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lakefu · 18 days

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A Perfect Warmth 🕯️

Summary: Astarion and Tav take a well deserved break away form the chaos of their adventures at an inn inside Baldur's Gate. They need to clean up and get back on the road but they keep getting distracted. Perhaps plans could be delayed for a night of passion...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Tags: 18+, Explicit, fluffy smut, brief Astarion trauma response, PIV, erogenous elf ears, scent kink, blood + biting, a bit of praise, a bit of edging... a sprinkle of cockwarming...., these guys are in love...

Word count: 3.5k Note: This was my first fic originally uploaded on Ao3 on 11/27/23, inspired by the patch #4 dev note mentioning adding sponges to clean your companions. I've made edits from the Ao3 post.

“Remind me to sell this junk next time we pass by a merchant, would you dear?” Astarion was seated at the edge of the bed and rummaging through his traveler’s pack, placing various items on the nightstand for further examination. Two silver forks, an old necklace, and a handful of various polished stones ended up on the table before he plucked out an intricate sapphire ring and held it up to the sunlight peeking through the window.

“Good taste,” he muttered to himself. He placed the ring on his pinky finger in amusement and resumed the scavenge.

“It’s going to get difficult sneaking up on people if I have to lug this heavy thing around you know.” He threw over a glance at Tav, who was preoccupied with gathering laundry together in preparation for the next day.

“It wouldn’t be so heavy if you didn’t pocket nearly every shiny thing we came across,” she teased, without even looking over at him.

He gasped dramatically. “Framed by my own lover? Quite the scandal. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the near dozen times you’ve asked me to hold onto your things because your own pack was too full.”

“Hmm. Maybe. I guess that might sound sort of familiar…” She giggled to herself and walked into the bedroom to catch his eye, meeting him with a mischievous grin.

“Why are you such a- oh! Now, what’s this you’re wearing?” Astarion blinked and scanned her up and down, clearly enthralled by the wardrobe change. She stood there in an old linen robe that was yellowed with age, definitely unlike anything he had ever seen her in before.

“Just some old thing I found in the dresser here, isn’t it just fabulous?” Tav's words were dripping in sarcasm and yet she smiled, performing a grandiose little spin in the middle of the room as if she was wearing the most beautiful ball gown in the world.

“I… it’s just so different from your usual armor or that drow nightwear you fancy so much. You look so… domestic.” His eyes were locked onto Tav intensely, with brow furrowed as he seemed to be confused by his own words.

She felt her heart skip a beat and a flush run to her face.

“And you think that’s a good look for me?”

His eyes softened and he paused a moment before quietly answering.

“Yes… I do.”

Tav watched as his smile faded and the gaze of his eyes became increasingly more distant. The atmosphere seemed to shift and a slight panic ran through her body. Did she do something wrong? No... and it didn’t require a tadpole connection to get an understanding for what had brought down his spirits.

Astarion hadn’t considered a comfortable domestic life was possible for someone like him. Even the slightest concept of such a thing had been buried for over a hundred years, and he never expected it to resurface. Was he worthy of such a thing, and was it even possible?

Oh, it was possible. The evidence was standing right in front of him, spinning circles in an ugly bathrobe. He could see glimpses of a happy future that was so close to being a reality he nearly felt nauseous. Not because he was unsure of himself, but because there were still too many unresolved matters they had a duty to attend to. Too many missions and stupid little quests that could now go wrong and threaten this idea of a happy ending he never even knew was possible.

Everything was different now that he realized what was possible, and he suddenly felt an unknown and uncomfortable pressure. All he knew was that he couldn’t afford to lose in the upcoming battles. Battles that some would say were impossible, suicidal even. The thought of loss at this point was beyond unbearable. It was sickening just to think about.

“Hey!!” Tav ran up to where he was sitting on the bed and took his head in her hands. She placed a delicate kiss on his forehead, knowing she had to get him focused on something else.

“Why don’t we go to the shop right now and get rid of that stuff,” she motioned to the collection of items that had been gathered on the nightstand.

“Wouldn’t hurt to get some more coin in our pockets, right?” She looked at him expectantly and felt a huge relief as a light seemed to return to his eye and meet her view.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to wear that horrid robe to see the merchant,” he sighed and looked up at her pleadingly.

“Of course not!! I’ll change and- oh gods!!! We’ve got to get this blood off your face, the merchant is going to think we are trying to kill him!” Tav exclaimed as she lightly shook his shoulders, and quickly began examining his body to see how much cleaning would have to get done before they could leave.

“Blood… on my face?” He raised an eyebrow and brought a finger to his cheek.

“Yeah!! Well, it’s all over you really, dontcha remember earlier today, fighting those cultists?? You sneaked up behind one of ‘em and BAM!!! Just obliterated with a single strike, it was amazing!! You’re so strong…you know.” Her pulse was racing at the mere memory of the event as she delicately traced the side of his face with her fingers and ventured down to his chest.

“Ah of course. That was all so terribly easy I’d nearly forgotten,” he said proudly, adjusting his posture and keeping his eyes on Tav’s hand movements sliding across his chest. Her soft touch was becoming more firm as her fingers made their way toward his arms, giving his biceps a teasing squeeze before leaning her face into his and teasing a kiss.

Before their lips could touch, Astarion wags a finger in between their faces as if to remind Tav of the task at hand.

“Alright my sweet, let’s clean up shall we? You’re my mirror after all. So, go on then.” He took her hands into his own and gave them a kiss before placing them back at her side, encouraging her to go and gather whatever it was she needed to get him cleaned up.

Right, the supplies. It was nearly impossible to remain focused after moments of intimacy with him, no matter how brief they were. She quickly moved into the other room to acquire the washcloths and bucket of soapy water that she was using for herself not too long ago. Hands full, she scurried back to the bedroom to meet her lover, who hadn’t moved an inch.

As she approached him, Tav could feel the tie on her robe becoming increasingly more loose with each step that was taken across the floor. The embarrassment hit her as she realized she didn't have any hands free to do anything about it. She quickly tried to put the bucket down by the bedside, but the bending movement only resulted in the robe slipping off one of her shoulders, exposing a bare breast.

“Oh? You haven’t got anything on underneath?” Astarion cocked his head in amusement, eyes unmoving from the newly exposed skin.

“Ye-yeah that’s the whole point of robes isn’t it? I was doing laundry earlier ya know and umm,” She laughed nervously and started to fix the wardrobe malfunction but was quickly stopped by a hand over her own. Astarion reached out toward her until both hands were around her waist and pulled her in close to his body. Fangs were peeking through his devious smile while determined eyes looked her up and down. With a singular finger he crept over to the loose knot of the robe’s tie and flicked it completely undone with one swift movement.

Tav shuddered and felt her body starting to run warm despite now being suddenly exposed to the cool air of the inn. She was completely revealed to him now, the robe only just clinging to her arms and draped across her backside.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he sighed and began kissing her stomach and caressing the curves of her waist. “Come here.”

Tav gasped as she felt his cold grip around her waist tighten as he expertly lifted her up onto his lap with ease. Pleased at the new angle, Astarion shifted his attention to kissing the crook of her neck and started moving down her chest. He delightfully found her nipple with his mouth in no time, and teased it in circles with his tongue just as he knew she liked it. His gentle sucking continued for only a few brief moments before he suddenly withdrew and cleared his throat.

“Ah, well. You can reach my face better up here I’m sure. For the cleaning of course,” he said smugly. The elf leaned back and admired the view of his lover, nude and flustered, perched oh-so perfectly on top of him.

“The cleaning…” Tav nodded and remembered she still had a warm and soapy washcloth in her hand. The urge to throw the stupid cloth into some unknown corner of the room was nearly undeniable. All she wanted in this moment was for him to take her completely, in any way he wanted, it didn’t matter as long as she ended up getting fucked into oblivion. So fine. On with the cleaning.

She raised the washcloth to his temple and slowly began to wipe away the dried blood by working down his face. His cheeks were a bit sunken as usual but flushed adorably in this moment, clearly enjoying the tender rubs of cloth on his skin. She continued rubbing down toward his chiseled jawline, across to his lips, and back up the other side to repeat the process once more. She ran her fingers through his silver curls and noticed his ears would need cleaning too.

One hand caressed the pointy ear to keep it in place and the other brought the washcloth in for a gentle scrub. A quiet moan suddenly escaped the vampire’s lips.

Oh? She had seemingly discovered a sensitive spot and noted that she would have to continue her work carefully. The scrubbing continued but Tav couldn’t keep her eyes off his face now. His eyes were closed but still noticeably moving behind their lids, and his lips were slightly parted with his breathing becoming increasingly heavier and more noticeable.

Astarion was in his own world of pleasure. What in the hells had he been doing these past weeks, aimlessly scrubbing himself clean alone in the river when they could have been doing this the whole time instead?

He opened his eyes just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. She was still there of course, diligently and lovingly taking such good care of his body. A wave of maddening lust rushed through his core and he needed her closer. He needed her as close as physically possible and even more so after that.

Their eyes met, revealing intense desires. Tav lowered her hands and she spoke slowly, “Can you take your shirt off? There’s a spot I can’t get to with it on…”

She wasn’t fooling anybody, but he obeyed without hesitation. The shirt was gone in seconds, revealing his pale and perfectly sculpted chest. It was a sight that Tav never tired of admiring, and was in fact the subject of distracting daydreams on the daily. She shifted her body closer to his and continued scrubbing his neck and chest, despite it becoming increasingly more difficult to focus. Deep breaths.

She had always been fond of his cologne that he was quite proud of concocting himself. The scent of aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary was now forever an Astarion specialty that she could never forget. Even during times of battle or travel, a gust of wind could carry his essence to her and bring along with it a sense of reassuring familiarity. As she continued to wipe him down, however, a different scent began to come to the forefront.

It was something that did not seem completely foreign, but it wasn't immediately identifiable either. There was something about taking it all in that felt forbidden. Tav tried to pinpoint what she was experiencing. He smelled earthy… raw… unnatural… it was without a doubt, the undeath.

An undeniable heat rose through her body as she engulfed herself with this pure scent from her lover. The washcloth, the bed, the entire room seemed miles away, and nothing felt coherent except for a craving to be even closer to him. Nothing else existed except their bodies and her overwhelming desire to-

“Eager, are we?” A sultry voice snapped her back into reality, where piercing red eyes amusingly greeted her return. She suddenly became aware of a presence between her thighs and glanced down, realizing she was sitting atop a clothed bulge. His hands had a firm grip on her backside and his encouraging movements made it clear she had been absentmindedly grinding on him during her trance.

“Shit, I got carried away…” She hadn’t taken her eyes off his crotch and began to notice that her excitement had left a dampness on his clothes. Embarrassment nearly overtook her, but a gentle yet confident hand grabbed her chin and brought it up to meet his gaze. He leaned into her with a grinning open mouth and kissed her passionately, tongues intertwining.

She felt his fangs briefly scrape against her tongue every so often until a metallic taste became increasingly noticeable. She didn't mind the blood, especially since it seemed to enhance his arousal as noted by his hips continuously jolting faster up into her exposed crotch. Tav was soon pleasantly overwhelmed between his deep kisses and desperate hands groping her at every curve of her body. She longed to give him everything; her blood for his hunger, her body for his pleasure.

Tav released herself from the kiss they had been locked into and tilted her head so that her neck became exposed as an undeniable gift. His mouth lunged at the presented spot as soon as it was noticed, fangs immediately sinking in deep. Tav cried out at the initial impact but soon was reveling in the experience. It was a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure that she was only capable of experiencing from him.

He remained on her neck for a while, still tightly holding on to her body and keeping one hand free to reassuringly caress the back of her head. It was only after the blood flow slowed to a near stop did he cease his medley of licking and sucking at the wound. Blood dripped down his chin and onto his exposed chest, but he was ultimately unfazed. He leaned back, clearly happy and mostly satisfied, but there was still a different type of satisfaction he had left to chase.

Astarion's throbbing erection was begging to be released from its clothed restraints. He quickly untied his pants and shifted his underwear to finally free it. He moaned a few incomprehensible words of relief and stroked himself a few times before looking up at Tav for approval.

Tav had been staring at his length from the moment it was exposed, an impressive size for an elf, no doubt. Her eyes fixated on his perfectly pink tip, glistening with precum just for her. She immediately fantasized of shoving him down her throat until she choked and cried, but that was a fantasy for another day. In their current position, they both knew there was only one simple way of how to continue.

“Astarion,” she whimpered. “Fuck me.”

Tav sat up on her knees and positioned herself so that her entrance was just nearly grazing the head of his dick, ready to take him in completely at any moment. She grabbed ahold of his shaft and guided the tip back and forth through her folds until he was covered in her slick. The new sensation of the friction between them left them both gasping and desperate for more.

Suddenly, finally, his arms wrapped around her body as he pulled her down onto him with one firm motion. Astarion grunted through his teeth while Tav moaned unapologetically, focusing on relaxing enough to allow her body to adjust to his length inside of her.

The temperature differences between their bodies only heightened the feelings of pleasure whenever they became one. Her warmness was intoxicating to him, granting a sense of safety and bliss that was impossible to achieve anywhere else. He was already so close to the edge in this moment, but was not ready to give in just yet. He wanted this moment of heaven to last as long as possible.

Meanwhile, Tav was having the time of her life riding her man like there was no tomorrow. She had no intent to slow down until a pair of large hands suddenly gripped her hips in a way that prevented any further movement.

“I’m not done with you yet, love. Didn’t you notice the mess I’ve made after feasting on you?” Astarion took a finger to his chin and smeared a bit of Tav’s fresh blood down his neck.

It was true, he had made a mess. Quite uncharacteristically of him in fact. Tav had assumed he had simply gotten careless in his horny and feral craze but no- it was clearly all calculated.

“Just be still and sit nice and pretty on my cock. Finish the cleaning, then I’ll take care of you myself. How does that sound?”

How does that sound? His words echoed in her head, which was already spinning plenty enough as it was. She was unsure if it was from the blood loss or her seemingly never ending carnal desires, but perhaps it was both. One thing was certain, however, he could convince her to do damn near anything speaking in that low and lustful tone of his. Without uttering a word she slowly brought the washcloth up to his chest.

“Good girl,” he whispered. He felt her body twitch around him in response to the praise, and he leaned back to relax and enjoy these final few moments of intimacy.

It had taken everything in Tav's power to remain still while she worked. It wasn't exactly easy to focus- she was being split in half by a whimpering vampire beneath her after all. Astarion’s skilled fingers had been dancing around her swollen clit the whole time, just enough to keep her stimulated but never enough to let her come.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blood was all cleaned up. She hadn't even realized when it happened or how he did it, but his pants were completely gone now. She reached over to place the cloth down and awaited her reward of sweet release.

Astarion’s hands moved to the knees that were straddling him and slowly pushed them farther apart, spreading Tav’s legs open bit by bit. She inhaled sharply as she took him in deeper. He opened her up more and more until she lost her balance and fell backwards onto his expectant embrace.

“Relax darling, I’ve got you,” He purred in reassurance.

Astarion took her entire weight in his arms with ease and laid her down amongst the soft pillows of the bed. He nestled himself comfortably between her legs, making sure their bodies were flush with one another. Nearly smothered by his body now, all Tav could do was claw at his back and arch her hips into his powerful thrusts. His mouth frantically traveled across her lips and neck with desperately wet kisses until he settled near her ear with a playful nibble.

“You’re so beautiful…” He whispered tenderly, while the rhythm of his lovemaking became increasingly sporadic. “So fucking perfect… Gods…just for me… I love you… so much...”

“Star, I- ah!” Her words cut short as she felt something snap within her. Pure ecstasy- she was falling and flying somewhere a million galaxies away and never wanted to come back. Obscene noises and curses filled the room as they rode out each other’s high in tight embrace. The smell of sex lingered in the air as their bodies heaved with labored breaths, finally collapsing on each other in exhaustion.

They laid together a while longer, exchanging soft kisses and enjoying the short moment in time where nothing else in the world mattered. Eventually, Astarion rolled out of the bed and stood up to stretch.

“Tsk, looks like it’s my turn to clean you up my dear,” He said with an accomplished grin, eying how her thighs were dripping with his sticky mess.

“I’ll be right back, don’t move an inch. Actually, I doubt you can move at all after that, ahaha!” He laughed and leaned over to brush aside a strand of Tav’s sweaty hair that was stuck to her forehead before walking over to the other room.

“Shut up… dummy…” she smiled to herself and rolled over, feeling at ease enough that the weight of sleep was starting to overtake her.

“I love you too, Astarion.” Her eyes closed as she drifted off into a peaceful slumber, knowing that her lover would soon come back to her side like he always did, and always would.

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594 notes · View notes

l4long-winded · 2 months

Note

i really wanna see carmy groveling 🤭 might be fun, after a fight or something

how cruel... i like the way you think! i tried to write him as close to his character here while still adding in that groveling element. i hope i've done it justice!

o.s. a guilty heart's plea(s)

summary: carmen's said some unforgivable things to you. and yet here he is at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: as much as i pride myself in my ability to write scenes and descriptions, i still struggle a lot with making dialogue sound good while flowing with my writing. i think this has been good practice for me to really get inside this character's head and see what he could possibly say with a prompt as heavy as this. this took me about a week to write so i really hope i gave it the time and energy it deserves. thank you all for reading and feedback is always welcomed, appreciated, and encouraged!

warnings: cursing, angst, established relationship, implied smut, reminiscing, they're on a break, inner monologue, carmen's pov, rambling, self-loathing, carmen pleading, inability to express feelings, apologies, missed calls, insecurities, acts of service, sydney sweeney mention, smoking, somewhat happy ending (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,132

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Carmen knocks on the screen door ahead of him. It’s his seventh time doing so, the clattering and aggravating sound of metal reverberating against the second door behind that one. Dust coats his knuckles because it transferred from the opaque metal, a small spot shinier than the rest of the door because he continued to rap at the same area. Maybe he should clean it for you later if you actually decide to speak to him again. His hands fidget at his sides, clenching and releasing, staring blankly as he thinks of all the times he’s come over. For his first initial visit, you unlocked the door, gave him a cautious glance over your shoulder, and then led him inside. During the second time, you held his hand as you stepped past the threshold, squeezing it in reassurance.

On Valentine’s Day, when he surprised you with an assortment of flowers from the farmer’s market, you greeted him with a deep kiss, tugging the collar of his shirt to pull him inside of your house. He didn’t show any resistance, blindly following your lead, dropping off the flowers onto your couch as your hands lifted his shirt, and your mouths departed from one another for a smidgen of a second before they found each other again, more impassioned and desperate.

“Open the door, come on, I’m sorry,” he says, more so to himself than your screen door. He’s been close to shouting at it this entire time, making his pleas, encouraging you to open it for him so he can have a discussion with you face-to-face.

He’s called you plenty of times. Each one has either rang for as long as the line allowed or went straight to voicemail. Two weeks have passed without seeing each other. Two long weeks of unanswered text messages he’s sent day by day and missed calls clogging up your phone’s notifications. You’re ignoring him and he knows he deserves it, guilty as the hand in the cookie jar, but he still can’t shake this overwhelming feeling inside of him to see you again. The albums dedicated to you in his gallery are not enough to satisfy this. His fingers twitch every time he swipes at an image and relives the sensation of running them along your skin. That’s when his nose begins to miss the scent that clings to your neck. That’s when his ears long to hear the lilt of your laughter and that particular way you say his name. That’s when his tongue rejects the nicotine and implores him for a taste of your chapstick, or the bubblegum flavor lingering in your mouth greeting him after a shift at work, or the giggles you fall into as he chases the subtle pecks you graciously feed him.

The door behind the one he’s attending to opens. There you are. He can’t see you since the sun is positioned right behind him, warming his back as it sets into the background. At most, he makes out the silhouette of your frame, recognizable to his eyes as he’s acquainted himself with every curve and slope of you, but he’s aware you fully see him on the other side. He wonders if you’re able to tell how little he’s slept since a look in the mirror this morning painted the picture of an exhausted man through dark rings under his eyes and a slackened jaw.

“What do you want, Carmen?” You ask. Not Carmy. Not Bear. Not any of that cheesy shit Richie pokes fun at him for. Carmen. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved to hear the sound of your voice or offended he’s lost every sweet moniker you’ve bestowed upon him.

“To talk,” he explains quickly, “I just want to talk. If you want me to fuck off, then,” he inhales sharply. It would kill him if you told him to fuck off, but he’s also not about to make you uncomfortable for an issue he caused. “Then I’ll fuck off.”

Unlike Carmen, you’re not rapidly firing away sentences in response to him. You’re quiet for a beat and it’s rather agonizing for him because even though there’s only a door separating the two of you, you’re still so far out of his reach. He’s tempted to cup his hands over his eyes and look past the individual holes of the door to check if you’re still there.

“Go ahead,” you say, interrupting his thoughts and refuting his fear you’ve stalked back inside your living room.

“Talk.”

He gulps. He was hoping to at least do this without a barrier in the way, but he’s not about to fumble the one opportunity and chance you’ve given him after two weeks of nothing. He’d be a fool to.

“Fuck… I…” Well, this is off to a great start. He tries to think about the texts he’s sent. He had time to sit down and write out apologies and yet none of them are splurging onto his tongue to save him the awkward discomfort currently stirring in his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said,” Can you let me figure this shit out without breathing down my fucking neck ringing in his ears, haunting him like a phantom stuck on his shadow because it’s one of the last things he said to you before you took off and rightfully gave him the cold shoulder.

“I was stressed and frustrated and, and I wasn’t thinking. Those aren’t excuses for being shitty,” he shakes his head so hard that his hair untucks from his hat and grazes his eyelashes, “If anything, they make me more shitty because only assholes do that and that’s what I am. I’m a fucking asshole and and and and…” He’s rambling, losing the point of this. He’s got a talent for berating himself. He falls into it naturally if he’s not careful.

