumb on the indentation until I was able to pull it open. 

And there she was.

She was asleep, head resting on her knees, tucked away into the corner of the closet-sized room. A sigh of relief fell out of my mouth before I could reel it in, my heart clenching at the adorable sight before I snapped myself out of it. Fuck, no. This wasn’t any sentimental mate shit. This was me, worried about another living human being - one that had been placed under my friend’s care after having lost her entire family. That was all there was to it.

Still, I was careful when I reached out to put a hand on top of her, hoping it would suffice to pull her from her slumber. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was for that fucking connection to call out at the feeling of her skin under my calloused fingers, her eyes snapping open in shock and her mouth opening in clear intent to scream her lungs out.

“Shhhh… It’s just me. Shut the fuck up,” I groaned, one hand clasped over her mouth as I pulled her up with me and drag us out of the panic room. From the corner of my eye, I could see the boys had caught on to what had happened, and were clearly relieved to see her safe, despite the lack of indication as to where Bobby could be. 

After the initial shock, she finally stopped mumbling against my palm and took a deep breath, probably taking in the reality of the situation. It was just us. No immediate danger around.

I don’t think she even noticed when I slipped out from behind her, finally uncovering her mouth so I could try to understand what the hell had happened around here. The lack of contact between our skin, however, was sorely felt by my alpha genes, that begged me to look for her softness again, keep it close to me.

“Bobby?” Just that question made it clear we wouldn’t be getting much answers from her. Before I could say anything, Dean shook his head with an apologetic smile, and despite her falling down on a couch nearby, much to my surprise, she didn’t start crying or screaming again. If anything, she took the news (or lack of them) with quiet resignation, something that intrigued me to no end.

She’d lost everything, but instead of behaving like some poor little omega, she just accepted that this was her life now. 

“Didn’t you hear anything?” I finally asked, and had to suppress a smug grin when her eyes immediately snapped up to meet mine, easily abandoning Dean’s gaze. 

“Screams. But I couldn’t make out what was being said, it just seemed…” She hesitated then, like she needed to gather some strength to keep talking about it, but still, she pushed through. “It just seemed like they were torturing him, you know? It didn’t last long, but it was…”

She didn’t need to say it, it was easy to understand. Haunting. Devastating. I can’t imagine how it must have been like to be stuck in that spot, desperately wanting to help - because I knew it had been the case, I could feel it through our… bond, as nonexistent as it was - and being absolutely terrified about what could be waiting on the other side.

I had the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around her, feel her body against mine again and comfort her mind with my presence. It was so strong, in fact, that I had to bury my fingernails in my palms in order to stop myself from doing that, but since the urge remained, I distracted my animalistic side with some practical tasks that needed to be dealt with.

“Okay, let’s get the hell out of here. Sam, did you pack her stuff?” Knowing my youngest had gone up to the second floor and was easily the most prepared out of all of us, it didn’t surprise me when he answered by simply holding up a duffel in his hands. “Alright, then let’s hit the road.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Taken by surprise and ripped from my admittedly dark thoughts, I whipped around to stare at the older man who looked like this was just another ordinary day, like he hadn’t just very clearly tried to alter the course of my existence. But instead of providing me with any sort of explanation, he just reached out for my arm and pulled me from the couch, dragging me all the way to the main floor of the house and out of it before I was able to speak again.

“Stop! Hold on!” I managed to release my wrist from his grip, but I don’t think he would have even realized I was speaking if it weren’t from the sudden lack of contact between our bodies.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The omega in me wanted to recoil at the sight of her alpha looking at us with such anger, but he wasn’t our alpha. And he definitely had no right to come here and take control of my life like I had no say in the matter whatsoever.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shot back, and his mouth hung open in surprise. It almost made me feel smug about myself, knowing I had the power to shock the great John Winchester, who thought he was too good to become someone’s mate, but I was too angry to even acknowledge that. “You can’t just come in here and take me away, that’s not how it works.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.” From the little I knew of him, considering our limited encounters and the stories Bobby and other hunters had told me about, I knew he was a man of few words, but even my irate state of mind could identify the warning bells on the way he uttered that simple sentence, paired with the sight of the veins on his forearms as he clenched his hands into fists.

Still, I pressed on.

“Who gave you that responsibility? Bobby was my godfather, my father trusted him, I know next to nothing about you. In fact, I want to keep knowing next to nothing about you. Just the same as you want when it comes to me, I’m certain.”

Waves of anger radiated from him, and even Sam and Dean seemed tense from a distance, where they stood by the car, watching our altercation. Guess seeing their dad this furious wasn’t as usual as I figured it would be, considering the Alpha inside of him.

“Why is it so hard for you to just obey? Get inside the car. I’m not gonna ask you again.” Of course, he could have made me obey, if he wanted to. One order from their alpha and any omega would fall to their knees, the genetic pull too strong to ignore. But he didn’t use his alpha voice, he used his John voice, and if at first that surprised me, believing it to be from a place of respect, the realization that it was most likely because he didn’t want to recognize that our bond even existed only filled me with even more anger.

“I am not getting in that car with you.” I braced myself for what he could do, trying to harden my soul so it wouldn’t hurt to see him leave - that’s what I wanted, right? - while also preparing to fight if he finally relented and took advantage of his manipulation power, but there was just no way I could anticipate him shortening the distance between us and easily throwing me over his shoulder like I was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. 

John’s P.O.V.

Fucking stupid ‘mega. Is she actively trying to get herself killed? Everyone around her has died in the last few months, what makes her think she can survive on her own? Why the fuck couldn’t she just be a good fucking girl and obey me? I hated that I had to resort to this, I hated having to touch her again, and especially have her over my shoulder, where I could feel the smell of her hair as it fighted against the wind and she tried to punch my back.

I grunted as I deposited her on the copilot seat, immediately locking the door so she wouldn’t be able to run away. The boys took their places in the backseat while I made my way to the driver’s seat, and although Dean didn’t look all that happy to be confined back there, it couldn’t come close to the burning expression with which she regarded me.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” I growled. “You’re coming and that’s final.”

“You don’t want me! Why are you taking me with you?” She was nearly yelling by then, arms waving around like a lunatic, and I had to to grind my teeth together so I wouldn’t reach out and…

I don’t know what I wanted to do, to be honest. I just knew that my head was pounding and I could still fill the weight of her body over my shoulder, like her skin had burned the fabric of my shirt and imprinted the shape of her body on my soul.

“You must be really fucking stupid if you think I’m gonna leave you out there, all alone.” That, thank the lord, was enough to shut her up, but I figured out pretty soon that she didn’t need to open her mouth to find new ways to annoy me.

“Driver picks the music,” I warned, lightly slapping her hand when she reached for the radio, but the infuriating little thing only slapped mine back and changed the station anyway.

“Maybe on a road trip. If you don’t want this to be recognized as a kidnapping, it’s the least you can do.” God, she was infuriating. I clenched my hands on the wheel, mulling the words I wanted to say over my head and I still wasn’t able to stop the threat from spilling.

“I swear to God, I’m not above pulling over and spanking you until you’re not able to walk for a whole week.” The second her eyes met mine, I knew trouble was coming my way, and still I was unprepared when the next words fell from her lips.

“And you think that’s punishment?” I couldn’t help it, the question provoked me into thoughts I definitely did not want to be having about her, my ears burning up as I realized that she could very easily read my reactions to figure out what was going on through my head - especially since my eyes automatically trailed over her body.

“You know what? I changed my mind. Take me wherever you’d like.” And with that, she threw one leg over the other, a dangerous smile taking over her face. “I think you and I are gonna have a lot of fun together, John Winchester.”

[amrio]

a nightmare kinda night

So I had this whole story plotted out and everything for fnf's favorite bomb boy and the gang that revolved around fun-sized whitty and how he would've been involved, but I lost interest a while ago... Anyways here's one of the fluff chapters that need no context at all. Oh and fun-sized whitty was dubbed Itty (like itty bitty whitty haha). There's an intro chapter if you want an idea of where this was headed btw.

(Not my characters, they belong to their creators)

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

It had been one of Whitty's favorite kind of nights. The kind where the apartment was cool and quiet and there was rain outside the window that he could watch if he wanted to. But that had been three hours ago and the rain had turned into a storm since then. He didn't mind storms all that much, but they were annoying when the crack of thunder and flash of lightning kept waking him up. He wasn't a deep enough sleeper to ignore the loud noises, so he was left to stare either out the window or at the doorway in a daze waiting for the noise to finally stop.

On one hand, he supposed he could get up and go do something to pass the time, but on the other hand, no one else was awake and he was rather comfortable despite not being on the bed he had been given. It had been too ingrained that he had to be ready to move at any and all times in case he was caught up to, so settling down and shutting his eyes for eight long hours just didn't happen. Instead he opted to sitting in the corner facing the doorway, sometimes still sleeping with his eyes opened, but the longer he stayed with Carol the less on edge he felt. And he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing for his general safety. But that was a problem for the brighter hours of the day. As of right then, he was perfectly content to relax into the pile of pillows that Carol had stashed in his corner when she figured out where he slept. Those were nice. He had never had those before. He definitely preferred them over the hard wall and floor after being told what they were for. Softness was new, but he was finding that it wasn't necessarily bad.

So, yes, he was comfortable enough to rest with his eyes shut and listen to the rain in between the crashes of the storm. But then there was a new noise. It wasn't anything like the storm, it didn't sound like passing people outside, but it didn't sound happy. It didn't sound like it was outside at all really. It was much closer than that. It was whimpering. Was someone crying?

Whitty opened his eyes and took a wary look around. He didn't think the sound was coming from Carol's room. She was a deep sleeper and while she hadn't ever cried as far as he knew, the sound didn't match her voice. This left the only other person in the apartment. Itty. The little bomb had taken to sleeping in his bed since he didn't use it. A glance over in the bed's direction confirmed it. Even in the dark of the room, Whitty could tell that Itty had managed to fight the blankets into a knot around himself and was trying to lash out against something in his dream. He didn't have those very often. Dreams. The few he had had were either ungodly amounts of bizarre or absolute terrors that he woke up from crying. After a morning of waking up to one of the bad ones, he had asked Carol about if she ever did that. She had said yes to having what she called a nightmare, but she said she didn't usually wake up crying from them. The concern in her features was obvious even to him, but it wasn't the first time she had looked at him like that, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

With that in mind, Whitty took on the job of being concerned as he got up and walked over to the far side of the bed where Itty was struggling. He was fairly certain that his own nightmares were due to his past including both the lab and The Greater Good always on his heels. But as far as he and Carol had figured, Itty didn't remember much about his past, at least, nothing painful... Yet here he was, crying out in his sleep, scaring Whitty half to death when he started saying coherent words.

"No—! St-stop! Please! It—hurts! Please! No!"

It was painful to watch to say the least. Whitty had never seen the kid look so distraught, with the exception of when he had accidentally caught himself on fire, but that had been more of a panic. This was despair and agony. Thick black tears streamed down the kid's face while he shook and tried to jerk away from whatever was assaulting him. "Please! Stop! Why are you—! Please! I ca-can't!"

He had had enough of that, so Whitty reached down and tried to shake the little bomb awake. At first Itty's struggle only worsened with the grasp on his arm, but after Whitty shook him more insistently he finally seemed to waken a little.

Ittty's eyes shot open and he looked around wild-eyed, clearly not seeing his surroundings, and still shaking, but he did see Whitty and lurched towards him. Well he certainly tried to anyways. The blankets were too tight around him for him to get very far. When he realized this, he only cried harder. "P—please!" He was desperate.

Whitty, not really sure why, acted without thinking and got to work untangling the sobbing bomb. The second Itty was free, Whitty found himself having to brace against the impact of Itty jumping at him. When he got over the fact that Itty was now latched around his neck in a vice-like grip, he actually registered what was happening. Itty, the poor little kid who had the same start he had, was crying his eyes out and scared out of his mind. At first Whitty started to panic a little on the inside. What was he supposed to do with this?! He didn't know how to help in this kind of situation??? But then he looked down at Itty and it clicked. What would I have wanted when I was like this?

The answer to that was an easy one. He didn't even realize what he had wanted until he had been given it with Carol. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone there with him. No one would ever truly know what he was and had been going through, but someone's nonthreatening presence would have helped to ground him. As he looked at Itty in his little cat patterned pj's, it occurred to him that that wasn't entirely true, not anymore. He wasn't completely alone. Itty had been put through the same crap that he had, but the kid was lucky. He had Whitty to help him through it.

So with his mind made up, the older bomb moved as gingerly as possible, sat down, and shifted until he was leaning against the headboard with Itty tight against his chest. He wasn't very good at the whole affection thing yet, but he had seen Carol comfort Itty enough times to have a good idea of what he was supposed to do. First things first? Get him to stop crying.

"Hey," he muttered down to the crying kid. "Itty. Look at me."

Itty had his face buried in Whitty's neck and didn't seem to hear him, sobs still wracking through his little body.

Whitty blew out a puff of air before trying again. "Itty." He nudged him out of his hiding spot and offered a small smile when he saw the pair of normally bright, but now horribly scared eyes finally look up at him through the tears streaming down his face. "Hi. Think you can focus on me for a second?"

Itty looked so so confused, but after a second he gave a hiccuping nod. Then a clap of lightening struck followed by the deafening boom of thunder and sent Itty into crying hysterics all over again. He was right back in the hollow of Whitty's neck, but for a whole new reason.

Whitty glared at the storm outside, the rain wasn't going to ease up anytime soon and neither would the noise. How was he supposed to get the kid to ignore something as loud as thunder?! The headphones Carol had given him were on the other side of the room, but he knew that getting up wasn't even remotely an option with Itty attached to him. So he looked around for something nearby. Something to block the noise...?

Then he looked down at Itty again and it appeared that the kid already had it covered, or at least unintentionally had a good idea. The little bomb, in his panic, was trying his hardest to burrow into the side of Whitty's hood and hide from life and the loud scary things in it. That was a fairly easy solution Whitty figured. Plus it would even shield Itty from the flash of lightning so maybe he would calm down and go back to sleep. He's still not sure how he managed to get to the zipper with Itty in the way, but after a few minutes of rearranging and struggling with the petrified child, Itty ended up resting snug in the jacket with his head now on Whitty's chest and safely hidden away from the storm outside.

Another flash and crack of the weather outside had Itty tightening his grip again much to Whitty's annoyance. I thought we just fixed that issue. But he supposed that still made sense. Just because he couldn't see the storm didn't mean that Itty couldn't still hear it. It shook the apartment for Pete's sake. Of course he'd notice it. He needed a distraction or something else to focus on. But what else was there for him to do? It's not like there was anything he could go get for Itty to listen to. What else did Carol do when the kid was upset or feeling down? What did she do when he was upset?

He scrunched up his face trying to think as he watched another flash light up the room and scare Itty again. Normally she would get his attention and get him to sit down so he was at her height. Then she could effectively hug him and not his legs, and so far Whitty had the Hug Step accomplished. After that it was a toss up between talking him through whatever had stressed him out at the time or being quiet and there with him until he calmed down, depending on how upset he was. Well...that or she got him to sing. He liked singing with her quite a lot, so she usually hummed something that he could hum right back until he was up to singing and by then he had usually forgotten about what had set him off in the first place. ...How he had managed without her a year ago, he had no idea.

He personally didn't feel like singing right then. The room was pretty quiet aside from the storm, but his singing voice was not. He wasn't trying to compete with the thunder (even though he probably could and win), he was just trying to be a distraction. The question of if he should hum at all was answered the second he looked down at Itty's shaking frame. The poor kid hadn't asked for any of this. So Whitty sighed and started to hum. At first he didn't really know what he was humming, there hadn't been any song in particular on his mind at the time, but after a few notes he realized that it was the same song that Carol sang to him when he was upset.

Itty didn't react immediately, still flinching at the next bout of noise from the storm, but slowly his grip loosened and his crying faded in to sniffles and then just hiccups. He tucked himself closer to Whitty, but not out of terror this time. This time he was trying to get closer to the calmer sound of Whitty's song.

This entire time Whitty as been more or less still sprawled out on the bed, with his long legs propped up over the end of the bed and his arms still at his sides, unsure of what to do with himself. As Itty's breathing slowed, the need to curl around the kid suddenly hit him and he really had no idea what do with that. But...Carol did tell him that it was okay to respond to instincts like that. They were normal. Some of his amalgamated DNA was human after all. He had just never had a chance to indulge in any of the more touchy feel-y instincts before. But...they were why he liked hugs after he had had one. So now he hesitantly glanced at Itty, who looked pretty comfortable where he was, and shifted until his legs were crossed under him and his arms were curled protectively around the kid.

