#comf micros

Nat flinches back as Chris lets out a scream of frustration and throws the book across the room. It smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to a random page, the oversized letters easily readable even from this far away.

Easily readable for her, anyway.

"I, I don't want to do this anymore!" He snaps, shaking his head, rocking almost violently forward and back, forward and back. Nat takes a breath, trying to decide what to do - hug him? Wait it out? Sometimes a hug helps, sometimes it makes things worse. Waiting might just mean Chris cycling down into his self-hatred again, or it might give him time to calm and get through it on his own.

She settles for getting to her feet, with a slight groan as her knees protest, and walking over to pick the book up. "Chris-"

"It, it, it it it hurts! It hurts and it's, I'm too, I'm never gonna read again and I shouldn't even try, I, I I I'm too fucking stupid to read!"

He smacks his hands into the floor, and Nat holds the book, running her own hands back and forth over the slightly shiny cover of the book. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she should have known better - in retrospect, it was a hard day for Chris right from the start. Waking from a nightmare, struggling with leaving his room, getting overwhelmed when the roadwork guys had gone down the road - and then something about lunch had been wrong, but he hadn't been able to say what...

"Chris, it's okay," She says, softly, and takes a seat on the couch. "It's okay. We can stop for now, all right? We can try again later."

He looks up at her, eyes red-rimmed with tears, wiping almost viciously at them with the back of one hand. "I'm too-... they they they made me too stupid to read," He says, and the awful misery of his voice cracks her heart in two. "They hurt me and I can't-... I can't do it and I want to get better, but-... but but but I can't, I can't get better-"

"You can. You can, Chris, and you will. But there's no deadline, you don't have to hurry." Nat sighs, and then looks down at the book, thinking. "Would you like me to read to you for a while?"

He goes quiet, sitting in sullen silence for a few seconds, and then gets to his feet, moving across the room and flopping dramatically onto the couch next to her. "Yes," He says, in a low voice, his hair hanging over his eyes. "Please."

"No problem. Let's just take some deep breaths." She opens the book and starts to read from the spot they'd left off, keeping her voice low, a soft soothing near-monotone.

At first, Chris sits with his knees pulled up, forehead resting against them, humming soft and rocking. The humming comes to a stop, until Nat's voice is the only thing in the room, and then finally the rocking stops, too.

When he leans slowly over until his head rests against her, Nat never misses a beat. She keeps reading, even as she slides an arm around his shoulder and holds him.

"I'm, I'm I'm-I'm sorry," he says, in a voice so small she can barely hear him.

Nat places her finger on the last word she had read to mark her place, and turns, resting her cheek against the top of his head. "It's okay. Hard days are a part of living, Chris. I understand. It's okay."

"Are you-... are are are you mad at me, for throwing the, um, the book?"

"No, honey. But can we try again tomorrow?"

He nods, closing his eyes.

Nat starts reading again, and feels the tension in his body very slowly relaxing.

Maybe tomorrow will be better all around.

Chris has so many good days, it's not such a big deal to roll with the bad ones.

-

Soft words of reassurance, Some help performing a basic task, Some peace and quiet

Takes place in the future

Kauri's hand at his back, warm through his shirt against the scars layered there, feels good. Antoni closes his eyes, leaning back briefly into the touch before he moves forward again, and Kauri lets him go. "You all right, Ant?"

"My hands." Antoni sighs, looking down at his fingers as he opens and closes them. "They hurt on cold days sometimes. I do not know why."

"Hm, I'm sure the years of nonstop menial tasks had nothing to do it," Kauri teases, and Antoni turns to look at him. There's a little silver in Kauri's black curls, these days, although his blue eyes are as brilliant as ever. "Let me finish this up."

"No, no, I am making scones-"

"I know how to use an oven. Rest your hands." Kauri takes Antoni's in his own and pulls them to his lips, briefly kissing the knuckles. "Go sit down. I'll get everything into the oven."

"Perhaps I will drink my tea," Antoni says, allowing himself to be convinced. Kauri pulls out his chair at the table for him, laughing at Antoni's wry look of feigned irritation, and sighs softly as his aching hands close around the still-hot, still-steaming mug. "This feels nice."

Kauri gets to work, and there's a few moments of simple quiet between them, comfortable silence. Antoni takes a sip but mostly enjoys how the pain fades, bit by bit, for the moment.

Then Kauri reaches up into a cabinet, and Antoni frowns. "Kauri, I have everything ready-"

Kauri turns around, smiling, bright and shining. "But-... have you considered... adding sprinkles?"

Antoni takes a deep breath, and then scrapes the chair back as he moves to stand. "I will take over again-"

🍳 - Breakfast in bed

"This is the worst coffee I have ever had," Antoni whispers into Kauri's ear after taking a sip, forcing himself not to wince. "This is like water!"

"I know, I know, but they meant well, I swear." Kauri's coffee is more milk than coffee anyway, and he takes big gulps of the mostly-warm-and-not-hot-anymore liquid.

"It kind of tastes scalded, right?" Jake's voice is a low mumble, too.

