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peeweekey · 2 days

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homecoming | sam x reader

word count: 3.2k

tags: hurt/comfort , family struggles , reader and sam are married , set somewhere in year 2 (kent is back) , oneshot , intimacy

synopsis: Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.

a/n: i love sam but the allure of angst is too hard to resist!!! sorry babe i still love you 😔

Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.

Your feet are bare as you linger at the entrance of your room. The dimmed light of the living room washes away the darkness of the hour. It's late, the air is cool and damp smelling of night dew—you take a deep inhale. It feels thick as you breathe it in, like smoke is clouding around the room, restricting your breaths.

Sleepless nights were not unusual in your household. Before you married Sam, you hardly slept—the satisfying ache of collapsing into your sheets after a day at the mines was an addiction you couldn’t get enough of.

Now, you earn enough to afford coming home before sunset. No longer having to worry about how you’d afford the next day. And if you are being completely honest, evenings spent with Sam are far more addicting than the sting of a day’s work.

The ache is still there. It comes with the profession. Though not anymore the dull humming ache in the muscles and joints of your arms and legs, but a bone deep ache settled deeply curling around your chest.

Somehow, it stings even more.

It is as if it drags over your heart, catching on every ridge and edge of your bones. Daring to fill your lungs with ichor—hardening like stone around your ribs. No amount of stardrop you swallow can ever relieve the stinging soreness.

The cushions of the old second-hand couch groan and squeak as you twist and turn atop of them. Perhaps as restless as you are. The light flickers—on, off, on.

It doesn’t scare you, but it makes you uneasy. You’re long over the notion the farmhouse was haunted, but nights like these make that conviction waver. The nape of your neck prickles—like a person is staring from behind. Sam isn’t here to tease you about ghosts nor curl his arms around you in mock protection.

He hasn’t been here in hours, hasn’t been present in so long. It feels wrong. It feels like an omen. Your fingers find the back of your neck, brushing over the vulnerable skin.

You hold a tassel cushion tightly to your chest. Your knuckles whitening with the strength of your grip on it. The strength of your heartbeat is so loud you’re convinced it would be heard without the pillow to muffle the sound.

Little Vincent is sound asleep, snoring softly away in his dreamland. He looks like the epitome of innocence under the quilted blankets of your bed. It's soft, worn and covered in stitched cartoon-y lions and tigers. A temporary parting gift bundled up in his dinosaur backpack from jodi. Before he came to live with you and his older brother.

The separation was painful. there were tears—for both him and for his mother.

(Sam stood next to you then, gripping at your hand so hard you felt it prickling with numbness. You didn’t dare look up to see the tears you know are there, the crystalline tears dripping down his lash line.

It would’ve made the teardrops in yours fall over too. You’d stay strong for the both of you.)

The entrance door to the farmhouse creaks open and you immediately know it’s him. Relief floods your whole body—to your fingertips to your toes. He's safe, and home at last. You stand up and hurry to him, throwing the pillow to the ground, before the door creaks shut.

The air goes still, calm before the storm. The anticipation before potential terrible news.

(You expect there will be. You can tell by the way Sam slumps, like the weight is physically bearing down on his shoulders.)

Sam is still at the doorway, slumping over you when you wrap your arms around him. He smells of sweat and the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol—something must’ve happened, you think. It smells like the clinic.

The paper bag in his hand loses from his grip, it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a dull thump. You pay it no heed, mentally accounting to pick it up later. Though you note that it lands right over your ‘home sweet home’ doormat. Fitting.

“Sammy.” you greet him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He barely has the energy to hug back, more so stay steadily upright on his feet. you both sway slightly, suspended in the tranquility of the moment.

You try again, slowing the movement of your lips. “Welcome home, my love. you there?”

His lips move against the skin of your neck, a whisper of a greeting. It is enough for you.

Sam retracts his face from your jaw. There are blue-purple eye bags under his eyes, like bruises. The trademark twinkle in his brilliant green irises have dulled to nothingness. He looks so unlike himself like this, older than his years and so unbearably tired.

