#Redacted fanfic

[escapisttt]

make up sex

porter runs. he always runs, but he never comes back. what will happen now that he finally has?

cw: nsfw! smut with plot read the title lol, mentions of a previous argument, some hostile dialogue

authors note: was interesting writing gender neutral smut for the first time but it’s literally not hard so anyone who tells you it is is either selfish, lazy, or uncreative.

word count: 3.6k (also the exact length of my only other redacted fic okay)

steam billowed all around the bathroom, penetrating every surface with moisture and sticking to the large rectangular mirror. treasure began undressing themself with lumbering movements, constantly tipping over left and right. after trying to take their slippers off while standing up, they again became unsteady and caught themself on the sink basin. they chuffed. when was the last time they drank like this? every time they went to a bar, they had their friends to look after. nothing’s quite as lame as being the designated driver, they thought. to them, that was another indication of their plainness; they weren’t fun enough to party with. instead, they were left to scroll on their phone while sitting on a barstool, catching themself gazing wistfully up at the chalkboard drink menu. but tonight they had indulged. not at a bar, but alone on their armchair, sipping wine and watching their ceiling go in and out of focus. they knew they’d had enough when they watched the ceiling slowly bend, rise, and fall as if there were a pair of lungs under the plaster.

once they were fully bare, they carefully stepped under the scalding water. they flinched and then froze, willing themself to not back away. they weren’t the one to run. they wouldn’t run.

they closed their eyes and let the burning water hit their front. they could already feel their chest turning a darker, uglier color. but they wouldn’t step back. they wouldn’t turn the temperature down. it felt good, the heat. images of him flashed through their mind, causing their brow to furrow in helpless frustration. his hands, his fingertips, his breath, it was all so hot. they had never felt so much heat before him. now though, they had been left cold for days. just like the outings with their ‘friends.’ after he slammed the door and ran, they were back on a lonely barstool. cold. freezing. they’d never felt so much ice before him, either.

a figure hovered in front of the bathroom door. the smell of hair conditioner wafted to the creature’s senses, his red irises eclipsed by black need. the smell called to him, screamed his name. but he shouldn’t even be there in the first place. the instinct, the guilt, the aroma—what was the matter with him? he’d fed on some poor soul minutes ago and still couldn’t focus? he wrapped his hand around the doorknob and squeezed. they weren’t singing like they usually do. was that his fault? he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the door, focusing harder. a foul, shocking odor struck him. alcohol in their blood? was that his fault?

treasure heard the door creak open and yelped. before they could peek around the curtain…. “it’s me, darling. are you drunk?” they stayed silent and felt their fear morph into a melancholic frustration. any other well adjusted member of society would be full of terror and adrenaline if someone suddenly appeared in their home, but porter ripped away that sense of normalcy long ago. the mere sound of his voice caused an irritation, never mind him calling them ‘darling’ again. they rolled their eyes.

“what on earth are you doing here?! i thought you’d at least have the sense to throw away the key,” they spat coldly. porter’s shoulders shrank a little and he looked down at the tile. usually he would remark that he didn’t need a key anyway, but that attitude was exactly what had earned him this mess. his voice was low and small.

“you want rid of me that much?”

the rushing water dampened his sound a bit, but treasure could easily tell he was being wary and... something else. they pulled the curtain back just enough to reveal their head and took in the sight of him. a black blazer with a scarf, as usual, except his slacks were wrinkled. and his hair wasn’t even gelled. odd. they leaned against the shower wall as to not lose their footing and played off their disorientation by scoffing at him, ignoring his question. “did your king take away your wares too? you look shitty.” porter didn’t laugh, and he certainly didn’t miss the indignation behind the word ‘king.’ he approached and loomed over them, masking his annoyance.

“please, enough about him. you’re drunk.”

they scoffed again and went back to their shower routine, rinsing the rest of their hair. they didn’t close the curtain though. porter took the subtle invitation and leaned against the drywall, watching them through the gap in the curtain. he widened it a bit with his hand and started again. “i can fix that for you. give me your hand and you’ll be sober.” porter never knew them as one to indulge so heavily. he didn’t want to push as to why they had drank because he had a feeling it would only make them blow up at him, but he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that wanted to prod. the way they prodded him. but not this time.

treasure mulled over his words and extended their hand without looking back at him. they of all people knew how senseless drunk conversations can be. porter gently took their hand and tried not to linger on how whole it made him feel. using magic, he traced the excess amounts of alcohol in their bloodstream and dissipated it. he stood watchfully, trying not to overstep but wanting desperately to keep hold of them during the jarring sobering. they wobbled on their feet with their eyes closed for a moment before opening and snapping their gaze back at him. there was the alertness they were lacking. “clearer?” he asked, to which they gave him a curt nod.

now that they were in their right mind, they scanned over his form once more: he wasn't a drunken illusion. an awkward silence fell over the pair. treasure's eyes flitted back and forth between porter and the shower wall. when porter didn't take the hint, they eventually spoke up. “get in if you want. you just look stupid standing there,” they mumbled, yanking the curtain shut.

porter’s clothes instantly phased away as he yielded to the insult and stepped into the enclosed space. he stayed opposite of treasure and kept his back pressed against the wet tile, his arms wrapped around his middle. treasure threw him a look over their shoulder, snickering dryly. “you only have good manners after we fight?” the vampire let out an amused huff from his nostrils and hung his head.

“it seems it always takes something drastic to make me learn, yes.”

treasure turned around fully and reached for their body scrub, looking up at him as they bent down. their gaze was steely but their lips were tempting. “well i haven’t heard a ‘sorry,’ so do i have to beat one out of you?” they joked humorlessly.

those words caused the flame of guilt to lick at porter’s skin once more. ‘beat one out of him’—were they being sarcastic at their own expense? the inhuman strength in every muscle fiber in his body told him yes. god, he used that against them in their argument. he talked down to them, using ‘human’ as an insult, shoving in their face how much power he held over them. he didn’t start the fight, but he didn’t have to finish it like that. he’d never harm them, but he gave them such a strong implication that he could and made them feel bad about it. he called them stupid for even being with him, made himself out to be a monster they needed to run from. but they both knew porter was the one who was running. even so, in all of porter’s long existence, treasure was the first thing he’d ever ran back to. he could lose everything, but not them.

porter took a small step forward with his head still hanging and motioned for the container of body scrub. treasure gave him a puzzled look. the vampire sighed and took another step, gently taking the container from their hand and setting it down. “treasure, i….” he considered their choice of words again. he finally raised his head and looked into their eyes. “you can—you can do anything you want to me. i’m very sorry for what i said, but… whatever satisfies you. whatever gives you power.”

the vampire in front of treasure was not one they easily recognized. his eyes were nearly-black orbs and shone with desperate longing. porter solaire was a slighting creature, who was this? it was porter, just porter. treasure gave him a slow nod. “make it up to me.”

the vampire’s eyes lit up and he swiftly made his move. his lips attached to treasure’s neck, fangs firmly retracted. this wasn’t about him, nothing tonight was about him. his hands slid up the wet slopes of their hips and waist. a trapped moan escaped him when he felt them like that. he was touching god and it was burning, but he loved it. his kisses trailed across their neck and up their chin, aiming for their perfect lips. but when he tried to reach them, a resounding smack echoed in their steamy enclosure. porter blinked and his head was whipped around to the right, a red hot sting on his cheek. treasure’s hand returned to grip his jaw and pointed his head forward at them.