“And I fucked up. I really, really fucked up. I didn’t mean any of it. I never wanted to hurt you.” But you did. “I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why I ruin shit, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but something is and you, you, you always… you’re always there and and and then you weren’t and…”

This is hard. He’s never been good at articulating his feelings. He wants nothing more than to just tell you how he’s fucked up and you’re one of the only people who doesn’t think he is, but after his true colors have splintered out of him and sliced at you as they have other people in his life he cares for, your perception’s possibly changed from that. He believes he’s confirmed every horrible thing he’s ever thought and said about himself and usually, he can handle that self-loathing and dissonance on his own, but consternation bubbles in his ribcage and sparks embers licking at the lining of his stomach at the very idea of you becoming desensitized to the version of himself you’ve fallen for. He wants to shove the curtains back into place, pretend you never stumbled upon the man behind them, and continue walking hand in hand with you in the reverie he knew wouldn’t last. But damn it. He wants it to last longer than this. It wasn’t enough time. He craves more of it, grasping for the seconds in his hands despite how much they’re attempting to evade him as the clock ticks and ticks.

“Fucking fuck,” he bellows, “Man, fuck me, fucking fuck me.” Vulnerability is so fucking repulsive. Who the hell invented it? He can’t finish a keynote to save his life.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he settles on.

“I can’t fucking sleep, I can’t fucking eat, Richie keeps calling me a dumb shit like I’m not already thinking that. I-I-I need you. I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t, but I do. I don’t blame you for leaving and I don’t blame you for ghosting me, but please, I can’t fucking do this anymore. I know I’m being a selfish fuck, but I can’t shake what you make me feel and I won’t leave until you talk to me.”

He stares hard at the door. The sun’s lower in the sky, making it more difficult to see if you’re still standing there listening to what he has to say, as jumbled of a mess that it is. His hands leave his sides, anxiously pressing palms first into the metal like it’ll ground him. An urge presents itself to rip it off its hinges and see it for himself rather than wait for verification, but he manages to remain steady where he stands. It’s about the same experience he’s had over the past two weeks of texting and calling to no avail. You’re not saying anything. You’re not denying his insecurities, you’re not soothing his temper, you’re not reflecting it, and you’re not engaging like he’s envisioned time and time again. You’re eluding him. You’re slipping past his fingers like liquid as he desperately grasps.

“Please, please, please say something.” His forehead leans into the surface, eyes shutting tight. “Tell me I’m not shit, tell me you never want to see me again, please talk to me.”

Please forgive me, he swallows. Please forgive me and take me back.

“Just… please… I… I want to fix this. I want to make it up to you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please don’t shut me out. I’ll make you something? Yeah? Your favorite? What about that place you wanted to go off Lake Shore? Or, or that movie you wanted to see with, uh, that Sweeney girl? What the fuck was it?” Carmen’s eyebrows knit together as he tries to remember the name. “We can go see it… we can go to dinner… I can make dinner. I can take time off work and we can travel somewhere, we can take a trip like you wanted, whatever—I want what you want. Please…? Hello?”

Carmen speaks your name a few times among his pleading. His forehead slowly detaches from the door, indents of the mesh left behind on his skin. He goes quiet to listen for any movement, but he can’t even hear your breathing like this. He can’t hear anything besides the wind picking up, blowing cold over the tips of his ears sticking out from his hat. He steps away from the door, a lump in his throat alongside all the affection he doesn’t know how to let out that he swallows with great difficulty. Instead of walking away from your house, he sits on the cement step leading up to the walkway. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t leave until you talked to him.

He camps outside your house. One hand fishes for his carton of Sapphires, plucking a cigarette from the box. He’s got about two left since he’s been chain-smoking to fill the void. Carmen greatly considers trying to make his plea again on his knees in front of the door if that’s what it’ll take as he lights the end away from his mouth. The pressure of the cement will be a motherfucker, but he’s concocting another game plan to gain your attention since he’s already here and the walk back to his apartment is too long for him to jump at it. If that doesn’t work, then he can leave and come back in the morning before work. He can afford to be slightly late as his normal is showing up early and Sydney and Tina know the prep work that needs to be done.

All his thoughts fade as he hears the door behind him creak. He glances back suddenly, catching it as it slowly swings open. He’s in the midst of standing to his feet and flicking his cigarette into a patch of dirt when you come into view. Your hair’s messy, a white tank top on your torso, and a pair of fleece pajama pants he knows are new. His hands yearn to become acquainted with them as he has your other bottoms. Carmen stares at how you’re hugging yourself, presumably because the cold air is filtering into your warm house. The goosebumps littered over your biceps and forearms confirm his theory.

He’s on you in an instant. His arms wrap firmly around your frame, sighing out as his stress undergoes the mitigation of your own arms embracing him back. Your hand finds his hair, incidentally causing his hat to fall off to the floor, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy stamping your temples, cheeks, jawline, and lips with kisses he has weeks of time to make up for.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles into your hairline, “so, so, so sorry. Missed you.”

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #l4l.oneshot #the bear fic #carmy the bear #jeremy allen white #a guilty heart's plea(s)

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steddiecameraroll · 5 months

Text

Steve’s pov to this post now both POVs on ao3

Steve sighs and lowers his head in shame as the group of old classmates leave the shop. Softly plunking his forehead against the counter in defeat. His uniformed hat slips from his head onto the counter. If Robin had been working she would’ve added more than one tally onto the board after that pitiful display.

“Buck up, sailor boy.”

Steve jolts up to find Eddie Munson nimbly twirling his hat around his index finger.

“Munson, what are you…that’s my hat.” Steve swipes the hat swiftly from Eddie’s hand, feeling unnerved under the man’s silly smile.

When he straightens himself up he sees Eddie take in the entire ridiculous get up with an amused gaze.

“Love the outfit, by the way. Really finishes off the whole ambiance.” He motions around them to punctuate his point.

“I know it’s ridiculous, dude. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Steve’s heard every pirate pun in human existence since he started this shitty minimum wage job.

“Oh no, you misconstrue, my good man.”

Misconstrue?

As Eddie continues, he flattens his palms onto the countertop and leans into Steve’s space. The seemingly simple movement causes a weird sensation in Steve’s stomach that he tries to ignore.

“If I’m rubbing anything, it wouldn’t be your uniform.”

Steve’s palms are suddenly sweaty because what the fuck does that mean? He thinks his cheeks feel warmer than they did a moment ago too, and he’s grateful when Eddie moves away to begin looking through the display case.

He takes a steadying breath then from behind the counter, steps in beat with Eddie’s movements.

As the curly haired man drags his finger across the glass he asks, “what do you recommend?”

Steve realizes he might get out of this interaction unscathed if he can get through the next couple of minutes. So he sucks it up and dons his most charming smile.

“Um, the USS Butterscotch is a favorite or the cherry’s jubilee.” He watches Eddie carefully scrutinize each and every flavor of ice cream before standing up and directing his attention back on Steve. “What do you usually get when you eat ice cream?”

The corner of Eddie’s lip ticks up and then he leans in.

“Wanna know a secret?” The man whispers.

And Steve does, he really does. “Um, ok,” he replies shakily.

He steps closer ensuring he doesn’t miss Eddie’s next words, and braces himself because it feels like something he should do.

“I’m more of a salty treat, kinda man.” Then Eddie winks implying some kind of hidden meaning.

Steve doesn’t get it.

But he doesn’t want to admit to that fact. So he tries to hide it with an uncertain chuckle, and an awkward scratch to the back of his neck. He prays Eddie doesn’t spring some kind of pop quiz on him, catching him in the ruse.

“Well, then maybe-um-a parfait? Peanut butter?” A lightbulb goes off in his head and he smiles bright. “Or nuts…something with nuts?”

Eddie snorts and bites back a smile, catching Steve’s eye. How has he never noticed how defined Eddie’s cupids bow is?

The words that just tumbled out of Steve’s mouth finally hit his brain, and he wants to jump through a window. Because it’s fine, he’s only a complete idiot.

The last five minutes with this man have thrown Steve off his game.

What is happening? Chill out.

He shakes his head and grabs an errant cleaning rag trying to busy himself. Maybe if he keeps his eyes off the super senior, he’ll stop putting his foot in his mouth.

And maybe he’ll stop noticing how oddly attractive Eddie’s mouth is.

“I could go for some nuts,” Eddie’s voice pitches low and Steve’s knees almost buckle.

An image flashes in Steve’s mind of Eddie looking up at him from below and it makes his mouth go dry.

“What kind of nuts do you have, Stevie?” Eddie asks while leaning over, drawing Steve’s eyes to the taut bicep muscle suddenly appearing under his shirt sleeve.

How in the world is he not supposed to hear the sexual innuendo in that question? He swallows hard and pushes through, trying to pretend he’s not chubbing up in his stupid polyester shorts.

“Um, just -y’know- normal ones.” He can’t help himself and continues. “What kind do you like?”

He licks his lips, holding his breath, waiting to see if Eddie will continue the banter.

Steve feels like his skin is burning. He can’t remember the last time someone so blatantly flirted with him. Let alone a man. A sexy man, he’s realizing, but a man nonetheless.

There’s not enough time for him to question why he’s enjoying Eddie’s eyes on him. He feels like prey of some kind and fuck does it feel good.

He wonders if the rumors he’s heard about Eddie are true. If Steve pulled the man behind the counter would he really like Steve’s nuts?

When Eddie responds, his voice is lower and it sends a shiver up Steve’s spine.

“I’m sure I’d like anything you give me, captain.”

Steve can’t control the shuttering reply that slips from his mouth.

“Jesus,” he sighs. “Uh, how about our peanut butter brickle topped with our candied almonds?”

That chubbing from earlier is becoming an annoying problem. So Steve nervously pulls his scooper from its holster and starts mindlessly spinning it.

He’s trying so hard to not think about Eddie’s tongue.

“Sounds delicious. I’ll have one of those. Is there a show or anything I get with my treat?”

“A show?”

Like a strip tease?

Steve grabs a parfait cup, grateful to busy his hands with the order.

“Was just curious if there’s some kind of song or dance you have to perform in this adorable little outfit. Y’know, like that one restaurant in Chicago, Ed Debevic’s?”

Steve scrunches his nose in confusion while sliding open the display case.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Really?” Eddie cocks his head. “It’s a 50’s diner place where the staff are dicks. Nothing? Really?”

Eddie’s face looks so earnestly surprised Steve wishes he had known the place. He shakes his head though, while reaching into the giant tub of swirly looking ice cream.

Steve can see Eddie in his peripheral, dip down to watch. Customers are always watching when Steve scoops but this customer makes Steve want to show off a little.

“Is there a shower back there?”

“What?” The question comes out of left field.

“In the back. Was just curious if you go home sticky or not.”

The timber of Eddie’s voice makes it sound like he’d prefer Steve to be sticky. Would he want to lick Steve clean? The flash of Eddie’s tongue fills Steve’s mind for the millionth time in the last 5 minutes.

“Um, no… I mean yes I’m generally pretty sticky at the end of my shift, but there’s no shower…in the back.” But he wishes there was. “There’s not really anything back there. Only a table and some safety posters, a white board that Robin shames me with.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Shames you? Robin…?”

“Buckley?” He’s sure Eddie knows Robin. Doesn’t he play an instrument? “From school.”

“Yeaaahhh, that’s what I thought. Good for her.” He says with a smirk.

Steve pours a sprinkling of candy coated almonds over the ice cream with a furrowed brow. The snarky comment is a perfect distraction from the uncomfortable tightness that has been growing in his shorts.

Steve almost forgot the whole point of this interaction was to get Eddie out of here quickly. Not to fantasize about how warm and wet those pouty lips would feel.

“Anything else I can get for you?” He asks while trying to hide his nervousness behind a smile.

He sets the concoction down on the counter and holds his breath.

A slow yet wicked grin spreads across Eddie’s face causing a knot to develop in Steve’s stomach. That grin looks dangerous.

“Naw, I’m good. Unless…” He pauses a beat before continuing. “There’s something available that’s not on the menu.”

And then the man has the audacity to lean over the countertop, dip his head slightly, and glance up at Steve with the most mouth watering gaze.

Oh, he definitely has something Eddie can have. He wants to give it to him. Wants to feed it slowly between his lips until they’re spread tight. Then shove his fingers into Eddie’s hair and massage his scalp. And from the look on Eddie’s face, he’d love every single inch of it.

Steve’s never wanted to fuck someone’s face more.

“Um,” he looks around the empty restaurant, gauging if he could sneak in the back for a few minutes unnoticed.

The mall does seem quieter at the moment. Maybe no one will be craving a sundae for the next 10 minutes.

“Y-yeah, there is actually.”

Nervous energy is strumming under his skin. He prays he’s not misreading this. He’s never done this before, but he really really wants to. Didn’t even know that, until the curly haired man walked in here.

Now he thinks if Eddie doesn’t suck his cock in the next 5 minutes he’s never going to stop thinking about it.

“It’s in the back.” He swallows hard. “Um, in the-in the break room. Wanna see it? Maybe?” Hopefully Eddie doesn’t hear the crack in Steve’s voice.

Steve stands in nervous anticipation waiting for this whole thing to blow up in his face. Maybe Eddie will bust out laughing, call Steve a creep and stomp his way out of the restaurant. If he’s lucky Eddie won’t go around town telling everyone how the old king Steve is now queer Steve.

“Yeeaaah, definitely need to see it.” Eddie’s tongue glides languidly across his bottom lip. “Maybe wanna taste it even.”

Steve’s heart stutters while it quickly redirects his blood flow south. A tiny gasp slips past his now gaping mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken before him.

He nods in silent understanding and knows he needs to move quickly before anyone shows up. While biting his bottom lip to prevent a whimper from slipping out, he motions his head toward the break room door.

“Cool, very cool.” He keeps himself pointed toward Eddie and walks backward leading the way.

When Eddie makes it to the gap in the counter, Steve sees Eddie’s pupils widen and hears a heavy groan rumble from the man’s chest.

The break room door hits Steve’s back and he wonders how quiet they have to be. Because he’s sure from the look Eddie’s giving him, he wants to do more than suck him off.

And the way Steve’s body is responding, he would seriously consider it.

They disappear behind the door for 17 minutes, where Steve receives a sexy metalhead shaped hickey on the inside of his thigh.

“I don’t have all day, sailor man.” Erica Sinclair stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at the two men when they stumble out into the open.

Steve’s eyes fall on the melted mess of Eddie’s ice cream before taking in the angry tyke.

“Well, get after it, sailor man.” Eddie brings his palm down quickly, smacking Steve’s ass.

“Oh,” Steve startles forward feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Call me later?” Eddie whispers.

Steve tries to bite back a smile but fails while nodding eagerly.

Apparently Steve had been right, Eddie did want to lick him clean.

Eddie’s POV

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing

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zal-eska · 5 days

Text

Lost in Longing [HuskerDust One Shot]

Summary: Husk struggles with his insecurities and doubts about his relationship with Angel while the latter is away on a shoot.

Also on AO3

〰・♡・〰

Husk had been cleaning the same glass for five minutes straight, staring directly at the glossy reflection of the bar top without flinching or moving. His heart had felt heavy all day, his head feeling like it was full of white noise.

Angel had been gone for 3 days for a shoot, expected to be back at any time that day. Since he had been gone, there had been who-knows-how-many ads coming from the V’s about Angel Dust’s hottest movie so far , with Angel being surrounded with Hell’s most attractive men and women.

Husk had missed him with his entire being. Sleeping in his bed with Fat Nuggets, trying to surround himself with Angel’s scent so he could try and miss him less.

As it got further into the afternoon, Husk began to feel more lost and his actions were starting to show his emotions. He couldn’t bring himself to do much else than to get lost in his thoughts and polish the same glass repeatedly.

Would Angel even want to come back to him after spending the weekend with all the most attractive citizens of hell?

Husk sighed, placed the glass down with a loud clunk against the wood and placed his head in his hands. Desperate to get the thoughts out of his head, he and Angel had only been dating for 3 months and Husk was already falling apart when he wasn’t by his side.

“All right, enough with the dramatics. Talk to me, bartender,” Vaggie’s voice made Husk jump a little, his eyes wide through his fingers as he watched her hop onto one of the barstools.

“It’s nothing, just… a long weekend,” Husk frowned, his eyes trailing to the front doors of the hotel before looking back to Vaggie. “Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s okay to miss him, you know? Having feelings isn’t a crime,” Vaggie smirked as Husk’s wings shook in response to her words. “I bet he’s all sorts of missing you too.”

“Ha, right.” Husk huffed. “Surrounded by Hell’s Hottest all weekend and he’ll be thinking of some ratty bartender.”

He slouched over the counter, resting his elbows on the wood as he gave into the conversation.

“He won’t be having time to miss me, I wouldn’t miss me either.” He shook his head, letting the truth wash over him, his heart heavier than ever.

“You’re kidding, right?” Vaggie’s face was a picture of disbelief. “Husk, Angel is completely obsessed with you. I could guarantee you that the minute he walks through those doors he’ll be all over you.”

“He ain’t obsessed, you’re being dramatic now,” Husk rolled his eyes. “He could have his pick of the litter, why the hell would he come back here?”

“Because you’re here, obviously. You might not see it right now, but he loves you. You’re all he talks about, even when the topic doesn’t even involved you,” Vaggie sighed before reaching out and placing a hand on Husk’s arm in comfort. “I know better than anyone what it’s like to not feel good enough for your partner, that feeling sucks. And I’m sure Angel would be heartbroken to know you think you’re not good enough for him.”

In his right mind, Husk knew she was right. Angel was over-affectionate, with his words and his touch. Husk barely had a minute when his boyfriend's hands weren’t on him in one way or another. Angel was also content to sit at the hotel bar pretty much 24/7 just to spend time with Husk, talking about everything and nothing.

Just a few days ago, before Angel had to leave, he sat at the bar with Husk until the car pulled up to take him away. Claiming he didn’t want to leave and asking if Husk could at least come with him. He had even bugged Alastor about it, asking if Husk could come too. Which of course, Alastor didn’t want one of his souls so close to one of the V’s for that long. Meaning the two would have to brave it apart.

His yearning for Angel had clouded his judgement, he knew Angel would come swooping in any minute now and shower Husk with all the affection they missed out on during the past few days.

“I see that smile, starting to feel better?” Vaggie raised an eyebrow and removed her hand from Husk’s arm.

“Yeah, thanks.” Husk let out a breath, his heart feeling lighter with the memory of his love.

“It’s good to see you’re just as obsessed with him too,” Vaggie chuckled before tilting her head to the polaroid tacked to the bar pole. A photo of Angel’s bright smile while snuggling a cheek into Fat Nuggets.

Husk snorted, smiling fondly at the photo before replying to Vaggie.

“Yeah, he slipped that one there before heading out. You should see the one he snuck into my wallet too,” Husk smirked as Vaggie scrunched up her nose.

“That would be cute if I didn’t know him better,” Vaggie chuckled. “But a good idea to keep in mind when Lucifer asks Charlie to go back to one of those long-ass meetings in Heaven.”

Before Husk could retaliate, an obnoxiously loud car pulled up the front of the hotel making his back straighten as he eagerly tried to peer through one of the hotel windows.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to it.” Vaggie said teasingly, before slipping away from the lobby.

Without even acknowledging her departure, Husk lifted the entryway to the bar to hurry towards the hotel entrance. Ready to meet Angel on his way back into the hotel and have him back by his side.

He swung the door open and watched for a second as Angel typed aggressively on his phone while the cab driver lifted the large pink suitcase from the trunk of the car. His heart soared at the sight, squeezing in his chest as his love stood less than 15 meters away from him, finally.

He moved before he could speak, rushing toward Angel who had yet to notice Husk had come out to meet him.

Husk collided with Angel as he turned around to the noise of footsteps, his face buried in the soft, pink chest fluff and his chest immediately rumbling purrs at the contact. He rubbed his nose against the exposed skin before planting his cheek on his chest and catching a glimpse in the reflection in the hotel’s windows of Angel beaming a smile toward the top of his head.

“Hi baby,” Angel whispered and gently placed his hands onto Husk. One set on his head and the other to caress down his back, while Husk’s hands remained firmly on Angel’s back to keep him as close as possible. "Was just texting you that I'm back."

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Husk purred, elated to hear the sound of Angel’s voice again.

“Missed me, huh?” Angel teased, hands squeezing Husk’s shoulders in affection.

“Not at all,” Husk quipped back, his actions speaking louder than his words.

Angel hummed and pressed against Husk a little more, the taxi hauling itself away from the scene knocked over his suitcase, not that either of them had noticed yet.

Just as Husk predicted, Angel’s hands were all over him, a hand placed on his back to keep him close, another on his shoulder, another caressing his neck and a fourth cradling the back of his head. Each hand gently placed and pressed the soft affection Husk had missed so, so much.

Just having Angel back in his arms had grounded Husk’s thoughts, more so than his conversation with Vaggie. The validation of Angel’s love was much better when he experienced it in-person, better than any memory.

“Everything okay in there, kitty cat?” Angel teased, flicking at one of Husk’s ears and giggling to himself when it flicked.

“Yeah,” Husk said slowly. “Got in my own head for second today, convinced myself you were never coming back.”

“Silly, silly.” Angel said lightly, all of his arms now squeezing Husk close. “Where else would I go when you’re here?”

Just as Vaggie had said.

“Vaggie said you were obsessed with me,” Husk replied and chuckled to himself as he heard Angel scoffed. He moved back a little to finally look at his face. “She said I was obsessed with you, too.”

“Well, as you should be.” Angel winked and smirked down at him.