If it was any condolences to him, Itty almost immediately sighed and didn't even register the next crack of thunder. In fact, he appeared to be dozing off again. Perhaps Whitty had actually done it! Still humming, the bomb couldn't help but smile a little at his victory. He had calmed down a frantic, teary-eyed kid, without anyone else's help. And the thunder didn't even bother Itty anymore! Double win!

After a while Whitty ended up settling enough to shut his own eyes for a while, not to sleep—at least, not intentionally—but he could enjoy the weird but not bad feeling of Itty leaning against him. It wasn't entirely new to have someone using him as a pillow, Carol did it all the time. Her napping on top of him kept him in place and out of trouble, and he got to bask in the comfort of her trusting him enough to sleep within such close proximity. But Carol wasn't like him. She was soft and little.

Itty was little too, he supposed, but he wasn't soft. Not like Carol. He and the kid were made of the same stuff. They were both had rough skin and were often scalding to the touch when upset. And well. Itty was just in tears over a nightmare. Whitty didn't think anyone else could handle the little bomb when he was truly upset, just like the previous "fire" incident. But to him, the burning hot was nothing more than warm. Now, he didn't like why Itty was so worked up, but it was comforting to have someone so similar to himself. It was familiar.

Everything in life was so foreign to him. Affection, technology, people not being violent to him, having a roof over his head, eating a full meal...but Itty was not on that list. Itty was like himself, and he knew himself pretty well. The way Itty responded to situations was just like how he did. If something ticked him off Whitty recognized the heat rolling off of the kid's frame just as he recognized the spark at the end of his fuse and the little cracks in reality at his feet when the kid was truly angry. Itty's reactions were small compared to his own, but seeing another react the same was...it was interesting. Other people saw that all the time—people reacting in similar manners to themselves, but Whitty never had before. It was somewhat comforting if he was being honest.

He briefly wondered if that was what it was like to have a family. It seemed like a family thing, but he wasn't exactly an expert on that. The TV shows Carol watched sometimes had families involved and it seemed to line up with his thought process. People reacting similarly to the people around them who in turn knew and even expected the reactions. These families always seemed to enjoy each other's company to some degree, and he enjoyed Itty's company most of the time. Was that the same thing?

Whatever it was, Whitty decided it wasn't a bad thing, at least, it didn't make him feel anything bad. Looking down at Itty one last time, the only thing he felt was warm. Warm wasn't bad, right? He felt warm every time Carol grabbed his arm to show him something and even when Hex excitedly called him over from the other side of the basket ball court. Warm always followed him when he was around them, people he trusted or at least, people he wasn't afraid of. So yeah, he supposed, even if family wasn't the right word, he liked the feeling that was nestled in his chest as he accidentally drifted off with the smaller bomb leaning against him.

It was another new weird thing, but perhaps he could get used to it.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

(Un)Wanted: Part 2

Read on Ao3 

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden.

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks.

Word Count: 10,227

Mortals have always been fascinating creatures for Patton.

They have so many…quaint little ideas about what they can do about things and such interesting ways of thinking about it. Some of them believe that they float in this strange grey area, using that to defend choices that harm or hurt other people. Some of them believe they were sent here with a purpose and they must fulfill it. Some of them don’t think at all.

 It’s fascinating, but then…when your life is confined to a mere century, Patton supposes everything must seem so…heavy.

 A shriek interrupts his thinking and he barely has time to step aside before a blast of magic swirls past him.

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” He puts his hands on his hips. “Now, who threw that?”

 He rolls his eyes fondly when the prince and the duke point at each other.

 “Kiddos, not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm,” he says, creating a quick shield between them and the portal so anymore, um, ‘misfires’ don’t accidentally get through, “but do you even know what you’re doing?”

 “You ask as if they ever know what they’re doing,” L mutters.

 “Oh, please,” the prince huffs, “I am always in complete control.”

“Falsehood.”

 “That’s right,” the duke grins, “sometimes it’s my turn.”

 “We are not making the mortal live at the bottom of the lake!” The prince smacks his forehead with his hand. “The furniture would be absolutely positively destroyed!”

 “And mortals cannot breathe underwater.”

 “That too!”

 “Ugh, you guys are so boring,” the duke huffs, “that’s the point! Then no one else would be able to get him! Plus,” he adds with a grin, “we could have so much more fun.”

 “I find it highly unlikely that the mortal’s definition of ‘fun’ and your definition have significant overlap,” L says.

 “Well, then we’ll just have to change that.” The duke claps. “The bottom of the lake it is!”

 “It is not!”

 “Is too!”

 Patton and L quickly step back as the twins start squabbling again. L shakes his head disparagingly as the prince summons a sword. “We aren’t going to let them do this, are we?”

 “No,” Patton agrees, “but they’ve got a point.”

 “Well, the prince does make an effort to sharpen his blade on a regular schedule.” When Patton opens his mouth to clarify, L continues. “But I do not believe we have a grasp of how to create a residence for a mortal either.”

 “I know.” Patton absentmindedly rubs his wrists, still feeling the aftershocks of the visions pushed into their bond.

 It hurt. It had burned in a way that nothing ever had for a long time. And for a fae, that can be a very long time indeed.

 Dropping his work to clutch at his chest, hunched over from the weight of what he’d felt had been agony on its own, and he’d dashed out to find the others, needing to know what hurts, what happened, please, tell me so I can fix it, only to find none of them, fearing the worst. Having to walk into the garden to see the others already huddled around a mortal—a mortal, the duke wrapped around them with everything but the tentacles. Having to be the one to say no, his own heart tearing to pieces with every word he utters, the feeling of the mortal trembling in his hold, the tension and fear brimming off of their skin, almost burning Patton’s hands. Feeling the horrible sick rush of terror when the other animals bumbled into the forest.

 Hearing just what they thought of V.

 After that, well…Patton hadn’t cared much about the rules anymore.

 And honestly, considering who it was that pushed the visions in the first place, Patton’s not sure he ever stood much of a chance.

 But one of the things about breaking the rules is that, well, there are no rules. There are no guidelines now, no strict set of things to follow. And when it comes to mortals, that can be almost as dangerous.

 “Look out!”

 “Wait, shit—“

 “Pat!”

 Patton blinks and suddenly the others are tackling him out of the way of another errant magic blast. As his brain desperately tries to connect the path from standing to being on the floor, L scowls.

 “You two need to stop,” he says sternly, “we only have a few minutes before V comes through and if he sees this, it’s likely he will not wish to remain.”

 “Sorry,” the prince murmurs, helping everyone up, “and sorry to you too, Duke.”

 “Eh,” the duke says, brushing himself off, “we’ve done worse.”

 “Yes,” L mumbles, “yes, you have.”

 “L,” Patton says once everyone’s righted themselves, “did you manage to get a good grasp of the place?”

 L nods. “It seems to be the small village in the northwest corner of the forest. The population is around two hundred. It is…unlikely that the land holds any significant powers.”

 “Hmph,” the prince grumbles, lifting his hand obediently, “such a lack of creativity.”

 In front of them, a village forms. Several houses line a small street, each with a slightly different size and shape. Behind them are ramshackle sheds, worn fences, and in the middle, a slightly larger building. Patton isn’t sure what the mortals use this one for, but it is considerably…shinier than the others.

 “I suppose it is quite…” L struggles for the right word. “…plain.”

 “That’s one way of putting it,” the duke sniffs, “where are you supposed to do anything?”

 “Now, kiddos,” Patton says, “this isn’t about what we want, it’s about what V wants.”

 “And you think he wants something blander than a piece of dead wood?”

 “Hey!” The duke smacks the prince upside the head. “Dead wood is great, thank you very much.”

 “I said blander than a piece of dead wood, you bumbling buffoon.”

 “It’s what he’s used to,” Patton says quickly before they can dissolve into another squabble, “it’s better to go slow, right?”

 “We have already seen that V can be overwhelmed very easily,” L agrees, “it might be best to…start blander.”

 “Fine.”

 And not a moment too soon, it seems, because the portal begins to glow. Patton turns around to see V step through, followed closely by J.

 “Glad you made it, kiddo,” Patton smiles, “we’ve been waiting for you!”

 His eyes widen and his chest clenches when V’s body seizes with terror and he freezes, still halfway out of the portal. J nudges him gently and V whimpers, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and baring his teeth in a snarl.

 “Hey, hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs quickly, starting towards him, only to freeze when V shrinks back, “okay, okay, I’m stopping. I’m right here, okay? I’m not gonna get any closer.”

 He crouches down, keeping his hands raised, feeling the others adopt similar positions of surrender. V’s gaze is still fixed on the houses, his body seemingly torn between wanting to turn and flee and never wanting to move again. Patton’s heart clenches when V’s breaths start to get faster and faster, the air whining in protest as it whips in and out of his lungs.

 “V,” J murmurs, “V, listen to me.”

 V’s head barely jerks.

 “Come on, little one, just listen to me, you can close your eyes if you have to.”

 Patton watches, a strange cocktail of relief and envy as J bends closer, whispering into V’s ear too low for the rest of them to possibly hear, one of his hands hovering just over V’s opposite shoulder. V’s eyes squeeze shut and slowly, slowly, he relaxes, his chin dropping to his chest. J continues to murmur soft words until finally V draws in a deep, slow breath and his arms finally loosen their death grip.

 J looks at V with such a look of concern that it makes Patton wince in sympathy, only soothed when V gives him a tight nod. J straightens, still hovering protectively around V, and turns his attention to the others, the soft look of worry quickly morphing into stone.

 “Explain.”

 “We attempted to recreate the village,” L says, “in order to…not overwhelm V so quickly.”

 J glances down at V then back up. “Yes, and I can see that worked out stunningly.”

 “I don’t understand.” L looks back and forth between the village and the still-shaken V. “If…if the environment is familiar, it should elicit feelings of comfort.”

 “Oh, no,” Patton murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment, “I messed up.”

 “Don’t worry,” the prince says quickly, “it’s okay, we’ll—we’ll figure it out.”

 “I think I understand.” Patton opens his eyes and looks up at V. “You thought this was a trick, didn’t you? That we’d pretended to take you in and then…brought you back.”

 The very idea coils hot and heavy in his gut, settling there like a horrible sickly weight. It only draws itself deeper when V nods, his mouth drawn tight.

 “What?” The prince’s cry shakes Patton’s core. “Why would—“

 Patton holds up a hand, cutting him off, even though he can feel the anguish of the others burning through the bond. Even J isn’t immune; the hand on V’s shoulder flexes in the glove and he steps a little closer.

 “And even if we didn’t,” Patton says brokenly, “even if we didn’t you—these…the only feelings you have about this place aren’t good ones.”

 V lowers his head in shame, his fingers flexing in the fabric of his tunic. The urge to run and wrap him up in a tight embrace makes Patton’s limbs tremble.

 “Get rid of it.”

 “What?”

 “Get rid of it,” Patton murmurs firmly to the prince, “bring us back to the field.”

 “N-no!”

 Patton’s eyes widen in surprise, and judging by J’s confused head tilt, he’s not the only one. Yet there V is, staring at him with a fierce look of determination, fire burning in his gaze despite the way he’s still curled around himself.

 “…’no,’ kiddo?”

 Patton knows he’s made another mistake the instant V’s eyes widen again. “W-wait, I didn’t mean—you don’t—that was a s-suggestion, not a—I didn’t mean to—I don’t want—“

 V’s hands shoot to his hair, tangling in the strands and pulling.

 “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do,” he manages finally, “please don’t be angry.”

  Oh, kiddo…

 “V,” Patton calls softly, “kiddo, we’re not angry.”

 He smiles kindly when V peeks out at him from a little gap in his fingers. “Y-you’re not?”

 “No, V, we’re not angry.” Patton places one hand flat against his chest. “You have my word.”

 It seems to do the trick, though not nearly as well as he would’ve liked. V’s hands slowly inch away from his face, twisting themselves back into his tunic. Patton smiles encouragingly.

 “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures, “I’m just a little curious why you didn’t want the village gone. If it’s…if it’s bothering you, then…”

 Patton shrugs. “Wouldn’t it be better?”

 “But you already…made it,” V mumbles, “so…”

 The prince huffs. “Please. It took barely a moment. I do hope you don’t think so lowly of my skills, sweetheart.”

 The corner of V’s mouth tugs up and oh, it’s the best thing Patton’s seen all day!

 “It’s no trouble,” the prince assures, “plus…I must confess I am not a fan. I mean honestly, the utter lack of craftsmanship, it’s truly astonishing.”

 “The point of this,” L says, making V look at him, “was to create somewhere you would feel more comfortable. This place—“ he gestures around— “was not exactly designed for mortals.”

 “But we shouldn’t have tried to anticipate what you want,” Patton adds, “and so there’s nothing wrong with getting rid of the village.”

 “Y-you mean this one…right?”

 “Well,” the duke mutters darkly. Patton can’t find it in his heart to scold him more than half-heartedly.

 “P-please don’t,” V stammers, “I…”

 “We won’t,” Patton assures, far more concerned about making V feel comfortable than any sort of retribution—however rightly deserved—for the denizens of the village.

 “Even if the duke does have a point, little mouse.”

 Patton glances exasperatedly at J, only to be met with an expression of innocent bewilderment. He raises an eyebrow. J simply shrugs. Patton’s gaze gets caught by V, still shifting a little and sending quick glances at the village.

  More pressing matters.

 “V,” he murmurs, smiling again when V’s gaze jumps to his, “is it alright if I come a little closer?”

 J’s brow quirks as V stiffens.

 “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

 V doesn't move, still wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

 “I’m sorry I scared you, that we scared you with this,” he continues, looking behind him to see agreeing nods from the others. He looks back to see V’s gaze losing a little of its frenzied edge. He smiles and gives a little wave. “Hey there.”

 V doesn’t wave back or smile, but he doesn’t flinch either. Patton takes that as a good sign.

 “You’re allowed to say no, V,” he assures, “that’s okay too.”

 Nothing. Patton’s gaze flicks to J and J nods.

 “What about this,” Patton says softly, “why don’t I move real slow, just a little, just so you can see how it feels, and then we go from there?”

 V nods.

 “I’m stepping a little closer, okay?” V lets him move a step closer. He crouches down again, keeping his hands in sight, still a good few feet away. “How are you doing, kiddo?”

 Patton laughs when V’s able to convey his annoyance with the question with a subtle change of expression. “Okay, so, bad question. Can I…” He hesitates. “Can come a little closer? Is that okay?”

 V nods carefully. “Y-you can—“ He cuts himself off.

 “Say it,” Patton coaxes, “go on, V, you can say it.”

 “You can…come all the way over,” V mumbles, “i-if you want.”

 Patton fights down the urge to jump up and race over, instead confining himself to a small smile.

 “Okay. I’m going to stand up and walk over to you. I’ll go slow so I won’t scare you. Okay?” V nods. “Okay. I’m going to stand up now.”

 He keeps his hands raised and slowly stands up, keeping himself slightly hunched over to make himself seem like less of a threat. To his dismay, but not his surprise, it isn’t very effective. Even hunched over, Patton still looms quite large, his shadow blocking the light from the forest. When he notices V flinching, he stops, letting him get used to the fact that he’s standing now.

 “Easy, easy, it’s okay.” He keeps up the constant litany of reassurances until he reaches V, carefully positioning himself so that V can look at him, just him, and not the village. It seems to do the trick, interrupting whatever feedback loop kept darting V’s gaze around the buildings, instead directing it at the various patched on Patton’s cloak.

 “You’re doing great, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, “thank you for letting me come over.”

 V shuffles again, sniffing and dropping his head. A moment later his shoulders shake and Patton can’t help the wounded noise that escapes his throat. J isn’t much better off, sliding neatly behind V to prevent anything from getting through the portal, even though they both know nothing will touch this one ever again.

 “Sweetheart,” Patton says softly, “oh, sweetie, are…is this still too much?”

 “S-sorry.”

 “Don’t apologize, sweetie, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

 “And please,” L calls, “do not be ashamed of crying. It is the mortal way of handling anything overwhelming, you need not feel embarrassed about dealing with it in a healthy way.”

 “Told you,” J murmurs.