“i didn’t give you permission to kiss me. you think you deserve my lips?” porter could’ve cum right there. he shook his head.

“no, no i don’t. can i earn it?” his voice was like nothing they had heard before.

“you can. do what i said and make it up to me. you know what i like.”

porter nodded once more before sinking to his knees, his hands slipping down their body reverently. he groaned at the smell of their arousal, his eyes rolling back and then locking back onto theirs. he briefly recalled the night they first met. if only he had known how mad he would go for the taste of what was in front of him.

the vampire pressed light kisses around their groin with his eyes remaining trained on theirs. just how they like it. “i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry,” he repeated in between kisses. treasure's hand came down to muss up his hair and his erection twitched. they nodded at him with a pleased grin and gave him a tug as a reward. his precum dribbled onto the grout.

shortly, porter's efforts made it so treasure leaked more of their own arousal; that was porter’s cue. he licked a long stripe upward, collecting their slick on his flattened tongue and letting out a whine at their salty taste. he quickly dove in for more, moaning louder than treasure. his hands were planted firmly in his lap, not touching himself or the beauty before him; he knew he wasn’t deserving of doing either. treasure smiled and leaned their head back, their hips bucking in a smooth rhythm against his mouth. porter could cry at their movement—the gorgeous fluidity and the signal that he was giving it to them right.

nothing ever felt as right as when he was giving them pleasure. he couldn’t count how many nights he would spend god knows where, making god knows who disappear; it wasn’t in his nature to bring anything but pain. he was a sinner through and through, but that first night with treasure at skyside, he thinks, he began repenting. he found religion in every breath they took, every twitch of ecstasy he fed them. he felt holy at their feet.

“porter, i’m so close,” they gasped, causing the vampire’s dead heart to pound. he nodded emphatically, shaking his head side to side just to give them that extra stimulation. his desperate moans also sent vibrations to their sensitive flesh, setting their nerves alight. their grip on his hair was lethal and porter’s arousal was reaching a tipping point. he no longer had control over himself; treasure was pushing and pulling and holding his face flush against them until any normal human would’ve suffocated. porter’s mind was going hazy as if he was, his true feelings emerging from thoughtless bliss.

“i could die,” he panted as he gazed up at them, “let me die like this.” they climaxed only a second later.

ambrosia seeped onto porter’s tongue and he drank piously, catching every drop. treasure’s wanton whimpers and breaths filled the vampire’s ears and he couldn’t have been happier. he knew this is where he belonged, and he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for nearly forsaking it.

treasure finally let go of porter’s hair and he whined at the loss. they chuckled breathlessly and patted their chest, signaling that they wanted to be eye to eye. the vampire quickly stood, hissing quietly when his painful erection brushed up against their stomach. he swallowed at the closeup view of their blissed-out face; their eyes were in a lazy, seductive droop, but their grin was what ensnared him. he hadn’t seen one in days and now he’d earned one back, no matter the sadistic undertones behind it. they reached a hand out and cupped his cheek, smiling wider when his eyelids fluttered at the touch. porter didn’t notice their hand sneaking down to grip his base and his eyes shot open once he felt it.

“i’m assuming you want this taken care of?” they teased, tapping his cock against their stomach. he groaned pathetically, putting his hands on the wall behind them. he gripped at nothing, fingers clenching and unclenching around nothing and trying not to crack the tile. hovering over treasure was a beast of incomprehensible strength, holding himself back for one reason: forgiveness.

“treasure… i’m begging you.”

their wolfish grin slowly faded as they leaned in closer, squeezing his cock harshly. “and you’ll keep begging until i forgive you.” with that, they released him and shut off the water, promptly snatching their towel and stepping onto the floor mat without him. they left the bathroom before he could even process what they said.

the vampire blinked and hurried after them, bare and dripping wet. treasure was already laying on their back in bed, equally naked and damp. their towel was beneath them and they gazed at him expectantly. porter’s eyes widened as he realized what they wanted. he could hardly believe it. with vampiric speed, he was on his knees over them in a split second. their legs were spread and knees bent up, the sight making him look away and curse. god, he couldn’t take it. but treasure wasn’t having that. a smack to the thigh and his eyes were snapped open.

“you’ll look at me when you fuck me, or i’ll make you stop. don’t even fucking blink,” they threatened lowly. porter moaned but nodded, leaning down to be closer to them. without breaking eye contact, he spat on his fingers and rubbed it on their entrance, hoping to please them again. they sighed airily and reached down for his cock, unexpectedly prodding themself with it. porter gasped and almost lost his balance, catching himself on the pillow next to their head. they snickered and rolled their eyes, easing his length inside of them. it was still faster than porter ever started off, and he showed his unpreparedness by cursing and gripping their sheets. they swiftly got him fully seated and let them both settle into it, their gummy walls hugging porter’s cock snugly. he looked as if he was containing a scream.

“t-treasure you—gods, you could’ve hurt yourself doing that,” he heaved, his chest rising and falling as he tried not to cum. in response, they dug their nails into the small of his back and raked down to his ass, watching his head roll back and his mouth gape. always a sucker for pain, scratches were his favorite kryptonite. treasure had an unreadable look and gave the command he had been yearning for.

