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carmyboobear · 2 months

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Honestly I think if Carmy does dirty talk (once he gets some experience) he’s really going to love being condescending, and it’s so hot…

I AGREE. So much in fact that this was born. Wow. Heed the tags and proceed!!

Tags: explicit, dom carmy, cumplay, dirty talk, creampie, carmy being mean, but also sweet

“You’re so easy,” Carmy says with a smug look. He’s pushing his cock steadily and and out, repeatedly stretching you out further when he bottoms out again and again. “All you need is a cock in you and you’re almost fuckin’ coming already.

“You just feel so good,” you whine in defense, but with the way you’re clenching down around him, pussy so wet it’s dribbling, it’s not very successful.

“You just like being stretched out,” Carmy retorts. He pulls back and lets the round head pop out before bullying his cock back into you. You writhe below him. “It doesn’t have to be my cock. Could be my fingers. Almost got all 5 fingers in there last time, didn’t we?”

“Carmy,” you moan, your pussy wrecked by his relentless pace and his dirty, dirty words. “B-But I—I like your cock…”

“I think you just like it when I come in you,” he says, voice low in your ears. “You like the feeling of my cum inside you. Whether it’s in your pussy or down your throat…” His fingers tweak at your clit, flicking it up, and you flinch with a surprised moan. “I should get a plug to keep it all inside you.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, scandalized, but the telltale sign of dense heat weighing in your gut says otherwise.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you? Going through your day with my cum in your pussy?” Carmy’s grinding his thick cock inside you, getting sweet friction on your walls. “Fuckin’ slut.”

His fingers pinch your clit, and you let out something akin to a sob.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasp. The pressure’s so fucking tight. “Carm—“

“You’re so easy,” Carmy laughs lowly, breathlessly. “Go on, take it. Come like the easy slut you are.”

His fingers glide from side to side on your slippery clit in a blur as he thrusts in an even, firm rhythm that has you choking on your own gasps. You come with overwhelmed tears in your eyes, moaning Carmy’s name so loud it’s almost a scream. You’re throbbing so tightly on his dick like it’s a lifeline.

“Th-that’s fucking right—fffuck—“ His moans are deep, resonating from his core. He staggers inside you from the sharp pleasure of your tightening walls. He fucks you through your orgasm, stretching it out like a thin piece of gum until it snaps, and in turn, your hole sucks his cock so much he comes.

When he pulls out, his soft cock is smeared in a shiny mixture of your combined cum. Your cream lays thick on his shaft, and somehow, there’s still beads of his cum in his slit. Your mouth waters looking at it. So does your pussy. Carmy’s cum, pale and abundant, pools rapidly at your abused entrance and spills over.

“Look at you,” Carmy murmurs in awe. His thumb drags up from where you’re leaking and sinks inside, pushing his cum back in. “Took me so well, baby…”

He praises you with little kisses and affection, kissing gently at your legs, stomach, collarbone. Brings you close to him, brushes sweaty strands of hair out of your face.

“Sorry if I went too far,” Carmy mumbles after you’ve both come down. Your head rests on his chest, and you’re playing with the curls of his hair. “With anything.”

“You were wonderful,” you assure him. “Could’ve even been a little meaner and I would’ve liked it.” That gets an abrupt laugh out of him, equal parts embarassment and delight.

“Oh yeah?” You can tell by the way he’s saying it that he’s choosing to take that as a challenge. You can see the gears turning, and it’s making you a good kind of nervous. “I think I got a couple ideas.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, like it doesn’t make you wanna squirm, and he smiles knowingly, bringing you in for another kiss.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you #carmy smut #my asks #HAHhhHHhhH I’ve been busy working and haven’t had much time to write so this ask collected dust for a bit… sorry!!!#I wasn’t brave enough to write carmy meaner but u KNOW I wanted to. anyway this was a fantastic prompt THANK YOU ANON.#hope everyone is having a fantastic day…#My blurbs #my smut

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sensitiveheartless · 1 year

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For the intimacy prompts how about "feeling your partner's pulse" with SKK from your fic This is how it feels to take a fall

I love to suffer 🥲

#*victory jumps* I managed to finish this one without irritating my hands further I think! :D #luckily I had already done most of the lineart lol #the fill tool is my friend #anyway thank you anon I was so excited to get this prompt alskdjfjfj #an excuse to revisit the dazai goes feral universe! yes!!#but yeah Dazai absolutely has nightmares about it for a loooong time #intimacy prompts #bsd #my art #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #soukoku #skk #blood tw #blood cw #death cw #death tw

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fractalkiss · 10 months

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for the mini stories, 7

prompt list

for prompt #7 "uncanny", explicit, weekend in spa 2023.

Lance expects Fernando to be fully asleep by the time he comes around to his suite. If it was any other race or sprint weekend, Lance would be eager to end the day himself.

He's already turned down the lights to one. But Fernando cracks open his eyes before Lance gets on the bed, watches blankly as Lance climbs in beside him. It should be unnerving. Maybe it would have been if this had been the beginning of the season, if he hadn't been doing this for as long.

Fernando reaches out and Lance falls forward into it right away, slides himself over to feel the warmth of him. Lance feels Fernando's knuckles drifting up over his spine through his t-shirt, the slow stroke of his fingers like he's petting something; Lance pushes his face into his neck, and Fernando turns, tells him, "You'd want to sleep," into his cheek.

"Not yet," Lance says, and Fernando's hand is hot around the back of his neck, fingers through his hair, encouraging. He shuts his eyes in the feeling of it, thinks about Fernando full and demanding in his mouth, thinks about riding his cock. His dick twitches, and he presses himself into Fernando's leg already. "Dad says you're welcome to ours in Montreal anytime. The vacation house," he says.

"Did he?" Fernando murmurs, amused, as if he hasn't already been there, or already told this years ago by Dad himself.

"If you wanted to. Like, a weekend during the summer break," Lance huffs.

"What would we do?"

"Finally fucking relax. Fuck and relax," Lance adds with a snicker and Fernando's nails scrape the base of his head, the back of his ears. He's quiet, and Lance wets his lips, trying to think. Fernando knows he's hard, can feel Lance pressed up his side. He stretches his fingers over Fernando's stomach, touching Fernando's arm resting there, where he can't see the tattoo at the moment. "Tell me about Asturias."

Fernando's fingers still for a second. "Lots of mountains. Green, beautiful forests. It would be colder there now, not much rain."

He'd taken those photos in Montreal. Lance sighs when Fernando's shifts his leg, slots it between Lance's thighs, his hand pushing down Lance's spine now. "Your place has a view?"

"Somewhat yeah. You will have to bike out to get the best views. Maybe not what you would do yet, eh?"

There's no tease or jeer in his voice but Lance frowns, mutters, "Hey, shut up, I—" I want to be good to you, he thinks.

"Plenty of places to stay indoors and relax, also," Fernando continues. He shifts on to his side to face Lance, and Lance palms at him, wants to push his hand in his shorts, but Fernando beats Lance to it, tugging down Lance's pants himself to hold him, thumb slipping over the moist head of his cock. "Lots of gardens, where you can eat outside. The sun is less hot there, I always like it better outside."