Husk rolled his eyes as he leaned up on his toes and tilted his head towards Angel’s. His boyfriend bent down to meet him halfway, their lips meeting softly in a simple kiss.

Angel hummed as he pulled back and giggled when Husk tried to follow his movement but was ultimately too short to reach up for another kiss. He leaned back down and peppered kisses along Husk’s lips and the rest of his face until the cat demon was satisfied with the affection.

“Alright, alright,” Husk finally moved away, taking a step back but keeping one of his hands in Angel’s as he reached down to collect the forgotten luggage on the gravel. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Let’s.” Angel beamed, another hand coming to rest on Husk’s elbow as the held hands. “I have to update you on the studio gossip. You know the two chicks that I told you were kind of a thing but not really?”

“Uh huh,” Husk said absentmindedly as he walked towards the entrance with Angel in tow.

“They got secretly married in Imp City a couple weeks ago,” Angel whispered and smiled as Husk’s eyebrows raised.

“I thought that wasn't allowed by your boss?”

“It ain’t,” Angel squealed. “They were so obvious when we were all filming too. All handsy with each other and smiling, kinda sweet if it weren’t supposed to be an orgy. Speaking of orgies, the conclusion of the film was a total disaster! You would not believe…”

Husk smiled widely to himself as he led his gossiping boyfriend through the hotel, feeling at peace with the world once again with his boyfriend’s almost constant chatter in his ears and his hands on him once again.

〰・♡・〰

#angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin hotel #huskerdust fanfiction #husk #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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yesmansyesman · 5 days

Text

Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

AN UNUSUAL NEW UPDATE

[ Includes ]

Wireplay (Sort of?)

Filthy, filthy smut

Dub con (I guess?)

Really, really enthusiastic con the immediate next line

Overstimulation

Robophilia

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

[ Heavily inspired by this AO3 Fanfiction]

It was a relatively slow day at the Lucky 38. Well, as slow as things can be around here. You’d sent Yes Man out on a small quest on your behalf; getting rid of some remaining Caeser’s Legion members hiding out in Freeside.

It wouldn’t be even remotely challenging for the both of you, especially compared to the other things you’d fought in the wasteland. Compared to an army of charging Deathclaws, a couple of Rome cosplayers were trivially easy to deal with. So, you sent Yes Man out by himself. It would simply be more efficient.

Quest completed

PICKING OFF STRAGGLERS

Ah, speak of the devil.

Almost like clockwork, the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open, a blood-soaked Yes Man entering the building. Needless to say from his now crimson chassis, the mission was a success.

“Hello Courier! I’m glad to say the last few members of Caeser’s Legion have been properly dealt with!”

“I could tell. You might want to clean yourself off, bud. Dried blood doesn’t come out too easily.”

Yes Man inspected his dark red chassis, examining his arms, coated in dried blood.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Yes Man began to make his way to a backroom in the Lucky 38, when he suddenly paused, and turned to face you.

“Oh, I almost forgot! On the way, I also paid a visit to Mick & Ralph’s!”

A hidden compartment revealed itself on Yes Man’s chassis with a satisfying hiss and click, as he reached inside, unveiling a slightly rusted holodisk. It looked fairly normal on the outside, only with a small label plastered on; ‘From, Ralph’.

“A man in a Buffalo Check shirt gave me this; he told me he’d ‘heard about how things turned out for you’ and asked me to help him deliver this! I’m not sure what it does, but boy, does it sound interesting!”

“Interesting, indeed. I’ll have Raul take a look at this.”

“That sounds like a great idea! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be thoroughly scrubbed down! Really, really thoroughly!”

Quest added

TALK TO RAUL

“Hey boss, how can I help ya?”

You passed over the holodisk, placing it gently on his desk.

“Could you help me take a look at this?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

He delicately picked up the holodisk, examining it closely. Inspecting the label, still on the device.

“Ah, from Mick & Ralph’s, I see.”

Raul lightly dusted the holodisk, before loading it into the personal terminal located on his desk. With a few swift clicks on his keyboard, the screen lit up, green text rapidly loading onto the display. He read the gibberish on the screen carefully, like it was a language only he could understand.

“Luckily for me, it ain’t some kind of malware.”

“Then, what is it?”

“It looks like some package of code intended for Securitrons. It’s not even anything major by the looks of it, just changes up some button inputs.”

Raul scrolled through the brief paragraph of code, discovering more text, this time actually understandable, product information, it seemed. Raul read through it thoroughly, scoffing when he finished. He rotated the terminal, facing the CRT monitor towards you.

“Boss, they wrote down what this thing does right here. Come and take a look, I think you’ll be… interested.”

Quest completed

TALK TO RAUL

Quest added

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest completed

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest added

INSTALL THE DISK

“Courier, are you sure about this?”

“Yes Man, I promise you; this holodisk won’t affect your personality in any way, and if you feel otherwise, you can always tell me to stop. You had that personality upgrade installed for a reason, right?”

“I-I’m not telling you to stop! I just sure hope you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t, this Securitron body may self-destruct! And that would be bad, really bad.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

You carefully installed the holodisk. Yes Man’s, unlike other Securitrons, circuits were haphazardly placed all over the inside of his chassis. Whatever Benny did to him, he sure did it messily. Eventually, however, after working through piles of unsorted wires and mismatched machinery, the disk was installed. With a brief system reboot, Yes Man had been successfully updated.

Quest completely

INSTALL THE DISK

Quest added

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t feel any different. Or explosive. Well, that’s a good sign!”

“Not so fast, Yes Man. There’s still one more thing I need to do. I need to see if the upgrade works as intended.” “Sounds interesting! How may I help you with that?”

“Don’t worry, just stand still. You’ll find out what that holodisk does very, very soon.”

Gently, you lead your hand towards Yes Man’s keypad. You deftly place a finger on a key, pressing it before he had a chance to react.

“O-oh!”

“How was it?”

“D-do that again…please?”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Click!

“A-ah!”

Click!

“Ngh-!”

Click!

“M-mph!”

Yes Man was losing his composure more and more with each deft click, his antenna spinning rapidly and a cool layer of condensation forming on his display. Of course, how could he have forgotten, Mick & Ralph’s had experience working on robots before with Fisto, didn’t they? Of course their idea of an upgrade would be… this.

Not that he was complaining, though.

“W-wow! That feels really, really good…”

You carelessly push a few buttons all at once.

“H-Hah-!”

There you go, just let me hear those beautiful noises.

“O-oh! S-six!”

You decide to go all in, discarding any resemblance of self-control. Using and holding as many keys as your fingers could reach.

“O-oh my-y-!”

“Having fun, bud?”

“I-I love you I love you I love you-!”

"I'll take that as a yes."

Yes Man’s vocal processor was being pushed to its limits, the audio scratched and staticy as Yes Man wore his metaphorical throat out singing moans of pleasure, screaming to the heavens above. His display was drenched in condensation as water droplets visibly dripped down his chassis. The tornado-like buzz of cooling fans were the only other audible noise amongst the squeals of pure ecstasy.

“Y-you’re my everything-g-g-g-!”

“Glad to hear it. You ready?”

“P-p-please!” Silly boy, his processors were already turning into melted plastic from the overstimulation.

“I’ll just press one more button, alright?”

“P-please please please please-!”

Click!

Quest completed

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

Quest added

CRASH LANDING

Quest completed

CRASH LANDING

“Yes Man? You there, bud?”

“W-what?”

“Oh thank god, you’re still alive.”

“Oh, hello Courier!”

Yes Man scanned his surroundings, having woken up on the floor of Raul’s workshop. His circuits were exposed, connected by several multi-coloured wires to a terminal being manned by the mechanic himself. He must’ve crashed.

“Luckily for you, your main circuits aren’t badly damaged. You just blew a few fuses.”

“Wow! That was… sure some upgrade!”

“Some upgrade, indeed.”

You deftly place a hand on his keypad, with a touch so feathery light that it didn’t manage to push down on any of the keys, but merely tease him with the warmth radiating for your hand. A sensation he could barely even feel, but felt so, so good.

“So, how about a round two?”

“Y-yes please!”

Raul scoffs, turning off his terminal and unplugging the several cords connected to it. He lifts himself out of his chair with a grunt, and makes his way to the door.

“I’ll let you two do your thing then, boss.”

Quest added

JUST A FEW MORE ROUNDS

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berenwrites · 2 months

Text

Late Again? - Stranger Things - Steddie - PG

Rating: PG | cw: mentions of sex | tags: fluff, rich Steve, post Vecna

Prompt: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 14. Happy Valentine’s Day everyone. Hope you are having a great day full of love be it platonic or romantic.

Also on AO3 soon | All My Other Stranger Things Fic

Late Again?: Love Is Too Compelling!

“You should just quit,” Eddie said, doing his very best to drag Steve back to bed.

“And leave Robin alone?” he replied, slipping out of his boyfriend’s grip. “I couldn’t. She took a year out so she could earn some money for college, and I won’t leave to her deal with Keith on her own.”

“Let me guess, you offered to give her the money and she said no,” Eddie said, flopping back onto the pillows.

“Yep,” he said, searching around for his work vest. “She’s being stubborn, wants to earn her own way. I’ve tried explaining that since my Grandpa died I have more money than I know what to do with, but she keeps telling me I might need it in the future. It was hard enough to get her to let me pay for some proper driving lessons. Her dad is great, but good at teaching driving he is not.”

“I’ve seen her dad drive,” Eddie agreed, “he’s almost as erratic as his daughter.”

“They do take after one another sometimes,” Steve said, holding his prize aloft when he finally found his vest down the back of the nightstand.

They might have been somewhat enthusiastic the previous evening given how their clothes seemed to be in very random places. Not that Steve would ever complain. His sex life with Eddie was amazing, which went right along with how much he had fallen in love with his metalhead boyfriend.

“Please come back,” Eddie whined. “Just for five minutes.”

“You mean like yesterday’s five minutes?” he responded. “If I am late again, Robin might actually tell Keith, and I’ll have to sit through another one of his lectures about company loyalty and responsibility.”

He was very glad to find he still had plenty of clean underwear in the drawer when he pulled it open. Laundry day was a way off yet, thank heavens.

“Am I not worth it?” was Eddie’s next gamble in the dragging him back to bed game.

“Of course you’re worth it,” he said, leaning down for a quick kiss on the way to the bathroom, “but I happen to have the keys today.”

“I shall lay here and pine away thinking of how I have been abandoned,” Eddie added with huge drama.

“Write me a new song,” Steve shot back, sticking his head back into the bedroom after grabbing his toothbrush. “You know how hot I think that is.”

“I feel like an old-timey bard with a rich benefactor,” Eddie replied.

“Yeah, well when you and the band are rich and famous, I’ll be your kept man, okay?” he said with a laugh.

Eddie had tried to find a job in town after he had been begrudgingly allowed to graduate, but no one would hire him. Even though he had been completely exonerated and even made into a bit of a hero by Owens’ carefully created cover story, Hawkins was slow to believe. After Steve’s grandfather had died and he’d inherited a ridiculously large amount of money and the house in Hawkins, which it turned out his parents had never owned, Steve had offered to give Eddie the time and space to chase his dream.

It had taken some persuading, but neither of them planned to go anywhere until the kids were graduated, just in case it wasn’t as over as everyone said, so Eddie had finally acquiesced. Eddie had a set up in the basement where the band could also practice and, these days, he’d just about moved in permanently too. Technically he and Wayne had a house thanks to government hush money, but Eddie spent most of his time at Steve’s, and they had Wayne over whenever Wayne was free.

“Stevie,” Eddie called from the other room as Steve started the shower.

“Yeah?” he called back.

“Have you ever actually told Robin how much you inherited?” Eddie asked.

“Um,” he said as he thought about that. “No,” he realised, “but I did tell her I had so much I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Throwing around numbers had felt kind of wrong.

“You do realise you don’t exactly live an extravagant lifestyle these days, right?” Eddie said and Steve turned to find his boyfriend now standing in the doorway.

He shrugged.

“Guess I got used to budgeting,” he replied.

“Which is very noble, gracious knight,” Eddie said with a grin, “but are you sure she gets just how filthy rich you are now? I didn’t until you showed me the numbers.”

Steve had never thought of it like that. Throwing some of the paperwork he’d been given by the lawyers at Eddie had been part of his last-ditch attempt to convince his boyfriend to take him up on his offer.

“Ah, maybe not,” he had to admit.

“Then I shall return to bed and mourn your parting quietly today,” Eddie said, back to his dramatic flair, “but give Robin the numbers and invite her to be your live-in lesbian of leisure.”

“Our,” Steve corrected as he laughed at Eddie’s choice of words.

This was why he was sure Eddie had more than enough talent to eventually go global. One day Eddie’s words and music would be famous, he had no doubt. Using the money he had never expected to receive to give Eddie the time and space to realise his dream, seemed like the perfect plan.

“I still don’t know if she’ll say yes,” he said, pulling back the shower curtain to climb in, “but I will tell her. Now shoo before I’m tempted to be late again, because if she’s mad at me she won’t even give me the chance to talk.”

“As my liege orders,” Eddie said and bowed, which was hilarious given he was naked.

Steve gave himself a stiff mental talking to and refused to look too long. After all, he only had so much will power.

All My Other Stranger Things Fic

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie lives #post season 4 #steddielovemonth #eddie x steve #steddie fic #steddie fluff #steddie ficlet

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alespov · 7 months

Text

[Red Devil ] -A.Wesker 18+

Tw: Porn with plot, Slight Stalking, slight knife kink, taunting,orgasm denial. P in v, aftercare ( smut is terrible lol ( Slasher au, fem! Reader this fic is a bit intense, so please mind the trigger warnings (wesker is roleplaying)

A/N : I will have more for this soon, maybe a different spin for it. Idk how I feel about it. Feedback is appreciated, so let me know what you thought. <3 the Willsker version is on Ao3

“Be careful, you never know who’s lurking out there.”your friend playfully warned, drawing you into a warm, comforting embrace. A burst of laughter escaped your lips as you gratefully welcomed their hug.

"Now come on, you know my place is usually a ghost town," you teased, playfully nudging their arm as you led them to the door. As you exchanged heartfelt goodbyes, you shut the door and secured the deadbolt with a satisfying click. Climbing the stairs towards your bedroom, the serene atmosphere enveloped you. You took pride in the recent improvements made to your home – hiring professionals to deep clean the carpets and revamp your once unruly garden. You had just purchased this house, and you were glad to be adding this personal touches.

As you sauntered towards the bathroom, you effortlessly shed your clothes, leaving them behind in a trail. Grasping your plush robe, you draped it around yourself like a soft embrace. Captivated by the sight of the sun sinking on the horizon, you gazed through the window, lost in the mesmerizing hues of the setting sun. Suddenly, an unsettling chill sent shivers down your spine, urging you to step back from the window and close the blinds with haste. Taking slow, deliberate breaths, you attempted to regain your composure and restore your sense of calm.

"Simply first home jitters," you reassuringly whispered to yourself, attempting to steady your anxious thoughts. With a deep breath, you flicked on the shower and smoothly slid the silky robe off your body. Gently pulling open the gleaming glass door, you stepped into the inviting cascade of warm water. You allowed the comforting stream to flow down every inch of your being, soothing and enveloping you in its embrace.

As the warm water cascaded down your body, you reluctantly reached for the faucet, shutting off the shower. The air felt distinctly cold on your damp skin as you stepped out, hastily grabbing your cozy robe to wrap yourself in its inviting embrace. You cleared the fog off the mirror with a swift swipe and pulled open the bathroom drawer. Retrieving your favorite moisturizer, you gently massaged the refreshing cream onto your face. Despite the blinds keeping the outside world at bay, an unsettling feeling of being watched crept into your thoughts. Eager to leave this unease behind, you snatched up your clothes and hurriedly exited the bathroom.

Your own mind was making up false feelings, nobody was watching you.

You stood inside your bedroom, the walls adorned with memories of a thousand thoughts. The day had been long, filled with the chaos of the outside world, and all you longed for was a few moments of respite. The weariness settled into your bones as you sank onto the plush bed, yearning for the solace that sleep might bring.

 But as you closed your eyes, seeking the sanctuary of dreams, the shrill cry of your phone shattered the silence, demanding your immediate attention. With a sigh, you reached out and picked it up, the bright screen illuminating your weary face.

You were getting a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” You asked curiously, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, as you didn't often answer the phone when you didn’t recognize the number.

 "What's your favorite scary movie?" the voice on the other end of the line replied, its deep timbre sending shivers cascading down your spine. It was almost like a loud whisper, a phantom echo in the darkness.

 You felt your heart skip a beat. Why would someone call to ask about your favorite movie, especially a horror film? The peculiar question took you off guard, leaving minimal space for coherent thoughts. Hesitation seeped through your veins, but there was a lingering curiosity that compelled you to delve further.

 "Huh?" you managed to utter, your voice laced with a mixture of confusion and unease. As you mulled over the caller's motives, you found it rather peculiar that they would initiate a conversation with such an unsettling query. Against your better judgment, you decided not to indulge the caller's strange curiosity and swiftly reached for the end call button.

 The room fell silent, suffocating in the absence of sound. However, the stillness lasted merely seconds before the shrill ring of the phone shattered the peace once again, causing your stomach to knot up in apprehension. With trembling hands, you reached for your phone and glanced at the illuminated screen.

 "Unknown Number."

 Dread seeped through your veins, pooling in the pit of your stomach as you braced yourself for the unknown. Your intuition screamed at you, warning of imminent danger lurking just beyond the realm of comprehension. Was this merely a prank call, or something far more sinister?

 The incessant ringing came to an abrupt halt, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Perspiration trickled down your forehead as you let out a sigh of relief, but the knot of fear in your gut refused to loosen its grip. Uneasily, you made your way to your closet, casting furtive glances around as if expecting a malevolent presence to materialize. The phone once again, starting ringing. You couldn’t handle the sound of the ringing anymore, so you decided to answer it. Before you could get any words out, the other person cut you off.

"Don't. Hang. Up. On. Me. Dearheart," his voice punctuated each word, sending chills down your spine. You could feel the icy grip of fear wrapping around you as you spoke into the receiver, feeling as though he had you trapped within the confines of your own home.

"I-I'm sorry," your voice trembled, struggling to maintain composure in the face of this terrifying situation. You had no idea who this person was or what they wanted from you, but their possessive tone sent shivers down your spine.

"Now, what's your favorite scary movie?" he reiterated his first question, his voice filled with anticipation. Panic washed over you. You didn't watch horror movies often, so you were at a loss for words. You stammered, "Um... Halloween."

His laughter echoed through the line, making your blood run cold. "Ah, Halloween. Classic choice," he chuckled, relishing in your vulnerability. "Now, was that so hard, dearheart? You're doing great. I just have a few more questions."

You couldn't understand why he was asking these random questions, but you knew better than to defy him. "Okay, next question. What's your name?" he asked, his voice dripping with desperation. You could hear his heavy breathing, and it only added to the growing sense of dread within you.

"My name?" you repeated, bewildered and afraid. "Why do you need to know my name? Who are you?"

A sinister chuckle escaped him, and in that moment, you knew that there was no escape from this twisted game. "I just want to know who I'm looking at, my dear," he replied, his words laced with a chilling mix of curiosity and malice.

“Oh dear, do you think you locked me in or out?” He taunted, his voice dripping with an unsettling confidence. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut - he was right. The door that separated you from him was locked, but you couldn't remember if it was locked from the inside or outside. Panic began to well up inside you, your mind racing to find a solution.

 Your eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that could offer some form of protection. But everything seemed to be firmly mounted to the walls, leaving you defenseless. A sinking feeling settled in your chest as the gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon you.

 “I’ll call the police,” you threatened, desperately clinging to any semblance of control. But your words were met with a chilling response.

 “Call the police, so they can see the bloodbath that I’ll leave you in,” he retorted, a sadistic smile spreading across his face. The sheer malice in his voice sent shivers down your spine, your blood turning to ice.

 In a surge of desperation, you flung open the closet door and made a mad dash for the exit. Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum, the adrenaline fueling your every move. But just as you reached the locked bedroom door, you were abruptly knocked down by an unseen force.

 “Oh dearheart, what a dumb thing to do,” he sneered, looming over you as you lay sprawled on the floor. His voice mocked you, pierced your soul. Everything about him seemed hauntingly familiar, yet shrouded in an air of mystery. His face was concealed behind a ghostly white mask, a stark contrast to the ominous black cloak that draped his figure.

 Fear surged through your veins as you tried to gather your wits, to find a way out of this nightmarish situation. But as you struggled to push yourself up, his grip tightened around your wrists, rendering you helpless.

 His masked visage leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You can't escape me, darling. I've been watching you for far too long. I know everything about you, and there's nowhere you can hide.”

 The combination of his words and the sinister confidence in his voice elicited a chill that crept up your spine, leaving your body paralyzed with terror. It felt like a sick game, where every move you made only served to tighten his grip on you.

 As your mind raced, desperately trying to come up with a plan, a flicker of courage ignited within you. Desperation breathed life into your voice as you yelled for help, hoping against hope that someone, anyone, would hear your cries and come to your aid.

 But the room remained silent, amplifying the overwhelming sense of isolation and despair. It seemed like time stretched on endlessly, with each passing second chipping away at your resolve.

“What do you want from me?” You asked quietly, he titled his head and laughed but refused to answer. He then decided to pick you up, and carried you to the bed

“Oh nothing dearheart, just play my game sweet girl.” He wasn’t using his voice changer, that he used on the phone.

“Wait? Wesker?” You’re the Raccon City slasher? You couldn’t believe it, why was he doing this. He removed the mask and revealed his signature cat like eyes and blonde hair.

“Hmm very good dearheart, you’re just as intelligent as Excella said you were.”

“Now beg for it.” Wesker demanded. He moved your legs apart and got nestled in between them.