“i’m fine, just fuck me. don’t you dare go slow.”

porter was mildly concerned by their order, but he had to give them what they wanted. he would rather die than not. his hips pulled back until just his tip was inside before coming back down, thrusting smoothly into them. the sinful sound of his hips smacking into the back of their thighs drove them both wild. treasure’s nails only sank deeper into his skin, causing porter’s own wobbly grin to emerge. he fucked them faster, egged on by the delicious sting. he lowered himself more so their bodies were flush. their nipples rubbed against his chest and he panted in their ear, “like this, my love? tell me, please tell me i’m giving you what you want. fuck….”

in their own rapture, they nodded and turned their head to smile back at him. their words were mere breathy puffs of air. “uh-huh… yes, god yes. don’t stop ‘til i cum.” as if porter would’ve done otherwise.

treasure was making such a mess of themself it was audible. the vampire looked down and saw the telltale shiny slick, whining in their ear at the sight. they were so turned on for him. he put his weight on his left forearm which rested above their head and used his free hand to snake down their stomach, reaching their leaking essence. he put the pad of his thumb on their most sensitive spot and stroked up and down, up and down, earning strangled, surprised moans. his eyes bore into theirs as he continued his ministrations while fucking them, his expression one of a dog that just performed a trick for its owner: hopeful, eager, and aching for approval. “fuck, that’s how you like it…. i’ll make you cum, i’ll make you cum so fucking hard, treasure.”

the vampire was reaching speeds only his kind are able to, making treasure’s thighs ripple in ways they hadn’t felt before. porter never had a reason to fuck them this good before, and now that he was, they didn’t think they could ever go back. their body was bouncing as they lay down, mouth agape with licentious sounds pouring out. they hated that their hostility had crumbled under his hips, but they knew they’d have hated themself more if they pushed him away. right then, they just wanted to cum on his cock.

the bed frame squeaked and slid against the floor, banging against the wall. porter’s tempo was perfect, so fucking good against that sweet spongy spot inside them, his tip kissing it over and over. he didn’t know how he was holding it together. “i’m getting close, treasure. fuck, you have to cum, you have to,” he choked out in a frenzy. his thumb rubbed and stroked them faster, his hips losing rhythm but gaining speed. somehow through their pleasure-blinded haze, treasure looked porter in the eyes and raked their nails once more down his back. fuck, he wished he could scar.

“mm, beg me. beg for my cum,” they demanded with a groan. porter felt himself instantly melt under their authority and he whined in frustration, his knees almost buckling at their words. he fucked them faster and complied.

“fuck, please treasure! i need your cum, i fucking need it! i can’t—i can’t cum before you, i don’t deserve it. you have to cum for me, m-my love. i’ll never fucking raise my voice at you again, never. gods, oh my gods, please please please cum!”

he looked in their eyes the whole time, beggarly and despairing. treasure couldn’t help but succumb to all of the pleasure he was throwing at them. a few deep, swift thrusts later and they were creaming all over him. they went stiff and their mouth dropped open in a silent scream. porter felt their hole clench and pulse around him, effortlessly sending him down the same path. his cum pumped inside of them in thick ropes of ivory. he buried his head in their neck and let out a continuous string of groans and whimpers, hips shallowly bucking with each spurt of cum. his thumb never stopped stroking even as treasure reached the end of their climax. they enjoyed that slight bit of overstimulation, so they didn’t stop him. it was endearing how focused he was on making them feel good even in the throes of his own ecstasy.

porter eventually finished and collapsed beside them, eyes shut and breaths heavy. treasure remained on their back and stared up at the ceiling just as they were before he arrived. though, they were now drunk on him instead of wine. his cum steadily oozed out of them and they briefly thanked themself for having the foresight to put the towel underneath them.

“you’re cleaning this up,” they mumbled, breaking the silence. porter had practically rendered their shower useless, after all. the vampire cracked an eye open and wore a neutral expression.

“of course i am, my sweet, but in a moment. i missed this,” he replied evenly. treasure simply nodded and went back to staring upward. their gaze shifted to the ceiling fan and focused on a single fan blade, following it through each slow revolution. they felt a hand cautiously slide across their stomach, ending up cupping their side. porter scooted closer to them and held them like that, almost balling himself up in the fetal position beside them. they didn’t look over at him. they were afraid if they did, they would break. a part of them was still upset at him and knew they would confront him again, but the larger part told them that now was not the time. if they looked over at him now, they knew they would forget why they were even mad at him in the first place. for now, in this moment, they would let sleeping dogs lie and bask in the arms of a creature who would do anything for them, knowingly or not.

@vind3miat0r :)))

[chimckenns]

Early David and Angel were on a road trip up north in the last days of winter. Although spring was nearing, the air still carried the chill of the echoes of winter.

Angel stubbornly insisted on wearing their favourite sweater - one that wasn’t quite thick enough to protect them against the cold. But it looked cute, and they wanted to look good for David during this long drive. (At least, that was the reason they came up with on the spot. They just couldn’t be bothered to grab a jacket from the trunk.)

As the road dragged on and the scenery seemed to repeat itself, Angel dozed off. David could hear their soft snores amidst the music playing in the truck. It was a straight shot road as far as the eye can see, so he took one hand off the wheel to hold Angel’s hand. His breath caught for a moment. Angel’s hand was freezing. It was rare considering how hot they usually are (in both ways).

Now David could have just turned up the heater in the car. But where’s the fun in that?

He pulled over to the side of the road, took off his leather jacket, and draped it onto Angel’s front. The warmth of his body heat that was trapped in the jacket made Angel subconsciously snuggle in, their face now buried almost completely by the leather. He could hear them take a deep breath, and their hand relaxed in his.

“Dumbass. You planned this from the start, didn’t you.”

David let his thumb rub circles on the back of their hand for a moment, watching them rest. He secretly watched them like this every morning when he wakes up before them, savouring the view before their eyes would inevitably open and the day would begin.

With a gentle kiss to their temple, he pulled back onto the road and continued their journey.

[penumbra-mayhem]

Darlin’s Wolf Form

@krashkitty wrote this delightful little post, which in turn inspired this:

——————

Darlin’ doesn’t show Sam their wolf form for so long because they’re terrified of his reaction. They know how they look. Their wolf has always been frightening, even before they acquired the numerous scars carved across their body.

It’s partly their size; they’re just a bit smaller than David (and that guy is fucking huge).

It’s also their gait. They walk with a stagger, which makes their movements slightly disjointed and jerky.

And it’s their teeth, which are unusually sharp and too large for their mouth, causing their lower jaw to hang open in a permanent gaping grin.

Even the sounds they make are horrifying: every growl and snarl and howl is layered—haunting and gravely and resonant and raspy. Hearing them is fucking eerie.

——————

When the Inversion happens, Darlin’ is watching the games at home on the tv. As soon as they see the shades onscreen, they shift and race to the stadium. Fast as they are, though, the ward is already up by the time they get there. They claw and bite at that ward for hours before it finally comes down.