 “Can I touch you, sweetie,” Patton asks softly, “can I touch you?”

 V nods shakily and Patton reaches out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Here you are. Shh, you’re okay.” He moves his hand from her shoulder to his cheeks, wiping away a tear as it rolls down. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

 V hiccups a sob, barely stifled. Each one settles like a dead weight in his chest as V’s chin drives deeper and deeper into his chest.

 “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Patton says, gently cupping V’s chin in his hand and raising it, only to be dismayed to see his eyes glazed over and each breath sending him hurtling towards another panic attack. He takes his hands and places them on either side of V’s face, turning his head so he makes eye contact with him. “Hey, hey. Look at me, kiddo. Breathe.”

 The forest is quiet.

 “Shh, that’s it, just breathe for me.” He slides his hands down from V’s face to his neck, giving him a little less restriction.

 “Good job,” he murmurs, smiling at V as he begins to go limp. “Come here.”

 He coaxes V into his arms, letting his head fall against his collar as he shifts back to support his weight. He’s so…there. Not just in his body, a physical weight, but there’s such a layer of feeling that surrounds him that it presses down on Patton like another weight. He relaxes into Patton’s grip as he guides V to rest comfortably against him. He rubs V’s arms when he shivers, frowning at how cold he is. Steadying V with his hands and glancing up at J, he balances V against him before pulling away enough to shrug off his cloak, hushing him when V lets out a tiny whine. “Shh, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere. He’ll keep you upright.”

 He wriggles out of his cloak and drapes it carefully over V’s shoulders, smiling as it draws a sigh out of him and he shrinks under it. Wrapping his arms back around V, Patton lays his chin on top of V’s head and concentrates, trying to feel around for the sources of the fear and pull them away. V tucks his head against Patton’s collarbone. A damp patch grows on Patton’s shirt as he rocks V gently back and forth, shushing his cries.

 “Shh, don’t worry kiddo, we’re here for you,” he murmurs, “it’s okay.”

 He closes his eyes. Concentrates.

  There.

 “What are these,” he whispers, mostly to himself but to V as well, “these awful little things that are buzzing around you?”

 They really are awful. They’re these fuzzy little black things that hurt if you stare at them too long, always vibrating, strobing at horrible frequencies that create a sort of whine in the back of your ears. On their own, they really aren’t so bad, at least when he can catch one of them by itself, but V…

 V has thousands.

 Thousands of horrible black whiny clouds buzzing around his head, around his whole body, swallowing him in a storm. Patton’s seen them before, not nearly to this quantity mind you, but he has seen them, flitting about behind mortals. Wretched little beasties.

 “Are these…fears?” He freezes one in place, watching as it squirms in place. “Worries?”

  Concentrate.

 The cloud whines and dissolves. V’s breath catches.

 “There’s no need for these,” Patton murmurs, catching another one and dissolving it, “you have no use for them.”

 One by one he catches them, and one by one he makes them stop hurting V. They don’t want to go; they cling to each other, to V, to him in protest, yowling about whatever they want V to be so desperately afraid of, and it never makes Patton bat an eye. They’re hurting V, that’s all that matters. And Patton doesn’t like seeing V hurt.

 With each one he vanishes, V grows lighter and lighter in his arms, his sobs trailing off until his breath evens, only hitching ever so slightly. When he’s finished, V pulls away, looking up at him with wide eyes.

 “W-what did you do?”

 Patton smiles, gently giving V a squeeze. “Just cleaned you up a bit, kiddo.”

 “H-how?”

 “I can sense emotions and feelings,” Patton explains, “it’s kinda my job.”

 “…you’re the Heart.”

 “I am, good job.” He bumps his forehead lightly against V’s. “That means I can sense things that you feel and…help you along.”

 V chews on his lip. “…but I’m still scared.”

 “Oh, kiddo, I can’t fix that sort of thing. Well, I can, but that’s…invasive,” Patton says, “and I’d run the risk of hurting you more. No, no, I didn’t do anything like that. I’m not trying to take your feelings away. I just…”

 He brushes a thumb tenderly across V’s cheek.

 “…dusted you off a little.”

 The fluffy little bubble of relief that drifts along the path his thumb leaves is enough to make his whole chest glow.

 “Feel better?”

 “Yeah,” V mumbles, “um…thank you.”

 Patton kisses his forehead. “Of course, kiddo. Now…can we talk about what just happened?”

 V tenses.

 “You can say no,” J reminds.

 “…no, please?”

 Patton nods. “Okay. Can I then ask you something?”

 V nods, shifting a little in Patton’s grip. Patton opens his arms a little, enough for V to know if he wants to pull away he can, if he doesn’t, he needn’t. V takes a step back, wrapping his arms around himself.

 “We wanted to make the village for you so that you would have somewhere you wanted to stay,” he says softly, “and it’s okay that we got it wrong. Could you tell us what you do want?”

 “I’d be happy to make it,” the prince calls from over his shoulder—right, he’d somehow forgotten the others were still here— “just say the word.”

 “Me too!”

 “You guys,” V mumbles, “are the weirdest fucking fae I’ve ever heard of.”

 Patton giggles. “Thanks, kiddo. That’s an honor.”

 “…is it?”

 Patton softens, waiting for V to look at him to smile kindly. “It isn’t bad to be different or weird, sweetie.”

 “…oh.”

 “So,” the prince calls cheerfully, “what will it be? Castle? Tower? Cavernous ballrooms?”

 “Prince,” L chides lightly.

 “Take your time,” Patton soothes when V’s eyes blink vacantly, “you take all the time you need kiddo, to tell us what you want.”

 And oh, the unsure look on V’s face breaks his heart all over again. He looks so lost, like he’s been confronted with something he can’t hope to understand.

 “It’s alright if you don’t know,” he says softly, “it’s a lot to ask. But if it would be easier, you can tell us what you don’t want.”

 “…I don’t want to go back,” V mumbles, “please don’t make me go back.”

 “We won’t,” Patton promises, “we won’t.”

 Sure enough, by the time he’s stepped aside and turned around, the village is gone.

 The prince waves his hand again, dimming the natural light of the forest to something more tolerable for mortal eyes. Patton smiles. He does prefer their forest to any manufactured illusions, the prince or the duke make, if simply because it feels so alive.

 V seems to relax a little bit too; when Patton looks back, V’s shoulders aren’t pressed up against his ears anymore, his gaze tracing the little sparks of light that flit between the flowering trees. One of them flickers closer, darting past his face quickly, only for him to tentatively try and reach for it.

 “…what is this?”

 “It’s the forest, V,” Patton says softly, “this is where we live.”

 “How is it so…” V seems to struggle for the word he wants. “…alive?”

 “Magic,” the prince says with a wink. “No, really. That’s…that’s it.”

 “But it’s so…so…” V mutters in frustration. “I hate words.”

 “You’re not the only one, little mouse,” J murmurs, his hand still lingering on V’s shoulder, “words can be…difficult. You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to.”

 “That being said,” Patton says quickly, “you don’t have to be afraid to say things, kiddo. We won’t get mad.”

 V nods hesitantly. “Wait, so you all live here?”

 “Yep.”

 “H-how does that work? Do you, like…have separate…trees?”

 The duke immediately perks up. “I told you guys we should make treehouses!”

 “You have a treehouse,” L sighs, “that doesn’t mean the rest of us want one.”

 “Why not? It’s so much easier to defend!”

 “Only when we can’t fly.”

 “You guys can fly?” Patton hears V mumble to J. “What is going on?”

 “The others are getting excited again,” he hears J murmur back, “but I’m sure if you’d like to just ask Pat, we’d be happy to tell you.”

 Patton gives L a look that says ‘try not to let them destroy everything, please,’ and turns back to V, gently asking if he’d repeat his question.

 “We have different…rooms,” he decides on eventually, “even though they’re not as simple as your mortal conception of them. It’s more like…like…”

 Patton huffs, putting his hands on his hips. “Wow, words really are hard.”

 “Here here,” V mumbles.

 “Let me try,” J says softly, “it’s as if you have a picture, yes? And the picture is drawn over several sheets of paper. You can only view the complete picture by stacking all of them on top of each other, but you can take each piece of paper separately.”

 Patton blinks at him. V does too. J rolls his eyes. “Perhaps L would be able to explain it better. And quickly,” he says, glancing over Patton’s shoulder, it looks like they’re about to start fighting again.”

 “Guys!” Patton chooses to ignore the duke tucking a rather large weapon behind his back. “How do we explain how our rooms work?”

 L adjusts his glasses and holds out his hand. “V? Will you come here, please?”

 V hesitates.

 “I won’t hurt you,” L assures, “I won’t even touch you if you don’t want. I simply think this will be the best way to explain it.”

 “You’re not—you won’t—you won’t just take me there, will you?”

 L smiles at V’s nervous question. “You have my word I won’t.”

 V crosses the forest slowly, stopping just in front of L’s outstretched hand. Slowly, L raises his hand to face his palm toward V. “Can you hold your hand up to mine, please?”

 “W-what’re you going to do to me?”

 “Not a thing,” L says softly, “I’m going to explain how the rooms work by cycling through different layers of reality by aligning our hands.”

 Patton watches V slowly raise his hand to match L’s, smiling at how he presses his palm to L’s firmly.

 “Now,” L says, “just hold it still for me?” V nods. “Good. Reality as you understand it is one layer. It is one of the multiple worlds that exist in the same space. In this forest, we can move between them.”

 “How?”

 “Each one of us—“ L gestures to the other fae— “are linked with one of the layers. By drawing on that power, we can move between them.”

 L turns his hand slightly, his index finger pressing up against V’s middle finger. “This would be a different layer.”

 He turns it again, replacing his index finger with his thumb. “And this, another.”

 “S-so,” V murmurs, squinting at their hands, “which one is this?”

 “It’s not quite as…linear as this example,” L says, “there isn’t a set ‘right’ layer, nor must you travel through the other layers to get to the one you want.”

 “But then—“

 “Go on,” L encourages when V cuts himself off, “then…?”

 V swallows, his voice so low Patton has to strain to hear it. “Then how do I know which one’s the right one?”

 J tenses beside Patton at the uncertainty in V’s voice.

 “There isn’t a universal ‘right’ one, V, and there won’t be,” L says, quickly shushing V when he seems to react poorly to such a revelation, “but you don’t have to think of it that way.”

 Judging by the defiant hunch of V’s shoulders, he isn’t pleased by this answer. L seems to realize that and takes a tiny step closer.

 “V? Can you do something else for me?”

 V nods.

 “Interlace your fingers with mine.”

 V raises his head, confused, but does as L asks.

 “This,” L murmurs, indicating their hands, “is the layer we’re currently in. Your layer. The mortal layer. This is the one that will be most comfortable for you. You can go to the other layers, but it won’t always be as comfortable. That doesn’t mean you can’t go,” he assures quickly, “but if it helps, this one is the ‘right’ one, so to speak.”

 V stares at their clasped hands, giving L’s hand an experimental squeeze. L squeezes back.

 “C-can I see your rooms?”

 “Of course,” L says, “but perhaps not today, hm? This has already been a lot for you, hasn’t it?”

 V nods nervously. “S-sorry.”

 “Don’t fret,” L soothes, giving V’s hand one last squeeze, “we’re not angry. It’s perfectly understandable.”

 “Absolutely.” Patton glances around. Hmm…what’s the best way to do this? “Are you hungry, V?”

 Another nervous nod.

 “What kind of food do you like?”

 “Maybe not that question,” J murmurs when V seems to stutter again.

 L gently gets V’s attention. “When was the last time you ate?” When V can’t answer, he continues. “Your system won’t take well to eating large quantities of food right now, in that case. It would be better if you ate something small, easy on yourself, and then work up to larger meals, does that sound alright?”

 “Why don’t we do this, then,” Patton suggests when V nods, “J, you and the duke and I will start on the food. L, Prince, why don’t you help V make his room?”

 L gently takes V’s hand again, leading him toward the prince. The prince gives them a nod before speaking softly to V. Patton sinks into his room, only to lean on the nearest surface and sigh heavily.

 “Why are we not killing them?”

 “By all means,” J huffs, “do knock over absolutely everything, Duke.”

 “They starved him, they tortured him, they made him afraid of everything,” the duke growls, “they made him dependent on the sense of right and wrong.”

 “Yes, and right now you’re currently about to be dependent on your ability to not knock over everything.”

 “Pat agrees with me,” the duke defends, “don’t you Pat?”

 Patton busies himself with making a simple bread. Easy, like L said, nothing that will cause V’s system to freak out. He keeps his mouth closed because he knows if he opens it, he won’t be able to stop himself going feral either.

 “Of course I agree,” he says quietly after the bread’s almost done, “but I want to take care of V more than I want to raze that village to the ground.”

 “But—!”

 “Patton’s right,” J interrupts, “V wants everything to stop. If we go out and do that, it could make him even worse.”

 “Or it could make him better!”

 “We can’t afford to take that risk,” Patton says, kneading the bread with perhaps slightly more force than necessary, “especially not with a mortal.”

 The duke grumbles. “I don’t like this.”

 “I know.” Patton dusts his hands off. “Neither do we.”

 “If it’s any consolation,” J says, smirking, “I think it’s the first time V’s had anyone be so outraged at the thought of him hurt.”

 “Well,” the duke huffs, “good. I’m not stopping.”

 “I have no intention of asking you to.”

 “Good.”

 “Good.”

 Patton chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Enough, you two.”

 “You need help?” The duke grins. “Get it? Knead?”

 “No, I dough-n’t,” Patton replies as J groans, “I’m all good here, kiddo. Thanks for asking though.”

 J eyes the small loaf of bread and the few fruits next to it. “Is that really all we’re going to give him?”

 “I’m going to make sure the food is available, but…” Patton sighs. “L’s right. You know he is. Too much and…”

 J fiddles with his gloves. “I don’t like this.”

 “Join the fucking club,” the duke huffs, draping himself over J’s shoulders. “We gotta wait here until Princey and L’re done with him, right?”

Patton nods.

 “Great. Help me think of more ways to fuck up the assholes who did this to V.”

 “Duke!”

 Luckily for everyone, not a few moments later, a door appears to Patton’s left along with three quick knocks.

 “Come in?”

 The door opens, revealing L and the prince, leading V into Patton’s ‘room.’ V looks around, spotting the duke still draped over J.

 “Oh, they do that all the time,” the prince says, “you’ll get used to it.”

 “You say as if you don’t do it as well, bro,” the duke sings.

 “Did you get everything set up, V?” Patton asks quietly, ignoring the others.

 V nods. “Thank you.”

 Patton tilts his head. “For what?”

 “F-for…” V stammers, his eyes widening. L quickly gets his attention.

 “You’re welcome,” he says softly, “we’re happy to help.” He gives Patton a look that says he’ll explain later.

 Patton pushes it aside, reaching for the food and setting it carefully in front of V. To his surprise, V doesn’t reach out for it right away, instead eyeing it warily.

 “Wrap it up, Pat,” the prince says, clapping Patton on the shoulder, “so V can take it with him.”

 “Wait, what?” Patton stares at him in confusion. “Where’re we going?”

 “You expect us to welcome this little darling into our forest and not give him the grand tour?” The prince holds an offended hand to his chest. “How dare you.”

 Patton’s about to open his mouth to argue that V should be resting, that’s the whole point of this, but something in the prince’s gaze tells him to leave it. So Patton carefully packs the food into a small bag, before handing it to V. And he can’t deny it sends a rush of warmth through him when V’s shoulders slump and he holds the bag securely.

 “So,” the prince says, sweeping across back to V’s side, “shall we begin? Duke, Pat, if you please.”

 L gives him a nod, quickly joining J and starting a hushed conversation. Patton simply shrugs and follows the duke and the prince out the door. He quickly realizes it’s not the only one; there are five doors in the forest near a small house. It’s very basic, nothing more than four walls and a roof with a simple door. That must be the place they made for V. Glancing at his own door as it closes behind him, he notes that each one is a different color. Pale blue for his own, a rich gold for J’s, bright red for the prince, deep green for the duke, dark blue for L. V seems more at ease now that he’s back in the forest. Pat smiles. Good, it’s good to see V already getting used to being here.

 J was right, the garden really did want him.