"A little. Scalded and like water, both." Antoni sighs, and takes another sip. "How did they manage that?"

"Who knows?" Kauri responds casually, leaning into Antoni's side. "Coffee, what looks like... peanut butter and honey sandwiches, and like little potato circles that are still cold in the middle. All for us. Breakfast in bed."

"Why?"

"I know, I'm suspicious, too," Jake says, under his breath. "What is this about?"

Allyn appears in the doorway, smiling. "Is it good? Do you all like it?"

All three of them smile back and thank Allyn profusely.

I guess you know what we would like to see😉. In the end Auri promised him to be there😇

CW: Auri is a creepy motherfucker, dubcon/noncon touching implied, uh, dubcon... licking...? Look I said they're creepy right

The sky through his window is a blurred blend of red clouds and the last light of day above the canopy of the trees when Erich turns his head, looking out. A crow, or something very like one, takes flight - nothing but a black smear and wings, like a drop of ink in a pool of blood.

There is a weight on him, lukewarm, and he groans, softly. He hurts. Everything aches, his gums throbbing most of all. He runs his tongue over his teeth, finding the new fangs there, grown in hours what had taken him as a child days and days.

His stomach growls.

"I know you're awake," They whisper against his ear, nipping at it with their own fangs, one hand moving over his chest and down his stomach. He looks away, only to have them take his chin and turn it back, forcing his eyes to meet their eyes.

The glimmer in the light doesn't seem so otherworldly anymore. Maybe just because he knows his own eyes now do the same.

"Welcome to the world, newborn babe," Auri Saathoff whispers, delighted in him, in his very existence. No one has been happy Erich Eeten is around for a long, long time.

He blinks at them, and then his head drops back onto his lumpy pillow. He'd made it himself, when he moved out here. He'd been proud of it, then. "I am a grown man of thirty-eight-"

"You're an infant and little more. How do you feel?"

He keeps his eyes closed. "I ache. And... I'm hungry."

Auri hisses softly in excitement, their tongue lapping affectionately along his neck, where the wounds they made have long since been healed. Erich can smell old, dried blood - his own, and theirs - staining his shirt. He shivers at the way it feels to have that rough, cool tongue move against his skin. "There are other people who live in the woods," Auri murmurs. "We can find them. You should feed in the woods, it's a good place to begin. I'll show you what to do."

Erich doesn't want to move. His limbs feel leaden, and yet - his stomach growls. It needs. It is empty, it demands blood. His mouth waters at the very thought of another explosion of taste and heat and life inside of him. "I don't want to kill anyone."

Auri pauses, and when Erich looks at them, they're pouting. "Not even one person?"

"Not in the-... the woods. They have been kind to me." He takes their hand and pulls it to his mouth. He feels nothing when he kisses their knuckles. No heat, no life, no nourishment. Just skin. "We can kill in the town. They salute the growing darkness."

"We must show them, then, how much they will miss the light when it is gone," Auri says, excited, and they shift, swinging a leg over him until they sit on his hips again, their palms pressing just inside his shoulders. "Town, then. We will be so good together, Erich."

Erich doesn't have the energy to snort in response. He keeps his eyes closed, and after a breath of time he feels their mouth move against his neck again. "I'm dead, what good could it do-"

Their fangs slide in, and his eyes fly open, wide, staring up at the darkening ceiling that he can see each detail of, as if it were midday.

"Wh-what-"

"There's no blood to be had from you now," Auri murmurs, licking just to feel him shiver. "But it feels so good, doesn't it?" They bite down again, and this time Erich moans.

"Wait, I don't-... I'm not-"

"No," Jameson says, but Allyn takes him by the hand and he goes, anyway. Down the steps and into the front yard, squinting with one hand up to shield his eyes.

"I asked Ms. Yoder," Allyn says, squeezing his hand, and he wonders what it would feel like to have those long fingers around his neck and has to swallow against the rush of goosebumps and want that rushes through him. "She says you haven't gone outside in two weeks."

"She says to call her Nat," Jameson says, because he can't exactly disagree with that, hunching his shoulders. "It's too bright. Why are we outside?"

"We're going for a walk. Just the two of us." Allyn turns to look at him without letting go of his hand. The sun gleams off their deep red hair, braided and laying perfectly over one shoulder, their lightweight tank top seeming to drift around them, tunic-length over their long, long legs. Jameson can see the freckles on their knees.

He wants to kiss every single one.

"Why?"

"Because I miss being alone with you in the closet," Allyn says, and they squeeze his hand again. "Is that okay? For us to go for a walk?"

Jameson almost says I'd do anything for you, just cut me up a little bit. He manages to swallow it back and says instead, his voice even more hoarse than usual, "Uh, s-sure. Yeah, it's okay, it's... it's good."

They pull him and he goes, because of course he goes, he'd follow them anywhere and everywhere.

I love them sooo much! <3 <3

B's arms are tight around him, and Connor stares into space breathing hard, only slowly calming when he realizes who the breath on the back of his neck belongs to.