They don’t even think about how they look while they’re searching for Sam; they are just laser focused on his scent. Only after they see him, hurt but safe, do they shift back and tackle him into a hug.

After the Inversion, Darlin’ is still apprehensive about shifting for Sam. But now at least they can skip the formal presentation that most mates do the first time they shift. It takes away some of the pressure. They shift once when the two of them are attacked by Quinn’s cronies, but that’s about it.

——————

Until one day, Darlin’ asks Sam if he is scared of their wolf form. Sam bursts out laughing. Nothing—he assures Darlin’—nothing about them is scary to him. Impressive? Yes. Awe inspiring? For sure? But scary? Never.

Later that night, he finds a very large wolf sprawled in front of his fireplace.

Sam learns every spot on Darlin’s body that they like to be pet. He boops their scarred snout and gives their fur sweet kisses. Darlin’ gives tentative kisses (licks) back, until they realize they make Sam laugh. Then they barrage him with kisses (giant, slobbery licks), until Sam is on the floor in stitches.

——————

One time, Sam calls Darlin’ ‘pup’. He doesn’t mean to; it accidentally slips out. Cause that’s how he sees them, just a big adorable puppy. He splutters out an apology, mistaking Darlin’s scarlet face as a sign of embarrassment. Darlin’ then has to admit (quite meekly) that they actually really like the pet name, much to Sam’s relief and delight.

It’s pretty amusing from an outside perspective to see Sam cooing at this enormous, nightmarish wolf and calling them his puppy, and to see said wolf furiously wag their tail in response.

[puffin-smoke]

I like to think that at one point during their hunt for Quinn, Darlin nearly died. And I mean properly nearly died; they'd had brushes with death before, but they thought this would be the one to stick.

I can sort of imagine them just lying on their couch after dragging themself back to their apartment, the only thing they had the energy to do. They stared at the ceiling, as dark spots began to cloud their vision. Their hand gripped their side, trying to keep the blood in, but eventually just. Gave up. Went slack and fell away, letting the blood stain their shirt and the smell of iron fill the air. They liked that shirt. It'd be a hassle to clean, they thought vaguely. Maybe it was for the best. They were tired.

So they let their eyes drift shut, and let the pounding in their skull consume everything. It all hurt. It was all exhausting. They just wanted it to be over, and if over meant dying of blood loss alone in their shitty apartment, then they were fine with that.

"Hey. Hey~ hey! What are you doing?"

A small voice piped up behind them, gratingly chipper. Darlin grumbled. "Tryin' to sleep."

"But you've gotta go get healed! Come on!" The voice tried to order them, speaking with more bravado and authority they really had. Something nudged at Darlin's ribs, like a shoe poking a corpse to check for any signs of life. In response they just shifted over, burying their face in their couch cushions. Smearing blood across already stained fabric. It didn't matter, that sofa had seen worse anyway.

The pipsqueak sighed, dejected and annoyed. "Quit being stupid. Cmon, Gabe'll be pissed if you let it get any worse."

At that Darlin just laughed into the cushion. It hurt, so they stopped. "Gabe's fucking dead. He won't care. Nobody will."

"Oh." That was all for a couple seconds. For a few blissful seconds it was just the hum of their faulty lights and their heartbeat ringing in their ears.

"I miss him." The kid said into the silence of Darlin's apartment.

"Mhm." They grunted vaguely.

"Remember when he taught you healing?"

"Mhm."

They laughed, giggled, like this were all some joke that would come out in the wash. "You were pretty crappy at it."

Sitting with Gabe in the kitchen of the Shaw's house after they'd scraped their knee. Able to pull at the magic they needed in order to heal it, but useless when it came to focusing it, using it. They missed him. "Mhm."

Silence again. And then a small hand wrapped around their wrist. It tugged at them. They sagged and gave a good impression of a ragdoll, a dead fish. They didn't move and inch.

"C'mon. You can't just lie there."

They mumbled under their breath, just wanting the voice to go away. "Yes, I can."

The voice cried out indignantly, two hands now locking around their wrist and yanking with renewed force. Darlin's face lifted a few inches away from the couch, before crashing back down.

"Please get up."

Darlin's hand flew up and batted them away blindly, swatting at them like a fly, meeting only air. "Lemme alone, I'm tired."

"Come on, aren't you supposed to be the Tank? Nothing stops you!"

Darlin laughed, bitter. They sounded like a superhero. They'd always wanted to be Superman. Or like him atleast. God they'd been fucking stupid. "No. Not right now- not fucking ever. I'm not Tank."

Another desperate plea, raspy, and shrill as any of the others. "Please just get up."

Nothing. They forced their eyes shut even tighter.

Another grab and a pull. It felt so far away. "Cmon! You need to move!"

Would they ever shut up? "Please don't make me." Darlin didn't mean to, didn't want to reduce their last moments to begging like a petulant child, but their voice sounded so broken. Hoarse like an old mans, phlegmy from all the crying, scratchy from all the screaming. A lifetimes worth of screaming. Crying never came quite as easy. They repeated themself, their eyes burning. "Please just let it be over. I'm so fucking tired- please."

"No. No! You can't just let yourself di- do that!"

"But-"

"We need to see the Pack again! Isn't that the whole point of this?"

... they were right. This would all be pointless if they let themself go. They'd probably be sad. Asher would be sad. And Asher got so annoying when he was sad, with those stupid sad puppy eyes he had down to an art. Wouldn't stop until someone fixed the problem. It'd be pretty hard to fix it if they were dead.

Goddamn it. They screamed into the cushion, putting every last ounce of their frustration and rage into the deep, guttural noise until the was nothing less but a misery. A deep exhaustion and a hopelessness rooted so firmly in their core it might as well have been their since birth. But they placed an open palm onto the fabric beneath them. And, even though it felt like wading through quick sand, they opened their eyes and pushed themself upwards. They fell backwards, collapsing limply onto the back of the couch. The world was so grey.

"There ya go!" The small voice once again chipped in, and Darkin finally got to see it's owner.

It was them. A smaller version of them, with a gap-toothed smile and scruffy hair and dirt on their face. Ripped jeans and a shirt one size too big for them. A brightly coloured backpack was slung over their shoulders, a small pokeball keychain attached to one of the zips. The little wolf grinned at them, and the light of it hurt their eyes.

The little wolf hopped up to them, smiling like they'd just won an argument, and jumped onto the couch, perching on the edge. "Was that so difficult?"