"Sunbathing?" Lance breathes, thrusting a little into Fernando's hand, fucking into it. "You could do that anytime."

"No," Fernando says, and pulls away to touch two fingers to Lance's mouth; Lance's jaw falls open automatically, licks at the rough pads of his fingers. "You will see the garden, even from indoors, and a—" he says a word in Spanish, mutters a little off-track when Lance moans around his fingers. "Balcony," he says in English, "A room with a balcony, open, outside. We do not keep doors closed in summer, usually—we can do exactly this, there," Fernando says, his voice low and hoarse, exhausted, fingers sliding in and out of Lance's mouth nonetheless, the wet noise of the movement shooting down to Lance's dick, saliva gathering in his mouth faster than anything so he's drooling soon. Grinding into Fernando's steady palm too, like a dog.

Lance had been hoping to blow him, feel him full to the back of his throat until he can't no more, taking it until his voice is wrecked for the media pen tomorrow, but Fernando isn't done talking yet.

"You will like it," Fernando says. "The weather will be perfect. And you will look good, for me, no one will see when I fuck you." Lance whimpers around his fingers, the suction sound loud and desperate when Fernando takes his hand away, the wetness on his chin cool suddenly with the absence of contact; Fernando gets his pants off, and Lance's knees fall open—"Like that, that's right. That's what you will do. No one will see how much you like what I do to you. Such a shame, you'll look so—" Fernando sighs, his voice, strangled, pained. Sounding tight and in sync with how Lance feels when Fernando works him open with a finger, palm pressed over his balls, fucking with his hand, Lance moving to it until he's coming in gentle waves, unexpected, jerking into Fernando's side. Fernando kisses him towards the end of it, other hand holding Lance's jaw tight to keep him there, anchor him, keep him together.

"Fuck," Lance laughs, shakily. He sits up to take off his shirt, still breathless. Fernando is silent now, watching him, eyes impossibly dark, and still, the lines on his face deepened with his expression; wondering, lost, almost, strangely. Lance thinks stupidly, dazed, come home with me, anywhere.

He leans back down to kiss Fernando on the mouth. His hand goes to Fernando's shorts, pushes inside it.

#strollonso #answered asks #happy 42nd birthday fernando in certain timezones #ANYWAY... time to go enjoy my sunday #good morning #my fic #this did not answer the prompt but it's ok i loved getting it #thank you anon #anon asks #1418 #fernando/lance

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galaxywhump · 5 months

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Prompt: Wren doing something that's blatantly stupid/suicidal (like going out into the jungle to pick fights with the wildlife) when he becomes apathetic about his own life, and Daniel's reaction to that?

[SV-240 masterlist]

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Sorry it's so late, it's been in the making for a while now and I finally got the motivation to finish it.

Warning: this is a rather heavy one; it's also not canon.