And you wish, with all your heart, to take his aches away. To wash them away like ink in water.

You pull him into the living room with you, the skin of his wrist enclosed in the firm guiding grip of your fingers. He's fragile like this, this sunshine of a man reduced to a shell of his usual demeanor.

He trails slowly behind you, silent. You say nothing, either; choosing to focus on the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps padding against the floor. In the living room, you dim the lights to a mere whisper of light.

These days, when he comes home, you’ve built some sort of routine.

You drag him down to you, spread lying down on the length of the couch. Your thighs frame his hips as he melts into the warmth of body. He lays on top of you, his cheekbone against your chest. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, as he presses his ear to the epicenter of your chest—the sound of your heartbeat quieting the swirl of thoughts in his mind.

You gently remove the woolen beanie nestled on his head—revealing the stringy oily mess of hair under. A sign of how little care he has been sparing himself after his father’s homecoming. You feel your lips downturn into a frown. He hasn’t even been using that hair gel you like to tease and groan about.

(You lied when you’d say you hated it. You don’t, never did.

You miss it. You miss the things that make him, him.)

You don’t hesitate in running your hands through the softness of his hair. Your fingers scratch gently on his scalp, eliciting a soft sigh from your weary husband. Eyes watch raptly as his shoulders unwind and ripple. The tension in them melts away with the deft caress of your hands.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Like a knife twisting. You love him, you love him.

Moments pass, the silence is almost comfortable when you ask, speaking it to the silence of the room. There’s a wavering lilt in your voice reassuring him. You aren’t going to push him for an answer. He doesn’t need to respond. Him being safe, home and warm in your arms is all you ever want. All you’ll ever need.

“How are they?”

(The first night, you and Sam stayed the night in his family home. squeezed in his twin bed with Vincent curled up by his ribs. The little boy couldn’t bear sleeping alone that night, not with the anxiety of his father being back making him pace a mile a minute.

The air in the household had shifted that day.

In the dead of the night, the fire alarm went off—a blaring loud beeping sound from the kitchen. Totally harmless, a malfunction. A disturbance to sleep more than anything.

Except it was not.

You still remember the blood-curdling scream that came from Jodi and Kent's room. The panicked sobs of Jodi as she tried to calm her terror stricken husband.

You remember the way Vincent clung onto you, like a koala to a tree. You cupped your hands tightly over his ears—he didn’t need to suffer the consequence of it.

Sam removed the fire alarm and Vincent from the house the next morning.)

His voice is hushed when he speaks. A pin could drop and be more clearly heard. “Mom's… getting better.”

Not getting worse than she already is.

You plant a kiss on the crown of his head, lips soft and adoring on his skin. You ache to take his burden, to take his share of suffering.

It hurts sometimes, to be right beside him but feel so faraway. Yet like this, feeling every curve and edge of his body—you can convince yourself that it doesn’t.

“Is Vince asleep?”

“Yes,” you reply, tucking a blond curl behind his ear. His head unconsciously tilts to the room where his younger brother rests. Ever so protective of him even like this.

Continuing you say, “He was looking for you,” you thread your fingers through the short blond strands at his neck. Sam untenses slightly in your arms, his arms going limp at your sides. “He's been fidgety lately. Restless.”

“He usually is.” his feeble attempt at a joke. Though the rasp in his voice only makes it sound resigned. You purse your lips, eyes tracking back to the cedar wood of your bedroom door on the other side of the room—and the sleeping child behind it.

You stroke Sam's hair, thinking. “More so than usual.”

(You know why. He knows too. Kent wasn’t the same when he returned from the war. He was vulnerable, not the fragile type but vulnerable in the way a ignited bomb threatened an explosion.

Vincent wasn’t either—grown much more from that thumb suckling toddler when he left.

“My dad is coming home soon,” Sam confides in you on that day on that day on the beach. Him standing a few feet away from the shore line, and you; next to him.