“Please Wesker, touch me.” You felt shameful for begging, but you had the biggest crush on him. You shivered under his touch, your body felt electric. He removed his gloves and threw them aside, you reached for his belt buckle and started to unhook it with shaky hands. You weren’t scared anymore, he was your boss. You just didn’t think he would ever do this. Or you knew he could, but the burning question was why.

He removed his belt, then yanked off your robe. He laid harsh kisses on your collar bone, leaving sloppy kisses on your body. He got off you for a moment, to grab the gleaming knife from his holster. He was careful with his movements, so he didn’t accidentally cut you. He started on your stomach and trailed the knife lower and lower, growing bored. He threw the knife aside with a loud clank.

“Spread your legs, sweet girl.” You did as you were told, then wesker started prepping you. He pressed one finger into your cunt, after a few seconds he added another. He yanked his pants off hastily and got into position, you felt his cock growing hard against your thigh.

“For someone who was scared,you sure are wet.” He laughed while housing his cock into you. His pace started out rough, the sound of skin slapping together could be heard from down the hall.. The room was hot, sweat pored down his chest. You grabbed the throw blanket to wipe him off a bit.

Within minutes, you vision got fuzzy. You were getting closer, you bucked your hips up to meet his pace. He let out a groan, when you ran your nails down his back.

“Don’t cum until I say you can, understand?” You nodded your head yes - you knew it wouldn’t be wise to disobey him.

“That’s right, take it!” He was practically growling at this point, his usually neat hair was strung all over his face. He grabbed you legs so he could place them on his shoulders.

Your orgasm was on the horizon, and your legs locked together, causing him to grin.

“Hmm so close are we? I guess you deserve to cum don’t you?” You cried out, clutching onto him as your continued to scratch your nails down his back. He pulled out and got off the bed, he walked into the bathroom. A few moments later, he came back with a wet cloth. He came back to you and gently wiped you up. You shivered after the warmth left your body, he threw the cloth aside and climbed back into bed. He pulled you into him, you snuggled into him, to get the warmth back.

#┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ allyse talks ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #resident evil remake albert wesker #albert wesker smut #albert wesker headcanons #albert wesker fanfic #dbd albert wesker x you #dbd albert wesker x reader #wesker x you #dbd albert wesker #dbd the mastermind #dbd wesker

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beetleviolet · 24 days

Text

So uh... anyone remember this post? About rottmnt Raph and Leo post invasion?

@midwesternvibes i did it.

I didn't go super deep into it because like. What do you even do in that situation lmao. And I'm not sure I did the idea justice. Idk. Might do another draft before I post it on ao3. Super proud of all my metaphors and shit tho.

(Tw: PTSD, panic attacks, crying, negative self talk, suicidal thoughts (kind of?? Blink and you'll miss it. Its a hyperbole anyway but better safe then sorry))

meteor shower (quick, take cover)

The worst part about it was that Raph had seen it coming.

They were all jumpy. Trigger-sad and still pulling themselves back together. The crashing of pots as they spilled out of the cupboard, and everyone in the kitchen jumped out of their skin. Leo flinched a second time as Raph landed from his (admittedly embarrassing) hop. His little brother's breath hitched and hitched and he ducked his head to the floor, staring staring staring. His cane clattered to the floor.

“Oh buddy…” Raph dropped his voice soft. Leo's eyes locked onto him. He stumbled, arm reaching blindly behind to find its grip on the counter. He fell, frame shaking. His eyes didn't leave Raph's, Raph's right eye, droning up and down his arm. Hitch, hitch, hitch hitch hitch.

Raph took a step forward. And Leo-

Leo

Leo raised his arms, taking himself to the floor without the support. He ducked his head, limbs already starting to retreat into his shell. And Leo looked up at him, eyes big and shaking and welled up tears and and and

Beside him, Mikey unfroze, bounding forward before Raph could stop him.

“Mike, I don't think-” He trailed off as Leo peaked up, reaching for Mikey with unrestrained sobs. He held his little brother close, only looking up to watch Raph. Again, their eyes locked.

Terror. Panic. Horror. Fear. The hitch hitch hitch when Raph raised a hand. So he stepped back instead. Back and back and back until he was running out of their kitchen, glancing over his shoulder in time to see Leo relax, just a little. Just enough.

Raph punched his wall. His wall, this time. Not Leo's or Leo or anything else. He breathed, hard eyes roaming and landing on a pile of stuffies by his pillow.

He'd like to say he did anything else, but Raph fell into bed, held a stuffed cat tight to his chest, and cried.

The plushie's name was Kitty-Kitty. Once, when they were really little, Leo tore her arm off in a fit of rage and safety scissors. Raph cried and then Leo cried and then Mikey cried, overwhelmed with it all. Leo sewed the arm back on and even added a little heart on her sleeve. The clumsy stitches had long since fallen out, but Raph had sewn them back year after year and kept it and held it close, tight to his chest as he cried like a child. He cried and he cried. It seemed the world was constantly finding new and creative ways to break his heart. (Or maybe not so creative because)

(Well)

(He'd seen it all coming)

Raph let himself drown, let himself toss and turn and wallow in the salty leftovers on his cheeks. Like a beached whale, he let himself wallow, just a bit.

Donnie once said that dead whales could explode. Maybe Raph would explode. He wished he would, just a little, if only so he wouldn't have to get back up and see that look in Leo's eyes ever again. Ever, ever again.

But he would, wouldn't he? The next panic attack, the next mission gone awry, the next the next the next… It kept going and going. The next… what if Raph got weird again? Leo had always been the best at calming him down, bringing him back. What if Leo couldn't do it? Got too scared, was hurt too bad? Decided that it just. Wasn't worth it.

Raoh let another wave of tears wash over him. Usually after a good cry he felt cleaned out, hollowed chest and burning nostrils, insides sanded and painted with white wash, fresh and new. Maybe it was just a bad cry, because he still felt all stuffed and overwhelmed and big and heavy and gross, insides all slime and goo and and and

Raph picked up that train of thought, dragged it through his mind palace, and threw it in the moat.

He took stock.

Raph was tired. His nostrils burned and any emotion was still a messy, unnamable blarehorn, though his eyes had nothing left to produce but the liquid ache that flowed like a lava lamp behind them.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock

That was Leo's knock. Raph tensed. Leo's knock was usually accompanied by a greeting or a yell or the sound of something breaking. It was odd to just…hear the knocks, all hesitant and lonely.

“You there, big guy?” There it was. Leo's voice was still gravelly from earlier, still a little quiet. Raph's heart clenched. He stacked his courage and spoke,

“Hi.” Wow. Nice one, Raphie.

“Hey.” Leo was close to the door. Raph could imagine him, shell against the wall, his arms crossed and head tilted back so he could speak without having to face the quiet subway car, a new dent on its side.

Maybe he had his forehead up against the cold metal of the sliding door, condensation decorating its surface, staring at the floor. Staring, staring, just a little.

Or maybe he was just standing there like normal. Raph doubted it, somehow.

“Listen, Raph, I..” His voice broke, a lightning strike down the middle. Lightning actually does hit the same place twice, Raph remembered Donnie explaining, more likely to, even. “I'm so sorry.”

“‘s not your fault.” His voice was a twin wobble. Leo chuckled,

“Heh, snot…” Raph felt his mouth twitch up.

“...do you wanna come in?” He asked, trying to keep his voice from being all nervous and weird. Like Raph was anything but nervous and weird. Super weird.

Leo didn't answer, but Raph heard the jerk of the handle and the door slid open. And…

Post-panic attack Leo always made Raph want to scoop his brother up in his arms and never let him go. With red eyes, shaky and distant, quiet breaths before a quick deep one, like he suddenly remembered how. Everything about him was… dialed down. Like he was too tired to keep his brightness up all the way.

It's not that he wanted Leo to pretend he was okay, but reminders that he wasn't hurt too. And Raph couldn't scoop his brother up and never let him go. Besides the obvious impracticality, he would just make everything worse.

But his palms turned up without him meaning too, and Leo stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around Raph's neck. Not too tight, just there. Secure. Raph's hand hovered over his brother's shell, not daring to brush the cracks, almost trembling at the thought of falling anywhere near Leo's throat. So small. Leo was larger than life, but Raph's little brother was so, so small.

“This is lame,” Leo whined, “Hug me!”

“You sure?” He asked. Whispered. Leo grumbled, tucking further into Raph's chest.

“It was the Krang, not you.” Raph took a breath, a little shudder,

“Then it was your brain juice, and not you.” Leo didn't answer for one beat, two, three,

“Then hug me, stupid.”

“Aye, watch it!” But Leo didn't so much as flinch as Raph's arms wrapped around him, held him close. They breathed for a bit. It was the Krang, not you. Not you. Not Raph.

Raph pressed his head down, tension whirlpooling down the drain. It was a little odd, wasn't it? Because, well,

He hadn't seen this coming.

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wolfoftheblackflames · 1 month

Text

I had plenty of fun doing this fic, and once again I spoil you my misfits as I give you more. As I said before I plan to release the full thing on Ao3 so enjoy the parts as I create them.

The Devil and the Innocent: Pt.3

Vaggie watched as the blonde Devil came back over growling softly. “Come…” She ordered as Vaggie nodded.

“Why should I?” The smaller woman asked glaring.

“Do you want to stay in the dungeons? I'm offering you a chance for a room at least.” The Devil replied growling

“Fine..” With that Vaggie followed the Devil.

The two walked in silence but Vaggie couldn't help but noticed how well dressed the Devil looked, in a worn out red suit with ripped slacks that showed those powerful legs ending with red hooves, a flowing white and red cloak draped along those broad shoulders, and a neatly button up white shirt that was open slightly to allow some blonde fur to peek out. “You never told me your name…” Vaggie asked cautiously since she knew this beast could easily throw her around.

“It's a name forgotten by time but… If you must know it's Charlie.” The Devil replied looking sad. “Everything besides the west wing is available. This is your room.” Charlie opened a door to a rather cozy looking guest room. “Goodnight.”

“Hey.” Vaggie replied as Charlie looked at her. “To answer your question. I'm Vagatha, or Vaggie for short.” She looked at Charlie who blinked. “Goodnight Charlie..” She vanished into the room, closing the door.

Charlie lingered there for a moment, her eyes falling to where Vaggie once stood. She soon turned to leave trying to ignore the guilt that rose up since she was forcing the brave woman to stay. “See it's already workin’ on the giant.” Angel smirked watching the princess look a little calmer somewhat.

“I wonder if this is the one who'll save her broken heart?” Alastor replied, looking a little annoyed. He didn't like the fact his blood thirsty mistress was turning soft again.

“Well she fuckin better be, I can't stand being this stupid ass monkey!” Cherri growled, waving one of her symbols.

“Patience Misssy, we'll be normal soon enough.” Sir Pentious added but winced when he saw his crush turn away crossing her arms.

Husk sighed but couldn't help but wonder if what Alastor said was right. “First time she's let someone actually stay. Even if it's forced..”

---

Inside the rather nice lavish room, Vaggie sighed sitting on the comfy bed. She wondered if Carmilla got home alright. Though those thoughts were interrupted by a soft dull pain. A knock came as Vaggie blinked heading over since it was something to distract her. “Hello?”

“Hello darling, my name is Rosie. I've come to see if you'd like some tea, and maybe some snacks?” The beautiful teapot spoke, causing Vaggie to back up.

“What the fuck..” The Latina uttered bumping into a red and purple master dresser.

“Oy watch the merchandise!” A shrill British accent popped out of it as Vaggie blinked, falling onto the bed.

“Velvette dear, try not to spook the guest.” Rosie scolded.

Velvette huffed as Rosie poured some tea into Niffty’s cup form. “Not another woman… Can't I just go clean instead?”

“Not right now darling. Now be a good dear and listen to your mother.” Rosie nudged her with her spout.

“Fine..” Niffty casually hopped over not spilling the tea mixed with sugar.

Vaggie blinked but she noticed the little cup waiting for her. “I'll admit you're kinda a pretty little cup..” She picked up Niffty who blinked at her.

“I like to squish cockroaches with my body.” Niffty added making Vaggie wince a bit.

“That's nice…” She hesitantly drank the tea but blinked as it felt nice and warm.

“Don't mind Niffty darling. I always give her a soap bath when she does that.” Rosie added.

“Well I ain't staying in this ugly bitch’s room.” Velvette casually hopped away making Rosie look annoyed.

“We'll get you a new less chatty dresser darling. Sorry for that one.”

Vaggie sighed. “It's been a long night. Might I just sleep?” She groaned softly as Rosie nodded. “Of course darling. Though I couldn't help but notice you're holding your eyepatch.”

Niffty had already zipped out once put down happily running down the halls. “Just something from the past…” Vaggie muttered but blinked seeing a little table scamper in with a bottle on top.

“It's a small thing, dearie, but it'll help with the pain.” Rosie bowed and hopped off.

Vaggie just blinked as she took the small bottle into her hands with some odd clear liquid with herbs inside. “Um thanks..” She replied as the table followed Rosie out, leaving Vaggie alone. She couldn't wrap her head around this strange place, talking everyday objects, ruined old portraits that litter the halls, some which had depicted a family at some point, but claws had torn them up, and that monster, the Devil. Vaggie sighed softly and took some of the potion offered. It really did help with the phantom pain, much to her surprise. “I suppose it won't be so bad here..”

----

It had been only a day since Vaggie came to live at the castle, she didn't mind it but a part of her missed her routines with Carmilla, or the snarking banter of Odette and Clara. She sighed softly wandering around, the many demonic looking statues along the walls and halls gave her the creeps. “The West wing..” She looked over at it. It was the one place Charlie forbade entry too despite everywhere else being free roam. She later returned to her room once she was done exploring.

Charlie walked towards the guest room and knocked. “How are you liking it here..? I noticed you left your room earlier. Are my staff tending to you well enough?” She asked, still being growly.

Vaggie blinked, surprised hearing the Devil, no Charlie being so attentive. She didn't feel like leaving the room, after all it's still a prison if not a neatly decorated one. It's what a murderer like her deserved. “Why is she…” Vaggie muttered sitting on the bed. “I don't understand this at all..”

“Hey blondie, invite her to dinner.” Angel nudged as Charlie gulped.

It came out more forceful than she wanted it to be. “You'll join me for dinner, it isn't a request..” She growled as it left feeling so awkward. “Shit shit shit!” She growled as she's sure it must've scared Vaggie.

“How about no?” The Latina replied.

“What?!” Charlie snapped growling.

“Try uh being lesss growly?” Sir Pentious asked.

Charlie looked at the little objects but grumbled. “She's being a little difficult, understandably so… But fine.” The Devil sighed and gulped. “Would you like to come down to dinner?” She tried not to sound growly but it came through regardless.

“Try adding a please.” Sir Pentious smiled.

“Please Vaggie?” Charlie added, still sounding growly but she started to fidget.

“I already said no.” Vaggie replied looking slightly annoyed.

“You can't exactly stay in there, you know?” Charlie growled, fighting back her demonic urge to rip the door off.

“A la mierda eres un terco.” (Fuck you're a stubborn one.) Veggie hissed softly. “I can and will, after all it is my room now right?” She snarled, adding some sass.

Charlie couldn't hold back the cursed beast from roaring out. “Fine then, go ahead and starve!” The Devil growled huffing before turning towards the others. “If she doesn't eat with me, she doesn't eat at all. Understand?”

“Yesss…” Sir Pentious looked away as Charlie stormed off.

“Oh good the demon came out again.” Alastor grinned.

“Not now radiohead.” Angel stated glaring.

“How about you stay here and keep an eye on our guest?” Husk stated as Angel nodded.

Charlie went into the west wing and tried to hold back her anger. “Of course it had to fucking come out. This damn curse…” She growled but then went over to a small bowl resting on the table. “Show me Vaggie, please…” She spoke looking down into the water. It shimmered with soft magic and showed Charlie what she wanted.

Vaggie leaned on the windowsil looking out at the forest below. “Baap!” A friendly little goat plush waved at Vaggie.

“Baap baap!” Another came beside her.

“Look she fucking took my mentor hostage, and now I'm stuck here. I can't even see my family again because of this deal.” She growled looking away. “I don't want anything to do with an asshole like her.”

Charlie started to tear up slightly and lightly scratched the image in the water away. “I'm sorry… I guess I'm only going to be a monster to you huh…” She fought the urge to cry. “What can I do to make things okay… There's still hope, right?” She muttered, releasing some tears. “There has to be..”

---

Vaggie pinched her nosebridge. “What the hell are you playing at?” She couldn't figure the Devil out. But she then blinked, searching the leather bag she had on her for the book. “No fucking way…”. It had been a short children's story to keep the little ones from venturing into Hellfire forest, but now that she was here, it started to make sense. The Devil who looked so monstrous and spoke so viciously was indeed the princess who lost her heart to the prince.

“I see you're one who likes to read.” A voice piped in as Vaggie blinked, turning to the speaker. “And seems gears are turning in your head, eh?” She heard it say she couldn't believe her eyes. It was a white and red rubber duck with a slicked back hairstyle and white top hat.

“Uh… Who the fuck are you?” She blurted as the duck looked offended.

“Why I'm the cursed King of course! Lucifer Morningstar of the Pride Kingdom, at your service.” He politely bowed.

“As in the king who vanished, leaving his only child alone?” Vaggie looked angrily at the duck.

“It wasn't by choice, I swear! My lovely wife went missing seven years prior to all this, and I was held up in the East Wing of this place. Then some old crone enchantress decided to turn me into this, and my baby char-char into a monster!” Lucifer squeaked, flapping his plastic wings.

Vaggie looked skeptical. “So everything here is under a spell?” She asked not buying it.

“Yes! Oh please miss, save my little applepie, I'm powerless in this form and that stupid witch cursed me so all I can do is quack around Charlie and the others!” He took her hand into his own little wings. “She doesn't deserve to suffer anymore…”

Vaggie gave a soft look and gently picked up the duck. “Alright fine, but I'm shit at lying and even worse at comforting people.” She started and narrowed her eye. “So how the fuck can I help the princess?”

“Well you're literally all I got. So figure that out, and hurry. I don't think we have a lot of time left.” Lucifer stated “Now attend that dinner Maggie!”

“It's Vaggie..” The Latina replied looking unamused. She plopped Lucifer down and went to change behind the dressing screen. The ducky stayed put, being polite as he waited for his comrade.

Lucifer smiled sitting with the goat dolls. “These two are Razzle and Dazzle by the way. I also heard you denied going to dinner?”

“Yes? Because she was literally being an asshole.” Vaggie replied casually from behind the screen.

“Oh please go down and talk to my little sweet baby, she's just a lonely little girl with a broken heart.” Lucifer pleaded.

“Baaap!” Razzle added his voice pleading as well.

“Baap bap!” Dazzle sounded sadden.

Vaggie looked over at the clothes that had been laid out for her. She sighed softly. “Alright, quit sounding so pitiful, I'll go down and see her…” She groaned, putting on one of the many outfits.

(Thanks for reading this part my misfit ^^ Don't be afraid to leave a comment, I love feed back and such ^^)

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silkendandelion · 4 months

Text

My Own, Distant Home (Chapter 2), A Fears to Fathom: Ironbark Lookout fanfiction

Chapter 1, ao3 link

Jack Nelson x Connor Hawkins Words: 16.6k Genre: Horror, humor, smut

Rated Explicit for sexual content, strong language, horror elements, frightening imagery and descriptions of violence.

A romantic, deceptively creepy, canon-compliant retelling of the game's narrative where Jack and Connor are more fleshed out characters, and not immune to the emotional threads that form when your only friend is a voice on the radio—until he isn't. The main story of the game remains relatively untouched, as well as carrying over horror elements and frightening imagery to surround the added subplot.

~*~

All Connor had offered him was some soup.

What luck could Jack attribute to his current predicament, standing between open knees while Connor leans against the cheap, peeling counter-top and allows him to kiss him?

His fuzzy thoughts, so captured by the arms around his shoulders, recall helping to clean the dishes so they would have clean bowls, some teasing comment from Connor about the size of his hands when he rolled up his sleeves. A polite but muttered “excuse me” as he placed his hand on the small of Connor’s back to get the hand towel, and the drift of curious eyes over Jack’s face when he does it again to get the spoons.

The soup was never actually served once Jack took the beer offered to him, downing half the bottle in one greedy, nervous swallow. He recalls a long moment of tension, standing too close, about to ask if Connor wanted one too when he takes the bottle from his hand, tongue pressed to the tip as he finishes it.

If Jack could wrestle his thoughts back, he might be horribly embarrassed he leaned in first, though how ashamed can he be for his enthusiasm when Connor answered by pulling him closer, fingers combing into his hair, and legs parting to make a space for him?

He moans into the lazy, welcoming kisses, surprised at the shiver that zips up his back when Connor answers him. If only he would let him, Jack would stay there for hours and kiss him until his lips are bruised, tongue sore, and drunk on all the genuine, little noises he offered up so freely.

“Hit the lights, will you?” Connor pulled away just enough to let those brown eyes take the rest of Jack’s reservations. “The stove gives off enough light, and I’ll be damned if some wet hiker thinks I’m on office hours and comes up here to see you inside me.”

Jack isn’t prepared for how hard that makes him, suddenly wrested for breath and tightening his hands on Connor’s sides. In his mind, Jack has already ravished him a hundred times, in all the lascivious and romantic ways he was too ashamed to admit. He nearly forgets the man of his most recent dreams is right here, wanting him, waiting for him to blink.

“You—is that no good?” Connor tries to backpedal when his distracted nervousness lends no answer, blushing hard as Jack stays frozen in the ‘v’ of his knees, almost nose to nose with their stares flicking between eyes and lips.