contents: slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate whumper, suicide attempt (nothing graphic), depression, restraints, comforted by whumper.

~~~

Wren leaves the house without Daniel’s knowledge.

He still has the tracker, of course, but when he left, Daniel was napping, so hopefully he won’t wake up for a few more hours. Wren just wants to go for a swim in the picturesque pond he remembers the path to. He’s unarmed, without so much as a kitchen knife, but he’s not scared. He’s not anything.

There is an emptiness inside of him that has had a grip on him for several weeks now. It’s the sort of hopelessness he’s been trying so hard to avoid, but instead of making him Daniel’s loving partner, it’s only making him… do this. Go for a walk in the jungle, looking straight ahead, not scanning his surroundings, barely flinching when he hears rustling and other sounds of the dense forest.

He’s had these thoughts a few times before, but now he’s decided to follow them. Not directly, even though he knows there are several options inside the house; instead, he lets fate decide, since it seems to control his life anyway. So he goes for a swim. If fate decides he should stay underwater, he won’t fight it, nor will he fight if it decides not to let him reach the pond at all.

He’s clothed, and yet feels so exposed, a puny human in a jungle full of animals he knows nothing about, having only met one, which tried to kill him. Maybe there are others like it. Maybe one is already stalking him.

Keep walking, not running, walking with calm emptiness. Get away from Daniel’s house, leave his life on the jungle’s mercy. He frowns when he feels a small pang of regret. He should turn back. He should live. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? He’s far enough that the way back would be anything but safe, and he doesn’t want Daniel to question him once he returns. He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists, and keeps walking.

There are noises all around him.

There’s a noise somewhere behind him.

Soft steps, a low growl. He’s being stalked.

He closes his eyes.

And then there’s a familiar man-made sound, cracking bolts of plasma piercing the air; one followed by the sound of the animal fleeing, one hitting a tree just a few centimeters left of Wren, making him jolt in place.

“Hi there,” he hears Daniel’s voice, almost playful. He swallows and slowly turns around to face his captor, who’s standing still with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“You missed,” Wren says, lifting his chin, though there is nothing more to his defiance, no spark in his eyes.

“If I wanted to shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” There is no affection in Daniel’s voice, and Wren prefers it this way. “Have you forgotten about your tracker?”

“No.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows.

“What was even your plan?”

“I went for a walk,” Wren explains, looking him straight in the eye; his expression remains empty.

“Good one,” Daniel scoffs. “You know you’d be dead before the day’s over, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The silence that follows is unbearably heavy. Daniel gets it, and for a split second he looks genuinely surprised before going back to his usual unbothered expression.

“Come here. Let’s go home.”

Wren doesn’t break eye contact.

“And if I run?” he asks. “Will you miss again?”

“I’ll shoot, but I won’t kill you. I’ll target your leg, maybe both, and I’ll drag you back. Now come here.”

He does, his head lowered, brow furrowed, mind blank. The jungle around them is bustling with life, never completely quiet, yet the silence between them feels suffocating enough that it could spread over the entire forest, forcing it into stupor. Neither of them says a single word on the way home.

Home. Wren sighs. Home. Daniel’s house is his home now, there’s no denying that. He’s too tired to deny anything anyway, not to mention worry about what Daniel’s going to do to him after his stunt.

They’re still silent when they reach the house and the door closes behind them. Wren follows Daniel to the living room, sits down on the couch, and watches him retrieve two pairs of leather cuffs.

“You’ll have to be restrained more after this, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Wren puts his arms in front, wrists close together, and does the same with his ankles. The cuffs close, a familiar sensation, and he stares down at them, barely feeling anything.

“It’s for your own safety.” Daniel doesn’t crouch down, doesn’t sit next to Wren, still standing in front of him, towering over him.

“Yeah,” Wren repeats, his voice monotone; he only wants this pointless conversation to end, and Daniel can sense it, which doesn’t mean he cares.

“Look at me.”

When he does, Daniel frowns seeing the weary emptiness in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, and his accusatory tone makes Wren flinch, like he’s being scolded. It’s the last thing he wants to experience today.

“Take a guess,” he mutters, lowering his gaze, as if even looking up requires too much energy.

Daniel sighs and his frown deepens. He knows the truth, as much as he doesn’t want to accept it.

“I won’t let you do that, Wren.”

“I know. Cause I have nowhere to run, right?” For the first time today, there is something in Wren’s voice, the tiniest of sparks. “I can’t fucking escape you and this-this fucking nightmare, I’m stuck here and you won’t even- you won’t even let me-” He gets choked up, and to his frustration he tears up. “Fuck, just fucking hold me already and spew your bullshit, I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

Without a word, Daniel sits down next to Wren, who leans against him and exhales slowly when Daniel embraces him.

“I’m not going to spew any bullshit. I just…” Daniel trails off for a moment and gives Wren a light squeeze. “I wasn’t expecting this, and it hurts.”

“Oh, it hurts you?” Wren laughs in disbelief. “Poor you, the guy you’re keeping captive and torturing is a depressed loser. Cry me a river.”

“It hurts me because I love you, Wren.”

“You said you weren’t going to spew bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit to me, and I hope that soon it won’t be bullshit to you, either.” Daniel sighs, a heavy sigh that makes Wren even angrier, which he knows is, at the very least, better than complete emptiness. Daniel doesn’t have the right to feel and react this way, not when he’s the cause of all of this. “And remember that you were depressed even before I bought you.” He feels Wren tense up at that. “You can’t pretend otherwise, it was right in your file. Depressed, isolated, drinking problem. You were lonely, and that made it possible for Berkeley to make you disappear without raising any eyebrows. Now you’re here, I’m here with you, I know about your problems, and I want to help. On my terms and at my pace, but I do.”

“You’re not helping,” Wren croaks, trying and failing to blink away tears, Daniel’s blunt words feeling like a dagger piercing his heart, over and over again. “I wasn’t- It was better than this, I wanted to get better, I just…”

He just couldn’t, and it was only getting worse, until he started spending entire hours - he was too busy to afford days - curled up in his bed, staring at the wall, questioning the point of it all, and he was alone, completely alone, and-

“On Earth, I wouldn’t have been there to stop you.”

Daniel’s words are like a punch to the face, strong enough that Wren would sway on his feet if he wasn’t sitting down. It’s true, he realizes in horror, and a painful sob reverberates through his body; he slumps in Daniel’s embrace, overwhelmed by the most terrifying what if he’s ever had to consider.

“Shh, sweetheart.” Daniel gently runs his hand up and down Wren’s arm and pulls him closer as he sobs, unable to stop, because Daniel is right, and he was so stupid, and in a twisted way he almost let Daniel win.

What could have been back on Earth doesn't matter anymore. Here, if he dies, Daniel wins. It’s a way to escape, but it comes at too great a cost, and now that he can think more or less clearly again, he can’t believe he even attempted that. So stupid, so stupid, and if it wasn’t for Daniel, the very same person he's fighting against, he wouldn’t be here right now.

He won’t thank Daniel, he can’t, but he leans into his touch ever so slightly, and he’s still crying, so overwhelmed by what he almost did and so relieved that he’s still here, still fighting.

“Cry it out, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