 He also realizes the prince has been very clever about their little party as they make their way around the forest, from the clearing, to the lake, back to the garden. The prince and the duke provide wonderfully distracting arguments and Patton is well-prepared to ask all the dumb questions so V has all the information he needs. Plus, it’s nice for him to stay close to V while the prince and the duke dash around in an effort to be so overly ridiculous there’s low amounts of pressure to take them seriously.

 At one point, they actually get V to laugh.

 They’re at the lake; it’s one of Patton’s favorite places in the forest. The prince has control of the area around the lake and the surface of the lake, the duke has free rein below. Sometimes, Patton will sit on one of the big lily pads and just let one of the duke’s creatures push him around. The surface of the lake is like a giant mirror, almost glass-like, with a few delicate ripples on its veneer. The prince, of course, has a small violet bird perched on his shoulder, a fawn nuzzling his hand. The duke, by contrast, doesn’t hesitate before diving into the lake, sending sparkling showers of water droplets every which way before re-emerging, grinning, held aloft by something Patton couldn’t hope to describe.

 There isn’t a doubt that V’s adorable little awestruck expression is the best thing Patton’s seen in a while. The way his fingers loosen their death grip on his bag of food, reaching out almost involuntarily to let the fawn sniff his hand, trying to hide to subtle hitch in his breath when a little pink tongue darts out and licks his fingers.

 “She likes you,” the prince says quietly, smiling at the fawn as it tries to get closer to V.

 “Is that why she licked me?”

 “I think so.”

 A second later, there’s a massive arc of water as something huge heaves its way onto the shore.

 “Duke!” The prince snaps away the water as quickly as he can. “Keep your slimy pets where they belong!”

 “Don’t be mean,” the duke says, patting the head of the massive tentacled beast with its head flopped onto the shore, “he’s just saying hi!”

 Patton looks at V, who…isn’t afraid of the massive head now lying beside him. Instead, he looks almost…curious?

 As the prince and the duke continue to bicker, V slowly reaches out his hand toward the creature. The creature inclines its head, letting V stroke along the strange bumps. Then it huffs loudly, spraying all of them with a viscous green goo.

 “Ah!” The prince cries out in horror as he’s splattered. “Duke!”

 The duke is too busy laughing to answer. Patton sighs, taking off his glasses to snap away the gunk. He puts them back on his face to chide the duke when he sees V.

 V’s laughing.

 It’s a quiet laugh, more of a slight hum than anything else, but V’s smiling and it sounds warm and rumbly and amazing and Patton can’t help muffling his happy noise at seeing V laugh. The prince seems to have the same reaction, stopping midway through his tirade and smiling softly at V.

 The duke promptly falls off the back of the creature in shock. Then his head pops back above water and he grins.

 “That means he likes you!”

 “I like him too,” V mumbles, still smiling as he examines the gunk on his hands, “…not so much this.”

 “Everyone’s got their opinions,” the duke shrugs, getting out of the water and shaking himself off like a dog, much to V’s amusement and the prince’s dismay, “but we should probably get you cleaned up, hmm?”

 “I-if—“ V’s gaze darts around to Patton— “is that okay?”

 “Of course it’s okay, V,” Patton smiles, “why don’t we go back to your room?”

 The prince leads them back, stopping once they’re in front of V’s four walls. He taps V’s less gooey shoulder gently. “Do you remember what L and I said about your room?”

 V nods hesitantly.

 “Would you like any help?”

 V glances around at them and Patton smiles encouragingly.

 “N-no.”

 The prince smiles and gives his shoulder a gentle pat. “Okay. That’s perfectly okay. If you change your mind, which is also okay, just knock on whoever’s door you want, okay? We’ll know it’s you and we’ll come.”

 “…thank you.”

 “Of course, V.” The prince deliberately turns around, snagging the duke by his shoulder and taking Patton’s hand. Patton gives V one last wave over his shoulder before the prince pulls him back through his door.

 L and J look up when they enter, standing from their seats. J’s hands are still worrying themselves a little and L adjusts his tie.

 “What did you tell him?” The prince’s tone makes Patton’s ‘paying attention’ glasses snap on real quick.

 “Not everything,” L says, “I was waiting for you.”

 “Can someone tell me what’s going on, please?” The duke nods enthusiastically.

 The prince and L exchange a glance before the prince gestures to L. L motions for them to take a seat.

 “I’m sure it will not come as a surprise to you that the…mortals who were unkind to V controlled his access to food and water very rigorously,” L begins, “nor will it shock you to learn that V is not used to any modicum of privacy.”

 It doesn’t, that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to hear.

 “We—“ L gestures between himself and the prince— “did our best to assure him that his room is his own space; none of us will enter it without permission and he reserves the right to send us out at any point he wishes.”

 The prince nods sharply. “And that he’s always allowed to say ‘no’ to things if we ask him.”

 J raises an eyebrow. “Please tell me you gave him access to food.”

 “Of course we did!” L nods in agreement. “He’s got a small garden and a tiny cupboard that connects to the pantry.”

 “So I can refill it from here?”

 “Or he can refill it himself.”

 Patton nods in approval.

 “That’s also what happens to his clothes,” L says, motioning to the other part of Patton’s space, “they’ll get deposited here when he wants them cleaned. We gave him some other clothes too.”

 “I’m sure you explained all this to him too, right?”

 L and the prince exchange a soft smile. “He asked for some of it,” L says, still smiling, “or at least brought up his concerns.”

 Patton claps happily. “Oh, good for him!”

 “Yes,” the prince murmurs, quickly sobering them with his low tone, “especially considering…”

 “Right.” L takes a deep breath. “Surely you know this will not be as easy as simply giving him these things and expecting everything to work out.”

 Patton tilts his head to the side. “It…it won’t?”

 “No,” J says smoothly, “it won’t. It will take time. Mortals can be…remarkably hard to alter once they’ve been so used to something.”

 A horrible sick feeling settles in Patton’s stomach again. He knows mortals are fragile, he knows that V has been hurt very, very badly, but the thought of it staying that way? When he doesn’t need to?

“He doesn’t know that yet,” J says patiently when Patton expresses as much, “and it’s going to take time for him to realize that. You said it yourself, we can’t just go in and fix everything. We need to let V do that himself.”

 “At the very least,” L adds, “we’ve been trying to give him the tools to start.”

 A soft thump makes them turn. Patton spots a small heap of dirty cloth on a nearby surface. He walks over and picks it up, fingering the worn stitches and the holes in the fabric.

 The duke peers over his shoulder. “It’s V’s clothes.”

 “He must be having a wash,” the prince says, “good. You absolutely drenched him.”

 “That wasn’t me! It was Oliver!”

 “What did you give him to wash with,” Patton interrupts. The prince shrugs.

 “Modified version of the basins we use. Plenty of water, hot and cold, soap, things to clean with. Towels. Drains by itself too, right into the garden.”

 “We gave him a proper room,” L assures, “a proper bed, a proper space.”

 “You should’ve seen him,” the prince mumbles, “I never thought I’d see someone get so worried about being told they were allowed their own space. Especially a mortal, all the ones I’ve known have been so obsessed with taking.”

 “You remember why, though.” As L speaks, the prince’s face darkens. Patton glances worriedly between them.

 “What?”

 L sighs. “It appears that…the mortals somehow convinced V that they were doing him…favors.”

 Patton barely has time to blink before the duke is feral again. He reaches out and wraps his arms around the writhing mass of tentacles, joined quickly by the prince and J, muttering softly to the duke until the tentacles retreat.

 L adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

 “That’s why he freaked out when Pat asked what he was thanking him for,” the duke growls, “the sick fucks probably made him be specific too.”

 “Our priority,” L interrupts before the duke can convince the rest of them to go feral too—honestly, Patton’s already halfway there— “is to help V feel safe.”

 Patton nods, only partly listening as L keeps talking, turning the tunic over in his hands. It’s worn, very worn, and so thin that Patton can feel his fingers grind together when he rubs the fabric between them. Is this all V had? For how long? It looks so old…

 Wait. Is that…

 Patton lifts the tunic a little, rubbing at a dark stain. His eyes widen. J catches sight of it.

 “That better be blood.”

 At the mention of the word ‘blood,’ L stops. Slowly, he walks over, holding out his hand. Wordlessly, Patton hands it over. L takes it in his hands and if Patton looks very, very closely, his hands tremble.

 L takes a deep breath and hands the tunic back to Patton.

 “We cannot push,” he repeats with practiced calm, “we must make V feel safe first. And that means we must trust him.”

 Patton doesn’t like it. None of them do. But they know L is right.

 “And…with any luck,” L adds, “a good sleep and a regular meal should start helping him some more.”

 It should.

 It doesn’t.

 For a while, almost nothing changes. V still holds his food in a bag when Patton gives it to him. His eyes still dart around wildly whenever he goes on a walk with the prince or the duke. He still prefers to hide away in his room, coming out when they request, denying them access with a tinge of fear.

 His clothes still come back with stains.

 Patton would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. This isn’t how mortals should be, they should be sleeping, they should be eating. But V seems to doggedly stay the same, still as tired and fearful as the day he stumbled into the garden. When Patton confronts L about it, L says that if he didn’t know any better, he’d say V wasn’t sleeping.

 Patton doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to shatter this tenuous bond, not now, not ever. But he’s worried.

 There’s always a faint buzz in Patton’s chest that tells him where V is. He tries not to pay attention to it, give the kiddo his privacy, make sure he feels like he can come to Patton when he wants to, not when Patton wants him to. He takes care to watch how he talks around V, moves around V, is as gentle as he can be. The faint buzz seems to settle a little better whenever V’s around him.

 Then one day it spikes. Horribly.

 Patton doubles over, pressing a hand hard to his own chest as the whine sharpens, pushes, threatens to snatch his breath away. Instantly, he looks for it, trying to find it, comfort it, come on, kiddo, tell me what’s wrong—

  V.

 Where’s V?

 Patton rushes out of his door, only to see V’s door wide open. With trembling footsteps, he slowly approaches, his heart in his throat, one hand still pressed firmly to his chest.

 “V?” He calls softly, over and over, not wanting to intrude, but getting no response. “V, kiddo?”

 He hesitates at the threshold. This is V’s space. They promised. He closes his eyes. Concentrates.

 The pain isn’t coming from here.

 He opens his eyes and focuses. There.

 It’s one of those horrid little black clouds, buzzing away from a path leading deeper into the forest. Patton follows the noise until he’s wading through the clouds, pushing them out of the way, swatting the ones he can, until he sees V.

 His heart aches as he takes in the absolute swarm threatening to choke the poor thing, curled up as he is at the base of a big tree. Patton gets a little closer, then crouches down and carefully, oh so carefully, pushes.

 “V?”

 V’s head jerks up, his eyes as wide as a startled fawn’s, his head jerking around until his gaze lands on Patton. Patton holds up his hands, smiling softly.

 “Hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, still pushing at the swarm, “it’s okay. You just look at me, okay? That’s all you gotta do, just look at me.”

 V looks. The swarm rushes in, trying to get between Patton and V but Patton focuses, the few clouds that come in between them disappearing into quick plumes of smoke. With each one that vanishes, the others seem wary, leaving V free to stare at Patton.

 “Good,” Patton murmurs, “you’re doing really good, kiddo. Can you take a deep breath for me? In…and out…in…and out…good job, kiddo, just like that.”

 The whine in Patton’s chest starts to die down, the rest of him aching to reach out and take V in his arms. The poor thing looks so scared…

 “P-Pat?”

 “Yeah, V,” Patton says instantly, “I’m right here, you want me closer?”

 V reaches out a trembling hand and Patton doesn’t hesitate.

 V clings to his cloak like a lifeline, still curled up in a ball, just his one hand sticking out. Patton lets V tug him close, huddling around him at the base of the tree, softly murmuring to him.

 “Shh, shh, kiddo,” he says, trying to center his shield to keep the worst of the swarm out, “you’re doing so good, you just keep breathing for me, okay?”

 It takes a long time. Much longer than Patton would like. But eventually, when the last of the whining has faded to a confused buzz, V’s hand relaxes, the fabric still all bunched up from the force of his grip.

 “S-sorry,” he mumbles.

 “You don’t have to apologize, kiddo,” Patton soothes immediately, “you did the right thing.”

 V looks up at him, eyes wide and rimmed red. “…I did?”

 Patton smiles. “You did. You did so well, you breathed, you asked for what you wanted. You did so well, kiddo.”

 And oh does it hurt to see how much just that one little piece of praise means to V, and how little he must’ve received.

 Patton knows he’s not supposed to push. But then V reaches for him again with trembling hands and he can’t help himself.

 “Come here, sweetie,” he murmurs, pulling V into a gentle hug, “there you go…you just breathe for me, okay? You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to worry, you don’t even have to think if you don’t want to. You just breathe…”

 As he rocks V gently back and forth, he runs his hand down V’s head, across his shoulders, down to his back. V hisses and tenses when Patton’s hand touches something.

 “…V?”

 “Don’t be mad,” V stammers instantly, pulling away, “d-don’t be mad.”

 Patton raises his hands. “I’m not mad, kiddo, I promise. I’m not mad and I’m not going to hurt you.”

 The whine sharpens again as V tugs the tunic tightly around himself. Patton watches, concern written plainly across his features. He waits. Waits. Waits. Until…

 “…I need help,” V whispers, his head almost buried in his arms, “please.”

 “Of course,” Patton coos instantly, “of course, V, I’ll help you, what do you need?”

 “C-can we go to m-my room?”

 “Yes, sweetheart, we can go to your room. Do you feel up to walking?”

 V clutches himself tighter. “…in a minute.”

 “Take your time, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere.”

 In a moment, V lets his head fall back against the tree and takes a deep breath. In another, he pushes himself to his feet. A few more and they’re standing outside V’s door.

 “You can change your mind, kiddo,” Patton says gently when V hesitates, “I won’t be mad.”

 For a moment, he thinks V’s going to say no, Patton can leave, please, then he clenches his jaw and reaches out to take Patton’s hand. He grips it firmly and lets V pull him into the house.

 “…can you shut the door?”

 Patton does as bid, having a quick glance around, making a note to commend the prince and L for their job. It’s a very simple house, but it’s cozy. He refocuses on V, who has his back to him, clutching the sides of his tunic.

 V’s shoulders shake. “…it hurts, Pat.”

 “Where,” Patton murmurs, “where does it hurt?”

 “My…my back.”

 “Your back, kiddo? Can I come look?” V nods, bowing his head. “Thank you, V.”

 Patton walks over slowly, making his footsteps loud and obvious, so that he won’t surprise V. “Can I touch you, kiddo?”

 “…please don’t hurt me.”

 “I won’t, sweetie,” Patton murmurs, “I promise. Can I lift up the back of your tunic?”

 “Y-yeah.”

 “Thank you.” Taking the material gently in hand, Patton starts to lift it up slowly.

 “W-wait!”

 Patton freezes. V’s breaths grow ragged, clutching himself tighter.

 “I can leave if you—“

 “No!”

 V breathes. Breathes. Patton’s heart stays in his throat, holding still, trying to project as much safety as he can. It takes a few more heart-wrenching seconds before V shudders.

 “O-okay. You can lift it up now.”

 “Thank you,” Patton murmurs, starting to move again. He manages to tuck the end of the tunic around V’s collar, exposing his back.

 And the scars.

 Patton knew some whipped other mortals, knew that cruel mortals used their horsewhips liberally, but never had he seen the end result. Certainly not like this. Gruesome comets streak across V’s back of red and silvered white. The skin wheezes and stretches as he breathes. Some looked old. Some still wept, crying sluggish and lumpy tears of blood.

 “S-sorry,” he hears V mumble, “I’m sorry.”

 “V,” Patton says quietly, “V, I need you to listen to me for a moment.”

 V nods.

 “You don’t have to apologize,” Patton says firmly, “not for this. Never for this. This is not your fault, it will never be your fault. And I will never be angry at you for it.”

 V’s back shudders with the weight of Patton’s words. Then his hands slowly drop to his sides. Patton lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

 “I can’t reach them,” V mumbles, “I…I need help.”

 “Thank you for letting me help,” Patton says, lifting his hand and letting it glow, “these won’t take a moment to heal, you won’t be able to—“

 “No, don’t!” Patton pauses as V cries out. “Don’t heal them, please, not completely, I need—I need to have them.”

 Patton’s blood runs cold. “Why do you need to have them, V?”

 “I—I—“

 Patton glances around, spotting a stool. “Here,” he murmurs, summoning it quickly, “sit down, honey, you’re shaking.”