"I've got y', sir," B whispers to him, and Connor could laugh at the ridiculousness of B calling him 'sir' while comforting him, if he weren't half-sure any laughter he attempted would come out hysterical and panicked. "Just us, just the three of us."

B is repeating the same words Connor uses to comfort him, and the sweetness of that is sharp enough to ache.

Scott tiptoes in, moving with that particular silence that Romantics develop, a glass of water in his hands. He drops to his knees on the side of the bed, offering it to Connor like it's some kind of gift.

He could laugh at that, too.

But he can't make a sound, not yet.

Connor only stares, his own black eyes wide, still feeling it. The bruises haven't healed yet, the cuts are still bandages all over his body.

"It's okay," Scott says, softly. "We know how it feels."

And they do, that's what sinks in. They do know.

"I don't know how to get him to stop showing up," Connor admits, still whispering, as though the house itself is listening. "I don't know how to get Ferrick to stop."

There's a knowing bitterness in Scott's eyes. Unlike B's open adoration, Scott is always calculated. Connor half-expects the little Romantic to suffocate him with a pillow over his face one night. "You don't," Scott says, softly. "You take it, and live with it after. Just like us."

"Scott." B's voice is chiding from behind Connor. "It's not like that for him."

"N-no, he's right, he's right. It is."

Scott blinks at Connor, surprised, and Connor wonders if it'll be a knife, not a pillow. Or if he'll poison Connor's food somehow, or...

"I don't deserve anything less," Connor says, meeting Scott's eyes. "I know that."

Scott sets the water glass on the side table and pads silently away, leaving B to hold Connor through his shivers, as he waits for the nightmare of Ferrick's hands to slowly fade.

(B belongs to @what-a-whump)

"Sir-... sir-"

Connor groans as B nudges at his shoulder, swimming up out of sleep with difficulty. The low sound of Socks purring somewhere nearby filters in, and then the way moonlight shines in through the window in the old farmhouse, chill winter air stealing through the glass even though he'd replaced the ancient panes with new ones that promised to minimize heat loss. "Baby, we've talked 'bout this, it's Connor, you can just say Connor... waddaya need, sweetness?"

B pauses, briefly, and then says, urgently, "Um, C-Connor, I think Scott is having a nightmare, what-... what do I do?"

As always, Connor's first response is a flush of jealousy. B adores the little Romantic they'd saved, the black-haired delicate thing that had been his bonded so briefly, then torn away from him, and now back to bonded again.

He should love me the most.

Connor forces down the ugly twist of thought and rolls onto his side, to find B, as always, in the center of the bed, with Scott on one side and Connor on the other. His hand presses to B's face, the big man turning to kiss his palm, instinctively affectionate.

"Wake 'im up," Connor murmurs, voice still blurred with sleep. "He jus' needs to wake up, and hold him a bit."

B nods, eyes earnest and worried in the dark, reflecting hints of moonlight.

Fuck, he's handsome.

Connor pushes himself up onto his elbows to watch as B shifts, turning to look at Scott, shaking him the way he'd shaken Connor. The little Romantic is whimpering in his sleep, fingers and arms twitching, and Connor sighs as he watches the young man's big eyes flicker open, how he instantly throws his arms around B, who holds him in turn.

"They-... they took you away," Scott whispers, burying his head in the crook of B's neck. "They took you away from me again."

"Never again, lad," B rumbles, and Connor rubs at his back, feeling over scars and smooth unmarked skin in turn. His.

They're both his, really.

"Connor would never make us be apart again," B says, soft and gentle and certain, as he and Scott hold each other. "He promised. He promised we would never be apart."

Connor swallows, a stab of guilt inside him.

Here he sits being jealous, when both of them have only him to trust, and he made B a promise to be a better man. To try, anyway.

Not that B would know the difference-

Connor flops onto his back, disrupting Socks, who chirps in irritation and flicks her tail.

Takes place in the past

Sir must have left the drapes open when he went down to his office for his first meeting. A stripe of sunlight sharp as a blade cuts into Baldur's dreams, and he winces, cracking his eyelids only to throw an arm over his face to block it out.

He can hear, muffled, the gardener's radio playing somewhere down below. It's pop music, but different somehow, and Baldur listens for a while, drifting in a place of half-sleep, half-waking.

These boots were made for walkin', and that's just what they'll do-

He groans, and rolls away, pulling Sir's heavy, soft blankets up over his head. It cocoons him again in the blissful darkness.

He hears Miss Nancy open the door, at some point. There's a long silence, and he carefully changes his breathing to be heavy, deep and even, ignoring the sudden race of his heartbeat, swallowing again and again to feel the collar buckled safely around his neck.

"Lazy bones," Miss Nancy mutters, and the door closes again.

Baldur exhales, stifling his urge to giggle by pressing his hands over his mouth, rocking in the bed where he lays on his side in a burst of welcome energy.

He goes quiet, again, after a while. It's warm under the blankets, and it makes him feel fuzzy and sleepy again. He tries to slide back into the dream he'd left, one of a woman who smiled kindly at him and told him things he didn't understand.

It doesn't matter what he dreams, really, just that he can go back to sleep again.