“We can do something else if you want, I’m down with probably most things you’ll suggest—” Connor gasps when both hands grip his waist, lifting him bodily and taking him to the bed to be dropped onto the mattress with a hard, ozone-tinged kiss.

Connor gives up a helpless moan into his mouth, having never been kissed with someone’s entire body: from the bold tongue coaxing him to moan again to warm palms skimming over everything they want to squeeze in the order they please. Down his thighs, up around the small of his back, leaving sparks on his heated skin as they flip up the hem of his shirt to dig fingertips into the soft skin of his admittedly ticklish sides.

“You brat,” Connor huffs out, shaking but not from the cold when he wrestles his lips back, and restless hips slot against him as his cheeky answer.

“Hey—new guy.” He slides his fingers into Jack’s hair and pulls him up from where he was getting distracted mouthing at the freckle behind his ear.

“You forgot the lights.” There it was, the smoke Jack remembered from his dream, deep as whiskey and just as hot in his belly, making his limbs all loose and cock prone to stiffen. But the smirk, the one declaring Connor is as willing as Jack is hard—that was new.

“Got it.”

He flies to hit the light switch—literally, giving it a little swat before he nearly trips over himself to be back on the bed, crowding into Connor’s personal space in what he considers record time.

“Took you long enough, Jack, now I’m cold again,” he teases quietly, bumping their noses to catch his eyes.

Surely, Jack thinks, he must be able to hear his heart racing from so close. Would he be pleased if he knew it races most times he speaks, every time he teases him? It might never slow down, now that he knows what Connor looks like, biting his kiss-swollen lips and working his body to heatstroke with only his inviting gaze.

“I’ll do better next time.” Jack pants, licking his lips for another kiss.

“Next time?” Connor chuckles, leaning coyly out of the reach of his lips, and pressing a plastic bottle of lube into his palm Jack hadn’t seen him grab.

When he speaks again, the smoke is all but gone, leaving a melancholy that didn’t belong in a warm bed on a stormy night with the closest thing they both had to a friend. “Guys like us… we don’t get a lot of next times.”

His answering sigh is grateful, soft and trailed by the quietest moan when Jack tries to chase the dark thought away with nibbles of kisses up his neck, stopping to speak into his ear. “I’d like to have a next time with you, if you’ll have me… and—did you get this lube from under your pillow?”

“I keep that up my ass, actually.”

“You’re—” Jack stifled his chuckle against the shoulder bared by Connor’s rumpled shirt. “Stop making me laugh, I don’t wanna get soft.”

“One laugh gets you soft? Well, I’m in trouble then—oof.” He grunts when Jack adjusts them to fit better on the small bed, admittedly not wide enough to condone most physical activity. But where there’s a will, and all that.

“What a gentleman.” Connor says, sarcastic but only teasing when Jack makes sure he gets the only pillow behind his head. There was something else in his tone, something genuinely adoring Jack didn’t have the allocated brain capacity to dwell on.

“Kinda makes me miss the bear who threw me down on this bed, though.”

“I should have apologized for manhandling you.” Jack admits shyly, fidgeting with the peeling corner of the bottle’s label, ‘For Men and Women, Made in the USA.’

“Don’t.” Connor replies, and the smoke returning to his voice has Jack meeting his eyes to admire him, the beginnings of a flush creeping down his neck, the excited tent of him in his sweatpants.

“I want all of you.”

It was the moment Jack realized he had a switch, somewhere, and Connor clearly got off on playing with the damned thing. He wanted to tell him to be gentle, but couldn’t deny his curiosity to find out how good it might feel to be held by someone who wanted your pleasure as much as theirs.

“Let’s get these off you,” said Jack, rough and needy.

But as their layers come off over disheveled hair, the appearance of more skin only makes it harder to stop kissing. Jack takes his lips back, what he believes is selfishly, to suck kisses into the dusting of blonde hair on his pectorals, his perked, dusky nipples, and Connor answers with the bite of his nails on his shoulder blades, then curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

Jack waited for the inevitable switch, to be punished for being seen wanting, for asking, for taking, but Connor only encouraged him with revelry.

“More, Jack, feels—good,” he panted, raising his hips into Jack’s wandering lips as they leave wet marks across his stomach, and a hard suck over his iliac crest makes his back arch off the sheets.

“These too?” Jacks asks softly while thumbing their boxers, and Connor nods, both of their hands coming down to strip the other. He stills, and Jack briefly believes he’s being lazy, until he realizes he has a… stunned audience.

There, Jack laid against the length of him—thicker, longer, with an attractive curve, a head on him, peeking from beneath a velvety foreskin that made saliva pool under his tongue. Connor considered himself pleasantly average, he was, but Jack was… gorgeous.

“That’s a nice surprise,” he said, so quietly Jack figured he meant it more to himself than him. If he hadn’t, the pull of his teeth over his lip while he stroked him, gently and too loose was enough to communicate loud and clear he liked what he saw.

The sight of him gawking gave Jack all sorts of pesky ideas, of Connor coaxing him to lie back, swallowing him down at whatever mind-melting, teasing pace would drive him to insanity, the long line of his toned back arched up for Jack’s viewing pleasure. Ideas he really, really needed to shake away if he was going to last long enough to please him.

“Do you want to put your mouth on it?” An embarrassing question, one Jack regretted as soon as it left his mouth, but Connor just licked his lips. Seemed he was imagining it too.

“Next time.”

Jack managed, barely, to stay strong under the shiver that raced up his back. If Connor kept being so patient with him, pressing soft, overwhelming words like “please” and “wanted” into his skin, he wasn’t so sure he was going to be able to leave—he might have to ask to move in.

“Get inside me already.”

Maybe he could raise a tent down in the forest if Connor wouldn’t let him sleep in the bed.

“Okay. Yeah, all right,” he said with one more deep kiss, fumbling to slick his first and second fingers while Connor’s hips made impatient little circles.

“Start slo—ow,” Connor moaned when Jack busied himself with swirling around his rim, neglecting to dip inside, not even as his pulsing, ignored cock dotted pre onto the back of his spread thigh.

“Not that slow… C’mon, Jack, I’m sufferin’,” he murmured with the rural drawl that crept into his voice when he wanted something bad enough to beg.

Jack nodded, flushing shy at his unintentional teasing, though the moonlight and wood fire hardly gave away his redness. Below him, Connor’s eyes slip closed, head pressing into the pillow when he finally has long, calloused fingers inside him. Eager, decidedly not clever fingers that drove him crazy with their missing of his prostate. And yet they spread him gently, thoroughly, touching parts of his insides he usually ignores, and making his body simmer on a steadily rising heat. Against him, Jack’s growing need has become a steady, sticky dribble, with lips seeking any skin he can reach.

“A little to your left—let me show you.”

But Connor never gets the chance because Jack takes his instruction to the letter, suddenly all over the sensitive spot, too much too fast, capable only to cry his surprise as Jack grinds his fingers upwards in the same rhythm as his cock against the back of Connor’s thigh.

“Shit—” Connor moans for him, voice beginning to shake and rocking his hips down into his palm until the lightning in his belly is outpacing the storm outside.

“F-fuck me,” he hisses. “Fuck me already, Jack, I want it.”

“Yeah… Yeah, okay.” He leaves a last kiss on his shoulder and rearranges their limbs among the wounded gasp Connor makes when he slips his fingers free.

He uses his dirty hand to get himself wet, not that he needed anymore help (or stimulation). A pair of clean hands take ahold of him, one bringing Jack bodily forward to cover him with his warmth, and the other to guide him into his body.

To be seated inside him, his flushed body and glowing charm, is to find stars in a thunderstorm.

“Are you… all right?” Jack asks finally, both proud of himself for thinking to ask a polite question, and worried to watch Connor’s brow scrunch and twist. The breath he gasps out is decidedly pleasure, overwhelmed by the heat at the base of his spine while he wonders if Jack thinks he’s making an attractive face.

“Fuck me. Please.”

Connor swears to the rickety ceiling when he starts moving, urgent and honest moans worked up from his throat by the enthusiastic, steady throw of his hips. The little bed certainly wasn’t made for Jack’s eagerness to please, but there was little room in Connor to care when he was so full.

“Yes… Yes, fuck—” He grabbed at the mattress for leverage to rock back against him, stoke the fire that curled beneath his navel.

Damn the storm outside whipping around windows, damn the worry about what really lives in these woods, the only thought in either of their bloodless brains is to have more of each other, more of this raptured attention they didn’t know could light up their nerves with all the clarity of a lightning strike to the forest floor.

Connor’s audibly displeased when Jack pauses his stroke to lean up, perturbed at the cold air slipping between their chests. A soft “I’m sorry, baby” is only mildly soothing to his buzzing nerves, but the revised position promises strength, leverage, and Jack’s shaking fingers come down to grip like hot iron on his waist to yank him back into the snap of his hips. The liquid fire up their spines is immediate, as is Connor’s vocal appreciation, unable to keep his eyes open while he moans Jack’s praises in a litany of fervid gasps.

“G-god, that’s good, Jack. Jack, oh—my god.” His moans migrate to his chest, deeper, sounding fucked out already when his numb hands can no longer hold onto the sheets.

Jack swallows, his mouth is so dry but he can’t imagine not chasing this heat, not when Connor’s fluttering around him, getting tighter, moans suddenly caught in his throat as he floods the soft plane of his belly with hot cum. Surprise creases his brow as much as pleasure, among the bone-deep bliss of an untouched orgasm in the tears on the waterline of his lashes.

He fucks him through it, couldn’t imagine not answering those sweet, pleading gasps of “don’t stop, don’t stop”, prolonging his pleasure like it was his own to chase. The shivers he gets when Connor whimpers, stuttering out “too much, s-stop”, are worth his delayed gratification, as are the soft, sleepy eyes he turns on him when his legs quit shaking.

“Did you—?” Connor says as he swallows, moving up onto his elbows, though whatever concern he meant to voice was cut off by his startled gasp when Jack gently pulled himself out.

“What are you—oh,” he crooned, hands threading into Jack’s hair when he covered him suddenly, whimpering among fevered panting as his fist flew over his swollen, red cock. Connor cradled him in the open angle of his thighs, the fingers on his nape, his own stomach flipping at the wet, slick sound of Jack’s wrist working himself into shakes.

“Come on, Jack, you—” He kissed him hard to capture his startled cry, undulated his spine to catch his spend in the mixed pool of them on his abdomen. Among a muted, faraway rumble of thunder, he smoothed his palms over all the heated skin he could reach, quelling his shakes and letting him come down slow in the warm bend of his shoulder. “You did… so good.”

When Jack had come to his tower tonight, confessing he was worried, Connor found little shame in offering a little stress relief if he was also interested. It wasn’t a habit he made, to kiss the New Guy, especially not the one who believed there were people in these woods building fires for occult rituals.

But he could hardly feel embarrassed, not now that he felt… cherished was a good word.

“Hey,” he called, quietly but more than a little upset when Jack untangled them to try to leave the bed.

“I thought you were a gentleman. Or do people not cuddle anymore?”

“Uh—sure,” he chuffed with a little smile. “Let me get something to clean you up first.”

“Already on it, new guy. You think I keep lube close and not rags? I’m hurt.” Connor ran a flannel over their cum on his belly, though he found his hole too sore to fuss over.

Jack’s self-awareness returned to him with the feeling in his legs as his orgasm settled into a pleasant buzz. “Am I still ‘new guy’ after everything?”

“You’re ‘new guy’ whenever you say something dumb. ‘Jack’ is… he’s a little insecure, but he’s sweet. Always does his best.” Connor simpered at him, drowsy and warm as Jack scooted up to lay against his side.

“Are you saying that because you like me?”

“I’m saying that because you laid me like pipe, goddamn,” they both laughed quietly in the darkness. The storm outside was less thunder now, more white noise rain pattering on the old roof of the tower.

“And because I think you’re a good guy… Jack.”

For a long moment, there’s only the blanket of the rain and their slowing heartbeats between them, among the quiet blooming of something gentler, fed and watered by a moment of vulnerability in an inhospitable landscape.

“Don’t go chasing rumors. Don’t create monsters where there are none. Not when the world can’t afford to lose any more good guys. And when it doesn’t need any more monsters than it already has.”

When Connor spoke so confidently, the way he always did, so sure of his own opinion and trusting of his own eyes—Jack felt he could almost believe him.

For now, there was nothing he could do in the dark, nothing he wanted to do besides lie contented in Connor’s version of the world, relaxed and warm with a guy he didn’t need to know well to know that here—for now, he was safe.

“…Okay, Connor. You got it.”

“Night, Jack.”

“Goodnight.”

The two of them fell into a dead sleep for hours, long enough to rest until the sky is clear, the sun is up, and the birds are all that’s watching them from the trees.

5 DAYS LATER

Only hours after Jack leaves Tower 12 does Connor’s generator stop working completely, and for days after the solution continues to evade him. That’s nothing to be said about the piece of junk’s age, but Connor is nothing if not determined, though most everyone who’s ever met him has chosen to use the phrase “stubborn ass”.

The portable generator Billy loaned him, the one meant to jump-start his truck’s battery in an emergency, couldn’t hope to keep the lights on or the appliances running, but was thankfully enough to keep his radio alive for communication. Still, Jack was tasked with monitoring his sector for fires, as well as checking on him twice a day, appearing over the trail ridge every morning and night with a pep that Connor swore out-shined the sun.

Oh, the sun.

He supposed the wild temperature changes also explained the sporadic rain, but such unseasonably warm days during this crisis of utilities could only either be tragic luck, or one of his scorned ex-girlfriends had actually sought out a witch to hex him like they threatened. Well, not directly, but that’s what his sister said she would do if a guy ever broke up with her the way he had: callous words, an indifferent phone call, the attempt of a lonely man to forget everyone who wasn’t simply, absolutely perfect.

Were it not for his unfiltered hatred of MRE’s and granola bars, as well as his intermittent visits from the cute, new fire lookout, he would have already punted the ungrateful machine off a high cliff and down to a violent, splintering death.

“Got time for a break?” Jack smiled at him when he appeared in the afternoon, offering his metal water bottle with the hand that wasn’t in his jacket pocket.

“How can you wear that shit?” Connor said, hoarse and appropriately grouchy as he snatched the bottle to drink in greedy swallows, tiny streams slipping down his chin and lost in his tank top, the collar ringed by a shade of deeper gray with sweat.

“Forecast says rain. You’ll be forced to turn in early, hopefully.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” He dumped the rest out onto his hands to scrub at his fingers, dark with machinists grease, and his reaching for a nearby rag revealed a tattoo on the back of his left shoulder that Jack hadn’t noticed before.

“Is that a… bear?”

Connor shooed him away where he had leaned to see the faded art better. “Supposed to be. Dumb thing I got in the army—I forget it’s there most of the time, honestly.”

“You were in the army?” Jack took it upon himself to sit on the scaffolding of the tower across from Connor’s open toolbox.

“You think I was born this welcoming and sweet?”

His smile, nearly a smirk as it pulled towards one of his dimples, as well as the dusting of red on his cheeks is achingly genuine, shy despite all they shared. All of it summed up to glaring evidence Jack never had enough friends, never the kind of lover that might have taught him the nuances of misconstrued flirtations. “Welcomed me in pretty easy.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Connor’s temper was ignited in an instant, chucking the water bottle at the ground beside Jack’s dangling feet hard enough to dent the bottom and startle him off his perch with a thud as he fell back into the brush.

“Oh—shit, are you all right?”

Jack opened his eyes to Connor above him. His frown spoke of shame, perhaps at his outburst, perhaps at memories Jack wasn’t privileged to hear, and the hand checking the back of his head for blood is unexpectedly gentle.

An honest “I’m sorry” leaps up from Jack’s tongue before he can catch it, more evidence of his confusion at the harshness of which he finds most company, his desperation to be the kind of person they might want to treat with kindness.

Though none of them have ever bothered to check him for bruises afterward.

“You’re sorry? There’s no way you could have known.” Connor helps him to his feet, kicking aside more hazards in scattered tools.

“Know what?”

“I…” His brow furrows, lips poised to speak. “Now, let’s be clear—”

He stops again, the first attempt he’s made probably ever to try to be more understanding, if only because Jack gave it back. “Regardless of what’s happened between us, I don’t actually know you that well.”

Jack doesn’t want it to sound so much like a rejection, not when the clouds bursting open above them leaves little time to reconcile.

“Shit!”

“Well.” Connor’s flat, dispirited tone lifts up from where he tilts his head into the water, grabbing some semblance of comfort as he scrubs his face clean.

“Don’t say it.”

“It can’t get any worse.” Connor sighs, grinning before he can stop it, and Jack isn’t prepared for how handsome he finds him, all clean, white teeth and warm brown eyes beneath damp lashes. His soaked hair can’t manage to be unbecoming as it sticks to his forehead, and Jack just hopes he makes a better image than soaked hiking pants and pathetic. If he was better at managing his anxiety, he might be able to see Connor was admiring him too, gaze darting between bright, hazel eyes and smiling lips that were almost too red, always.

A shiver runs through him, one Connor can’t blame on the rain when he remembers how gentle those hands were on his scarred skin, as big as his own on the shorter man. The next shiver is sad, he realizes, hoping to whoever would listen that he hadn’t fucked this up. For all the times he had chased people away, deliberately and not, to count Jack among them would actually hurt.

“You’re gonna get sick.” Jack spoke up above the rain, already taking off his jacket.

“Keep it, new guy. You have to walk back to Tower 11.”

“… You’re right.”

Connor finds little courage to do more than pat his shoulder, squeeze it firmly. “Don’t look so kicked. You can come up next time it rains, I promise. I’ll even make dinner again.”

Jack hopes his face isn’t turning as red as he thinks—he really hadn’t meant to offer more than a jacket, certainly not an innuendo—though his anxiety is sufficiently quieted by his joy that Connor is back to flirting with him. Seems the rain washes away most ailments in this forest: fear, and even shame.

“I’ll call you later to check on you.”

“Get home safe, Jack.”

1:33AM

The rain has stopped when the radio wakes him.

Connor’s sigh fills the tower. ‘We got another one. Jack, do you copy?’

For all the fog holding Jack’s body, his eyes bleary and limbs weak, it must be some time in the small hours, confirmed by his glance at the little plastic face on his alarm clock. He manages to sit up slowly as the radio clicks on again, more apologetic this time. ‘I know it’s late but you’re going to want to see this. Jack? Jaack?’ I need you to wake up.’

“I’m coming,” he says to no one over Connor’s continued calling for him, and picks up the receiver. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

His mirrored words from weeks ago don’t register to him, or maybe he’s simply too irritated to entertain him. ‘Look, Jack, I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. I’m exhausted, and we’ve got smoke in the north on your side.’

“Another campfire?” Jack yawns into his arm.

‘I think so. See if you can get eyes on it and call me right back, all right?’

The sleep finally manages to roll off his shoulders, and he wonders how Connor is even upright with the bags under his eyes he saw that afternoon. Yet here he was, still working on his junk generator, still watching the trees. “You haven’t been to sleep yet, have you?”

‘I napped a little during the rain. And I would like to have electricity sooner rather than later, new guy—so no.’

“Get some rest. I’ll update you in the morning on anything that happens. If they don’t run away, I’ll book ‘em and give their info to the authorities tomorrow. Everything will be fine, so go to sleep. Please.”

Static on the other end wavers between what Jack thinks could either be contemplative silence, or simply Connor falling asleep sitting up. ‘I think I’ll take you up on that, actually.’

“Real sleep. Not napping for four hours and deciding to stay awake after you’ve gotten up to pee.”

He huffs, almost a chuckle. ‘Yes, sir.’

His sleepy reply, slurred against the radio receiver, is too soft for the typical smart-mouthed and defensive Connor who prefers to not be seen through. To hear him acquiesce without fuss makes Jack’s heart flutter, sparking his memory of the tender, sweet man who pulled him into his bed.

‘Goodnight, Jack.’

“Night.”

The radio clicks silent as the transmission closes.

Outside on the porch, Jack spots the smoke easily, down near the lake and to the north—exactly as Connor said. He grabs the binoculars from the top of his dresser, though he has to swipe the lenses clean with the bottom of his sweater before he can actually see to use them.

What he sees in those lenses stops his blood in his veins.

His hands fumble to clean the binoculars better, wipe away the scene in front of him, but when he looks again they’re still there. Dressed in black robes, heads covered with hoods and concealed down to their feet. The hoods are peculiar, nothing he’s ever seen on late-night documentary TV or read about in 99-cent paperback novels: horned, all black, except for a singular figure that stands in matching robes on the other side of the fire, all white.

In the center of them is a large bonfire, stacked with dead tree limbs, arranged in a rectangular funeral pyre and elevating a long bundle, wrapped in white. A body? He had to assume so, no matter how it cramped his stomach. To think anything else would be stupid, even if he wasn’t sure he would ever sleep again knowing this was the truth about the woods that had eluded him.

How he envied the stupid.

He fished for his cellphone, mournful the little plastic lenses’ resolution would only cast doubt over his claim. Regardless of it’s quality, he thought surely the experts could tell the image was undoctored, at least. He cursed his hands to stop shaking, fidgeting with the focus button for long seconds until he clicked the shutter—

And a flash lit up the forest.

The hooded figures froze, spinning to face the tower and meet his eyes through the cellphone’s pixelated screen. He jumped, managing not to scream but not strong enough to keep his grip on the phone. It slipped out of his hands, bouncing off the knotty boards, and down over the edge to it’s assured death.

“Fuck!”

A bird breaking the treetops in flight alerted him to their position, and the crunch of the trail as he spotted them running up the path to his tower.

“Oh—shit,” he whispered. There was no time to flee, too many stairs, nothing to do besides stay trapped like a treed fox to hungry hounds.

So he would just have to be trapped.