For the first time, though he would never admit it out loud, he’s grateful for that.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpsical @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump

#slavery whump #forced relationship whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #suicide tw #suicide cw #creepy comfort #depression whump #restrained #sv-240 #wren rackham #daniel rooney #my writing #so much time passes between updates i forget all my tags #anyway thank you for the prompt anon i really loved it!#writing this was really cathartic and i hope you enjoy

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da-proti-toku-grem · 3 months

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Don't mind me, I'm going to make a "masterlist" with the kissing prompts so I don't miss anything (I'll update with the links as I post them)

*REQUEST ARE CLOSED FOR NOW*

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

Jance:

9 (in public) & 42 (out of pride) → ao3 | ao3

21 (on a place of insecurity) → ao3

13 (discreetly) → ao3

16 (lazily) & 47 (out of spite) → ao3 | ao3

18 (as encouragement) → ao3

50 (out of love) → ao3

17 (to distract) → ao3

10 (desperately)

1 (good morning) & 2 (goodnight)

Afternoon kiss

20 (on a scar)

45 (out of anger) & 38 (because they’re running out of time)

Bojure:

22 (in a rush of adrenaline) → ao3

1 (good morning) → ao3

8 (in secrecy) → ao3

6 (on a falling tear) + 21 (on a place of insecurity)

15 (passionately) + 44 (out of lust)

Bokris:

7 (to shut them up) → ao3

45 (out of anger) → ao3

10 (desperately)

38 (because they’re running out of time)

26 (as an apology)

Bonace:

4 (where it hurts) → ao3

19 (for luck) & 30 (as comfort) → ao3 | ao3

30 (as comfort)

Bojere:

7 (to shut them up) → ao3

Poly!JO:

48 (out of habit) → ao3

9 (in public)

Bo(Jan)²:

15 (passionately) + 46 (out of envy or jealousy) → ao3

15 (passionately) + 16 (lazily)

45 (out of anger)

25 (as a ‘yes’)

Bojan/Jan/Kris:

8 (in secrecy) + 44 (out of lust)

Jan/Jure:

21 (on a place of insecurity)

44 (out of lust)

Kris/Martin:

23 (…in relief)/...out of fear

NaceKris:

36 (to give up control)

Jure/Mark:

48 (out of habit)

22 (in a rush if adrenaline) & 14 (casually)

Bojan/Kiki:

18 (as encouragement)

Jure/Martin:

22 (in a rush of adrenaline)

Nace/Martin:

25 (as a ‘yes’)

Bojance:

37 (without a motive)

Bojan/Martin:

38 (because they’re running out of time)

#also that way if anyone wants to send another one they'll know which ones are already requested #or if one of the anons misses it maybe this way it's easier to find it i guess #anyways. thank you for sending these <3 #i'll get to the rest of them as quickly as i can :3 #mine #maca writes #kiss prompts #joker out

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piratekane · 1 year

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two: it’s okay to not be okay sometimes

Consciousness comes slowly, like the long beams of sunshine stretching their way across the bed and her face. It feels like warm fingers brushing over her forehead, coaxing her awake. A new day, new possibilities. She can be anyone she wants to be when she opens her eyes.

"Bea," Ava sings from the doorway.

She smiles, rolls over and presses her face into a pillow that still smells like Ava's shampoo. Today, she will be Beatrice.

The bed dips as Ava sits down, her bare thigh warm against Beatrice's bare arm. "It's late."

She turns her head, nose brushing against Ava's hip. "It's hardly past eight."

There's a moment before Ava breathes out a laugh. "How do you even know that?"

She doesn't. It was a good guess. But she's not going to let Ava think otherwise. So she rolls away a bit, just enough to see the soft tangle of Ava's hair where it rests against her smile, and she lets her eyes close again. There's a laugh, a sigh, and then a finger slowly walking from her forehead down over the ridge of her nose and off the cliff of her bottom lip.

Ava sings again. "Beatrice."

Beatrice opens her eyes. The room has shifted. The sun is higher in the sky now, the room a little hotter with it. Ava is standing at the window now, cradling a cup of something that smells warm. She looks back over her shoulder at Beatrice, a smile on her face.

"It's late."

Beatrice sits up, blinking. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."

Ava shushes her gently as she sets the mug down on the small nightstand. "You needed the rest. You've been working so hard." She sits at the edge of the bed, just out of reach. "Too hard."

"Not hard enough." Beatrice reaches for Ava, breathes easier when Ava slides into her hands like water into a glass. Ava doesn't say anything when Beatrice's grip tightens, when the space between them goes from paper-thin to nothing. "I'm going to work harder."

"Bea." Ava's hand brushes away her hair, fingers tickling her neck. "How much harder can you work?"

For you? Bea doesn't ask the question. She doesn't need to. Ava's fingers pause against her pulse and she feels her own heartbeat echoed in Ava's fingertips.

Ava keeps running long fingers through her hair, scratching at the sensitive skin behind her ear, murmuring her name over and over again until Bea can't distinguish one sound to the next. Her eyes close slowly, a heaviness drifting over her like a warm blanket in winter. She curls under its weight.

Beatrice opens her eyes. The sun is starting to set. Ava is sitting up in bed next to her, a book open in her lap. She's mouthing the words as she reads them, soundless as she goes over each one. Beatrice watches for her a moment, enraptured by the way Ava's forehead wrinkles as she stumbles upon a word that doesn't come easily.

She reaches up to brush the wrinkle away and Ava turns to her with a smile.

"It's late."

Beatrice blinks at the worlds stored in Ava's eyes, rings of honeyed color that shine back at her. "I was going to get up."

Ava waves her off. "You deserve a lazy day in. You don't take enough of them."

A tidal wave of affection threatens to drown her. "We can't all afford your amount of 'lazy days.'"

"You're not trying hard enough, then." Ava winks at her before her face softens. "Besides, this is not a true 'lazy day'. You're in far too many clothes."

The laugh that escapes her surprises her. She nearly stuffs it back down. But Ava seems pleased by it and so she lets it exist between them, huffing after a moment and burying her head into Ava's side. Fingers work over the side of her head, brushing against the shell of her ear. She resists the urge to shiver, afraid to dislodge Ava even a millimeter.

"Ava," she starts.

Ava shushes her kindly. "No, Bea. You deserve this. Here, listen." She props her book up with one hand, the other still working its way along Beatrice's skin. "I'm reading Le Petit Prince. See, I can do it. Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu," she starts, mouth clumsy over the words.

Beatrice breathes in the sounds of a language she's never found to be romantic before and lets her eyes close as Ava's voice settles over her. She slings an arm across Ava's hip, hoping to anchor them both to the bed.

Beatrice opens her eyes. Night has fallen now, the sky dotted with stars like a black piece of paper dotted by a pinprick. She's stretched across the mattress like she's swimming to shore, but her shore is standing across the room, back to the bed and her hair blowing in the light breeze coming through their open bedroom window.

"Ava," she says, voice raspy.

Ava turns, a smile on her face. "It's late."

"I'm sorry." She pushes up onto her elbows. The moonlight hits Ava's skin. She seems ethereal. Beatrice stretches out her hand and Ava comes to it like a lightning lure, moving without hesitation. "I had plans to get up."

Ava shushes her. Her body molds into the space Beatrice's left behind. She pulls up her legs, leaning into Beatrice. "You're tired."

It's not a question. And Beatrice can't deny that she isn't. Things have been so heavy lately, like weights tied around her ankles. She can't move without monumental effort. She can't get ahead. Each day she falls further behind. Each day the mountain stretches impossibly higher.

"Ava," she tries.

Ava coos at her, pulls Beatrice around until they're sitting back against the headboard. Ava wraps her arms around Beatrice's shoulders, holding her close. She feels her heart beating through her back, their rhythms syncing easily. It's always been so easy with Ava.

"It's okay to not be okay sometimes," Ava whispers into her hair, the words a whisper in their empty bedroom.