Darlin rolled their eyes. Their hands, limp at their sides, began to twitch and eventually move to clasp the wound. It hurt. All of it hurt. How were they supposed to fix everything? They couldn't keep it all together, they weren't as good a healer as Marie or Gabe, they were-

The pup leaned forward and grabbed one of their hands, turning it over and opening it. They glanced towards Darlin and smiled, their voice for once soft, calm.

"You remember what he said?"

Darlin wanted to shrug but couldn't. It didn't matter anyway, the kid wasn't real anyway. They didn't care. "... that it's like riding a bike?"

The wolf snorted. "Nope, that'd be stupid. It's like knitting! You gotta take it one stitch at a time, slow and steady and allat."

Darlin breathed, and scrunched up their eyes, trying to pull upon the magic in their core like a spool of thread. It felt so far away, so heavy, it was like wading through molasses. It wasn't worth the effort, but they did it anyway. A pink glow settled around their hands, like clouds above mountain peaks.

"There you go! Guess we must've learnt a few things since then."

Darlin just nodded. They pulled a thread from the smoke, dark and thick, and moved it towards the wound. Watched it settle and the flesh begin to knit itself together again.

"Pretty-!" The wolf cooed, thumb stroking Darlin's outstretched palm. They grinned again, but it seemed forced, cautious. No sudden movements. "Thank you."

Darlin grunted and pulled another thread. And then another. And as the pain gradually ebbed and was replaced with the lethargy that healing magic brought, they felt no different. No better, no worse, just tired. But maybe the way the kid smiled at them would feel good, a while down the road. It might be nice to give them a reason to look forward to growing up. Maybe.

Probably just the blood loss talking.

[aggro-my-beloved]

David and Darlin’ are the type to take walks during pack solstice parties and talk shit about other attendees like siblings and cousins do at thanksgiving. Passing a cigarette back and forth, possibly sneaking a bottle of something on the way out of the door. Sam and Angel have since been invited to these secret outings due to mate/in-law association, and encourage them to spill tea with the ingredients no more than a block away.

and that’s how you headcanon people.

[lookitseddie]

3 times darlin' almost said 'I love you', and the one time they finally did.

↳ Thank you so much to @penumbra-mayhem for beta reading this for me, you're the sweetest <33

Enjoy!

Tank almost thought they couldn't say it. That those words just happened to not be in their vocabulary, but they knew that wasn't true. They had said it before— when their parents used to tuck them in and tell them a bed-time story. They had said it when their family left for Washington without them.

So, why was it so hard now?

David's house was quiet, which was an eerie feeling in itself. His house was never quiet. Never empty. Either filled by the background noise of the television, or the soft chatter of pack members that seemed to always be there, but never this empty.

David's cleaning the kitchen again. He doesn't need to, he's done it three times already just today. He's keeping himself busy, Tank knows that, but they can't help but cringe at the fact that he's still wearing his suit, and it hasn't been five minutes since they came back.

"David, you should rest. The funeral was... tiring." To say the least.

David doesn't move, doesn't speak. They expect him to say something in that gruff voice that he's been using too often nowadays— The one that made him sound like Gabe— but he doesn't speak. Instead he lifts his head up, and Tank sees something they know will be burned into the back of their head forever.

"Shit-"

His eyes are glossy, red as can be. He blinks once and the tears come pouring. They don't even have the time to brace themselves before he collapses his entire weight onto them and his body is shaking with sobs. Somehow, they manage to lower the both of them to the ground softly.

They stayed there for... hours, maybe. Neither of them said a word the entire time. Tank wanted to, but they just couldn't shove out the words stuck in their throat like a clog— I love you.

This time they were sure. Their mouth had opened, and a noise was escaping just as his fangs sunk into the inner side of their thigh. Their flesh ripping open, their blood pouring out straight into his mouth, and him taking it all in like a starved man. They were so sure.

But, Quinn was out the door before they could make it through the sentence. The sound of the door shutting closed left them in pathetic silence while they held paper towels over where his mouth had just been. Their mind was too hazy— from blood loss and something else— and they were almost grateful. They didn't want to think.

They didn't want to think about what would've happened if they had seen it through. Would Quinn laugh? Would he brush them off? Worse of all— Would he say it back?

They didn't know. For better or for worse, they’d never find out.

Beeps and flickers of hospital equipment surrounded Tank as they sat stiffly in a plastic chair that was too small for them. Their eyes were heavy, fists clenched on their lap, as they stared at the unconscious person on the bed.

Quinn had crossed the line. Hurting them was one thing, but going for their friend? A low blow, even for him. Tank's heart was pattering with pure rage that had now replaced their initial horror. The idea of revenge stewed in their head, just about to boil over. While they knew the "sensible" thing to do was to stay here, keep their friend some company, their body itched to run out the door, and to put that fucker in the dirt where he belonged.

Maybe they should've stayed. Maybe they should've taken that unconscious hand in their own and whispered those three soft words like they wanted to. They should've waited for those eyes to open so they could repeat them to ears that could actually hear them, but they didn't.

They had a vampire to track down, afterall.

"You know that thing's almost as old as you, right?”

Sunday mornings were starting to become Darlin's favourite. They were always lazy, and for some reason, the house always felt more cozy and home-y on these days. They didn't know why that was, exactly, but then again, they didn't care.

"Yeah, and?"

Sam snuggled closer into their side while they tightened their arm around his shoulder. He could feel their heartbeat against his ear, and they could smell his shampoo. The needle in between Sam's fingers worked expertly over the rip on his red flannel— the thing was more stitches than cloth at this point.

Darlin' rolled their eyes at his playful response and didn't bother with challenging the southerner on the topic any further. They weren't one to talk anyways with their own jacket— blood stains and everything— hanging on the hook behind the front door. They both had a knack for giving old, battered things a home.

Instead, they buried their nose into his hair, and let their body relax into his. Their other hand snaked around his waist to pull Sam even closer until he was basically sitting in their lap.

"... I love you."

"I love you, too, Darlin'."

[dannydoesthisthing27]

I want to see domestic Porter so badly

I need an audio that's just him and Treasure spending the night together. Maybe Treasure introduces him to one of their favorite shows growing up.

Porter is still hesitant about touching them again; not because he thinks they don't want it it, but because he doesn't think himself worthy enough to deserve that closeness again yet.

Treasure picking up on it, and instead of trying to talk about it, they just leave their hand between the two of them, reaching but not touching. They make a point to keep their eyes on the screen at that point, but they're barely breathing. Terrified to press him again, biting their lip to keep from talking about the show they're watching.