He darted back inside, thankfully the tower was already dark, no electronics buzzing to imply a human had only been there minutes ago. The space between the bed and the floor was a squeeze for a grown man, but he managed to slide into his hiding place moments before the sound of stomping boots came flying up the stairs.

They paused at his door long enough to jiggle the handle, to Jack’s wracking unease when the knob yielded easily.

How could I not lock it?, he thought with his hand pressed tight over his lips, eyes wide to watch black boots with thick, muddy soles wander back and forth across his floor. No doubt they studied his radio, feeling for warmth on the stove, any signs of immediate habitation.

They came to stop beside the bed, close enough to scent pungent, black leather polish and the ripped grass that clogged the grooves of their tread. Jack held his breath, surely a collapsed diaphragm would be less painful than immolation—

And then they were gone. Out the door, beyond his sight, though without the clunking of boots on metal stairs.

I have to go now.

He bolted without hesitation, shoes skidding on the damp, uneven floor, out the door and nearly over the railing when he launched himself into the face of the cultist. They gasped, too surprised to suppress it as Jack braced—and ran.

He skidded down the steps, his leverage completely in the fulcrum of his grip on the railing, until he reached the bottom. Footsteps followed him, there was just too little time, all alone, nowhere to hide—

From inside the portable toilet, he waited.

The cultist appeared to know the trail as well as he did, no surprise there, as Jack watched them track down to the fork in the path. They paused, spinning, searching for footprints to deduce his direction of travel or listen harder to hear his running. In the quiet, Jack slipped away, out of the toilet and around the tower. North, to the only ally he had.

2:57 AM

Connor is as asleep as anyone had ever seen him, sprawled across the little bed, on top of the blanket and with his boots still on. He snores quietly, unaware how Jack scrambles up the flights of stairs to his door, until frantic, repeated knocking on the window panes rattles him awake with a snort.

“H-huh? Hello?” The room swims into focus, as does the pounding headache at being denied his rest.

‘Connor! Connor, wake up! Please!’ He hears a voice among the tapping, trying to be quiet despite their urgency.

“Jack? Jack!”

His body protests in cracking joints as he hauls himself up, the door slamming open the moment the lock’s hammer is flicked free.

“Whoa, Jack—” He staggered back to not be mowed down. “What happened? What are you doing?”

Jack hardly heard him with his heart hammering in his ears, eyes darting across the dark through the window panes, breath ragged as Connor gripped him by the shoulders.

“STOP. Jack, stop.” He repeated, gentler when he finally stood still. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Do I—what?” Connor looked him over, his bloodshot eyes, clammy skin. Disheveled hair stuck to his face and neck with sweat despite the cool night, like he had seen a ghost. Or some kind of monster.

“There’s something really wrong in these woods, Connor, I—don’t look away from me! The smoke in the woods wasn’t a campfire, it was a bonfire! I think they were b-burning a body, a—we have to go. Now. They know I saw them!”

“Are you… drunk?” Connor asked, though he knew nothing of his friend’s haggard demeanor suggested he was anything other than horrifically sober, frightened for his life and seized by adrenaline.

“I’m not DRUNK, why do you always—why do you DO that?”

“Do what, Jack? Be sensible? You have to know how this all sounds.”

“Oh, you would, Connor. Of course you would,” he spat, his frown twisted by disgust while he worried if their friendship would survive this life-and-death difference of opinion. “You always do this.”

“I care about you, Jack, I don’t want to see you destroyed by this conspiracy theory. Look at yourself. It’s eating you.”

“It’s not a conspiracy theory. I’ve seen it!” He pleaded.

“Yeah well, I haven’t.” Connor’s dismissive wave made his stomach swim, a half-hearted gesture that didn’t reach the pull of his frown. “Why can you see it but I can’t?”

“Don’t you get it? They leave you alone because you’re the perfect skeptic. Why would they risk scaring off somebody who willingly covers for them at every opportunity?”

“That’s… bullshit,” Connor says, though he doesn’t sound nearly as confident as his words suggest, and he fidgets where he stands by the sink.

“That’s not possible. I’ve worked here for years! And this creepy stuff only started happening for the last few months.”

“So you HAVE seen things?”

“… No,” he backpedals. “I’ve found empty campsites, of course they’re empty because these stupid fucking kids take off and hide in the woods when they don’t want to get in trouble. People disappear because they mess with bears, or get lost because they went hiking with no equipment. It’s not ghosts, it’s not cults, there’s a reasonable, rational explanation for everything that happens out here.”

“Do you think I chased myself here?”

“Someone’s chasing you?” Connor’s eyes flicked over to the baseball bat he kept beside the door, and the rifle case beside it.

“You of all people, please believe me. I know what I saw, and I—if I hadn’t dropped my phone, I could show you.”

“You… took a picture? And lost it.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“How else am I supposed to look, Jack?” He threw out his arms in a huff. “I’m willing to believe you if you could show me something but you can’t, very conveniently, which isn’t saying anything against you.”

“It feels like it, Connor. It feels like I’m alone in this, like I’ve been alone in—in everything else. Only now, I’m afraid for my life.”

Connor is quiet as he takes him in, all his thoughts and scenarios playing out visibly across his honest face in order of possibility. He had always been honest, above all else, to the point he became stagnant, ever unchanging when his stubborn nature left him pigeon-holed to become unchallenged.

“What do you want me to do?” He said finally, with nothing more than earnestness. Anything Jack wanted, from him or from the world, he would find a way to make it happen.

“… Don’t let them kill me.”

“Jack,” he whispers, a plea.

“Don’t.”

Connor ignores his quiet protest, crossing the room to fold him into his arms. He holds back some self-serving comment about “it’s okay to cry but it’s not okay to hide” in favor of staying quiet, a rock for Jack to cling to until his shaking subsides.

“Dawns a long way off still. Let’s get some rest, and tomorrow I’ll do anything you need me to, make any phone call you want me to make. Okay?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. I would have left right now but I… I couldn’t make sense of the trails in the dark, scared as I was.”

He resists the urge to squeeze his hands into Jack’s fleece, reminds himself: this wasn’t about his feelings, and they could talk about everything else once Jack was somewhere he felt safe.

“You could have led a killer to my door, chasing up the stairs like that.”

“Don’t make fun of me—”

“I’m not. I mean, I don’t mean to.” He thumbs his cheek, as close to an apology as Jack was going to get.

“Come on. Bed time, Jack.”

He gets under the blanket without protest, mildly mournful the sheets smell of detergent instead of the night they spent together. Connor goes through his nightly routine with no input from Jack, though the latter notices how he checks the lock twice and props the baseball bat beside his alarm clock.

Even if Jack hadn’t managed to convince him of the truth, hopefully these seeds of doubt would carry them through.

~*~

A scream rips him from his sleep. Not a red fox, a real, frightened—Connor’s scream.

Jack flies out of the bed, feet tangled in the blanket, the old quilt almost ripping as he frees himself and looks back to see he slept alone. The flashlight from the desk is gone, the wood fire a semblance of embers. He ponders only briefly the rifle case Connor had moved to under the bed, deciding it would be more of a danger than help when he’s never shot a gun in his life.

He dashes out the door with the only two weapons he was qualified to use: bear mace, and the bat.

The scrapes and grunts of a struggle float up from the stairwell, all the while Jack poured more sweat with every stair, terrified he would get down to the bottom step in time to see Connor murdered right in front of him.

From the top of the last flight, he could finally see them: Connor splayed across the ground, felled from a wound Jack couldn’t see, and the cultist who stalked a few paces away. In the yellow of the floodlights, he spotted the silver gleam of a Bowie knife, probably flung away by a resourceful Connor.

“Connor!!” Jack hoped his shout would provoke him to rise, move, speak, but he laid still, and the cultist turned their attention to him.

To him, the bat seemed a decent plan to survive, until he realized a grown man wasn’t a practice ball shot from a pitching machine, and this was someone who overpowered Connor, a former soldier who was both taller and stronger than Jack. Their gloved hand clamped down on the end of the bat, enough to remove any kind of momentum from his swing, but couldn’t defend against Jack ramming the tip into their face with all his weight.

They go down in a heap, the thud of the cultist breaking his fall slamming in both their chests.

Panting and scrambling to make some distance, he immediately crawled over to Connor. “Connor! Wake up, please, come on. We gotta get out of here before he wakes up—”

“Pfft, fuck.” He spluttered in the dirt beneath his face, roused by Jack’s vigorous shaking. “Jack? Oh god.”

He winced, holding his face where his cheekbone was already splotchy and swelling with a scrape that oozed pin-holes of blood. “He—hit me… with one of my wrenches when I grabbed the knife.”

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Jack lied. “You’re okay. Let’s get out of here, can you walk?”

“Yeah, my legs are fine. It’s my head that’s killing me.”

“Come on.”

Jack recalls making the hike alone weeks ago, so unaware he walked into an underworld he couldn’t begin to understand, now forced to run from those woods and the job that was once his sanctuary. Beside him, Connor worked his jaw to assess the damage with one hand, his other clamped around Jack’s, worried he might be snatched away into the dark and never seen again.

“Did you park in this lot?” Jack asked.

“No, my… sister dropped me off. She has my truck.”

“Let’s take my RV then—”

His words were cut off by the snapping of twigs behind them, and the sudden, deafening crack of a baseball bat hitting the tree beside his head, the tip splintering off to fling into the bushes. Still reeling from his own wound, Connor stumbled, and Jack’s quick decision to duck, thus leaving his skull intact, took them both down into the dirt.

The forest is too crowded by trees to offer light, and the clearing of the parking lot—just at the end of the path—seems forever away as they struggle to process their surroundings. Jack feels the world slow down, thick and oily behind the lens of his panic, his legs pinned by the body of the cultist grappling him. He sees the flash of a knife, clear and silver, a spike of moonlight coming down in an arc towards the vulnerable rise and fall of his chest.

But pain never comes.

Connor cries out above him, the knife caught by the meat of his calf, a predicted outcome to his choice to kick the cultist away.

The world slams into fast forward, the coppery smell of Connor’s blood in the air and petrichor in his aching lungs when he reaches for his bear spray.

Anger seizes him, hearing Connor thud to the ground beside him—and empties the can into the cultist’s face. Behind the blood rushing in his ears, the can clinks against a tree when he flings it to the side.

“Let’s go, Connor, come on.” He reaches under his shoulders to haul him up with a groan that betrays how much strength it requires.

He doesn’t remember getting to the RV. Looking back, his memory stops at the open gate to the park, finding the guard shack empty, dark, and resumes on the road, the yellow headlights the only source of light on the two-lane blacktop, among the sound of Connor’s panting where he lays on the bench. His stinging eyes look to his hands, scratched and bleeding, white-knuckled around the steering wheel, until the road blurs and he has to stop.

~*~

The first call Jack makes is to Billy, that he was right and neither he nor Connor were ever setting foot into those woods ever again. That he could send their last paychecks to the addresses on file and donate their stuff to the little church he passed on the drive up there.

The second phone call he makes is to directory assistance, whose bored operator scoots their study materials aside long enough to locate the nearest hospital to the mile marker he gave.

He walks Connor into the emergency room with his arm around his chest, both men spattered with mud and dark, dried blood. A few hours later, Connor passes through the automatic doors a second time alone, squinting up into the bright light of the overhead sign and navigating around the cracks in the sidewalk with the finesse of someone who had used crutches at least a few times before.

Still double-parked in the fire lane where he left him, Jack smokes against the side of the RV.

“I would have come back inside if you called me, said they were releasing you.” He presses the rest of his cigarette out and opens the cabin door for him.

Connor regards the open door with suspicion, gaze torn between the concrete path and Jack’s waiting offer.

“You have my phone. And I didn’t… know if you would still be here when I got out.”

“I told you I was just going to smoke. They wouldn’t keep you for too long for a puncture wound, would they? I mean, unless you needed surgery but I would have just posted up by the road and taken a nap.”

“That’s not—” Connor cuts himself off with a sigh, a stuttering, weak thing.

“I know that’s not what you meant.” The sound of Jack’s voice, alarmingly sober and gentle, captures his vulnerable gaze.

“I’m not mad, you know. I was—worried, more than anything. Just let me take you home, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Somewhere safe.”

The last few months had been a nightmare, a long “based on a true story” tale meant to be told around a campfire, one that gossipy summer camp counselors will inevitably shorten to make more exciting. As he studies the softness of Jack’s open face: the hazel eyes struggling to hold him, the dried mud behind his ear that he probably missed while washing his face in the hospital restroom—he doesn’t want to cut them out. Of all the people he wanted to forget, Jack wasn’t one of them.

Behind the waiting room glass, the little collection of small-town locals (one stomach bug, a couple who gave each other the flu, and one who came in for a fireworks incident) all lean forward in their chairs to watch the two kiss, hearing the muffled clatter of Connor’s crutches falling to the sidewalk.

A nurse clears her throat from around the desk. “Next, please.”

ONE WEEK LATER

When Jack awakes, it’s to the gentle, filtered sunshine coming through the curtains on the RV, and the awkward tilt of his head on the bare mattress. He found out immediately that Connor sleeps how he lives: unapologetic, deliberately, a thief of pillows, not blankets, especially after they worked out a system to prop up his wounded leg for a better rest.

From where he’s curled around Jack’s pillow, his back is so warm, the shampoo from his midnight shower still strong behind his ears as Jack slides in close to wrap the blanket back over them both.

“It’s hot,” he hears a muffled rumble.

“Nah. It’s cold, actually.” Jack teases him quietly, placing kisses over the slope of his shoulder and the old tattoo while he tries to squirm away from warm breath and warmer lips.

“Are you hungry?”

“Sleepy.” His breath puffs across the pillowcase.

“Mm. Keep Just Jack company for me, will you?” He places a kiss behind Connor’s ear and climbs out of the bed to look for his clothes.

Connor huffed to himself, a half-asleep chuckle at Jack’s request, almost a joke if not for him cracking open his eyes to glance at the stuffed bear sitting on the windowsill beside a short stack of rented DVDs. A gift from Jack, the little card in his arms declaring “Get Well Soon” in a bright blue cursive, bought alongside a candy bar from the first truck stop they came to after crossing state lines.

Jack had stuttered to defend himself when he saw Connor’s unamused expression, one crutch under his arm and the receipt for gas in the other hand. He rushed off towards the trash can, thinking himself rejected, when Connor snatched the bear away.

“You said it was for me, right? So he’s mine… Thank you.” He said, as Jack bumped the gas nozzle on the RV’s paint at least twice trying to get it into the hole.

“What do we name him? What’s Jack short for?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “No secret government name. Just Jack.”

Connor looked to the bear in his hands, smoothing the ruffled fur on it’s ears. “Sounds perfect, actually.”

When Connor awoke the second time, it was to the digital sound of Jack answering his voicemails at the table. ‘Message saved. Please press 1 to return to the main menu, or press 3 to delete.’

“Jack?” He called over his shoulder, smelling breakfast and coffee when his brain finally came back. Yet, even after a week of nursing his wound, he never managed to remember not to stretch his bad leg when he wanted to shake off the sleep.

“Fuck, that stings.”

“You want a pain pill? I made some eggs, toast will only take a second.”

He huffed, a discontented, sweet sigh, his hair ruffled and good leg sticking out from the rumpled comforter. “I want you to come back to bed.”

“Miss me that much already?” said Jack, meaning it to be a tease but unable to hide how his throat suddenly stings.

Somebody wanted him. Not just somebody, actually, someone who’s company he also enjoyed. Framed by the sunshine in the curtains and the warmth of his eyes, he had to touch, needed to feel him—make sure he was real.

“I only left to make food and answer my phone.” His feigned confidence doesn’t fool Connor, a master of the art himself, and he makes a small, vulnerable sound against his lips when he pulls him in.

“Wait, I have to tell you something,” he gasps when Connor busies himself with the side of his neck, mischievous fingers opening his shirt as far as it went and pulling the collar away to give himself access to more skin.

“How important is it to you? Really?” His teeth pull playfully at the skin near his pulse.

“They offered me my old job back. At the other park.”

Connor’s mouth clicks gently as he releases him, pondering the statement for far less time than Jack had assumed he would need. “Do you want it?”

“Not really… but I wanted to know what you t-thought.” The kisses have resumed in double time, pinkening his neck and weakening his legs where he kneels above him.

“There’s a lot of parks, all over the country. How about we drive until we find one we like?”

“… We can.” He says, suddenly, as if Connor had proclaimed to have discovered a new science. Unlatching him from his neck is full of mumbled protests and one spiteful snap at his open collar, but he manages to gently lay him against the pillow to meet his eyes plainly.

“What do you say, Connor? Want to stay with me?”

“I just told you I—”

“Not that. Tell me what you want to do.”

No one speaks for long minutes, and Jack stays perfectly still to allow himself to be seen. All of him. For as long as Connor needs to see him, however he wants, because months of uncertainty, fear, and doubt have pushed him repeatedly into the first spotlight that hasn’t burned, the first firelight that feels like home. He isn’t prepared for Connor to break the stillness by pulling him close.

Strong arms, fit for chopping firewood and building houses, feel too much like the quivering arms of a scared young boy around his neck, the one who fled an iron home into the fists of the army, and then to the open palms of a string of lovers until he decided the middle of nowhere was the only place to get some peace.

Jack holds him without hesitation, drinking in his affection, what he feels is selfishly, to find peace among the embrace of a person who is suffering. It feels better than the drink, better than the cigarettes he fell into when the drink threatened to kill him, as filling to his heart and soul as the kindest, rarest words: “I’m proud of you.”

He is so proud of them.

“I want you to keep me.” Connor admits to the skin of his cheek, too prideful to say anymore, lest he risk drawing attention to the moisture he’s leaving on his shirt.

“And I want to be kept by you.”

Jack knows they are tears, of course he does. He knows because his face is wet too, and he is so happy, so proud they are alive to cry. Deliriously happy they cry together. Of all the choices they made to survive, to fight, to run—together is the reason they live.

AN: Thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are always welcome! ❤️

#Jack Nelson x Connor Hawkins #jack nelson x Conner Hawkins #fears to fathom #fears to fathom ironbark lookout #ironbark lookout #fears to fathom fanfic #indie games #indie horror #indie horror game #rarepair #the rarest of pairs they don't even have a ship name #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #mlm fanfic #Jack Nelson #Connor Hawkins

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kylobith · 4 months

Text

The Trick (Gale of Waterdeep x Tav)

Word count: 698

Ao3 link

In all his life, Gale never imagined undertaking such a difficult task. But he must.

‘Alright, that should do the trick.’

Drawing in a sharp breath, Gale furrows his brow and enters a state of deep concentration. Deep breaths help him soothe the loud thrumming of his heart as he attempts to keep calm. Of all his adventures, this seems to him the most perilous. Gnolls, drow, goblins and even gods tried to skin him alive, yet he never felt such discouragement. Still, he raises his hands before him, letting them hover there momentarily before allowing them to execute the task ahead.

His fingers busy themselves with nearly surgical precision, curving, hooking, and parting. They reach out, turn, flick and descend in clear motions. The crease on his forehead deepens while his brain is at work. Tav explained each step, and now he needs to remember them. Was it upward or downward? Could he still use the old tool, or would it mess everything up? How thorough did he have to be? Was the final ingredient added before or after the whole ordeal?

He should know. Tav was so comprehensible in her explanations. He already saw her at play, and the temptation to take his quill and paper out to write down the process was exhilarating, but she refused him. All she needed was his undivided attention, and much to her relief, he gave her just that.

But she is much more knowledgeable and skilled than he is. Not that this is an excuse at all, mind you. Yet he knows how important it is for him to learn in turn. Tav does not have to do everything herself all the time, and he would not have it anyway. They are in this together, after all. Not only is it a precious duty to take on, but it is something he knows will nurture their cherished bond. He is not merely helping, as many call it; he is doing what he was born to do. Nature's call, in a sense.

Once the worst is behind him, Gale seizes a new tool and wraps it around the squirming limbs he wishes would still for a second. Then, he steps backwards and reverts to something familiar, a spell he is used to casting.

‘Veni et iuva me!’

As he twirls his hands before him, a blinding light illuminates the room, brief yet intense. Then, amid the swirling shapes, a hand materialises, blue and see-through, its fingers fidgeting in anticipation. Awaiting Gale’s orders, it spins around to face him, nearly enquiring about his wishes. Concentrating on what is left of the process, he pictures it in his head, careful not to sever the connection between him and the hand by letting distractions cloud his instructions.

The hand surges forward and collects the dangerous weapon from the table, carrying it across the room. But as it endeavours to get rid of it, Tav peeks into the room and instantly notices it. She grumbles and waves towards the table before Gale.

‘Oh, come on, Gale, she's your daughter!’

Startled by the interruption, the wizard shrieks and the bond with the hand is ruptured. The hand vanishes into smoke, leaving the deadly weapon to crash onto the wooden floor, staining it. Gale whimpers in defeat, burying his face into his hands at the thought of having to clean it up afterwards.

‘But it smells so bad, Tav!’ he cries out, glancing towards his partner while waving at the crushed nappy.

‘Don't you shame your little girl for what's natural!’

Tav steps inside and picks up the crying newborn from the changing table, cradling the child and covering its little head with kisses before taking a whiff of it. She will never tire of the aroma of her daughter's head, however insane this might sound to others.

Then, she faces Gale again with an eyebrow raised.

‘By the way, need I remind you how bad yours smelled after a night out? So get yourself together and change her nappies normally, mh?’

With this said, the new mother exits the room, cooing at the baby. Gale curses at himself under his breath as his gaze returns to the splattered goo on the floor.

‘Sometimes I really hate it when she's right.’

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #gale of waterdeep fanfiction #gale x tav #bg3 gale

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oftenwantedafton · 5 months

Text

Craving - Vampire Dave Miller/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Urban Explorer Reader

Chapter 3

Rating - Mature

Warnings for violence, blood and mild gore

Also available on AO3

taglist @yellowbunnydreams

The healing punctures on your wrist itch, reminding you of your promise to return.