Beatrice feels each muscle group contract and release, a series of steps she takes to ground herself. "I can't do this without you," she whispers back.

The truth is staggering. She hasn't spoken it before now. Years without Ava - miles logged and memories built and routines established - have done nothing to prepare her for the years without Ava that would come after.

Ava hums quietly, her fingers working in complicated patterns along Beatrice's bare arms. "You're not," she finally says.

Beatrice fights back the huff of indignation. "Then where are you?"

She doesn't want to doubt. She's a believer, she always has been. Her faith may have shifted, but her belief never has. Still, it's been so long, she's starting to see Ava in hazy half-memories that fade by morning. Her voice becomes a whisper, her touch more like a dream.

Time is moving forward and Ava is stuck somewhere in her past, becoming more of a thought than something she can hold in her hands.

"I'm here, Bea. I promise I always will be."

Beatrice shakes her head, hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She blinks them back, unwilling to taint this moment with that much grief. "I need you here. I'm so- I'm so tired, Ava."

Ava's lips press against her hair, her temple, her forehead as Ava gently tugs her around. "Then let yourself rest, Beatrice. Let your body rest." She taps Beatrice's forehead with a light finger, mouth quirked in one corner. "Let this rest, too."

Beatrice's throat is dry. "How do I rest without you?"

"You don't." Ava smooths a hand down the side of her face. "You let me rest with you." She shimmies down the headboard until she's lying next to Beatrice. Her hands pulls until Beatrice is tight against her body, her arm slung low across Ava's waist. "I'll be here, every time you close your eyes. You just have to look for me."

I'm looking in every corner and coming up empty. She doesn't say it. Ava hums softly into her hair, her fingertips ghosting up and down Beatrice's arm in a melody that Beatrice can't quite grab.

She can't quite grab Ava, can't quite make her stay.

But Ava keeps murmuring in her ear, keeps running her fingers across her skin, keeps her heart beating steadily under Beatrice's ear. Her eyes droop closed and peace washes over her like the warm light of the Halo she hasn't seen in what feels like three lifetimes.

She hears Ava's voice whispering her name as she falls asleep.

"Bea," Ava sings from the doorway.

Beatrice smiles.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #okay this got... long #and it's way late #but i got caught up in some things and now they're settled so #back to the prompts #i wrote this largely at midnight and spent the morning pretending like i didn't remember writing it so that it was a surprise to me #to see it done #but here it is and thank you for being patient anon #and for making that 2 extremely big so i wouldn't miss it 👀#anyway here's wonderwall #k byeee

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tickle-bugs · 8 months

Text

The Ol' Kentucky Welcome

Summary: Eggsy’s attitude gets him into trouble at Statesman HQ. Whiskey and Tequila show him how they handle mouthy recruits with too much pride.

Anon: Hey! Love your work. I was trying to think of something I haven't read. So, kingsman and golden circle. Maybe eggsy, whiskey, and Tatum s characters get real drunk one night, start teasing each other and a full out brawl of a tickle fight happens!!! You can do it!!! Thanks!

Loose handwaving at and spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Becoming a Kingsman had done wonders for Eggsy’s impulse control and sense of self. He’s got restraint now, and better judgement—he doesn’t blindly chase a whim without considering the consequences first.

This is what he tells himself as he poaches a bottle of premium Statesman Reserve whiskey from a supply closet rather ominously labeled ‘This Ain’t For Sharing, Friend’. He makes sure to shuffle the bottles to disguise the large gap left behind on the shelf.

He settles in at the Statesman briefing room table, loosening his tie and shirt collar. He unbuttons his jacket and, in a rare flash of bad manners, kicks his feet up onto one of the nearby chairs.

The thought of Harry scolding him for it tugs at chest.

“Now what do we have here?” Whiskey whistles lowly, ducking into the doorway. Tequila fits in beside him. Eggsy gives a mocking salute before popping the cork on the bottle. He grabs a polished crystal glass from a platter on the table and pours himself a hefty bit.

“Looks to me like we’ve got a thief, Whiskey.” Tequila arches his brow. “Y’ain’t learned your lesson yet, Galahad?”

“Gentlemen.” Eggsy smirks and lifts his glass. The sharp kiss of the liquor burns his tongue, but it washes back with a smoky smoothness unlike anything he'd ever tried. He smacks his lips loudly, enjoying the slight twitch of Whiskey’s eyebrow in response.

“Thought you fancy-types were supposed to be polite.” Whiskey puts his hands on his hips.

“And I thought you brutish types couldn’t make something so delicious.” Eggsy angles the glass in the light. The liquid seems to glow.

Tequila ducks past Whiskey and takes a seat at the table, helping himself to a glass. He clinks glasses with Eggsy and they share another sip. Both of them sigh in unison, sinking deeper into their chairs. Whiskey throws Eggsy’s feet off his chair and takes a seat.

“You’re lucky I ain’t reportin’ you to Ginger Ale for theft.” Whiskey fixes himself a glass. He takes off his hat and rests it on the table. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

“Report me for what?” Eggsy cocks his head. “You fine, upstanding gentlemen cracked open a bottle of your own reserve to share with your guest and I just had to say yes. Would hate to be impolite.”

Whiskey glares. Eggsy sips innocently.

“I like this motherfucker, Whiskey.” Tequila laughs, muffling himself in his fist. Whiskey shifts his glare.

“‘Course you do. You can’t keep your mug outta trouble to save your life.”

“Least my mug ain’t ugly,” Tequila grumbles. Eggsy snorts. Whiskey turns to fish for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. As he leans forward, a silver shine peeks out of his pants pocket. Eggsy gently plucks a shiny lighter from Whiskey’s pocket and tucks it into his own.

“Champagne mentioned you’re a cheeky bugger.” Eggsy knocks shoulders with Tequila and winks.

“I dunno what that means.” Tequila frowns. They both watch Whiskey fumble around for the lost lighter and keep smooth, straight expressions.

“You get into shit. He’s fond of you?” Eggsy gestures at him. Tequila nods.

“Yeah, well…he wasn’t always. I’ve always been a bit of a firecracker. Didn’t make the best choices. Got people hurt. Built up a reputation for bein’ a problem, and Champagne started makin’ me own it.” Tequila watches his whiskey swirl in his glass. Eggsy hums thoughtfully.

“Sounds like Harry. He didn’t let me get away with shit. If I did something reckless, it was my arse on the line. But sometimes it paid off.” Eggsy smiles and thinks of stealing Harry’s cab on his way out of initiation.

“To good mentors.” Tequila inclines his head respectfully and raises his glass. Eggsy clinks their glasses together.

The three of them pass the time draining the bottle and looking out over the twinkling lights of the distillery buildings. A boyish mischief settles into Tequila, one that grows as the liquor in the bottle sinks. Whiskey starts to slur his words, but he maintains a hunter’s focus.

“Tell me somethin’, Eggsy. What brought you to Kingsman?” Whiskey watches him over the rim of his glass. His stare is piercing.

“Hm. Harry did. Not so different from Tequila, I reckon. I’d made a right fuckin’ mess and Harry saved me from it. Gave me a job. He saw something in me that no one else did.” Eggsy traces his fingers along the edge of his cup. He glances absently towards Harry’s cell and sighs quickly. Whiskey follows his gaze.

“Did your lepidopterist friend teach you to have sticky fingers, or do you just like causin’ problems?” Whiskey holds his hand out. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hands over the stolen lighter.

“I’ve always been good at nicking things. S’fun.” Eggsy grins and produces Whiskey’s wallet. Whiskey grumbles under his breath and snatches it.

“Feels like you’re the only one of your people that ain’t all hoity-toity. What other secrets are you hiding?” Tequila leans forward. The question grates against Eggsy’s better instincts. He searches Tequila’s face for the slightest bit of ill will. All that sticks is the way light catches softly on his eyes. Eggsy hums and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think.