Porter simply staring at them for a few minutes, his core flaring in his chest desperate to reach for them, to feel their heat again. He sees his own fears reflected in their eyes, something he never wanted them to feel around him. Let alone him be the reason for it. He doesn't take their hand. He lays his own down beside theirs, pinky brushing theirs as he follows their lead and turns to the tv.

Treasure exhaling for what feels like the first time in weeks. They know it's not much, but it's connection. It's his cool skin against theirs. It's an opportunity to open that door again. They shift a little closer, bumping their shoulder into his gently. An easy smile starting to form on their lips.

Porter realizing that they're really ok with him being back in their home. That he can still be safe in this place, with his Treasure. The first time he tries to speak, he's cut off by treasures cat jumping on him. The second time he tries Treasure gets up just before he can speak. The third time is interrupted by Treasure voicing a thought about a character they dislike. Snow white, if he remembers correctly. He agrees with their assessment that she's in the wrong 90% of the time because she's 'trying to do the right thing.'

Treasure finally slumping against him asleep. Breathing deep, and slow, completely relaxed in his presence. They don't wake up when he lifts them up so they can rest in bed. Drifting between dreams of stardust and rubies as he pulls a blanket over them.

Porter sitting on the edge of the bed, uncharacteristically unsure of what he should do. They didn't talk about how they felt in regards to him spending the night. He doesn't imagine they'd want him in their bed again this soon. Should he stay the night out on the couch? What if they want him to leave and didnt...get...

Treasure who woke up shortly after getting set down, touching his forearm carefully but firmly. They pull him out of the spiral with a simple squeeze. A small smile and the pulling back of sheets an invitation to lay beside them. Their expression open and patient as they watch him.

Porter feeling his core reach out again and leaning into it this time. He slips into the space beside them, a soft breath of surprise escaping him when their arms wrap around his waist. He lays there for a long time after they fall asleep, listening to the steady beat of their heart and the even rhythm of their breathing.

Treasure waking up alone in bed the next morning, a pit in their chest until their gaze lands on the bedside table. Where a pair of silver earings lay, not something easily forgotton, and not something they've seen away from the owner before. They realize at the same time they can smell hashbrowns and bacon. Quickly stumbling out of bed to rush to the kitchen excitement at the thought of him being there overriding their desire to get ready for the day.

Porter standing at the stove wearing the "kiss the cook" chefs apron they'd gifted him as a joke after he'd taken up cooking while they were sick several months prior. A grin trying to fight its way onto his lips as he pretends not to notice his human slipping on the tiles, snagging the edge of the island as they stare at him.

Treasure breaking out in a smile that he will do anything to keep on their face. They walk over behind him wrapping their arms around his waist as they look over his shoulder. They bury their face in his neck trying to tamp down how happy they truly are that he chose to stay.

Porter taking in the moment and allowing himself to enjoy their touch again. Taking in the pleasure of having their arms around him.

A soft kiss to the crown of their head has them both glowing, and he becons them to sit down so he can serve them breakfast, their drink already on the table along with a bouquet of their favorite flowers.

[messenger-of-stupidity]

(Shhhhh i havent been dead, ive just been depressed anyways, have some angst)

Treasure stared at the door. How could they not? Porter's words were echoing in their head like some kind of discordant melody that was on loop, scraping at the darker edges of their mind that they always tried so desperately to ignore. To cover up. To push to the side like their laundry.

They had just been trying to help. Nobody liked them unless they were offering something, unless they were helping. Their friends used them like a personal therapist. It was one of the rare times that their friends actually initiate interactions. When they either needed an ear or a responsible driver.

But Porter hadn't needed that. And they didn't know how to handle that, how to come to terms with it. Treasure sat down heavily on their couch, feeling tears slide down onto to their already warm face. Pathetic. What would tears solve?

That glass house he had mentioned... it was shattering down around them. Cracking and fissures spreading. And the glass would fall on them as they stayed trapped in place. The glass would cut into their skin, sever veins and arteries. And their blood would spill, dripping like crimson seeds planted to bloom into macabre flowers.

The blood that had been the base of their relationship with Porter. Should they have just offered him their blood to cheer him up? Would he even have wanted it? Wanted them? They were so weak, so mundane, so irrelevant compared to him. He had decades on them, immeasurable power, unimaginable experiences.

If they couldn't help him, then why would he even bother to stay with them? Their effort to help had made everything worse.

Treasure's mind was running in circles. Over and over and over again. They were spinning, spiraling out of control. Their hands gripped their hair by the roots, pulling as their shoulders shook.

Where was their help? Where was their savior? Their therapist? Where were the people who were supposed to bend over backwards and press to check on them? Were they always destined to be alone and abandoned?

Their lungs ached. They hadn't taken a breath yet. Treasure forced a stuttering sharp breath to ease the burning in their chest. It did nothing to fix the burn in their eyes that morphed to a blur of colors and shades. More tears. Always crying.

Why were they always crying? Their problems didn't matter, not in comparison. Why did everything have to be compared to something? Why couldn't they matter?

Why won't the noise stop?

[sandypuppet]

Ever since Erik switched to posting every Friday the weeks have felt insanely longer

[cup1dsarch3r]

so uh.... ppl who liked redacted and arcane.... how would you feel about a fic

with caitlyn!sam and vi!darlin......jayce...jaybe....jaybe not....

[heartf0ul]

Ok

WHICH ONE OF YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKERS MADE THAT GOSDS DAMNED SHAW FIREFIGHTER AU!?! I KNOW YO ASS IS ON HERE GET OUT HERE AND FACE ME COWARD

CUZ WHAT THE FUCK. ARE TOU OK? ARE U BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY A MASOCHIST? ARE U A SADIST? WHY 

[c0rvus-corax]

When Milo sleeps, he breathes pretty loudly. It's like a mix between snoring and breathing. Idk a better way to explain it. It's just a slight rattel when a breaths out. How loud this is probably depends on the way he is laying in bed (on his back, side, etc).

Sam is probably the quietest sleeper in the group. I just feel like him being a vampire makes him breathe really slow and quiet. This ofcours includes sleeping.

I can't decide if David makes no noise when sleeping, or if he snors like his life depends on it. The vibe he gives from an outside perspective is definitely being a quiet sleeper, but something in me is telling me otherwise. Idk, something just tells me that occasionally, he snors really, really loud.

Asher makes all kinds of noises while sleeping. He talks, grouns, moans, and breathes in very heavily. You get the drill. Now, he isn't always this talkative, but it happens.