 V sits, hunching over, bearing his back for all to see, the scars wincing horribly as he does so. Patton stays close, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder, just so V knows he’s there, that nothing will startle him.

 “You don’t have to explain in detail if you don’t want,” Patton assures, “but…I would like to know why you don’t want them healed all the way.”

 V mumbles something. Patton squeezes his shoulder.

 “I can’t quite hear you, is it okay if I come a little closer?” At V’s nod, Patton crouches next to his head. “Thank you. Can you say it again for me?”

 “If…if I don’t have them,” V whispers, “it’s like—it’s like it didn’t happen. It’s like I’m—I’m crazy, I’m wrong, I don’t—I can’t—“

 Oh. Patton swallows. “You need them to remember,” he says softly, “to remind yourself that you survived.”

 V nods.

 “Oh, sweetie, thank you for telling me. I won’t make them go away, I promise. Would you like to at least make them stop hurting you?”

 V nods again. “I…I can’t sleep. They hurt.”

 Patton, who had stood up and begun lightly running his hand to close the wounds, frowns. “What about sleeping on your stomach or your side?”

 V shakes his head quickly. “Can’t. It’s bad. I can’t—can’t do anything then.”

 Right. Being on his stomach would put him in such a vulnerable position…and if he doesn’t want to…

 “V,” Patton says, gently stroking an unmarred patch of skin with his thumb as he works, “do you not feel safe enough to sleep here?”

 V’s back tenses under his hand and Patton rubs a soothing circle into it.

 “It’s okay if you don’t, kiddo,” he says softly, “I’m not angry, I’m just curious.”

 “…sorry.”

 “Don’t apologize, sweetie, you haven’t done anything wrong. This is still new to you, you’re still coming to terms with the fact that you’re safe now, you’re somewhere else, away from them.”

 “B-but…” V shudders again. “Y-you’ve been so nice and you haven’t hurt me at all but I can’t help feeling like—like—“

 “…it’s only a matter of time?”

 “…yeah.”

 Patton hums, thinking as he finishes. He takes a damp towel and softly asks V if he can clean him off a little. As he rubs the soft towel in soothing motions, he says, “I can’t make all your fears go away, kiddo, nor can I tell you you shouldn’t be afraid. It’s okay that you’re afraid, really. We’ll be here to help you.”

 “Y-you will?”

 Patton gives him one last pat before he gently lowers the tunic and lays the towel aside. He walks around to the front and crouches, tucking a hand under V’s chin and gently encouraging him to make eye contact.

 “Yes, V,” he promises, “we’ll be here.”

 V’s gaze, so horribly unsure and scared, has just the smallest bit of hope in it, and that’s enough for Patton. He smiles, only grinning wider when V hesitantly smiles back.

 “You also don’t have to sleep here,” Patton says, “you can sleep anywhere you like.”

 An adorable wrinkle forms between V’s brows. “Really?”

 “Yeah, kiddo.” Patton gestures around. “We made this so you could have your own space, but it’s okay if you don’t feel like sleeping here. It’s okay if you never want to sleep here.”

 He reaches up and gently rubs at V’s chest, right over his heart.

 “You sleep wherever you feel safest, okay, kiddo?”

 “Okay.”

 Patton smiles. “Good. Good job, kiddo, you did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

 He stands, guiding V’s chin up too until he can lean down and lightly kiss his forehead. “Do you want anything else?”

 “N-no,” V mumbles, “I’m good. Thank you.”

 “Always.”

 Patton leaves V’s room, carefully shutting the door behind him, before opening the door to his own and going inside. As he goes, he finds the latest bloody tunic and washes it personally.

 Slowly, he dips the fabric into the water, scrubbing persistently at the stain. No more. No more. Never again. Never again.

 No one will touch V again. Nothing will ever make those wounds on his back bleed. Not on his watch.

 “Pat?”

 “In here,” Patton calls, hanging up the tunic and going to meet the others. L stands in the corner, J by his side. The prince swings around quickly when he enters, pulling up the duke by his shoulder. “Thank you for coming so quick.”

 “Of course,” L says instantly, “it was important.”

 Patton tells them what he’s learned, leaving out any parts that V confessed to him personally. He won’t tell V’s story for him, just tells the others about things he learns to take care of him. As to be expected, they’re not happy about it.

 “What else can we do,” the prince cries, “to make him feel safe? Are we not—are we not doing enough?”

 “We’re doing all that we can,” L says, even as he nervously adjusts his tie, “but…it will take time. The fact that V feels comfortable enough to tell us this already speaks volumes. We must…simply continue being patient.”

 “But if he’s not sleeping,” the duke argues, then—

 “L is right,” Patton says, even as the duke grumbles, “we just have to…be patient.”

 J reaches out, taking one of their hands in one of his. He squeezes, draws them closer. They wrap their arms around each other, buzzing gently. Patton knocks his head lightly against the duke’s and rests his head on J’s shoulder.

 They knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He’s not sure they realized just how hard it would be. But they’ll figure it out. They will. For V.

 As it turns out, maybe they’ve made more progress than they thought.

 The prince sends out a call the next morning, saying V’s not in his room. The duke tears off around the forest, J heads for the garden. L makes for the lake, Patton stays behind in case he comes back. But just as he’s grabbing a sack of food to give to V just in case they find him, he hears something soft in the pile of clean, dry clothes. He frowns, walking over, only to see—

 Patton’s breath catches in his throat and he smiles so wide his cheeks ache.

 V is curled up in the warm pile, clinging to one of J’s cloaks and one of Patton’s shirts draped around his shoulders. For the first time since Patton’s seen him, his face is slack, free of any stress or tension. He looks young, peaceful.

 It’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

 Yeah, he thinks as he lets the others know he’s found V, everything’s okay, we’ll figure it out.

[tanookikiss]

With Love, Your Biggest Fan

Happy birthday @terraqua111​ ! Thank you for being such an awesome friend! This one’s for you ~ I hope you enjoy! <3

Pairing: Gene x Eric.C

Rating: G

.......................................................................................

POV Gene

Eric Carr had been our new drummer for a couple of months. Life on the road was making him feel like a fish out of water. Though he desperately tried to hide it, it was as clear as day to me. It happened after every show. The fans and groupies would swarm me, Paul and Ace, praising and fawning over us like gods. They would run right past and sometimes into Eric, not even acknowledging him a simple glance. I mean, he was a bit of a small fry in the crowd. They don’t thank him, or tell him he did a good job. To them, The Fox was simply a temporary drummer until The Catman returned.

Night after night, I observed as a tensed Eric stood alone in the corner backstage. We would try to pull him in front of the crowd and talk of all the great things he did and how his drumming was breathing new life into KISS. It only fell on blank stares and deaf ears. The KISS army had not quite accepted Eric as the band’s new drummer just yet.

Eric never once resented us or the fans for his exclusion. He understood replacing a founding band member would not be easy. He, himself looked up to Peter Criss, and he knew he had some big shoes to fill once he accepted the role as KISS’s drummer. Eric continued to work his ass off with a big smile on his face on and off stage. His optimistic attitude never faltered even when he didn’t receive any fan mail.

Eric would sit quietly, pretending to busy his interest with the TV Guide while we dug into our Mount Everest sized piles of handwritten love letters. Eric didn’t know that I was secretly watching him. The pain on his face haunted me later that night. I couldn’t sleep, every time I closed my eyes all I could see was his face flushed red with tears brimming in his eyes. I overheard him confess to a crew member that he didn’t feel like he belonged with us. That confession broke my heart. He was hurting, and I had to do something about it. I wanted to show him that he was very much loved and adored too!

I sighed as I got up from my hotel bed, flicking on the little lamp on top of the work desk. I pulled out a pen and the stationery from the drawer and started writing my letter.

With Love, Your Biggest Fan

The reaction was far greater than I ever imagined. I had snuck the letter into the band’s incoming mailbag on the way into the rehearsal space. The look on Eric’s face was priceless, he looked like an excited child on Christmas morning. As soon as it was handed to him, he opened it as carefully as possible, as if it was made of the most precious material in the world. Once he read the actual letter, he was literally bouncing off with the wall in joy. Pure joy. Not just the fake smile he would give to hide behind the pain that he had felt. He was truly happy. My breathing hitched and it took every ounce of self-control to keep me from getting teary eyed. Eric was precious. I would do anything to keep him this happy forever!

I started to write the letters as often as possible, each one becoming longer and more passionate than the last. I was a bit confused at these sudden intense emotions for Eric. All I wanted to do was to cheer my friend up, but I just couldn’t stop baring my soul to him on paper. I couldn’t imagine a world worth living if Eric was unhappy. Whenever he smiled, my heart would stop. I wanted to hold Eric tightly, daring any evil to try and hurt my sweet little fox!

With Love, Your Secret Admirer

I don’t remember when I started signing that, it just started to happen. I was becoming more comfortable writing these love letters. Eric seemed in constant high, always singing a happy tune to himself and walking with a spring in his step. He looked absolutely gorgeous smiling brightly as he hugged my letter against his heart. I desperately wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to kiss him?

I wanted to kiss my dear friend…

I stared at the paper, my mind a flurry of emotions. The pen trembled in my hand as tears of frustration fell silently, though I made sure not to let them spill onto the letter. With a heavy sigh, I wrote what needed to be said.

With Love, Your Biggest Fan and Secret Admirer

It wasn’t a fictional person sending Eric these letters. I was not writing them from a point of view of a fan that had never spoken to Eric before and only thought of him as a Rock n’ Roll God. These were my thoughts and feelings for him. I had come to terms that I was madly in love with Paul Charles Caravello.

I had never been more anxious in my life then when Eric read this letter. Eric was confused at first and re-read it dozens of times before it actually sunk in. He wasn’t angry or creeped out, thankfully. He actually blushed.

And he didn’t stop smiling.

Eric didn’t know it was me. He didn’t know I was the one professing my deepest desires for him. He couldn’t know, no matter how much I longed for those smiles to be for me, no matter how much I craved for his touch, no matter how I would kill for just one kiss, he could never know the truth.

Because it would hurt him.

He would resent me and I couldn’t live with that.

I was always so careful when I was writing, especially when Eric shared a room with me. I always completed and hid the evidence from Eric before I fell asleep. Only this time…I was distracted with a phone interview that I had accidentally left the letter out on the desk while I was in the other room.

My entire world came crashing down when I returned to a devastated Eric.

Eric was standing at the desk, holding my letter, shaking violently, a look of horror and terror on his face. The look on Eric’s face caused my blood to freeze and my heart to practically shatter. He looked betrayed, as if I had destroyed everything that mattered to him.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

I tried to speak. My throat was dry and I could barely breath, until I saw the tears.

I had hurt him.

Suddenly, I started confessing or rather babbling incoherently of all of the things I would write about, and why I wrote about them. I talked for hours, tears streaming down both our faces. I tried to focus on an explanation, but I kept repeating the very things I wrote to him. I told him how beautiful he was to me, how much he meant to me and how much I wanted him to be happy. I couldn’t shut up if I wanted to.

I told him how much I loved him.

He had stopped crying by then. His face was blank but as soon as I started to speak—

He hugged me.

“Did you really mean everything you wrote, Gene?” He asked softly, his face buried into my shoulder.

“Yes, with all my heart,” I wailed, holding him tight, placing a gentle kiss atop his poofy mane.

Pulling back, he looked me in the eyes and gave me the most beautiful smile I had ever seen from him.

He was smiling for me!

It’s been a few months since then. The fans have started to accept Eric and realize what an incredible person he truly is! He has fans and groupies stampeding towards him after the shows now and, he has even started receiving an abundance of fan mail. He receives as many love letters as Paul, much to Paul’s dismay!

I still write him love letters, leaving them on his nightstand before the show, and Eric silently reads them afterwards. He tells me my letters are his favorite ones to read! The angelic smiles he gives were no longer for a mystery person who lived in the shadows. They were for me.

And that was the greatest gift I could have ever received.

[riverdalenerdlol]

push my button (any time)

Riverdalenerdlol

Inspired by 4x02 and Billie Eilish’s COPYCAT

You hardly remembered how you went from talking about the future - the one that seemed so far away - to Veronica and Archie leaving the room. All you knew was that Betty had leaned down to kiss you once… and then her legs were hanging off the side of your lap, her hands framing your face. One of your hands was on her back and another was gently pushing her skirt up and stroking the skin of her thigh, pulling her closer. Her leg had hitched up across you and you pulled it up higher, taking a handful of the back of her leg. She rocked against you a little as you made out, naturally pushing and pulling.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of ginger and black hair, then Betty pulled away. You were still looking at her, but you saw what she was looking at and you also watched them retreat to Veronica’s room. When you looked back at each other, Betty smiled at you, giggling faintly as you grinned back. You didn’t really remember how you got up, either. It was more of a mix of you lifting Betty off and her pulling you to your feet as she skipped backwards into the middle of the living room, your lips still attached. She pulled away with one of the brightest smiles you'd ever seen.

Her hot pink sweater, the one that had teased you with that little strip of skin it exposed, was the first thing shed. She helped you get it off as she sunk her teeth into her plump bottom lip - or rather, you tried to help you pull it off of her but she had it handled - and it was gone in the blink of an eye. Your t-shirt followed almost immediately - just after Betty sent the beanie flying - and then your hands were on her neck, pulling her in for a searing kiss. She kissed back, holding your wrists and forearms, trying to pull you closer as you took a few steps closer to the couch.

Read Here on AO3 or under the cut

She had always wanted you closer, it seemed, ever since the start of the summer. Just before the end of your junior year was when Hal Cooper was buried. There were ten people at most at the service, including you, Betty, and the pastor. The other guests that had been there weren’t there for Hal, they were there for Betty… but no one had really been there for her as much as you had, Archie and Veronica falling in step right behind you. 

They weren’t there when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night, gasping and gripping your t-shirt so hard you thought she was trying to rip it off of you. They weren’t there when she had panic attacks in the shower because you’d let go of her hand for the shortest of seconds. They weren’t there when you lulled her back to sleep, or had to bring her melatonin so she could sleep. They had never been a victim of Betty’s death grip, whether she was asleep or awake. That happened when she would try and pull Alice, Polly, or Hal back while she was dreaming that they were abandoning her… again. 

Most of the time, you didn’t let her use sex when she was trying to forget about her repeated terror dreams. You would always hold her, always dry her tears, always keep her company, always stay close enough so she knew you were there. There were, of course, a few times where it was unnegotiable that she absolutely did need you like that, and then you would pound into her until you both saw stars multiple times. After two or three rounds, her eyelids would droop halfway and she’d kiss you lazily, sleepily telling you she loved you before her soft, delicate body curled up in your arms. You would reply with the same, kissing her forehead sweetly as you laid her back on the pillows and tucked her in. Only then would you both be able to sleep soundly, your nose in her blonde hair. 

Today, however, was different. You both needed each other desperately. You’d even given Archie and Veronica a show and a half before they left, just to prove the point. She pulled you back to reality by diving her tongue into your mouth, sliding her hand down your chest to your waist. 

You let her lips go and pulled away, placing your hands on her hips firmly. She seemed sad at the loss of lip contact, but you gently pushed her around, pulling her backside into your pelvis. Her hands wandered towards the front of her skirt, but you got there first, pushing her hands away and undoing the buttons yourself, keeping her solidified to your body. She hummed when you pushed her skirt down and she let the material fall to the floor before she kicked it away. 

You could tell Betty wanted to turn around and reciprocate the favor, her hands trying to grab you from behind her, but you kept a solid grip on her waist. You held her with one hand while the other pulled her soft blonde curls away from the back of her neck. You could feel her smile, even from behind her. You knew that she was happy as you bumped your nose against the spot between her neck and shoulder, then kissed there and trailed a few more down. Betty looked like she was going to reach for you before you kissed her sweet spot. She hummed in satisfaction, placing her palm on her shoulder and letting it fall again. She tilted her head so you could have more access and you smiled against her skin, teeth grazing against one of the vertebrae of her spine. She shivered under your hands. 

“I love you, Juggie,” she whispered breathlessly, arching back against you, her backside pressing into your hardness. Her hand reached back and gripped your hair, her nails raking against your scalp. 

“I love you too, Betty,” you replied against her skin, coming up to kiss her jaw and cheek sweetly. 

“I want you on top tonight,” she whispered. Arousal shot down and straight through you. You knew that she felt the change… and you could tell she was happy about it, too. 