“Well, my girlfriend bein’ a princess isn’t much of a secret anymore, so…I was a gymnast for a bit.” Eggsy grins. Tequila’s eyes light up and he starts snapping in Whiskey’s direction. For each snap, Whiskey gives a disgruntled hm until eventually they’re just swatting at each other.

“Whiskey, don’t we have them flippy bars down in the gym?” Tequila sniffs, blinking as the liquor hits his sinuses. Eggsy perks up. A spark of excitement picks up atop the warm flush of liquor in his stomach.

“We do. For Statesman agents. Y’know Rum and Cognac get real touchy ‘bout their stuff.” Whiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re workin’ together now, ain’t we? ‘Sides, Rum and Cognac ain’t here. Let’s walk him down there. I wanna see what he can do.” Tequila claps Eggsy on the shoulder. Eggsy gives his best winning smile. Whiskey grumbles, then downs the rest of his glass.

“Fuck it. Fine. Five minutes.”

…

They stumble down to the Statesman training facility, passing by a very tired Ginger Ale who opts not to ask why Eggsy’s wearing Tequila’s hat (pretty simple, it’s ‘cause he nicked it). Whiskey puts his thumb to a scanner and the wall unfolds for them.

The lights click on in rows, lighting the industrial space. Eggsy gasps like a kid on Christmas morning.

Sophisticated weight training and combat equipment sit in neat rows. Eggsy locks in directly past that, drifting unconsciously towards a heaping pile of chalk bags. Pommel horses, beams, bars, and hanging rings sprawl out on a spring mat, all in pristine condition. A few launchpads and trampolines lay near the equipment. Eggsy laughs incredulously as he takes it in. Nostalgia flutters in his chest.

Eggsy immediately unbuttons his shirt, folding it cleanly and crisply. He shoves it and the cowboy hat into Tequila’s arms, adjusts his tank top, then works to unlace his shoes. The moment his feet are free, he sprints for one of the springboards. He hits it clean, just like he’d learned, and pushes off the vault, twisting through the air. His landing is a bit messy, but it’s functional, and he takes off to the parallel bars next.

The alcohol writhes in his system, but he doesn’t care. How can he? It’s been years. Coach’d told him he was good enough for the fucking Olympics and he hadn’t touched a set of bars since. The flex of the bars is a comfort to him. He flips and twirls, holding crisp handstands and tucks through muscle memory alone.

He dismounts beautifully from the parallel bars to the pleasant thrum of adrenaline and a smattering of applause.

“Hoowee, that was somethin’!” Tequila ruffles Eggsy’s hair, destroying the last hold of the gel on his head. Eggsy laughs and swats him away.

“Hats off to you, kid. Takes a lot of skill to pull that off.” Whiskey nods in respect. Eggsy returns it.

“I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were gonna fall on your ass. I’m impressed.” Tequila slugs his shoulder with a brassy laugh.

“Thanks, Tequila.” Eggsy grins roguishly. “Mind givin’ me a boost?”

“Sure.” Tequila follows Eggsy over to the high bar. Whiskey loudly clears his throat.

“Boys, this has been…eye-openin’, but we really should get goin’. Early start tomorrow, I imagine. And this one’ll be fit to collapse when the time difference catches up.” Whiskey inclines his head towards Eggsy.

“Sorry, bruv? Can’t hear you all the way over there.” Eggsy gestures to his ear with a cheeky grin.

“I said—“

“No, no. If you have something to say, come whisper it in my fucking ear.” Eggsy snickers, hearing Merlin’s voice in his head. Whiskey rolls his eyes and saunters over.

“Look, I respect you ‘cause Champagne respects you. Other than that, you’re still a brat that oughta fall into line. Let’s turn in for the night. Both of you.” Whiskey raises his eyebrow. The honey tones of his voice make his annoyance all the more amusing.

“What’re you gonna do about it? Get me with your skipping rope?” Eggsy smirks. Tequila mutters a quiet aw hell and takes a step back.

“Maybe I will, you little shit.”

Eggsy comes to terms with a number of things about himself in that moment, and he puts them all away to process sober. Instead, he gestures for Tequila to give him a hand and reaches up for the bar.

Tequila picks him up by the waist, and it’s not the smooth, assisted lift he’s used to. It’s the clumsy grip of a drunk surprised by weight. Tequila does lift Eggsy up to the bar, but at the cost of his dignity— he spasms and makes a high-pitched noise when Tequila’s fingers press into his waist.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen the way Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at that.

“What the hell was that?” Tequila squints up at him.

“Nothin’. Thought you were gonna drop me. Bugger off.” Eggsy kicks weakly in Tequila’s direction. He backs up, hands raised. Whiskey steps in, hands on his belt.

“Get off the bar, Eggsy.” Whiskey sniffs authoritatively. The logical Kingsman agent buried in Eggsy’s brain sets off warning bells, but Drunk Eggsy, who is obviously of much sounder mind, ignores it.

“Make me, Whiskey.” Eggsy starts to swing in the space he has. Not enough to kick anyone, but enough to look like he will. He manages to rotate clumsily around the bar once, then hangs back down in front of Whiskey.

“You want me to embarrass you in front of your new friend? Okay.” Whiskey steps up to Eggsy and makes a show of sizing him up. Then, quicker than the draw of his pistols, his hands latch onto Eggsy’s sides and squeeze until he’s screaming and plummeting off the bar. Eggsy’s short life flashes before his eyes as he falls bodily into Tequila’s arms.

“Are you fucking mental?” Eggsy goes to shove Whiskey, but Tequila holds him back.

“Woah, watch that mouth of yours!” Whiskey laughs, eyes glittering. “You told me to make you. Your wish is my command, friend.”

Eggsy kicks, trying to break Tequila's hold, and he catches Whiskey right in the balls. He makes a noise like a wounded donkey and folds over. Eggsy snickers. Whiskey whips his reddening face up and glares.

“Now you’ve done it. Tequila!” Whiskey tosses something his way and he catches it. Eggsy barely has time to react before his arms are bound and hoisted in the air above his head. His toes brush the ground. The bar above him creaks in protest but does not give.

Whiskey puts his hands on his hips again. Eggsy wonders if that’s a cowboy thing or an American one.

“Skippin’ rope, bitch.” Whiskey grins, sharklike. “Now…you done with the whole insubordination routine or am I gonna have to give you the ol’ Kentucky Welcome?”

Eggsy snorts derisively. He tests his bindings. They hold steady. Fear starts to pierce through his liquid courage.

“I’m honored, bruv, but I’m in a committed relationship—“

Whiskey clicks his tongue and crowds into Eggsy’s space. He immediately steels himself for violence—what else would there be besides violence? He’s been jumped before. He’s no stranger to the predatory tilt of Whiskey’s head. He sets his jaw and glares.

“When Tequila first joined up, he carried a bit of them clownin’ instincts with him. That didn’t fly with Champagne. We had to figure out a way to take him down a few pegs without hurtin’ him. So, the Kentucky Welcome was born.”

“Aw, fuck you, Whiskey. Seriously, man.” Tequila pipes up from behind Eggsy.

“What does this have to do with me? I know you Americans love to hear yourself talk, but I’m not interested.” Eggsy tries to pull free. Nothing. Whiskey’s gaze gets softer, more mischievous. The change is deeply unnerving.

“Well, you remind me of Tequila. You’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders, but you’re a little shit. So I’m gonna deal with you the same way we used to deal with him. Last chance, kid. You comin’ quietly or are we gonna have to drag you?”

Eggsy flinches when Whiskey reaches for him—years of habit die hard—and prepares himself for the hard crunch of knuckles into his ribs. Instead, he’s met with a gentle and persistent scritching.

A confused noise bubbles up at the back of Eggsy’s throat, quickly chased by a wobbly smile. He ducks his head and bites his lip.

Oh what the fuck?

Kingsman had taught him to resist the most painful and stressful of scenarios, but they’d never taught him what to do about this. Tilde’s maybe the only person who knows that he’s ticklish, and even then…he can convince her to let him go by kissing her senseless. Eggsy doubts that’ll work here.

“Uh oh, Galahad. Don’t tell me something’s botherin’ you?” Whiskey presses an insincere hand to his heart. Eggsy’s brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that Tequila’s the one scratching at his ribs.