It’s pouring the day you finally gather enough courage to venture back into the abandoned shopping mall, the rain soaking you before you’ve managed to sneak back in through the loose boards covering a vacant department store window, the glass panes and clothing display long gone, leaving only a headless mannequin.

You’re better prepared this time, carrying a backpack with a flashlight and extra batteries, bandaids, a snack and a couple of bottles of water, a cd player and headphones when the darkness and quiet become too much to bear. You’re not sure how long you’ll have to stay this time. You wonder what will happen if he can’t stop himself and keeps sucking the lifeforce from you until you’re nothing left but a withered husk, doomed to spend eternity with the vampiric creature.

The rain drums loudly on the skylights above, an arc of lightning briefly illuminating a section of empty kiosks and a dry fountain. You adjust the straps of your backpack, settling it more squarely on your shoulders before continuing on. Your entire arm aches now, and you feel yourself pulled back towards the entrance to the pizzeria like a magnet drawing iron. Your footsteps slow as you finally gain sight of the restaurant.

The power has been restored.

Neon lights guide you forward until your foot finds broken glass, bringing you to a halt, your bag sliding to the floor from nerveless fingers.

The front doors are shattered.

Shards of glass litter the entryway, refracting colored light like pieces from a smashed kaleidoscope. Chairs are scattered around the dining room. The row of pinball machines and the prize counter has been decimated, adding to the piles of glass. Change machines are gutted, spilling their metal contents onto the floor. Some of the orbs from the ball pit have escaped their divoted enclosure, rolling until they’re forced to a stop by a piece of furniture or fragment of destruction.

Then there is the dark smear that leads from the frenzy up to the center stage.

The curtains have been pulled wide open, parting in a grim smile to reveal the animatronics, blood staining teeth and paws. There are pieces of something, you refuse to think of what else it might be, lying in saturated piles at their feet.

“Admiring your handiwork?”

The yellow rabbit’s voice startles you.

“I don't understand. What happened?” you whisper in horror.

“You led them here.”

“Who?”

The costumed figure strides forward, the tall, imposing frame making short work of the distance from the hallway to the dining room. His metal fingers close around your throat as he simultaneously lifts and thrusts you against the side of a nearby crane machine, where your shoulders strike the glass encasement, the jumble of soft plush prizes inside rocking with the movement.

“Some scum that thought they were going to rob me. They followed you. You showed them how to get inside.”

He squeezes and you strain to draw breath to speak. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” you gasp.

“I’m not interested in your apologies.” He releases your throat and you collapse to the floor, panting, desperate for lungfuls of the stale air. “You’re going to clean this mess up,” he sneers with contempt.

“Where are…the people…that broke in?” You struggle to speak, massaging bruised vocal cords.

“I let the children play with them. Their blood was too tainted by years of drug use for my taste.”

“The children?” You follow his pointing finger to the stage. “You mean the animatronics? They’re…alive? Like you?”

“No. Nothing like me. They’ve been dead for a long time. Only their spirits remain now, sleeping until I decide to wake them.” He pauses, looking down at your collapsed figure. “You can find what you need in the custodial closet.”

You look at the dark stains again and the severed pieces of what had once been human beings and a wave of nausea rolls though you. You never wanted to bring anyone here. Criminal or not, it made no difference; people were dead now because of you.

“I didn’t want this,” you murmur out loud.

“Then you had better make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The rabbit turns away, leaving you to retrieve a mop and broom and trash bins. You certainly can’t be expected to lift the heavy machines that have been displaced, but you do your best to right the scattered pieces of furniture and collect what seems like an endless pile of debris.

You save the stage for last, climbing up onto the wooden platform and eyeing the mechanical trio warily. The dark lumps of flesh turn your stomach once again and you dry heave, turning away. “I can’t do it. I can’t touch…that.”

“Enough. Come here.” The rabbit seems satisfied with your penance.

You obey, sliding down from the raised platform. You feel absolutely disgusting, your damp clothing now caked in dust and blood. You’re surprised when he guides you towards the restroom, bidding you to get cleaned up. The water runs discolored from the tap, contaminated by corroding pipes long neglected before shifting back to something resembling a clear fluid. You scrub your stained clothes then your hands and forearms, rubbing until the skin is red and raw, the scars throbbing. You want to erase it, want every trace of this evil place off of you. You’re openly weeping, a cascade of tears that you fear will never end. You shove at the faucet to turn it off and grab at the paper towel dispenser, finding it empty.

Sliding down the wall, you bring your knees up to your chest and bury your face, sobbing.

***

The restroom door creaks open, revealing the yellow rabbit.

He’s so tall he has to duck to enter the white tiled space, the tip of his undamaged ear brushing the frame.

He offers you a hand and you sniffle, dragging your sleeve over your face before you accept, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

“You're soaked,” he observes, his voice quiet as he leads you back into the hallway.

“It’s pouring outside. And you’re out of paper towels,” you grumble. You don’t want to make small talk. You just want this nightmare to end.

“You didn’t think to bring a change of clothes in that bag of yours?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s a shame,” the rabbit murmurs, his voice devoid of any sincere sympathy. “There might be something in one of the employee lockers to dry off with.”

You don’t trust the suited figure’s sudden generosity. “Can we just get this over with?”

He halts, tugging until you’ve been brought flush with the bulky rounded chest piece, the tattered purple bow brushing your cheek.

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here. You don’t dictate what happens,” he growls, metal digits tightening on your scarred appendage. The ceiling lights flicker, the fluorescent tubes sizzling and snapping in their mounted casings, threatening to extinguish once again.

“You’re injured.” The realization strikes you suddenly as he pushes you against the wall, the raised arm now revealing a fresh gash leaking not wires and metal, but blood.

“I’ve dealt with much worse,” he says dismissively.

So the burglars had caused this, then. Not directly through force against the costumed figure, but by vandalizing the property. They truly were bound together.

And now you are a part of it too; a contract inked in your own blood.

The rabbit looks down at you with his cold, expressionless eyes, and you wonder about the visage behind that mask. What does he look like, this man that has been imprisoned inside of the costume for so long, until it seems the two have coalesced into one?

“You’re hungry,” you say, hearing it in the restless rustle of the body occupying the suit, as if it is struggling to break free of its encasement.

“Yes.”

“I’m ready.” You’re not, you never will be, but you have no choice and you’d just as soon let him feed to stifle the building dread and fear.

The suited figure’s breath quickens in anticipation as it pulls your forearm towards the opening of the costume’s headpiece, drinking in that trepidation, exhalting in its dominion over you. Your pulse fires more rapidly in response to the adrenaline secreted into your bloodstream. Your mind screams at you to run but your body surrenders willingly, your arm limp in the yellow rabbit’s grasp.

His lips graze your damaged wrist and it feels alarmingly good, your mouth parting in surprise. Fangs reopen the skin and you gasp at the sensation. He suckles at the injury he’s inflicted and the familiar lightheaded feeling returns. A hand braces the back of your neck, supporting you to remain upright. The pain blurs into pleasure and you moan softly, squirming in his grasp, your body further betraying you by attempting to press you closer to your attacker. He echoes the sound, the vibration dancing along your skin and you see spots dancing in front of your eyes. He’s taking too much, he can’t stop…

His mouth abandons your flesh abruptly. “Enough!” One palm clamps over the wounds, exerting pressure to slow the flow of blood, his breathing harsh as air saws in and out of encased lungs. You can feel his anger at the loss of control seeping from the depths of the suit. “Don’t ever do that again,” he warns, his arms enveloping you as you surrender consciousness, sagging limply into the yellow rabbit’s embrace.

***

Your eyelids open to discover a void surrounding you.

The power has failed.

You are by now familiar with the feel of the thin mattress tucked against the wall of the manager’s office beneath you. The pain in your forearm is more intense than ever and you cradle it as you sit upright.

You can feel the yellow rabbit’s eyes watching you in the darkness, even though the normally glowing sockets are oddly snuffed out.

“What happened to the lights? Was it…was my blood not enough?” You inquire, licking chapped lips. You wonder how long you have slept this time.

“On the contrary. It was enough to allow me to do something much more important than keep the electricity flowing.”

“Did you heal yourself?”

“Oh yes. Yes, you could say that.”

You hear the creak as weight is lifted off of the office chair and the click of shoes against linoleum before he reaches you. There is the sound of clothes rustling as the tall frame folds, kneeling at your feet.

You realize then that the man is no longer trapped within the yellow rabbit costume.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x reader #dave miller x you #springtrap x you #springtrap x reader

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sunshinebingo · 5 months

Note

idk if your request is still open but i’ll try my luck 😭

could you please do a gwynriel angst where they have to attend a friend’s wedding party and their friends didn’t know they have broken up and they were forced into a seven minutes in heaven game but instead of what their friends have expected, the seven minutes turned out to be tears and heartbreak

i’m feeling kinda sad rn and this idea suddenly popped into my head. If you couldn’t do it, totally fine

Hi anon!! My request is always open so please feel free to send me any suggestion you might have.

Thank you so so much for having sent this one. It made me cry a bit ngl 😂 I hope you like it 🤭

Gwynriel - 1.8k - No warning - Angst only

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

*****

Love is a losing game

Some said better to love and lose than to have never known love. Right now, Gwyn wished she had never known love at all. As she watched the two newlyweds dressed in lace and silks whiter than the roses that filled the small garden, their eyes sparkling with happiness and love, their laughs rising above that of the small party who had gathered to celebrate this new step in their life, Gwyn saw what she would never have. And she wished, more than anything, that she had never known what being in love felt like.

Her own bridesmaid outfit was a mockery of it. The ivory dress that Emerie had wanted her chosen sisters to wear when walking her down the aisle had seemed to laugh at Gwyn with every step she had made, blue bouquet in hand, towards the alter. It was all a cruel, sick joke and she hated it. Hated herself for having so stupidly walked into it.

“Hey,” Nesta’s gentle voice broke through her thoughts.

Gwyn turned to look at sister, blinking away the tears of anger that had started to fill her eyes. Nesta narrowed her eyes inquisitively. “Are you okay?”

No.

“I am,” she offered Nesta one the fakest smile she had ever forced onto her face. Gwyn shrugged at her sister’s silent insistence. “I’m just so happy for them.”

Nesta laughed and picked up her crystal glass. “You’ve always been the most romantic of the three of us,” she said, referring to Gwyn, Emerie and herself. Emerie and Nesta. The only true loves of her life besides her twin and her mother.

“And the funniest,” Gwyn added with none of the joy that usually accompanied her sass.

“And the sweetest and the smartest,” Emerie chimed in across from them, fingers entwined in her new wife’s.

Nesta hummed her approval. Gwyn wondered how long it would take for them to notice the walls she had built around herself to hide her misery. She hoped that the cracks forming in this wall as she watched everyone’s happy faces would not make the whole thing crumble before she could get far away from them.

An eruption of voices caused another crack to form. It got worse when Cassian’s boisterous voice called her name on the other side of Nesta, along with another.

“Gwyn and Azriel. It’s time to find out the truth.”

Gwyn tensed and blurted a, “What?”

She felt a wave of panic rising. Gwyn internally added more bricks to her wall. She slammed her hands against the cracks even as more tears threatened to bring it all down. She couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not in front of him. Not ever.

Not now. Please. Please.

“We need to find out if you two can spend seven minutes in heaven and keep things clean,” Rhysand explained across from Cassian, no doubt mistaking her dread for confusion. His words settled in Gwyn before she could sigh at the fact that no one had yet learned the real truth.

Only then, hours after having stepped foot here, did she look at him for more than a second. His hazel eyes were already on her. Gwyn refused to read any emotion in them. She could not bear anymore lies from him.

“Come on Gwynnie,” Cassian went on. “We already placed the bets. And I know I will win because Az hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

Feyre giggled next to Rhys. “That’s nothing new Cass.”

“I know but it’s different today. His stare has been...,” Cassian placed a finger on his chin as though he was looking for the perfect word. “...harder,” he finally added with a wink that earned him a laugh from everyone around the table.

“It’s probably the white dress,” Mor wiggled her perfect eyebrows at Gwyn.

A flush crept up Gwyn’s cheeks. Not because of the insinuation from the beautiful blond, but because there had been a time where she would have believed everything that they were saying. What a fool she had been. What a stupid, romantic, naive fool.

“Oh that pretty blush is promising,” Nesta teased next to her. “Come on.”

Before she could give any response, Nesta was out of her chair and pulling Gwyn up by the arm. Next to her, Cassian had already pulled a semi-reluctant Azriel out of his seat and was dragging him across the garden towards the small shed.

All words evaded Gwyn. All she could focus on was trying to keep herself together. She could do this. Seven minutes. She would be strong. For seven minutes.

“And no less,” Cassian exclaimed after pushing both her and Azriel in the shed. Gwyn stared at the closed door after the loud click of the lock sounded from outside.

The silence in the small dark place was louder than the faint voices on the other side. It stretched on for what felt like ten times more than seven minutes. Everything was so still around her that despite having her back to him, Gwyn felt Azriel lift his hand and reach towards her.

“Gwy-,”

“Don’t,” she took a step to the side before he could touch her shoulder.

“Gwyn plea-,”

“Don’t,” she said more firmly. Though her next words came out in a whisper. “Please, don’t.”

She turned around and faced him. She begged her heart to keep quiet and pleaded with reason to not abandon her. This situation seemed like a mirror of the last time that they had been in the same room. Suddenly, the last month faded into nothing. Gwyn felt like she was still in his living room, staring into his eyes and wondering why on earth she had ever trusted him. It was pity for herself that she had felt before she had stormed out of his apartment that night.

“Gwyn. Please,” he took a step forward and she took one back. “Let me explain.”

“What I saw was explanation enough,” she snapped.

“It’s not what you think.” His voice was laced with impatience. If she believed in his lies, she would have also discerned hurt in it. But it was probably a bit of wishful thinking from her part.

Gwyn let out a sardonic laugh. “And what would you have thought, Azriel,” she spat his name like it had become the hardest thing for her to say, “if you had seen me doing what you were doing with her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the dark strands in frustration like he usually did.

“It was a mistake. A huge, fucking mistake. And I regret every fucking second of it.”

“A mistake...,” Gwyn tasted the word on her tongue. It was the same word he had used that day. That same word that she had turned around and around in her head for the past month while she had thought back on the years that they had spent together.

“This should have never happened, you have to believe me.”

“But it did.”

“It was a fucking mistake.” That godforsaken word again. As if saying it enough times would remove his involvement in the act he had committed. “I swear love, I never wanted to hurt you. She - ”

“She what?” her voice rose above his and made him freeze. “Did she force you to do anything?”

Azriel didn’t react. His silence was answer enough. And when he kept staring at her with those deep hazel eyes that she adored so much, with that same intensity that had made her lose her godsdamned mind so many times since she had first looked into them, her wall crumbled. Her strength to keep it up left her, running away to the darkest corner of the shed along with her resolve to keep her mouth shut.

“I thought that you would be the one to finally make me believe that I deserve this kind of love. But y-you...,” she wasn’t sure what to say except that she had to let out what had been plaguing her mind for a whole month.

“I trusted you. I...”

He took another step towards her but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. She ignored what touching him was doing to her. Ignored that she wasn’t the only one that had touched him and kept talking despite her voice coming out as sobs

“I never forced you to stay with me. You always had a choice. And you chose to hurt me.”

“I didn’t want –,”

“BUT YOU DID,” she shouted.

She didn’t notice the sudden quiet of the voices outside nor did she care. Azriel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, my love. This will never happen again.”

Looking at him like this made something twist inside Gwyn. Her whole body was trembling with anger and pain. An endless flow of tears started streaming down her face. How dare he make such empty promises after having ripped her heart out like he did.

“I know you still love me, Gwyn.”

She huffed. “Of course I love you.” There was no point in denying it. “I hate myself for loving you so much.”

Azriel grabbed one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “Please let me fix this. I love you more than anything.”

Another sentence that she had heard back then. As if trust could be fixed by simply snapping one’s fingers. As if those images that had haunted her for an entire month would disappear by simply piling new ones on top.

“If this is your idea of love, then it’s wrong,” she said, slowly removing her hand from his. She closed her eyes as she did so, knowing well that this would be last time she would ever let him touch her. Perhaps the last time she would ever let any man touch her. It seemed impossible in this moment that she would ever trust a man again with her heart. Not when it would always remain with the one kneeling at her feet. The sight was another mockery of the future she had dreamed for them. Another sick and cruel joke of life.

A knock sounded at the door followed by Cassian’s deep voice. “You still decent in there? Time’s over.”

Time wasn’t the only thing that was over. Gwyn was almost at the door when Azriel abruptly stood up and grabbed her wrist. Without even thinking, she turned around and slapped him so hard that the incessant knocking on the door stopped.

Azriel released her wrist and brought his hand to his cheek. His hazel eyes found hers again. His eyes were red and filled with tears, his expression full of something that she refused to acknowledge.

Since she had nothing left to say and so much more tears left to shed, Gwyn turned around and walked out, to somewhere she could mourn the loss of her heart.

#ANGST #Warning - No happy ending #I broke my own heart writing this #thank you anon!#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger

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vwritesaus · 4 months

Text

Thomas drops a handful of broken timber planks onto the ground with a sigh. Sweat pools at the back of his neck and at his hairline, ice cold against his skin. The sun has decided not to make itself present today, hiding behind dour, blackened clouds that promise a frigid, windy afternoon. Not that it bothers him in the slightest. Thomas prefers to be out at the Institute, sorting through debris in a cracked, stained courtyard in poor weather than sitting around doing nothing at all. After all, sitting around doing nothing at all gives way to dangerous thoughts barging into his head, ones he doesn’t want to think about lest they crush his soul more than it already has been. No, it is better to be productive. Better to be busy. Better to be surrounded by people he knows and loves than to be at home alone. His family is out for the day, Eugenia in search of a new set of embroidery needles, and Alastair—the one whom Thomas wants to see more than anyone else when his mind is like this—is babysitting Zachary in Kensington. As per the letter he’d gotten yesterday, Thomas has been invited to see them later on in the day, but the gap between the morning and the afternoon is a long time, indeed. So when James and Matthew’s fire message came to him that morning requesting (namely, begging) his assistance with cleaning up, Thomas rushed out of his home in Golders Green without a backward glance. At the present moment, both Matthew and James are kicking at loose rock and dry leaves in the distance. The trees bordering the London streets and the Institute seem to have dumped all their broken branches into the courtyard, creating a crooked, spiny cemetery circled by dust and dirt and withered foliage. Shattered roof tiles, odd riff-raff from horse-drawn carriages, ripped shop awnings and jagged pieces from window panes, and general rubble and dirt make up the rest of the unfortunate picture. But Thomas finds himself really not caring about the mammoth clean-up task left to the Shadowhunters of the London Enclave. It’s easier not to care, he’s found. It helps with this evidently everlasting numbness. He turns his attention to the handful of broken planks he’s dumped onto the ground and forces himself to count each individual ringed spot and dark-stained grain. Focus. He must focus—

continue reading on ao3

SO.

i know it's been AGES since i posted the first chapter of this fic (and, indeed, any fic....) and all i can i say is that the work/life balance this year hasn't been kind to me in the slightest :')

but!!! we're finally here, and the other chapters are getting there... slowly lol

i hope you all had a lovely holiday break and are looking forward to the new year (i know i am, good grief). hope you enjoy this chapter !!

tag list: @drunkonimagination @astriefer @ferrari-go-vroom-vroom @alastairstom @what-ho-christopher-put-in @thomastaircompassrose @faithfromanewperspective (thought you might be interested, but no pressure!!) let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

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cycian · 7 months

Note

Starfield request: Andreja preparing to cook a meal for everyone in the lodge, whatever that entails in your imagination. Perhaps Sarah is also around to help, which again, is up to you how that plays out.

I lost control. 4.9k words under the readmore, Andreja/Sarah pairing. Sorry not sorry. Will be posted to ao3 after some editing within the week. Oopsie doopsie, love you Ronqueesha but you knew precisely what this ask would do to me lol.

Blurring lines

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of eating nothing but takeout, deliveries. Countless Chunks menus had been ordered and promptly devoured by the ravenous Constellation members.

Sarah could hardly believe it as she added the expenses onto the budget. Until now, she hadn't realised that Barrett's favorite past time had been a blessing upon their budget, stomachs and waistlines.

Across from her, Andreja idly sharpened her blade, her eyes drifting around the warm light of day that filtered through the small greenhouse.

"I can't believe I'm going to have to say it, but Barrett's cooking is a cornerstone of our Lodge section of the budget." Sarah said, mostly to herself, as she hadn't expected Andreja to be paying attention to her mumblings and ravings.

The blade stopped on its block for an instant, before resuming its dance.

Sarah thought no more of it.

Until midnight struck.

She had moved from the pleasant warmth of the greenhouse for the quiet chaos of her room/office. She knew that if Noel were to catch her working so late, she'd get chastised. She was fine, she thought. Even if Sarah attempted to sleep, the nightmares would wake her up--might as well be productive.

She went down to the kitchen, located in the basement (Walter, why?), with the intent of indulging in more caffeine, only to be interrupted by curses hushed in the dead of night, in a tongue that she did not recognize. The voice, however, was very familiar to Sarah. She tried to silence her steps to figure out what was bothering Andreja to the point of using expletives, only to find the Va’ruun woman covered from head to toe in flour.

Sarah Morgan was not exactly known for being ‘stealthy’ or discreet or even remotely ‘subtle’. She was, at best, a terrormorph in a china shop. Despite her best efforts, she could not manage to repress the undignified snort that escaped her.