“Whatever you want,” you said, spinning her back around, locking lips once more. You then scooped her into your arms. She giggled, slinging her arms around your neck and kissing your jaw as you made your way to the couch. You tossed her onto it and she bounced with a squeak and a giggle, smiling brightly as you climbed over her, hovering above her and settling between her legs. 

Betty cupped your cheek, pulling you down for a steamy kiss and placing a palm over your Serpent tattoo. You rocked against her before pulling back, realizing you still had your pants on. Betty’s hands moved down to your waistband, popping the button and pulling the zipper down as she bit her lip. You pushed your pants down, haphazardly kicking them off of your legs and across the room. Betty pulled you back in once more, her tongue automatically entering your mouth. You groaned as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, her other hand gripping your hair and raking her nails against your scalp. You bucked against her and she wiggled her hips in response. She sighed into your mouth and you caught it, only kissing her harder. 

One of your arms came down beside her head, your fingers tangling in her blonde hair. You tugged slightly and her chest rammed into yours. You bucked into her - hard. She moaned, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again. The pure green of her irises stunned you, the color swirling with want and desperation. Her hands dropped to your black and white plaid boxers, shoving them down. 

“Please, Jug,” she whined. 

That one request reminded you of the way she’d woken up that morning. She’d been crying - another nightmare. She woke you up as she clung to you, her body shaking with cries, pleading for you to hold her tighter… to make her feel safe. Your eyes had shot open, obliging immediately as she trembled and whimpered your name into your ear. 

Shaking the memory out of your head, you resurfaced, helping her slide your boxers down as you sprung free. Once yours were gone, Betty’s underwear came off next. She wiggled her hips, helping you slide them off before you could throw them across the room. Nudging her, she moaned as you hovered back over her, sliding your hands under her back to undo her ice blue bra. The clasp came undone easily, then the garment was gone in the blink of an eye and your mouth was all over the newly exposed skin. Betty arched into your touch, gasping and moaning as you teased her with your tongue. 

“Fuck, Jughead,” she breathed, her chest heaving as she forced herself to breathe. Betty inserted her fingers in your hair again, pulling you away from her skin. “Please just fuck me already.” 

“Before I’ve had my dessert?” you asked, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes. 

“Please, Juggie?” she replied, returning the same look at him. He usually got what he wanted when he did that… but Betty’s puppy-dog eyes would always win in a fight. “You can clean up after.” 

“I’ll take that,” you replied, climbing over her to press a sound kiss to her lips once more. She pulled off the bed, her arms around your neck. You lowered your hips to where you knew they fit with hers. Without warning, you slid all the way into her. She was going to say something, but she choked on her words immediately, moaning. You smiled smugly, knowing that sometimes she hated when you did that, especially when she was mid sentence. She clawed her nails on your back a little at the sudden movement. 

“You know how much I hate that,” she said. “But I’ll forgive you because you feel so good.” 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you replied, pressing kisses to her pulse point as you gave her only shallow thrusts to tease her. You grinned but she snarled, digging her nails into the meat of your shoulders. 

“More,” she demanded, gripping your shoulders painfully. You obliged immediately, keeping a hand grounded in the roots of her blonde hair, your other hand slipping down to her thigh, hauling her leg up and hitching it around your waist. She moaned, cupping your face and crashing your lips to hers as you drove deeper into her, your hand tracing her cotton-soft skin. 

She moaned into your mouth as you slid in and out slowly, pushing in deeply and making her choke on her own words. 

“F--uhmm,” she fumbled again. “Faster, please,” she clarified, swallowing hard. “Please, Juggie.” 

Removing your lips from hers, you buried your face in her neck, gripping her hips soundly. You pushed forward faster and worked up to a speed where you were suddenly afraid of hurting her. Her fingernails dug into your back as you snapped your hips into hers. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, along with her indecipherable noises (she was almost babbling). 

You bit into the skin of her neck, feeling yourself getting closer and closer, then soothed the area with your tongue. You kissed a line down her jawbone as she held onto you for dear life while you fucked her into the plush pillows on the couch. 

Her hair formed a halo, golden silk splayed around her head, her eyes shut in pleasure. She was positively glowing - the polar opposite from how she’d woken up that morning. Her nails were digging into all of the right places, scraping just harsh enough for it to feel good. Your hands planted firmly on her, your fingers splayed, trying to hold as much of her soft flesh as you could. 

You squeezed her ass as you brought your lips back to hers. She squeaked, gripping your shoulders harshly. It was then that a wave of warmth washed over you and you knew that you wouldn’t last much longer. 

“Juggie,” she whined breathily, her green irises barely visible in her darkening eyes. “I can’t--” She gulped harshly. “I’m almost--”

“I know, baby,” you replied, lowering your face to her neck again, licking a stripe on her jawbone. She shuddered under you. “Let go.” 

“Juggie--” 

You pounded into her relentlessly, pulling her leg higher on your hips. You pushed even deeper into her, hitting the spot that made her see white. 

“Just a little more,” she breathed. You continued your movements, but lifted her hips slightly, bringing your open palm down hard on the soft skin of her ass in a sharp slap. She shouted your name and you felt her release resonate through your body, triggering your own. Her name fell from your lips softly as you kissed the skin of her neck and let your orgasms run their course. 

You gently worked her through it, knowing full well how sensitive she would be after a love-making session like that. You were so close to falling on top of her when she wrapped her arms around your neck, breathily moaning in your ear. 

“I love you, Jughead,” she whispered as you slowed, pressing a kiss to your cheek and massaging the back of your head tenderly. You hummed, gently slipping out of her. You trailed kisses, starting by stamping one on her forehead, then moving down to her temple, her cheek, her jaw. You placed a passionate one on her lips. 

“I love you too, Betty Cooper,” you whispered, continuing your ministrations. You pulled the skin of her neck between your lips just enough to make her sigh a little heavier. Her shoulder. Across her chest (she held your head there, sighing when your inky hair slipped from between her fingers). Her shoulder. Her collarbone. You cherished her breasts when you made your way down to them, not enough to spark another orgasm, but enough to make her hum in delight. 

You continued down her abdomen, feeling her muscles contract under your lips and fingers. You kissed her hip bones, then down to where she wanted you most. You lapped at her tenderly, knowing she was sensitive from your prior activities. You held her legs under your armpits to keep her from kicking you in the face (she’d done it before when you made her come three times in a row with your mouth). You licked and sucked there only long enough to clean her up, not wanting to torture her further by building up another release. 

When you were done, you crawled back up her body, your dark hair messy and your eyes halfway closed, still in the haze of your orgasm. She smiled when you hovered over her, then laid yourself on top of her. She giggled as you wrapped your arms around her waist, holding tightly. Betty had to push the hair out of your eyes and you leaned into her gentle touch as she did so. 

“You’re amazing,” she whispered, looking into your eyes and stroking your chin with her thumb. “But I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“Bettyyyyyy,” you whined. 

“I’ll only be a minute, Jug,” she replied. “Promise.” 

“Fine.” 

You got off of her and helped her up, watching her find her undergarments - and an item you thought was yours - before scurrying away. You couldn’t help but smile smugly. Mine, you thought, reaching down to pick up your plaid boxers, sliding them back onto your hips. Having a little extra time on your hands, you separated Betty’s clothes from yours so she’d be able to find hers in the morning. 

When you were done, you noticed Betty standing in the doorway, your burgundy S t-shirt hanging on her light frame, the bottom hem falling just past her underwear. She leaned against the doorframe, biting her lip at you. 

“Like what you see?” you joked. She nodded, skipping over to you. “I know I like what I see,” you added. She blushed, smiling brightly. You swung your other arm around her pulling her flush against you so you could leave a soft kiss on her lips. “How do you feel?” 

“Wonderful,” she replied joyfully, bouncing on her toes slightly and averting her eyes. You could read her and she knew it. There was something else. “And a little tired,” she admitted. You placed your hand on her shoulder, stroking her caringly with your thumb. 

“Come here,” you whispered, taking her hand before you sat on the couch. You laid on your side, back pressed against the back of the couch. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and laid in front of you, her warm body leaning against yours. You brushed your nose against her shoulder and wrapped your arms around her, sealing her against you. One of her soft, delicate hands wrapped around your forearm, holding you there. She shuffled back a little, truly nestling herself in your arms. 

“What’s on your mind, Jug?” she asked you, laying her head against one of the plush pillows. 

“You,” he replied. “And only you… and maybe that amazing round of sex we just had.” Betty giggled at that.

“Okay, but seriously,” she said, shifting in your arms and rolling over so that she was looking at you. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, Jug?” You’d forgotten for a split second that she could read you as easily as you could read her. 

“Your family,” you whispered, pushing a blonde curl out of her face. “Everything that happened last year… and how it’s been affecting you.” She traced your jaw with her finger. 

“Charles doesn’t have much of a lead on my mom. He thinks we might be compromised,” Betty whispered. “And my dad… You know...” She gulped. “It’s been hard without them these last few months but… I think I’m gonna be okay, so long as you’re right here with me, Jug.” 

“And the nightmares?” you continued. “What about those?” She averted her eyes, sighing. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’ll make them go away. I’m not sure if there's anything we can do…” 

“Maybe if you can get your mom back, they’ll go away.” 

“Just… please, Jug… don’t leave me… not like they did,” she pleaded brokenly. 

“I won’t. I promise, Betty,” you replied, kissing her lips. She folded her arms behind your neck, pushing into the kiss. Slowly, you laid her on her back, your hand wandering down to her waist. She cupped your cheek with her hands, opening her legs just enough for you to settle your knees between them. 

This time it wasn’t as fast. You weren’t fucking her this time. You were making love. You took your time, making her fall over the edge once with your fingers, once with your mouth, and once while you were buried inside of her. 

You went on and off for the rest of the night, making love, then talking softly until your words triggered your collective lust for each other. Eventually - around two in the morning - you had to stop her, getting her into your t-shirt and her panties, your boxers strung on your hips. 

As you spooned together on the couch and could sense the lavender scent wafting off of her, you thought that your senior year would never get better than this, even though it hadn’t even started yet. 

You knew that here, laying next to the love of your life, was more than you could ever ask for. 

But seeing Betty run around Veronica’s penthouse frantically the next morning in nothing but her underwear and your t-shirt… you smiled smugly, knowing that you could get used to seeing her like that every day for the rest of your life.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

I’ve always imagineer that it is one of Mike’s biggest fears to not have The Gang (TM) not be real and it all was one big hallucination. 🥺🥺🥺🥺 poor boi

Hah, you don’t even know how many universes I have about this. It certainly terrifies him beyond everything, but he’s desperate to believe, because not only would him waking up mean that his delusions have reached a whole different level, but also that he’s absolutely incapable of connecting with real people. It’s scary to like people. It’s scary if people like him. There’s the constant threat that it will all be taken from him. Even worse if it might happen by his own hands. That he breaks something so important, so valuable, that not even his co-workers can forgive him. Sometimes he just feels like an untrustworthy animal. A feral monster. Though in an odd way he felt more connected to the animatronics- perhaps there was a place for monsters, where they weren’t- … well, where they at least weren’t unwanted. But yes, he never will be free of the worry. Of the fear. Because how do you prove what you see is real? How do you test if all your perceptions can be faked? Do you know if you’re a brain in a jar? Are you here right now? With me? Can you hear me?

When Mike woke up, he sucked in his breath panicked. Where was he?! What happened?! His mind was a fuzzy mess of static-y noises and missing memories. Quickly he shook his head, then looked from the left to the right, trying to figure out what exactly was going on- Doors, the screens, the cupcake, the fan- Oh. The fan was off. Quietly he flicked it on and felt a little bit better instantly as the cold air hit his face. Right. The nightshift. Everything was fine. NO WAIT IT WASN’T- Checking the doors, the awful grinning Chica stood in front of it, pressing herself against the glass. Waiting. Without even having to think, he pushed the button, causing the door to slam. Good god, how lucky he was that he hasn’t been gone too long- He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if the animatronics would have caught him sleeping- Did he ever fall asleep on the job before? … something was wrong. The temptation was there to go out and check on this feeling- But no, he wouldn’t let himself being baited into getting murdered. Hah, that would be FUNNY. No way. His brain was working as good as it always did, he was above this. He KNEW truth from his feverdreams. Finally, six AM. He was out. Or rather, he could relax while the animatronics retreated onto their respective stages. Mike stayed in the main area, playing around with the hats, waiting for the doors to open and his co-workers to enter. But they never came. He waited an hour, he waited the day, as the sun slowly sank down he got more and more worried. He attempted to call them- but nothing. Then finally he decided to go out- But where should he even seek? Did he KNOW where they lived? Seemingly not as he constantly ended up at the false places- he must remember something wrong- something was WRONG! But what was the guard to do? When the night approached, he returned back into the office, for another shift. There was no way he could just abandon the machines, they would hurt themselves- or others, then getting torn apart. Simon would come back right? Simon was his friend. He would return. He would come to look for him, right? If he couldn’t look for them, they would eventually return- Jeremy- Dave- Old Sport- ONE of them had to return eventually, right? Someone would come to tell him what happened! Time passed by. Mike wasn’t even sure how fast- every day pretty much the same. By now he had befriended the machines a little bit more, at least for during the day. The restaurant was breaking down, but thankfully the generator needed little to charge it up, the cameras and lights were all still fine. Hell, even the music did work still out. He felt a bit bad for the animatronics, as they slowly became more and more broken down- they still seemed to be in high spirits though. And still hunting him down heartlessly at night. Mike had stopped questioning that part. They knew he was their friend, at least during the day… he assumed there was some trauma related terror coming with the darkness, causing them to act out viciously. Fine. He could handle it. He was like them after all. Trying his best he attempted to maintain what could and keep the place at least SOMEWHAT clean, though he slowly lost the fight against the creeping plants and mold. But that was fine. Nobody ever came, even if he was sure that the doors were open. What could have caused the sudden shut-down? And were the other taken along? Maybe they had been sent to another location? But then- why not him? His thoughts were constant circles that were slowly driving him insane. He hoped for SOMEONE. SOMETHING. Hell, he was looking for secret doors, hoping for ANY HINT- Until one night, finally someone came. Mike was flicking through the cameras, rather bored as he heard something and quickly flicked until he found the one where there was unusual movement. The doors had opened and a group of teenagers had answered. He could hear their laughter and words, but those turned into distorted echoes, as they were send through the empty hallways. Glancing at the clock he realized it was shortly before midnight. Fucking hell- what for fucking IDIOTS! Rashly he grabbed his flashlight and made his way down the hallway. The poster changed as he passed them. Fuck, fuck, fuck, they were awake- When he arrived in the main place, where the teens had set up some alcohol and party lights, one even having put on a hat, he called out loudly- and admittedly, maybe a bit too harshly. “HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HERE!?” The kids jumped, one falling straight from the chair. Frozen they stared at him and he frustratedly stared back. Seriously, what where they DOING here?! Suddenly, next to him was a noise of something dropping on the ground loudly. Snapping around he saw a girl standing there, a few broken cups to her feet. Suddenly one of them screamed out. “RUN!” And she didn’t hesitate anymore. “DON’T FUCKING DO IT- goddammit.” Mortified he looked at the stage- The head had turned. With a last glare at the teens he proceeded to follow her up. “IF YOU GO THERE YOU WON’T GET FUCKING OUT, YOU’RE AWARE OF THAT RIGHT? THOSE ARE A FUCKING DEAD END. EMPHASIS ON DEAD.” As fast as he could he rushed after her, but he was distracted as he heard multiple voices scream in the backroom, then scattering. “Goddamn kids- why aren’t they running OUT!?” The next generation seemed to seriously lack self-preservation instincts. Torn he stood on the spot, swaying- Then he rushed back. The animatronics were there- the danger was THERE. Rushing as fast as he could without crashing into any walls while taking corners, just to spot one of the teens being chased down by the laughing Chica. He wanted to go along, distract the animatronic, but quickly saw a silhouette in the darkness ahead- “HEY!” It ran off, moving into the office, making Mike realize what was going on. “YOU BETTER NOT CLOSE THAT DOOR, YOUNG MAN-“ The door was closed and locked and Mike could only stare in through the window, at the mortified person cowering inside, looking back at him. “OPEN THE DOOR! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING-“ The other side was still open and to Mike’s horror, a golden eye lit up behind the guy. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK- Desperately he pounded against the reinforced glass. “GET OUT! TURN AROUND! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?” The brown-haired teen kept his eyes locked on him, causing Mike to make a distressed noise and try to run the other way around- Not three steps and he heard an animatronic scream. Too late. There were other screams throughout the place, there was no time to dwell. Again Mike made his way around, attempting desperately to spot any humans- This was terrible, terrible, fucking awful! How would he tell the police about this?! How would the animatronics deal with hurting people who were almost children themselves!? WHY WASN’T HE DOING HIS JOB!? Hurry, hurry, hurry up. Make you can save SOMETHING. For ONCE. Hearing something he pressed himself against the wall, letting an animatronic pass that seemingly didn’t notice him. Out of breath he moved past the bathrooms and- Sobbing. Instantly he moved inside, hearing a muffled cry. The last of the teenagers cowered against the wall, the green eyes wide and terrified. “STAY- STAY AWAY FROM ME!” “Calm the fuck down!” Mike tried to reassure him. “I… I’ll get you out of here. But you NEED to calm down. You HAVE to-“ The boy threw something that Mike promptly deflected. “You’re a little bitch, you fucking know that? Maybe I SHOULD let you brats handle yourself” He turned to check on what it was that had fallen- His eyes met the ones in the mirror. Silver. Shining silver. An endoskeleton, with tiny white dots in their big black eyes stared back. A torch in its hand. A hat on his head. A little glowing badge on his chest. “What… what the fuck…” He stumbled back and the endo almost crashed into one of the stalls behind him- he could feel the door open against his back. Terrified his eyes wandered back to the kid. “That’s- that’s not real. That’s not me. THAT’S NOT ME-“ IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME Before he could do anything more, the teen bolted past him and he lost his focus more and more. S Y S T E M R E B O O T Mike woke up at his desk, tired, with a headache. Fuck… what happened?! Something happened. Did he fall asleep?! Dizzy he stood up, looking outside of the black doors. There was noise of slow animatronic movement. Something was… off. Slowly he stepped outside, looking around. Chica was with the back to him, carrying something. A liquid of indistinguishable color dripped from whatever she was carrying- “… Chica?” She turned, then smiled, turning further to reveal her pizza. “Mike! So you finally came out! Took you long enough! Lazy butt!” Happily she laughed. “… you’re in a good mood… what is that…?” His head was HURTING. “Pizza, obviously.” “How did you make that?” For a second it was silent, then she tilted her head. “The ingredients you brought in…?” “Ah.” Suddenly he remembered. He went out today, buying groceries for this. Because Chica was whining so much. God, how could he have forgotten that? Friendly she signed him to come along. “Come!” “Can’t. Someone needs to clean up the damn sauce. You got it all over the fucking place.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Mike… come, I’ll clean it up later, I promise.” “WILL you?” “Yessir!” She smiled. “Well…” “Eat with us, Mike.” The guard sighed and followed the machine into the darkness.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