“Fffffuck you.” Eggsy exhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes--nope, that’s worse. So much worse.

Whiskey tickles under his arms and Eggsy yelps, bright laughter tumbling after. It shouldn’t be this bad—Tilde’s done far worse to him in jest, but somehow the teasing grin of his begrudging allies gets under his skin. His arms flex as he tries to pull himself up and away, but his strength collapses with every breath.

“Aw, y’all are twins.” Whiskey leans around Eggsy to smirk at Tequila.

“Whiskey.” Tequila’s languished tone being hilarious really doesn’t help things. Eggsy’s entire face scrunches as he tries to find his way back towards composure. A hiccup sneaks into his chest, and then he’s giggling incessantly. His chest feels like the sparklers he’d run around with as a kid, bright and fizzling and dissolving with every breath.

“Y’know, I wish I had tried this when I first caught y’all. Prolly woulda gone a hell of a lot faster.” Tequila’s voice floats past Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy manages a giggly growl and a halfhearted headbutt in his direction. Tequila tuts at him and folds his fingers into Eggsy’s waistline.

He makes a noise at a pitch that threatens to shatter every lightbulb in the room. Tequila’s calloused fingers strum Eggsy’s nerves like guitar strings and it tickles, fucking shit—

Tequila hooks his fingers just so and Eggsy kicks. Whiskey snags his ankle before a second devastating impact can occur. They make tortuous eye contact.

“Whiskey—“ Eggsy attempts to appeal to the cowboy’s humanity with what Merlin fondly calls his nuclear puppy eyes.

Grinning wickedly, Whiskey shakes his head and reaches for his trapped foot.

Eggsy’s eyes bug out of his head.

He wrenches his leg free, twists his hands, and flips upwards. Managing a gold-worthy handstand into a dismount, he frees his wrists and lands smoothly. Eggsy playfully curtsies. Tequila starts to clap. Whiskey smacks him upside the head.

“Alright, I’m done playin’ around. Grab him. If we’re caught down here at this hour it’ll be my hide.” Whiskey gestures for Tequila to step in. He does so, still a little off-kilter from the liquor.

Eggsy rushes in, expecting a clumsier rendition of the fighting style he’d been so painfully introduced to. Instead, Tequila smoothly blocks his blows and hoists Eggsy over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. One of his arms locks behind Eggsy’s thighs as they start to walk for the door. It takes him a moment to even process being upside-down. The sway of Tequila’s gait shakes some blood into his brain.

“Aw, y’all are twins.”

“—deal with you the same way we used to deal with him—“

A lightbulb clicks on in Eggsy’s head. He shouldn’t…but he could…but he shouldn’t—

He shoves his hands under Tequila’s arms. Before he can blink or breathe, they’re in a heap on the ground. Tequila’s cackling dead weight presses the air from Eggsy’s chest.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight, bruv.” Eggsy’s eyebrows raise. Tequila shrieks at him in response. Eggsy manages to wiggle free and hop lightly to his feet as Tequila gathers his wits.

“There’s one of you and two of us. Be wise.” Whiskey cracks his neck. Eggsy looks over at Tequila and smirks devilishly. Tequila pales.

“I like those odds.”

The flurry of motion as they charge each other sets off the ‘fight’ center in his brain, but there is some comfort in knowing no harm is on the table. Eggsy flips and twists out of their grasp, taking advantage of his flexibility to pull off increasingly ridiculous dodges. He neatly sweeps both Whiskey and Tequila’s legs out from under them.

“Little help?” Whiskey gestures lamely at Tequila.

“Nah, I’m done. Y’all are nuts.” Tequila lays on his back, putting his hat down over his face. He folds his arms behind his head. Whiskey curses at him. Tequila gives him the finger.

Whiskey grabs Eggsy by the back of the shirt--really, he should know better--and Eggsy sweeps him again. Whiskey’s ready for it this time, though, and he manages a pin faster than Eggsy can roll away. Whiskey plants himself on Eggsy’s back like he’s settling on a bull.

“Aren’t you tired? Goddamn.” Whiskey sighs. Eggsy winces at the texture of the mat against his cheek.

It reminds him of Roxy and agonizing training sessions, of hours of sweat and bruising and his face stinging from being slammed into the mat. Even past the wave of grief, he remembers the shape of her smile when she would lecture him about letting her pin him on his stomach.

“Indefensible,” she’d say, prodding the back of his ribs. “You’re a sitting duck like this.”

And every time he’d roll his eyes, hooking his fingers behind her knees--

Oh. Hm.

As best as he can, he reaches back and latches onto Whiskey’s thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Whiskey hollers and tries to phase right through the floor. Eggsy rolls them over and pursues, squeezing and squeezing until Whiskey is a wheezing pile on the floor.

Eggsy flips onto his feet. He knows he’s imagining the fond, ghostly squeeze on his shoulder, but he puts his hand on the spot anyways.

“Now I’m tired. Goodnight, fellas.” Eggsy salutes with a wide grin, stepping over both cowboys. He gathers his belongings and saunters for the door, whistling pleasantly.

Whiskey rubs a hand over his face as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Kid’s fuckin’ lucky I like him,” Whiskey grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“Might not wanna speak too soon. He took your hat.” Tequila puts his own ten-gallon back on his head and gestures towards the door with a whistle. Whiskey growls and shoots to his feet.

“Motherfucker! Eggsy!”

#my fics #this fic truly wrote itself. i blacked out and it just happened #and then i realized i didnt properly read the prompt and then rewrote it lol #is this good? *vague mumbling and shrugging*. did i have fun? absolutely #kingsman #ticklish!eggsy #eggsy unwin #ticklish!whiskey #agent whiskey #ticklish!tequila #agent tequila #<- contenders for some of my silliest tags #theres an au in my head where roxy merlin eggsy and harry play cowboy with the statesman agents for a while #mostly bc i want cowboy roxy...#anyways ive wanted to write kingsman forever! thx for the prompt hope you enjoy <3 #also anon 'you can do it!!! thanks!!!' has been in my head since you sent the prompt. like yea i CAN do it!!! thank YOU!!!!

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eskawrites · 3 months

Note

Oh I love your work!

If you’re still up for prompts, what about 17 or 24?

i'm sorry this is like weeks late anon! i could not think of something for the longest time, and then i just kept forgetting it was in my inbox. january has been a weird one, that's for sure (so weird, in fact, that i started this post in january and didn't get around to finishing it until now)

anyway.

24. "Swear it to me."

Investigating the mall had been Robin's idea.

Nancy likes to think that, if anyone else had suggested it, she would have vetoed simply because of the harrowing, far-off look that filled her eyes anytime anyone mentioned Starcourt in any context. But in all honesty, it was a good idea. Their only idea, really. So she probably would have gone with it anyway.

What she wouldn't have done is agreed to let Robin come along. But then, they don't have much choice in that, either. There wasn't much documentation left, but what was there was, of course, in Russian. And with Murray peacing out before the government could catch up to him in Hawkins, Robin was the only one left who could translate. And it was her idea. When El and Will had both voiced concerns about another gate--when their endless sweeps of Hawkins revealed nothing new--Robin had been the one to suggest checking out the tear the Russians were trying to create.

So here she is, walking down a dark metal hallway deep underground, so frighteningly silent that Nancy keeps glancing at her, afraid that something might rise up from the shadows and snatch her away without so much as a whisper.

They'd split off into pairs to cover more ground. The bunker was huge, and they needed to know nothing was waiting in the darkness for them before they risked moving toward the gate. Hopper and Joyce were the closest group, though Nancy hadn't heard their voices in a while. Jonathan and Argyle were on the other end of the facility.

Steve had sat this one out, and he'd been livid that Robin wasn't.

"Someone needs to go look," Robin had said, her voice steady only because it was so hollow. "If I can help, I want to help."