[chimckenns]

Aaron let out a sigh. Clocking in overtime on a Friday was never fun. He even started going to the office earlier this week to just get this damn project finished. As a result, the only time he could see Smartass was when they were asleep. Granted, they tried their hardest to stay up and wait for him to welcome him home, but with how late he’d been finishing work lately, more often than not they had dozed off.

The sentiment alone made his heart warm, though.

That’s why, to his surprise, he was met with a beaming Smartass, their arms wide open, as he stepped out of the office lobby. They were still in their work clothes - the suit that seemed to hug their body perfectly and accentuate each curve and edge of their figure. It was what they used to wear when they’d come to his office ready to fight for their proposal, knowing the effect it had on him.

Before he could properly register their presence, a grunt escaped his mouth as Smartass launched themselves towards him, locking him in a hug. He had to take a few steps back to stop them both from falling to the ground.

“You’re late.” They grumbled into his chest.

“Smartass? What are you doing here?? Were you waiting all this time?”

They looked up at him, pouting. “I missed you. I didn’t see you at all this week.”

Aaron let out a defeated sigh and cupped their face with his hand, thumb stroking their cheek as he took them in properly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby. I missed you too.” He gave them a consolation kiss, savouring the feeling of their lips against his.

This cheered up Smartass a little, and they nuzzled their face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. They missed this. They missed the scent of his cologne on his skin, the softness of the area just behind his ears, and the warmth of being in his arms. After a short moment of comfortable silence as they enjoyed each other’s presence, Smartass stepped back, and took his hand.

“Come on. Knowing you, you haven’t had dinner yet so I bought us some takeaway. It’s in the car.”

Aaron felt his face heat up with a smile.

This was the best start to the weekend he could ever ask for.

[penumbra-mayhem]

An Accidental Bridge

Sam/Darlin' fluff | 1759 words

(I hc Darlin' with a stutter; read here for more.)

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

Sam’s mind was gently pulled into consciousness as a great horned owl called from outside his bedroom. He glimpsed at the clock on the wall. Nine o'clock. Still late evening, not yet time to be up. Enticed by the owl's promise of a set sun, though, Sam slipped off his blankets.

Bare feet met hardwood as he left the bed, eyes still closed in an attempt to at least stay half-asleep. He shuffled over to his window and pulled back the black-out curtains before feeling around for the latch. His fingers found it just as a sliver of a voice snuck through the silence:

“SSSam?”

He gave a groggy response as he opened the window, “Jus’ gettin’ someair…”

Darlin’ gave a low hum of approval and rolled over to face him. Sam made his way back over and climbed into their bed with all the grace of a drunk bat, eliciting a sleep-laden giggle from his mate.

“Oh, hush,” he grumbled, his smile unwittingly trickling into his voice, “I’m barely awake.” He drew Darlin’ to his chest.

They both drifted in and out of sleep, lulled by the owl’s repeated call. The cool air of early night seeped into their room; the two snuggled further under the covers in response.

"I can feel your magic,” Sam mumbled. It was an uncommon sensation; usually, Darlin' only let their magic extend beyond themself when they felt safe. And they rarely felt safe.

“Yours t-t-too...”

“Feel good?”

Sam felt them nod. He gave them a small kiss before asking, “What’s it feel like?”

Darlin’ drew sleepy circles on his chest as they tuned into his magic. After a few moments of silence, they spoke—slowly, like they were savoring a flavor in their mouth:

“It’s l-l-like….sinking into a wwwarm b-b-bath..it’s like a…b-b-bass…low and in-in the b-back…thrumming…ocean wwwaves under a full mmmoon…immmmense…soothing…l-like aloe v-vera on skin after a-a sunny day…”

Joy swelled in Sam's chest and he tightened his arms around them. “I love the way you put that, darlin’,” he murmured.

Darlin’ smiled softly, sleep tugging at them. “How's mmmine?”

“Yours? Mmm…” Sam allowed Darlin’s magic to seep into him. “Your magic…is like fireworks. Those kinds that you light and then toss into the street to see them spin real quick and change colors…you’re the buzz after a concert...the windswept euphoria when you get off a roller coaster…you’re stargazin' durin' a meteor shower…your magic feels like…like…”

Home.

Darlin’ jumped.

They pushed themself up a bit and stared at Sam with wide eyes.

“What? What is it?” he asked, staring back in concern.

They shook their head. “Fuck, I-I-I heard y-you in-in mmmmy head.”

Sam mouthed a small ‘oh’. Seeing that Darlin’ was more startled than scared, he relaxed slightly. “You think we might of bridged?”

Darlin’ gave a small nod. “I-I didn’t mmmmean t-t-to.”

“Me neither,” Sam assured them, “Guess we were just…in tune with each other.”

They dropped their gaze. "I...I-I haven't d-d-d-done that in-in...in a l-l-l-long t-t-time."

"Me neither," Sam replied. He studied them a moment before asking, "Are you okay?"

They nodded again. "Are-are y-you?"

Sam couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just worried about you."

Darlin' lowered their head back onto his chest. “I-I’m fine. J-just…surprised mmme,” they muttered, trying to slow Sam's heartrate with their words.

Sam ran one hand up and down their back, with the other in their hair. When he felt like they had both reached a state of calm again, he asked, “Is that somethin' you’d be interested in doin' with me?"

After no response, he added, "S'alright if the answer’s no.”

"You don't wwwant that. N-not wwwwith mmme."

Shut down. It was the kind of response he often got from them. It was the kind of response he couldn't stand. He knew it was a form of protection, and they had been getting better about it. But still, every so often, Darlin' would deny him or themself something in the belief that they were broken or unworthy or dangerous. Every time, it simultaneously burned Sam's heart and broke it.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, trying to keep his tone gentle.

Darlin' bit the inside of their cheek. When he was met with no response again, Sam kissed the top of their head and entreated, "Please, Darlin'. You don't have to speak quick. You don't even have to give an explanation. But please don't ignore me entirely."

Fuck. How could words spoken soft as candlelight twist guilt into their gut like a knife? Darlin' buried their face into Sam's chest, breathing in his scent. It steadied them.

Finally, they responded, their voice muffled by Sam's sleepshirt, "It...fucking s-sucks…in-in mmmy head."

There it was.

Sam sighed, "That may be true, for you. But that doesn't mean I don't want to bridge with you. I'm not scared of your thoughts, darlin'."

"B-but you should b-be.”