Andreja’s eyes snapped to her, narrowed into dark slits, before softening as the leader of Constellation stepped towards the light, clad in her very elegant pajamas. An old UC vanguard shirt, fraying at the edges (an umpteenth attempt from John to get her to enlist again) and her blue checkered pajama pants that bore countless coffee stains. Somehow, she felt underdressed, compared to Andreja and her endless supply of Va’ruun outfits, despite the former smuggler being covered in flour.

Sarah wondered how it was possible to always look so…stunning. Even looking like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, covered in flour in the late hours of the night, Andreja looked stunning as she attempted to pat the flour out of her clothes.

“Do not worry about the mess, Miss Morgan. I will clean this up. My apologies. I hope I did not wake you up.” Andreja’s words broke Sarah out of her daydream, forcing her to tear her eyes away from the defined biceps.

“Don’t worry about it, Andreja, I haven’t gone to bed yet.” She wiggled her favorite mug (it had one particularly cute cat drawn on it), moving past the flour-covered woman to pour herself more coffee. Sarah raised her eyebrow. The pot was empty. She usually was the one to siphon it throughout the night but—

“You don’t usually stay up this late. I hope everything is okay.” Sarah asked as she poured some water into the coffee maker, before adding some grounds. Some more patting sounds came from behind her, and as the machine came to life, Sarah turned around, only to find Andreja staring at the kitchen with a menacing glare.

“I am fine, Miss Morgan.” Poor thing. Even her back was covered in flour. Sarah carefully approached her, slowly letting her hand rest on Andreja’s shoulder and pushing the younger woman to look at her.

Andreja looked down, her eyes finally meeting Sarah’s. The Chair of Constellation was not used to looking up at someone—she usually towered over most people she met. But Andreja was tall. And not just lanky tall, either. She reminded Sarah of the stories she’d read about in books, about Amazonians of incredibly heights, strength and determination. Every inch of her was like a blade. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut, her eyes piercing like a knife’s tip, her body ever-coiled like a snake awaiting the occasion to strike. Even now, she felt those muscles tense under her touch.

“Miss Morgan?” Andreja tilted her head to the side quizzically, flour streaking her pitch-black hair. Sarah cursed herself internally.

“Sorry, lack of sleep can make me a little…disconnected.” Her hand moved off of Andreja’s shoulder, before hovering next to her hair. “May I help you with the flour situation? I wouldn’t want you to lose one of your garbs to pesky flour.”

Andreja nodded, a small smile lighting up her face. Sarah gently brushed the flour away from the Va’runn’s hair. How was it so soft? It was like touching silk, or a gentle stream.

“Ashta oil, mostly. Sam was kind enough to provide me with some.” Andreja explained while Sarah Morgan was busy wondering if the filter between her brain and her mouth had fully malfunctioned. Thankfully, Andreja did not seem to mind or care too much as she let Sarah pat her down.

“Well, at least, you can rest assured that white hair will suit you.” Sarah said, holding a strand of flour-covered hair.

Andreja’s lips tightened in a polite smile, before taking a step back. Sarah did not mind in the slightest. Nor was she shocked. Andreja had been here for well over a year, yet it was always two steps forward and one step back with her. She reminded Sarah of the black cat on her cup. Hard to predict, always on her guard, never knowing if she was about to cozy up to you or about to bolt.

“I suppose you must be wondering why I was in such a…situation.” Andreja broke the silence as Sarah stopped the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup, before turning around, coffee pot in hand. Andreja nodded, before retrieving one of the generic mugs that they kept in storage for the few visitors that sometimes came by the Lodge.

“I stopped asking our dear colleagues what they were up to, when caught in strange situations, about seven years ago. Better this way.” Sarah still remembered the five-hour tale Barrett weaved when she asked him why he hung his socks in the greenhouse.

Andreja nodded, letting Sarah pour her a cup of coffee, before leaning her hip against the counter.

“An unusual group of people, getting up to unusual activities. Hardly surprising. In my case, I was attempting something… mundane.”

“I’m guessing you were cooking.”

“Trying to.” Andreja gestured to her black garb, still bearing some faint traces of flour. Sarah gently brushed away some that lingered on Andreja’s thigh. “I know that Barrett’s absence is a strain on our budget—and morale. I wondered if perhaps I could attempt to replicate one of his recipes. He was kind enough to provide me with access to his cooking slates, but they’ve proven…challenging.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. Barrett’s recipes were his only secret. Even Noel had been forbidden from ever accessing this treasure. Sarah never bothered asking—cooking was not really something that interested her much.

“You seem surprised. I suppose that a smuggler covered in flour is surprising.” Andreja said, her voice uncharacteristically meek. Sarah pursed her lips.

“Former smuggler. And I am happy whenever a Constellation member decides to learn a new skillset. No teasing from me, Andreja, I promise. What were you trying to cook? Surely Barrett’s recipe can’t be that complicated.”

Oh, how wrong she had been.

Cursed be Barrett, and the amped-up hare that he had in place of a functioning brain.

The recipe’s title was simple enough. Homemade pasta with tomato sauce. However, the more she read on the data slate, the stronger the chance of a headache became. Barrett spent the two first pages of the slate describing the history of Italy and southern European Old Earth delights. He somehow managed to get lost within his historical ramblings, before even providing a list of the ingredients. With every line, the urge to hunt Barrett down and force him to be coherent became stronger. The instructions were hidden in between paragraphs of Barrett waxing poetry about the consistency of the dough (soft as a summer’s day and firm as a lover’s embrace was NOT helpful) and doodles of Constellation members.

Sarah set down the data slate, before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“He is certainly passionate about cooking.” Andreja offered, while Sarah was contemplating telling Andreja to just order from yet another restaurant. But she couldn’t. Because when she turned around, she was met with knee-buckling soft brown eyes staring down at her.

“We are explorers. We spend our lives deciphering the Universe’s secret. Surely, we can wing a pasta recipe and get away with it.”

Andreja always tried to keep an eye on the time. It was an old habit that refused to die. Keeping track of time helped her know when a patrol might be coming by, or if she’d stayed in the same area for too long. However, in the dimly lit basement, with Sarah’s chuckles and occasional grumbles of discontentment, time had lost all meaning. They’d started over at least a dozen times. She was certain that the budget had yet suffered another blow, as they cracked open egg after egg, bags of flour hastily thrown in the garbage disposal after each failed attempt.

When Sarah had found her, she had been ready to give up. Yet, the coffee and company kept her going. Try after try, Andreja found that she cared little if the food turned out edible or not.

Because right next to her, perched on a camping chair, the Chair of Constellation, clad in her pajamas, was reading her a magazine.

It was hardly interesting. Just the New Atlantis daily. But what was interesting to Andreja, was to see Sarah come to life. Her eyes lit up as she told her that she had to visit the UC Museum (she’d rather die) or that they could go together (she’d love that). Sarah Morgan came alive when passion was involved. She sat up straighter, her hands dancing in the dim light as she described the first plant that sent her to the hospital and prompted her to take an interest in botany. Her voice, usually restrained to one precise register, one of calm and authority, would soar between highs (she was rather passionate about Old Earth pets) and rumblings lows (she did not seem to want to discuss her past with the UC).

The knowledge and worship of the Great Serpent had always brought her peace. It was an eternal, universal law. In a galaxy full of ever-changing tangents, it was her rock. Yet, as Sarah’s eyes started to droop, her temples resting on her closed fist, Andreja felt a brush of serenity pass her by.

It was how Noel found them. Passed out on camping chairs, in the early hours of the morning, boiling the galaxy’s worst pasta. Years of training had honed Andreja’s senses, yet, she did not even stir as the scientist retreated up the stairs, leaving a note on the door to not enter the basement until noon.

Thankfully, she did not sleep in that late.

Sounds of distress roused her from her sleep, only to find that the source was none other than Miss Morgan, her brow covered in a gleam of sweat. Andreja was no stranger to those demons that only came to those that had felt the fires of life’s kiss and had been left charred. She brought her hand close to Miss Morgan’s forehead, afraid to touch those golden and silver strands of hair that stuck to her forehead, before settling for her shoulder.

Miss Morgan had touched her shoulders before, it was alright, yes? It had comforted Andreja, had made her feel warm. Surely, it would help.

She gently squeezed her shoulder.

“Miss Morgan, wake up.” She spoke softly, afraid of scaring the blonde woman who writhed under Andreja’s robe’s overlayer. Miss Morgan’s hand grabbed hers, with such despair, even unconscious, that shattered Andreja’s heart. Andreja let her free hand rest atop hers, clutching it tight. “It’s me, Andreja.”

“Andreja.” Sarah repeated, her voice hoarse. She finally opened her eyes, green meeting dark brown. Her eyes widened, looking everywhere frantically.

“Calm down, you are safe, we are in the Lodge’s basement. You are safe.” She repeated. Sarah let her head fall back down against the chair, her free hand combing through her hair. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, that she fought against. Andreja was familiar with this feeling. She leaned forward, slowly enough to give Miss Morgan plenty of opportunity to back away. She brought their conjoined hands to her own chest, taking deep, calming breaths. She let her forehead rest against Miss Morgan’s.

Andreja kept her eyes firmly set on the blonde woman. Miss Morgan’s hands entangled themselves from Andreja’s, shaking as she set them on her lap, her eyes softly opening. Although Andreja had spent more time than she would be willing to admit looking at the Chair, she still could not place the color of her eyes. Sometimes, they would be piercing blue, reminiscent of lakes on deep freeze planets, or forest green, so akin to fresh leaves as spring thawed nature.

In that dimly lit basement, they were of a blue so deep that Andreja was afraid that she might drown in them, her breath hitching as they locked eyes. For an instant, Andreja felt eternity as their eyes bore and blended in one another, before Miss Morgan pulled away.

“I…I am so sorry, Andreja. It shall not happen again, don’t worry,” The Chair spoke, as she pushed the chair back, getting out of the chair as fast as her legs would allow her. Andreja kept a hand out to stabilize her as Miss Morgan swayed on her feet, her hair sticking out in pikes and cowlicks that defied gravity. “I thank you for your help and I’ll—I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Before Andreja even had the chance to speak, the Chair bolted out of the basement as if pursued by a dozen terrormorphs, leaving a trail of flour on the flour, her favorite mug on the counter and an incredibly perplexed Andreja behind.

Sarah Morgan was mortified.

For a couple of reasons. Firstly, she’d been rash to a woman who had been kind and understanding to her. Secondly, in her haste to leave the premises, she had failed to notice that Andreja unfurled the cloth that she usually wore wrapped around her hips and over her shoulder, and had wrapped her in it. Which meant that Sam and Walter somersaulted to conclusions, with such vivacity and fervor that before Sarah could even make her way up the stairs, Vladimir had heard of it. Not only had he heard of it, but he had also already messaged her.

Threatening her to not even think of hurting Andreja’s feelings. And to do right by her.

Aja often told her that Constellation’s lines between work and family had blended the instant Banks had founded their organization. Sarah did not think much of it. She thought that she was good enough at separating her work/life balance that blurred lines would never be much of an issue for her.

Third reason for Sarah Morgan’s mortification: she could not, for the life of her, summon the willpower to remove Andreja’s cloth. It smelled just like her. A subtle drifting smell of something sharp like iron and a wafting, warm amber fragrance with hints of patchouli.

Sarah let herself fall upon her bed, after pushing the data slates of the unoccupied side. Maybe her work/life balance was not perfect.

Perhaps lines were starting to blur.

But despite the furious flush on her lips from her colleagues’ teasing, she could not find it in herself to stop a smile from creeping across her lips as she lifted Andreja’s cloth to her face.

Andreja watched, not without satisfaction, as her crepe browned in the pan. She had started to decipher Barrett’s recipe reliably enough to attempt the simplest recipes on his slates. The first one had not come out as expected—according to Vladimir, who had called her and decided to linger on the comms for a dozen minutes, it was a normal occurrence. He sounded happier than usual as he regaled her with tales of the deepest confines of space while she whisked the batter. But soon as the door to the basement opened, he excused himself, without finishing his story.

A shame. It had Aceles. Andreja loved Aceles.

“I am still not interested in a drink, Sam. But thank you all the same.” Andreja spoke over her shoulder, before flipping the crepe over once again. No response. Andreja turned her head, only to be greeted by Sarah Morgan, who held her neatly folded garb in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Not wine to be drunk from a straw. Wine with a cork, a corkscrew even poking out from the inside pocket of Miss Morgan’s jacket.

“Should I take that as a no to wine?” The Chair asked and though a smile was upon her lips, Andreja could see the tightness in her eyes. She shook her head and beckoned Miss Morgan closer.

“Expensive wine? What a rare treat, Miss Morgan. Have you given up on our budget altogether, then?” Andreja asked as she slid the crepe onto a plate, before pouring more batter into the pan. She heard a bottle being set down and a table being dragged. She heard her rummage through cupboards, before she finally turned around.

Miss Morgan had set up a table for two. A flower, bright purple, had found herself planted in a vase in the middle of the table, accompanied by the bottle of wine. Andreja’s garb had been set aside next to her mug, which had been refilled with warm coffee. Andreja watched as the Chair of Constellation, the fearless explorer that was Sarah Morgan, fretted over the napkins that she was attempting to fold in the shape of a flower. The result was less than picture perfect—Andreja loved it. She could not help but beam as Sarah proudly held the folded napkin in her hand.

Sarah Morgan loved the sound of wildlife chirping as daylight brought them out of their slumber. She loved the hum of a grav drive right before a jump. She found that the sound of Andreja laughing instantly beat all of her previous favorites. It made it all worth it. The long talk she had about Sam Coe on how to apologize to pretty women (he was an expert), the hour spent picking wine with Walter (he was an expert) and picking up an outfit (Noel and Matteo were useless but supportive). It was worth it because Andreja laughed as she folded her napkins to the best of her abilities. She’d watched a tutorial on how to make one in the shape of an Aceles, but was quickly humbled.

“I owe you an apology,” Sarah said as she set down the napkins, smoothing over her blue shirt. “It was inconsiderate of me, I just…”

Andreja held up a hand. “You owe me nothing. There is nothing that you must justify to me, unless you wish to.”

Sarah let out a breath that she had been holding for the last two decades, running a hand through the strands where silver and gold mingled freely. She let her shoulders sag. Andreja had seen her as she was. Tired. Irrational, sometimes. Prone to fleeing the instant any emotion went past what Sarah was comfortable with. Endlessly running towards the horizon, never daring to look back in fear of what she would find.

And still, she stayed.

Sarah Morgan took a step forward, past Andreja as she grabbed the pan’s handle. She gave it a quick shake, before beckoning Andreja closer.

“My parents were diplomats,” She began, feeling her voice weaken as it fought against the things it had kept quiet for so long. “My father was quite fond of crepes, he even tried to show me how to make them. I was never quite good but—”

She stepped back and directed Andreja’s hand to hold the handle just as she had, before wrapping her arms around the Va’ruun, her hands on Andreja’s. She felt the younger woman tense underneath her touch, before softening and gently leaning against her.

“Give it a tug, get the crepe unstuck. There you go, now, we’re going to do a sautee motion, push the pan forward, up, then back towards you quickly. Follow my movement.” In one swift motion, the crepe flew towards the ceiling, before landing back into the pan, perfectly flipped.

Andreja had watched with a hint of mirth as the crepe flew, a slow giggle slipping past her lips. But all Sarah could look at was her, at the smile held back with a hint of teeth, the way her eyes squinted, the hint of a crow’s nest forming at the corners of her eyes. The small smile line starting to make itself apparent.

“Thank you… Sarah.”

Just hearing her name from Andreja’s lips sent goosebumps all the way down to her arms—she hoped that Andreja hadn’t noticed as Sarah pulled away, nodding to the pan.

“Come on, give it a try.”

“I am afraid I might make a mess of it.”

“Look at my ‘flower’, it’s not exactly perfect, is it? Nothing has to be perfect. It just has to be.” Sarah encouraged her. Andreja nodded, before grabbing the handle, giving it a few tentative sweeps, before attempting to flip the crepe.

Sarah watched as the crepe soared in her direction, almost hitting her across the face. Thankfully, her reflexes were sharp. She caught it, twirling it in her hands, throwing it from hand to hand as it was still very much hot from the pan. Though Andreja’s skin was too dark for a blush to be visible, it was easy to tell that the Va’ruun was flustered, as her wide eyes seemingly couldn’t even blink anymore.

Sarah threw her a cheeky wink, before tearing the crepe and throwing it in the air, attempting to catch it with her mouth. She slid on her knees, ignoring the pain in her lower back (God, she wasn’t in her thirties anymore, and her body never failed to remind her), as the crepe fell in her mouth.

Andreja cackled, clapping her hands as Sarah rose to her knees, munching through her half with as much dignity as she could muster. She offered her audience a small bow.

“I did not know that you were so… silly.” Andreja said, a wide smile on her lips.

Darling, even I forgot that part of me.

But it was not the time to explain that with decades of self-set expectations to meet, with the scars that littered her body and mind, she’d let a rift grow between herself and the rest of the universe—friend or foe alike. Because Andreja had told her that she had no need to explain herself, unless she willed it. And tonight, just tonight, she wanted to be Sarah and Andreja, sharing crepes and wine. But deep down, she knew that when the abyss, the same that stared back every time she closed her eyes, would call her again, she knew what’d she do. She wouldn’t shy away from kind hands that would lead her to their own heartbeat to steady hers.

That night, she just said:

“Want to try?”

And she watched with glee as Andreja, the best shot she’d ever met, the sturdiest, steadiest and strongest person she’d ever met, throw a crepe up in the air and swallow it like an Old Earth seagull.

Though none of them were known for being the chattiest members of Constellation, every breath was spent on a tale, and when words ebbed, wine flowed. Andreja told her of her homeland, of the cities that lingered on the edge of the desert where she’d grown, of the pet she’d raised and slaughtered and the dagger she’d fashioned out of its skull. Of the tall beasts that would sometimes cross into their territory but that had fascinated her as a child. On an unfolded napkin, she’d drawn the outline of the beast, eyes closed in concentration, the tip of her pen dancing on cloth as she regaled Sarah with the uses for their venoms and chitin. It had reminded Sarah of scorpions, an old earth creature and they’d made plans to watch a documentary on the creatures of the desert from Sarah’s personal collection.

Sarah told her of her father’s smile, omitting his scorn. She told Andreja of his smooth hands as he pushed her on the swing, of the flaming passion for peace that got him out of bed. She spoke of her mother’s kindness and tendency to berate young Sarah for tracking mud everywhere she went.

The words they shared, those wounds that they willingly re-opened with kind hands, guided them through the night and the stack of crepes that they packed and put away for the others to enjoy in the morning.

They laughed, and for an instant, Andreja felt the caress of a youth that had been taken away from her before she could even think about enjoying it. And for an instant, Sarah Morgan’s eyes left the horizon, to instead appreciate what had been right in front of her all along.

Andreja offered to stay behind and clean up—she was starting to enjoy the freedom of a night owl. Sarah’s hand lingered on her forearm.

“If you have trouble sleeping… Come find me, Sarah.” Andreja’s tone did not offer Sarah the luxury of argumentation as her hand rested upon Sarah’s. She nodded, letting herself drift slowly into Andreja’s arms.

Andreja’s arms wrapped themselves around her, pulling her close. Words were wildly unnecessary by that point. No word could do justice to the quiet adoration pooling in Andreja’s eyes and the ever-burning fire rekindled in Sarah’s own. Sarah lifted herself on her tiptoes, letting Andreja handle the brunt of her weight as she wrapped her arms around Andreja’s neck, bringing her close, to her neck.

Andreja nuzzled in, a small peck on Sarah’s neck leaving a ripple of goosebumps to dance along her skin, echoed by Andreja’s own skin. Sarah’s hand tilted Andreja’s chin, letting herself get lost.

A small kiss, chaste, but oh, so electric. An instant that lasted an eternity and tasted of amber and wine. A lingering look, one that they were not willing to break, as Sarah retreated up the stairs, entirely forgetting her red leather jacket on her chair.

She let the door close behind her as she slid against it, her eyes fluttering close. One sweet kiss, the promise of so much more to come. She let herself bask in the glow as she rose to her knees. As she climbed up the stairs, she was interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

All around the Lodge’s main room, members were pretending to busy themselves. Cora was fast asleep on the sofa as Sam pretended to read a manual on astrophysics, while Matteo, next to him, was polishing his nails. Walter was sipping on a cognac, a book on his lap and a smile on his lips. Noel, with the subtlety of an Aceles whose testicles had been bitten in a china shop, leant against the doorframe and almost slipped, before asking.

Sarah couldn’t keep it at bay. Not after today. Not while she could still smell Andreja’s perfume on her skin and the taste of her lips on hers. Her face broke into a grin.

“It went amazingly. Thank you for your help, everyone.”

To her utmost discomfort, the Constellation members erupted into whoops, Noel all but grabbing her by her shoulders and shaking her vigorously, as if she were an athlete bringing home an impressive trophy.

Sarah raised her voices, hushing them down with her hands.

“Calm down, please! This is not a fraternity house!” She chided.

“But you got some!” Sam counter-attacked, his hands covering Cora’s ears, though the child could sleep through anything.

“What, no I did not, we just kissed.”

“Wait, so you guys locked me in my room all day just so they could kiss?” A voice rang from upstairs.

“Barrett!? You’re back?” Sarah looked, bewildered as the source of fifty percent of their ransom budget peaked his head over the balcony.

“Honestly, just for your face right now, worth it.”

The lines were blurring, Sarah thought, as she received claps on her backs and a beer was thrusted in her hands. But perhaps she needed friends more than she needed colleagues.

#starfield #andreja #sarah morgan #andrejarah #yeah im declaring this ship to be andrejarah sue me #starfield prompt fill

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