So here she is, holding out her flashlight so Nancy can keep her gun out and ready. They haven't seen anything. Haven't heard anything but their own echoing footsteps.

And yet Robin grows tenser, coils tighter and tighter, with every step they take down the sterile halls.

"You don't have to keep an eye on me," she says, yanking Nancy out of her thoughts. "I'm fine."

Nancy frowns. "I'm not allowed to be worried about you?"

"Not when we're supposed to be focusing, no."

"I can multitask."

"You are the most hyper-focused person I know when you're on a mission.

"And you're deflecting."

It's easy, now, reading Robin. She had been startled when they first met, when Robin only had to glance at her to seemingly read her mind. She gets it now. She feels attuned to Robin's every breath, these days.

Robin glares ahead. She waves the beam of the flashlight around, making sure to highlight every dark corner as often as possible.

"I wouldn't have insisted on coming along if I thought I couldn't handle it."

"I know you can handle it. I'm just saying--"

"Let's just keep going." She picks up the pace, moving forward with quick, long strides that Nancy has to struggle a bit to keep up with. Nancy scowls at her, but she keeps walking. She wonders if this is karma. If the worry and frustration clutching her chest is payback for all the times she's tried to refuse Robin's comfort.

But Robin never gives up on her, and she's a fool if she thinks Nancy won't do the same.

Before she can try again, though, Robin comes to a stop. They've reached the end of the hall, and she sweeps her light across the large room that's opened up before them. Nancy sees her grip shifting around the light as she points it toward a set of stairs leading to a windowed room.

"That's the comm center. Past that is the gate."

Nancy watches her carefully. "I though you didn't remember your way around."

"I don't, really. But we came through this room before we..." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. We should go right here, down that hall. We can come back when we're ready to meet up with the others."

Nancy looks around the room. It's a complete mess, empty crates and toppled furniture and broken glass everywhere. But it does seem empty. Harmless. For now, at least. So she nods and follows Robin down yet another hallway.

They take their time. Nancy's attention is torn, struggling between trying to find the right thing to say to Robin and trying to be careful enough to make them both feel safer down here. She puts herself a step ahead, peeking around corners first, taking point whenever they push open the heavy metal doors of each room they pass.

Every room looks the same, though, all concrete and chrome and cleared out supplies. Empty weapon racks. Ransacked desks.

They come across a room that reminds Nancy oddly of her dentist's office. Robin's flashlight illuminates a pair of padded stools, an overturned cart, an overhead lamp that would have illuminated the middle of the room, like the one Nancy always has to blink up into whenever she and Mike go in for their regular cleanings.

She wrinkles her nose and decides she doesn't want to know what this room was for. She turns and leaves the room again, ready to keep moving on.

Robin doesn't move with her.

Nancy looks over her shoulder. "Robin?"

No response. No movement. She just stays in the doorway, her light shining into the room. Nancy walks back over to her. Robin isn't even blinking.

She swallows. Tentatively, she reaches out and places her hand on Robin's arm.

"Robin?" she asks again, softer this time.

Robin still doesn't respond, but Nancy hears her breath quicken. She glances around the room again, wondering what she's seen, what she--

It clicks. Nancy is an idiot. She turns back to Robin.

"Robin, look at me."

She steps closer, but Robin flinches away, hard. She jerks back into the doorframe, wincing as her back collides with the hard metal corner. Nancy stops, ducking her head and trying to catch Robin's gaze.

"Easy, hey, it's okay. It's just me."

She can hear Robin's panicked breaths now. She looks back at Nancy, but her eyes are distant, unfocused, not registering her presence at all. Nancy holsters her gun and tries taking a half-step closer. Robin's gaze darts between her and the room. Her face is frighteningly pale suddenly.

"Okay, let's just--just step out of the room, okay?"

She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't even know if Robin can hear her. Her breaths keep getting shallower. She has a white-knuckled grip on the door frame behind her. All Nancy knows is that she needs to get her out of here.

"Okay. Okay. Fuck. Just--here." She closes the space between them again and takes her arm as gently as she can. She expects it when Robin tenses.

What she doesn't expect is the yell--a choked, broken cry that spills out from Robin the second Nancy touches her. She flinches back again, but with nowhere to go she only succeeds in cracks her head against the door behind her. Nancy reaches up on instinct--wanting to look, wanting to cradle her a little closer and make sure she's alright--and something in Robin snaps. She flails in Nancy's arms, struggling so wildly she hits herself against the wall as often as she actually makes contact with Nancy.

Nancy tightens her grip on her. It's the only thing she can think of, the only way to just get her out of this room and away from whatever memories have such an ironclad grip on her.

"I'm sorry," she grits out as she starts dragging Robin back out into the hall. "I'm sorry. You're okay."

She gets them into the hall and half-drags, half-carries Robin down a ways until she can no longer see into the room. Robin starts shaking against her. Her knees buckle, and Nancy barely manages to support her weight long enough to ease them both gently back down to the floor. She still doesn't let go. She just holds Robin tighter even as she stops fighting her.

"You're okay," she says again. "I'm right here. They're gone. Everything's okay."

Robin makes another awful, choked sound, but it's more of a whimper than a shout this time. Nancy takes a deep breath, hoping Robin will feel it and do the same.

"It's okay." She doesn't really know what she's saying. She only knows that, if the situation was reversed--when it has been reversed--Robin has pulled her out of her own head with an endless stream of comforting words.

So she keeps talking, keeps murmuring whatever reassurances she can think of to Robin, knowing that she doesn't sound nearly as good as Robin always does, but hoping that Robin hears her anyway.

"You're safe. They can't hurt you. They're gone. Hopper and Joyce are close by, and Jonathan and Argyle. We know what we're doing. We're not going to let you get hurt."

After a while, she feels Robin shake her head against her. Then she hears a quiet, hoarse, "Bullshit."

"Robin," Nancy breathes her name, feeling relief wash over her. She rubs her hand up and down Robin's arm and says, steadier this time, "I promise, I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"You don't know--"

"We haven't found anything down here, not even any signs of the Upside Down. And the Russians abandoned this place almost a year ago. The men who hurt you aren't here."

Robin shakes her head again.

"They aren't," Nancy says firmly. "Look at me, Robin. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."

Robin does look at her. She lifts her head enough to meet her gaze, and her eyes are wet and scared, still, but they're more focused than they've been since they entered that room.

"Nance," she whispers.

"You're okay," Nancy says again. "We--"

"Swear it." Robin gulps. "Swear it to me."

Nancy reaches up carefully. When Robin doesn't flinch away, she cups her face, her thumb brushing through the tear tracks on her cheek.

"I swear, Robs. You're not back there. You're here with me, and I won't let them hurt you. Not now. Not ever again."

Robin sniffs, and the expression breaks in Nancy's hand. Nancy pulls her closer, letting her hide her face against her again.

"You're okay." She'll say it again and again, over and over, for as long as Robin needs her to. "We're okay. I promise."

#asks #anon #prompts #ronance #thank you anon! i got there eventually lol #one of these days i'll write out a proper robin trauma story #there's one drafted in the thriving in the apocalypse doc #but it so does not fit tonally anymore #rip thriving in the apocalypse russian storyline you were messy and unnecessary but i loved you anyway

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