You know how Bruce took Jason to the place where he died, hoping Jason could remember something to help resurrect Damian? What if Bruce actually succeeded in triggering Jason's memory of what happened on the day he died, but instead of getting the information he needs to revive Damian, Jason goes into shock and dies. Or worse he returns to the state he was in mentally when he crawled out of his grave?

You’re my favorite kind of monster. My angst soulmate.

This is the first comic book that made me cry. We’ve been talking a lot lately about Bruce punching Tim in Batman #71 and some people even talk about Bruce beating the shit out of Jason in RHatO #25 but frankly, in my opinion, this is the most fucked up thing Bruce has ever done (and that’s not even counting the fact that after he subjects Jason to this, Jason punches him (as he should), and he punches Jason back).

Trying to summarize it in the thing I wrote for this wouldn’t have done it justice so I included the panels which roll right into the little ficlet I wrote for this. So you’ll want read the comic panels like they’re part of the story, because they are.

[[If you haven’t read Batman and Robin (2011) #20 by Peter Tomasi and Patrick Gleason, you should. The really heartbreaking stuff takes place immediately following the panels I’ve included]]

Regress 

Words: 1121 (not counting the ones in the panels)

Rating: …Teen?

Warnings: emotional abuse/manipulation, panic attacks, seizures, severe traumatic brain injuries, severe ptsd

He doesn’t register the increasingly labored breathing at his side until movement out of the corner of his eye interrupts his speech.

Jason is doubled over, one elbow bracing himself across his knees, fingers of the other hand digging deep into the dirt, steadying himself against the ground.

“Jason?” Bruce says in concern, stepping toward him. But the younger man, raises his hand in a halting motion and stumbles away a few steps putting more space between them.

Stunned, Bruce watches in confusion as Jason takes too many deep, frantic breaths as though he can’t get any air. He’s hyperventilating, his face suddenly clammy; pale and wet with sweat.

When Jason squeezes his eyes closed only for them to fly wide open almost immediately to stare at ground, refusing to blink until tears well up and drop into the dust, that’s when Bruce is shaken from his shocked stupor and rushes to the younger man’s side. 

Just in time to catch him as he suddenly seizes, collapsing into Bruce’s arms while convulsions wrack his body.

He knows the look of abject terror on Jason’s face is reflected on his own. He has no idea what’s happening, how something like this could come on so suddenly, without warning. 

Jason doesn’t have a history of panic attacks or seizures. But his pulse has skyrocketed. It’s racing so fast Bruce is worried he’s going to have a stroke or go into cardiac arrest. 

“Jason, I-I know it’s hard son, but you need to focus. Please, try to breath or you’re going to–” 

Or you’re going to die.

Bruce chokes on the rest of the words. He looks up, out at the rubble of the warehouse that only a couple years ago had blown up around his tortured son and killed him slowly as it filled his ruined lungs with poisonous smoke.

His gaze snaps back down a moment before a wet gurgle sounds from within Jason’s throat. Instantly, without hesitation, Bruce turns Jason onto his side. So he doesn’t drown in the vomit that spills beneath them, splashing onto Batman’s boots. 

It doesn’t even register in Bruce’s mind. Jason’s pulse is still ratcheting higher and higher. 

He keeps Jason securely in his lap, pressed close against his armor, with one arm. Both eyes fixed intently on the youthful face twisted in agony, watching for any changes, trying to not fixate on the way one pupil is a pinprick while the other is dilated so wide there isn’t the slightest hint of color. With his free hand he starts desperately fishing for the strongest sedative he can safely administer to someone Jason’s size.

Suddenly, Jason’s eyes shut tightly again, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, and he grabs at his head; pressing against his temples with all his strength before taking fistfuls of hair and trying to pull them out. 

Terror isn’t strong enough to describe the kind of fear that floods every cell of Bruce’s body and it’s only years of practice that allow him to compartmentalize his guilt and shove it aside. He can’t afford– Jason can’t afford– for him to fall apart.

Letting his violently spasming, child slip gently from his lap to the ground so that he can effectively retrieve the sedative is at once the hardest and easiest thing he’s ever done.

Moments after he depresses the needle’s plunger, Jason’s convulsions slowly abate. His hands drop, boneless, away from his head. His breathing evens out. His lids drop heavier and heavier until he’s taken under. 

Finally his whole body relaxes.

Bruce takes a deep breath of relief and realizes he had been holding his own.

But now, in the silence, bathed in the harsh white from the Batmobile’s headlights, darkness pressing in, the crumbled remains of a dark tomb casting sharp, twisted shadows across the eerily still form of the teenager they once buried… now Bruce is left with only his own thoughts. 

I did this.

————————————————————-

Two months and two dozen specialists later, the best anyone can tell is that a severe panic attack triggered a seizure which tore open all the old wounds the Lazarus Pits had tentatively mended. The physical trauma inflicted on Jason’s brain is some of the most extensive the doctors had ever seen. And permanent.

He’s lucky to be alive, they’d said.

The last time Bruce saw Jason, the little patches of hair he had torn out had just started growing back. His eyes were vacant as he stared, unseeingly, into the distance. Tim had gently wiped up the clear fluid that occasionally leaked out of Jason’s ears with a tissue. Then, with one final angry, heartbroken glance back at Bruce, he’d wheeled an unresponsive Jason out of the manor, into his new van, and drove away.

Alfred had gone with them.

Tim and Barbara speak to him exactly twice after that. Once to extract Damian from the league after Ra’s managed to resurrect him. And the final time to help Dick finish with his undercover work at Spyral. 

None of them are surprised when they find out Bruce lied to them about Dick’s death.

Dick is horrified when he sees Jason again for the first time, when Tim and Barbara fill him in. The look of disgust he levels at Bruce cuts deep. Even though Bruce knows he deserves that and worse. 

Damian, who had been conflicted about what happened with Jason, it was cruel and heartless but it was done out of love for him, went easily with Dick to Bludhaven after everything. Dick’s right. It’s for the best.

Bruce deserves it all. He’s aware of that. What happened… what he did… it’s unforgivable.

But he can’t stop himself from checking in on them. Making sure they’re all right.

That’s how, nearly a year later, he learns they’ve all moved to New York together. They have the top TBI specialists there. The boys chose a place close enough to the city that they can do their night jobs but far enough outside the city limits that the lights are in the distance and the noise is non-existent. A peaceful house in a peaceful wood, tucked away from the world, where their broken brother can… can…

Exist.

They take hundreds of pictures. Jason is in every single of them. Never alone. Never forgotten. Always cared for.

But there’s still nothing behind that emotionless gaze.

Sometimes Bruce thinks about putting Jason in the Pit again. Even found himself, with no one to stop him, halfway to New York once. 

But the boys haven’t taken him. Dick and Tim and Damian haven’t tried it. They must have a reason.

And if one thing has been made abundantly clear to Bruce, it’s that his judgement absolutely cannot be trusted.

[spaceskam]

a way to decide if the light is still red

Summary: michael has a breakdown, they have to bring in the big guns (title: silk by isaac lewis)

Maria woke up to someone crying.

The main reason it wasn't immediately clear who was crying was because she couldn't remember a time Michael Guerin had cried. He was a self-proclaimed tough guy, a hard ass if there ever was one. He didn't cry. He didn't ball up in the corner of the room in the middle of the night. He didn't have real problems.

Except he did and he was just damn good at pretending. 

“Guerin? Are you okay?” Maria asked softly, rubbing the sleep out of her eye. He had his hands folded over the back of his head, his face buried into his knees as he rocked back and forth. He very clearly was not okay.

She crawled out of bed, making her way to the corner he’d stuffed himself in. This was the first night he’d actually stayed over rather than slipped out sometime after she’d gone to sleep. Maybe this is why.

“Michael, what’s wrong?” she asked, crouching down and gently touching his arm. However, she was almost immediately thrown away as he cried out a ’no’.

Her back hit the bed with a gentle thud and she stared at him in shock, slowly catching her breath. He seemed to ball up even more, whimpering and shaking and whispering the same ‘no’ over and over and over. Maria sat there for a moment, debating if she should try to console him again or not. She decided against it and went for her phone. She didn’t want to leave him there, but she also wasn’t about to risk getting herself hurt.

“Hello?” Isobel answered, sleep heavy in her voice as if the phone call had woken her up. Maria spared a moment to wonder why she hadn’t felt that he was in distress. Michael had felt when she stubbed her toe the week prior.

“Hey, uh, Michael’s having like some kind of breakdown. He’s crying in the corner and is unresponsive and he won’t let me get near him,” she said, eyeing Michael and seeing if her talking about him shook him out of it. It didn’t.

“What? What do you mean?” Isobel asked and there was shifting on the other side of the line.

“I mean I woke up to him crying in the corner,” Maria repeated, holding the phone out towards him and hoping it caught his whimpering. “I don’t know why and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can, make sure he doesn’t freak out,” Isobel insisted, hanging up the call. Maria scoffed.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely get on that.”

Maria stood to put a pair of pants on, keeping her eye on Michael. He never made a move outside of rocking, still whimpering and whispering ‘no’. She sat on the bed again. He started pulling at his hair.

“Michael, did you have a bad dream?” she asked, knowing he probably wouldn’t answer. He didn’t.

Isobel showed up in under 15 minutes, somehow looking very put together despite it being two in the morning. She pushed her way into the room, nearing Michael. She crouched in front of him.

“Michael? What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching out to him. Maria was genuinely shocked when he threw her as well, screaming his panic as he desperately tried to back up into the wall. Isobel huffed, slowly making her way back towards him.

Michael threw her three more times before she eventually stopped trying.

“How long has he been like that?” Isobel huffed, rubbing her back. Each time he’d thrown her, he’d gotten a little more touchy and a little harder to get near. He’d started to create some sort of force field around him that would throw you if you tried to push past it. It was getting a little ridiculous.

“At least forty minutes at this point, I guess. I don’t know how long he’s been like that before I woke up,” Maria explained. They both stared at him for a moment, trying to brainstorm ideas on how to break him out of it. She was more than a little nervous that he would be like that forever. He would just pick up more and more shit, becoming a living weapon. Or something. She wasn’t sure that’s how it worked.

“Okay, then I’m going to call Max,” Isobel said. Maria grabbed her arm.

“Is that a good idea? I mean, won’t that just make him more agitated?” Isobel shrugged her shoulders, rubbing her eyes with a yawn.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she said. Maria didn’t have a good argument to get her to stop.

Isobel walked out of the room to go call Max and Maria retreated back to the bed, watching him panic. She felt bad that she couldn’t help. What kind of girlfriend was she? One who was completely oblivious to her boyfriend’s troubles apparently.

Or maybe it was an alien thing. Maybe this had nothing to do with him and his issues and had everything to do with the fact he and Liz had been spending too much time experimenting. That had to be a possibility. It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that this was their first legit night together.

It took Max and Liz nearly 25 minutes to show up which left far too much time for Maria and Isobel to awkwardly stare at Michael. He was still shaking, rocking, saying his ‘no’, and vaguely crying. She didn’t even know how he had it in him to panic for that long, it was getting to a new level of concern.

“What’s going on?” Liz asked. Maria, again, gave them a rundown of the events. Which just led to them doing the same shit that she and Isobel already tried.

“Michael, seriously, what’s wrong?” Max asked as if that would help before being thrown due to trying to enter Michael’s power bubble.

“C’mon, Mikey, it’s okay. Let us help,” Liz cooed, basically petting the force field. Max stood behind her just in case Michael tried to throw her.

They tried and tried and tried and tried and tried until eventually, they couldn’t even enter the bedroom anymore due to the size of the force field. Nothing was fucking working. In fact, it was debatably making it worse. Maria couldn’t help but feel even more pity as she stared at him, watching him sob into his knees. Each time they’d tried to push past the force field, it seemed to directly affect him in the worst way. She couldn’t count the number of times she had to listen to him scream and not be able to help because he wouldn’t let her.

“Okay, what do we do now?” Maria asked, anxiously chewing on her nails. It had escalated from a minor inconvenience to having a literal ticking time bomb in her bedroom. Isobel and Max shared a look.

“I’m gonna go call Alex,” Max decided. Maria furrowed her eyebrows.

“Why? What can Alex do that we haven’t already?” she asked. She knew she was sounding a bit naive, but she had effectively worked herself into functioning denial. Michael had insisted that whatever happened between the two of them had been long over and she had decided to listen. Even if it meant Alex went out of his way to avoid her now.

“How much do you know about the two of them?” Isobel asked cautiously as Max took a step aside to call him. Maria crossed her arms over her chest as she looked over to Michael. She realized she didn’t know a single goddamn detail outside of them sharing a kiss back in high school and Alex still pining years later. “Look, I guess I don’t know much either, but I do know Alex is our best bet. He’s spent more nights with him over the years than anyone else.” Maria would be lying if she said that didn’t make her feel sick.

No one questioned it when Alex somehow managed to pull up to the Wild Pony in under 20 minutes when his cabin was a solid 35 minutes away.

The four of them watched as Alex trudged up the stairs with nothing but sheer annoyance on his face. Maria held more shame than she wanted to admit. How pathetic was it that they had to resort to calling her boyfriend’s ex-something so he could calm down? A selfish part of her hoped it wouldn’t work.

“What exactly is going on?” Alex asked as he reached the apartment door. He looked more than a little exhausted and she was regretting letting Max call him more and more by the minute.

“We went to bed and he was fine, but when I woke up, he was crying in the corner of my room. He won’t let anyone near him, he’d created this giant force field type of thing around him and it keeps getting bigger each time we try to get close. It’s basically my entire bedroom now,” Maria explained, hoping to do her best at dropping hints that they were in fact together. It was petty, but she couldn’t help it. Alex’s eyebrows knitted together.