"But I'm not," Sam pushed back, just a little. Silence fell between them, and he let it. Darlin' had answered his question. There was no point in trying to convince them how he felt. He kissed their head once again in silent reassurance that he was not mad and closed his eyes, hoping to get a bit more sleep.

Darlin' bit harder at the inside of their cheek, their mind buzzing with frustration. The owl outside made itself known again; Darlin' laid in indecision as they listened to it call over and over. They could feel Sam's magic—not reaching out but still present. His magic was safe. He was safe. He was strong. Stronger than they were. Braver. Calmer. Steadier.

When Darlin' finally spoke, their voice was small and soft and scared:

"I-I wwwwant t-to try...if-if you also wwwant t-to."

Sam felt his heart skip. He craned his neck to the side to make eye contact with Darlin' as he asked, "You sure? I don't want you doin' this if you're not really wantin’ it."

"You-you give mmme all of you. I-I wwant to do the same. E-Even if it scares mme," they whispered, "I-I wwwant t-to b-be b-brave for you."

"You don't have to."

"B-but I wwant t-to."

Sam studied their face for a moment before kissing their forehead and whispering, "Alright. Thank you, darlin'. But if we start and you don’t like it, you tell me and we’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good…is there a certain way you want to lay or sit?"

"N-n-no. You?"

"Nah, this is perfect."

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his pillow, running his hand through Darlin's hair. Darlin' closed their eyes as well, listening to Sam's heart.

It was quick. Almost as quick as the first time. When the bridge reformed, Sam could feel Darlin's body tense against his. Through the bridge, he felt the tension in his own muscles. He kissed the top of their head.

It's okay. You're safe.

“Fuck.” Fuck, woah, that's fucking weird.

I'm going to fuck this up.

I shouldn't have done this.

I'm just going to hurt you—

—hey, hey, it's ok.

Fuck, sorry, I'll try to quiet down...

...Do you think anyone's ever tried bridging with more than one person at one time?

If you can do that, could you make a true hive mind?

Bee people. Bee shifters? Are there any insect shifters—

—fuck! Sorry!

"SSSorry..." Darlin' muttered. Sam giggled and stroked Darlin's head. The sensation soothed them both.

You're alright, darlin'.

I don’t mind your thoughts.

But you should—

—shut up, Tank—

—fuck, I wish I would just shut up!

Sorry…

...Your head is so quiet.

Shit, I don't mean quiet like empty I just—

—god I am such an ass!

You're not an ass, darlin'.

Damn, I love you.

I love you.

"I love you, darlin'."

Darlin’s body went lax at the assurance. Their mind stilled for just a moment. Tap tap tap. Darlin’ tapped Sam’s chest three times—a gesture he’d come to learn meant ‘I love you’. The feeling of their own fingers echoed against Darlin’s chest.

I love you, too.

So much.

Fuck what time is it?

Shit, we’ve got to get up soon.

Do we?

It’s…Saturday? Yeah, Saturday.

Fuck yeah, we can stay in bed.

We could make breakfast.

More like you could make breakfast, I’m shit at cooking.

I’m shit at most things.

I don’t even think I’m doing this right—

—you’re doin’ just fine, pup.

Sam’s heart skipped as he realized what he’d just thought. Or maybe it was Darlin’s heart skipping, he couldn’t quite tell. His eyes shot open, and he looked down at Darlin’, whose face was already turning red. Sam’s own face began to burn too.

“Fuck, Darlin’, I’m so sorry.” I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to think that.

That wasn’t appropriate.

I should have asked before—

—fuck…

For once, Darlin’s head was quiet. Like static. Sam’s stomach fluttered. Or maybe it was Darlin’s. The bridge was somehow deepening, and Sam struggled to differentiate where the feelings were originating.

I know wolves can be particular with those kinds of names.

Especially when their mates aren’t wolves.

I should have asked.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…

Sam’s thoughts slowed as Darlin’ pressed a soft kiss to his lips. They buried their face into his neck.

“Darlin’?”

I liked that.

You…what? "What?"

Darlin’ groaned quietly, “I-I liked it.”

Call me it again—

—wait, I mean, uh, um…

A grin stretched across Sam’s face. “Oh yeah?” he cooed, stroking the nape of Darlin’s neck.

You like bein’ called pup?

Sam giggled as his stomach fluttered at the word; this time he could tell that feeling definitely came from Darlin’.

You just a little puppy?

My puppy?

“SSSSSaaaammm…” Darlin’ whined.

Sam pulled his body back a bit. Darlin’ turned their head to look up at him. The blush on their cheeks made Sam swoon, but he still had to be sure:

“I can stop, darlin’,” Sam said, his voice soft but serious.

Darlin’ shook their head. “N-no.” It’s just, nobody’s ever called me that…

Sam couldn’t stop grinning. Their blush. The way they ducked their head and avoided his eyes. The weakness in their voice. He rarely saw Darlin’ so bashful.

Well it’s about time…

My sweet puppy…

C’mere… "C'mere."

Darlin’ hummed as they curled themself around Sam once more, tangling their limbs with his. Sam ran his hands through their hair as they traced their fingers over his chest. The two sank into repose as their sensations and thoughts melded and lost origin.

Sam breathed deep and murmured, “Such a good pup.”

Your pup.

[gremlin-writes-angst]

OMG I have thoughts

Okay so we've got darlin and sam, at the beginning of their relationship.

On night one of them stays at the others, and at night darlin has a nightmare or just starts to panic, but it OK, they know how to deal with it ( they don't but the think they do)

While sam sleeps they make their way out of the room and goes as far away from that space without actually leaving the house.

They let it out, not all of it because they don't want to bother sam, they know how to keep quite they worked really hard on it

Silghty the panic and sob

Then sam appears, rather fast, he's not right next to them but close enough they see him approach

They start wailing louder

"I'm sorry. I thought i was quite. I'm sorry , oll try harder, please"

Sam starts to try and calm them

" no need to apologize darlin, you don't need to be quite"

Od doesn't help as the continue to panic about how they need to be quite, how they've never woke anyone before

Sam holds them , does Everything he can to calm them down, and when their calm enough he admits

"Darlin... I'm a vampire, I could hear it in your heart the moment it started to panic, you can't keep that quite from me, and I don't want you to, I want to be their fot you, even in moments you think i don't."

It was sweet and darlin took it to heart

But a small ,bitter part of themselves wondered why quinn never heard their late night panics.

They realize he always heard them, he just didn't care.

[aggro-my-beloved]

one of these blogs following these tags is Erik in disguise. he’s watching us lose our minds and laughing maniacally. i just know it

who is it? fess up