“A force field?” he repeated. They all nodded. “How long has he been like that?”

“An hour and a half, maybe two hours,” Isobel said, looking to Maria for confirmation. Alex’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his lips parting in disbelief.

“Two hours? You fucked with him for two fucking‒” Alex cut himself off, closing his eyes and taking a deep, regulated breath, “Next time, if you can’t calm him down in 20 minutes, call me.”

“We’re not even sure if he’s awake,” Max jumped in. Alex scoffed.

“He has night terrors and he’s really good at waking himself up within 15 minutes. He’s been awake, he’s just fucking terrified,” he said, giving a tight smile.

“We didn’t know,” Liz murmured.

“You should’ve! He’s supposedly your best friend, your brother, your boyfriend and none of you even knew that he had fucking night terrors. It’s something you all should’ve known one way or another,” he snapped. Maria was slowly feeling every ounce of guilt and jealousy slip from her grasp, easily being replaced with irritation.

“It’s not like he tells us,” Maria argued, crossing her arms over her chest and slightly popping her him to the side. Alex let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.

“You all think his walls are so fucking high. They aren’t. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Michael talks a lot. He’s hurting and he had been since the day I met him. He wants to talk, he wants to vent, but he feels like a burden, so he stops himself,” Alex said, glaring in a painfully protective manner, “All you have to do is ask twice.”

Maria hated her abilities for a moment. She could feel the guilt build up in the small space until it became suffocating. Clearly, there had been occasions where they all had been dismissive and never asked twice.

“You don’t have to be a dick about it, Alex,” Maria stated simply. He snorted.

“Oh, I think I am perfectly justified in being a dick. You woke me up because you don’t know how to take care of your boyfriend when he needs you,” Alex said simply. It was a low blow and she couldn’t help but glare.

“Then why the hell did you come?”

“Because I love him and he needs me,” Alex admitted, not a trace of a lie to be found on his features, “And he would be right there if I needed him. It’s what you do for family.”

The word ’family’ hung in the air even when he turned swiftly and made his way into the apartment. She wanted to take it as another low blow, but she couldn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and followed him inside.

The four of them hardly kept their distance as Alex felt for the force field, stopping in his tracks once he touched it. He took a heavy breath and forced on a kind smile.

“Guerin,” he called. For the first time in hours, his curly head popped up. His face was sunken in and tear stained and red; his eyes were frantic.

“Alex?”

Maria gulped as she watched Alex’s fake smile become real.

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Are you okay?”

Alex let out a soft laugh as he said, “I’m fine. You can check if you let me in.”

Michael nodded immediately even though he stayed in the corner and the force field visibly morphed to accommodate for Alex’s entrance. It snapped back in place once he entered.

“Did you know you could create a force field?” Alex asked softly. Michael reached out his right hand, pathetically making a grabby motion not too unlike a toddler except instead of a toy, it was Alex Manes. “I didn’t. I think it’s pretty cool.”

He slowly lowered himself onto the ground in front of the alien and, once he landed, Michael rocked forward and landed against Alex’s chest with a thud. They sat in silence for a moment, Micahel laying against him and gripping his shirt as tight as he could. There was something painful about the way he calmed each time Alex ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t do that for Maria.

Soon, their foreheads met and the comfort wafted off of them in overwhelming waves. Michael was staring at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, stroking his cheek with his left hand.

“Why wouldn’t you let anyone come near you?” Alex asked. Michael’s bottom lip protruded in a pout, his grip on Alex’s shirt tightening.

“I thought something bad happened to you,” he whimpered. Alex smiled sweetly, still flitting his fingers through his hair.

“So, what you’re saying is that if something does happen to me, you’re just going to hide out in a force field forever?” Alex asked. Michael sniffled loudly and gave a weak shrug. Alex huffed a laugh. “Well, you’re in luck,” he hummed, grabbing Michael’s calves and pulling him basically into his lap, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Maria turned away, letting her back hit the wall beside the open doorway.

“So, what, am I supposed to just give over my bedroom to my boyfriend and his ex for the night?” Maria scoffed. All the looks that turned her way made her question if she should even still be considering him her boyfriend. Maybe she shouldn’t.

This was going to be a long night.

[babbushka]

Mind & Soul (Ch 3. Sneak Peek)

He scratches the side of his nose, chews the inside of his lip. She’s staring at him, and he does his best to avoid her gaze at all costs, lest he break down into angry, hate-filled yelling.

He’d never win Henry with behavior like that.

He sighs and looks up at her lawyer, gives an honest truth. Honesty was the best policy, you always said.

“I’m not perfect. I know I’m not. I failed Nicole, in more ways than one. But I have never once failed Henry. I maybe wasn’t there for Nicole the way she needed, but I’ve always been there for Henry. You know I – I wake up in the mornings and I walk him to school. Every day. I drop him off with the lunch I made him and I pick him up and we get pizza on Thursdays or after he’s passed a test. When he’s sad I let him cry and when he’s happy I laugh with him and when he’s hurt or sick I sit by his bedside all night long and I read to him.”

He grows more and more heated, until he’s white-knuckled in his lap, until his jaw is clenched so tightly that tears are threatening to spill from his stinging eyes.

He wishes you were here, wishes he didn’t have to be.

The lawyer paces for a while, in her sharp pantsuit and polished heels, giving him a placating smile. It irritates him, but he can’t let her know that.

“Mrs. Barber doesn’t do that?” She asks, and Charlie’s gaze flits to his ex-wife for just a moment.

“No. She doesn’t.” He says, making the lawyer quirk a brow.

“How do you know?” She asks, and it’s a perfectly reasonable question.

He wouldn’t know, honestly. He wouldn’t know because,

“She’s not here.” He says simply, and it’s the truth. It’s the truth and it hurts like a bitch because he doesn’t know what the fuck he ever did to deserve it, what Henry ever did to be abandoned by his mom. “Because she left him.”

He remembers the fight, that dream once more, that memory. He remembers the way he scrambled, desperate.

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

He’s standing outside, watching the cab drive away, and for a moment he can’t tell if he feels relief or absolute terror.

He wonders in the neighbors know, if they’re awake and heard all the yelling – if the yelling woke them up. He wonders if they see him practically running next door to your house, wonders if they can hear the way he’s pleading for you to answer your door.

He’s fully aware of how ridiculous he looks, standing there in his pajamas, with his robe wrapped tightly around him in the chill of night.

“(Y/N?” He’s freaking out, not because he’s angry she left, not because he’s sad, but because she gave him no fucking warning and he can’t do this by himself. He just can’t. “(Y/N)!”

You’re gorgeous, when you open the door. Completely bundled up in pajamas of your own, your eyes widen at his appearance, blotchy faced and covered in tears and snot and rage. He’s sure he looks wild, looks crazy, especially in comparison to you, an angel under the porchlight.

“Charlie – !” You gasp, immediately bringing him into your arms, because you know, you know everything.

You always have. He can tell you’re not sure whether to be scared or relieved either.

“She fucking – she’s gone.” He says, and he’s saying it like he’s trying to believe it, he’s looking down at you, trying to make sense of it all.

“I know, I heard – what are we going to do?” You whisper, eyes never once leaving his.

(He always liked that, in retrospect. Always liked how you said ‘we.’)

He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, shifts barefooted on your welcome mat.

“I don’t know what the fuck to tell him, I don’t know – she told me to figure it out.” He spits, words like venom because they came from the mouth of a viper.

“So then we figure it out.” You say, say with such conviction that he believes you, that he knows in that moment you’re the only person he’s ever truly loved, the only person he’s ever truly wanted.

He glances towards the house, and the lights are still off – Henry’s still asleep. He chews his lip and raises a shaking hand to your face, fingertips brushing the corner of your mouth, and you know, you already know.

Thunder claps, and a downpour erupts from the sky in the most dramatic of fashions. Sometimes Charlie thinks his life is one big fucking movie. He hopes it’s a comedy.

He knows it isn’t.

“Can…can I?” He asks, because this is still a secret – even with his wife storming out in the middle of the night, even with declarations of abandonment, this is a secret.

You’re already pulling him into the house, already closing the door behind him, already shedding your robe, letting it fall to the floor.

“Of course, come here, of course.” You encourage, and he pulls you to a bruising kiss right there in the entryway of your home, right where any and everyone could see if it weren’t raining so heavily.

You kiss, and he strips you of all your clothes, he clings to you, to your body, shudders under your touch as you work to get him out of his. He can’t stay long, he can’t, not in case Henry wakes up, but the sight of you is too delicious to pass up, and before long he’s tugging you over to the couch, splaying you out underneath him.

He doesn’t bother with a condom, can’t be bothered right now, he’ll pull out, it’ll be fine – he just needs to be in you right now. Your eyes are closed and your nipples are hard as he rubs the head of his cock through your folds, as he slowly sinks into your pussy. He doesn’t know why this feels so good, why this feels so right, why this feels like home.

But it does, and it does, and it does.

And as you moan and gasp underneath him as the thunderclaps, as he fucks you to let some of this aggression and anger and tension out, you laugh, randomly, you laugh, and he finds he’s laughing too – because what the fuck is even going on anymore?

He doesn’t know, but it’s okay.

You’ll both figure it out.

[jankyunsolved]

Or, or, or

Love was a mysterious, sometimes painful thing. It made you blush, it made you shy, it made you happy, it made you anxious—and Ryan was feeling that last one all the time. For years his feelings for Shane floated around, poking and prodding at his ribs, and he tried to ignore it. He flinched away from Shane, made hand touches and close encounters a big deal just to keep some distance between them. Some would say it was toxic masculinity, some would say internalized homophobia, and Ryan? He didn’t know if it needed a label when he knew how it made him feel. 

And then more time was spent at Buzzfeed, with a variety of different people and Ryan experienced growth. And with that growth came an understanding of what he felt for Shane. 

But he was with Helen and Shane was with Sara, and they were happy. Why ruin something when it doesn’t need to be touched?

Then the “Break-Up” happened, and well, who needed love anyway?

After recovering with Mama Mia as his soundtrack to life and the Big Guy his mascot, Ryan opened himself up to another relationship. And for two years, he was in one of the most fulfilling relationships of his life. He was happy, and in love, and couldn’t imagine life without anyone else.

That’s when his feelings for Sara Rubin came entirely out of left field. One day she was just his friend, maybe one of his closest friends, and then the next day, WHAM! She held him as he wept on her couch, newly broken-hearted with a company just weeks away from it’s launch. 

A company that was weeks away from it’s launch that desperately needed all three of the creators in the office. But how? How could he work and create when his heart was bleeding?

“We’ll get through this,” Sara murmured, running her fingers through his hair with one hand and soothingly rubbing his back with the other. 

The turning point, the lightbulb moment, wasn’t her holding him until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore; it was later that evening after he exhausted himself to sleep and he finally woke up on her couch, blanket covering him and Obi nestled at his feet. He could smell something warm and spicy coming from the kitchen, but what snagged his attention was what he thought was a warm pillow beneath his head was actually Sara’s lap. Her hand was still in his hair. 

His breath increasing must’ve tipped her off. “You awake?” she asked softly. 

“Yeah.”

“I stole your keys and gave them to Shane. He went to get you some clothes.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here,” she leaned forward so she could look him in the eye. “For as long as you need. Forever, if it has to be.”

And just like that, with the promise of forever, a very small spark burst to life in his chest. 

——-

Things continued, got better, the bleeding slowed and his heart began to mend. And like last time (like always, maybe forever) Shane and Sara were in his corner, two of a handful of his cheerleaders keeping him together like glue. 

Watcher launched, flourished, gained over half a million subscribers and BUN was back for another season. Getting to spend so much time with Shane was comforting, was maybe something more? But spending less time at Buzzfeed meant less time with Sara. He missed their coffee breaks, their passing conversations as Ryan made his rounds around the office, their daily giggles while they ate. 

Sara definitely noticed and arranged regular weeknight dinners at their place. And maybe some weekends they went to Disney or the movies or the park or the beach or, or, or…

——-

This is it. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna ask them to dinner. 

Ryan Bergara, man of many fears, was about to text Shane Madej and Sara Rubin if they wanted to get dinner. And not just dinner, which they did several days a week, but fancy dinner. Ryan wasn’t going to wear his jeans with rips in the knees, even though he knew Shane liked them. And he wasn’t going to wear his sheer white shirt either, a favorite of the couple (he noticed when they looked, okay?). The black pants that showed his ankles and made his butt look fantastic were already ironed and ready to go. And he was going to wear one of his new pink button ups with the short sleeves. They showed his arms, and Sara liked his arms. 

But first he had to text them. 

He paced around his house, starting downstairs in the kitchen and traveling around the entire first floor before he made his way to his bedroom, grateful that his roommates weren’t home; they would have teased him mercilessly if they were there. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, held his phone in his hand, and stared at the group text that was just the three of them.  He already made the dinner reservations. He just needed to text them and ask. 

Finally, with his thumbs barely cooperating, Ryan typed, ‘Are you both free on Friday for dinner?’

All he had to do was be brave and press send. 

He watched the three dots appear then disappear for a solid minute before it stopped altogether. Fuuuuuuck. They’re turning me down. They’re turning me down because I’m annoying. They’re gonna stop being my friend starting tonight. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It took almost two minutes before Sara finally responded. 

Sara: Sure! Right after work? Are you thinking Mexican? Thai?

He tried to tell himself to take his time to respond, but also, why? 

Ryan: I actually have a reservation. At Maude.

Not ten seconds after pressing send, he was getting a FaceTime call from Sara. For a moment, he thanked whoever was watching over him that he wasn’t sweating through his shirt. Then he kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed and forced himself to relax as if he was that cool, calm, and collected all the time. He put one arm behind his head and exhaled hard. 

Then he accepted the call and forced a smile. 

“Bergara!”

He couldn’t help but laugh as Shane and Sara appeared with their faces smashed together to see him on Sara’s phone. “Maude?! Do you know how impossible it is to get in there?!” Sara shrieked, while Shane gesticulated wildly and made attempts to speak. 

“Yeah. I made the reservation like...three months ago.”

“THREE MONTHS AGO?!” Shane and Sara cried together. They looked at each other before looking back at the phone. 

Ryan was trying to be nonchalant but he knew he was missing the mark by a mile. “So will you have dinner with me?”

The small smile that Shane had, with his head tilted just slightly soothed Ryan. He could see pink spreading across his cheeks and over his nose.  “We’d love to go to dinner with you. Always, Ry.” Sara nodded, tucking her head into Shane’s shoulder, trying to hide her own blush. They were both being so soft. Ryan had to swallow thickly and force himself to stay quiet; he didn’t want to say anything that could ruin this.

They were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other and then looking away, only to return and look at each other again. Finally, Ryan cleared his throat and said,  “I want to make this clear, I am asking you on a date. The both of you.”

“Duh, Ryan,” Sara said, mock glaring at the phone, pretending to be offended that Ryan would even suggest that they misunderstood his intentions. “A man doesn’t just ask his ghoul friends to dinner at Maude for fun.”

“You’re right,” Ryan said, flexing and watching Sara and Shane’s eyes follow the movement. The fact that they both licked their lips made Ryan’s face flush, but also made the ball of anxiety in his gut clench. Did they think he was just thirsty? (No doubt was he thirsty, but there were also feelings involved too.) Were they just interested in sleeping with him? (He doubted it, but…)

Shane tilted his head, squinted, and then he sighed. Ryan squirmed at the look in his eye, the anxiety clawing at his throat, trying to escape. “You’re flexing and being cool over there, but I can see the absolute terror in your eyes. Are you okay?”

Without thinking, Ryan said, “Honestly? I could cry,” His laugh came out strangled. Sara pulled away from Shane’s neck and made a sound of concern. 

“You wanna come over?” Sara asked. “I feel like you need a hug.”

Ryan sat up a little straighter. A hug would probably solve all his current problems and rid the anxiety manifesting in his body. He ran his fingers through his hair before rubbing at his chest, wishing his heart would slow down. He needed to release the tension in his body before it snapped under the pressure. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that was make his friends laugh. 

“I don’t put out before the first date.”

Shane choked on his own spit and Sara snorted, slapping a hand over her mouth. Ryan smiled and took a deep breath. Already, he was beginning to feel a little better. 

After getting his breath back, Shane said, “Get over here, Bergara!”

Ryan never put his shoes on so fast in his life.