“This isn’t how I wanted him to grow up,” his voice cracks with vulnerability. “I—I want him to have a better childhood than I did.”

“He will, Sam. He will.” I know you’ll make sure of it.

His eyes are red-rimmed and raw when he looks at you. All you wanted was to wipe that anguished expression off his face.)

He is silent. All is silent. Tranquility is like a honey thick syrup poured over your chest, smeared all over the expanse of your body. The soft sounds of your synchronized breathing is the only sound you can bear to hear. It makes your eyes droop, the lethargic feeling dulling your senses.

Your hand reaches for his, intertwining your palm with his long-fingered one. You relish in the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips, earned from afternoons spent with his guitar. His skin is warm, warmer than yours. You give his hand a tentative squeeze, he squeezes back.

“Mom told me to say hi to you both for her,” he tells you, his breathing slow and deep. “She misses him, and you. She’s coming to visit as soon as she can.”

“Vince misses her too,” you sigh, craning your head forward to peek at the top of his head. “It's affecting him, I can tell. Penny's getting worried. She tells me he hasn’t been himself at school.”

All that Sam can manage is a deep intake of breath, then a softer resigned exhale. There isn’t much nor enough for him to say. Your free hand goes to smooth down his back. The muscles there are tough—bunched up and tense.

He shifts between your thighs, baring down heavier on your pelvis. Even as tired as he is, Sam is restless. Always has been, whether it be on his skateboard or with his guitar. You ignore the growing ache in your lower back—it is not your moment, but his. The warmth of his weight on top of you overpower any discomfort you have.

Twirling the stray curl at his neck, you finally ask. Fingers featherlight against his shoulder. “How… is he?”

Sam stiffens above you, the lean line of his body rigid. He’s clearly distressed with talking about his father. You suck a breath through your teeth, knocking your leg gently against his, giving your silent push for him to continue.

“I can't even lie,” he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away. “It isn't good, Doc Harvey says dad’s got PTSD from the war. It's triggered by loud sounds. Remember the time he woke up because of the fire alarm?”

You nod, curling your fingers around his. You try to provide him any semblance of comfort—to reassure him. You love him, always.

It's painful to see, to watch what he’s going through only by the sidelines.

Sam looks up at you from your chest, eyes blurry with exhaustion. His jaw tensing ever so slightly, you see the patchy blonde stubble starting at the jut of his jaw. The wrinkle in his brow growing more prominent at the mention of his father. It's a fresh type of wound, raw and open. You dance around the topic, like poking a sleeping lion that threatens to attack at any given moment.

“We’ve transferred him to stay in my old room. He’s been holed up there most of the time. The nightmares are keeping mom up. He wakes up screaming most nights." Sam rasps, squeezing your fingers. He speaks lowly against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the heat of his body bleeding through it and into you.

His voice dissolves into a pained crack when he speaks. “It sucks.”

“It will get better, we can get through it,” you sit up slightly, elbows bent behind you. Sam's been out the whole day. You assume he must be starving and tired. “Do you need anything?”

Sam doesn’t let you up, though. He tugs you back down under him with the gentle pull of his arm. You still in his arms, looking down at him.

“No,” he pleads. “just… stay with me, okay? Let's stay like this, please.”

You swallow, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

You wish you could ease his worries. You wish you could tell him that it’ll be alright and he would believe it.

You love him, more than life itself. Like you are a planet that orbits around him, the sun. You show him so everyday—and will continue to do so with everyday that will come.

You just wish he’d be more selfish with you.

If he falls, you’ll piece him back together. Glue his bones together with your hands, relying on the familiarity of his being. Anything, you’d do anything.

The matching mermaid pendants resting over his and your collarbone symbolizes that.

“I want to help you, sam. You take all this burden up on your own. please?”

He sits up, back hunched over you. A dim shadow of him filtered over you. You follow him, like you can’t bear to be apart from him.

“You are, you always have,” Sam softens, gazing at you so reverently you could sob. He looks at you as one gazes at master paintings, like he is in wordless awe of you.

The room is dark with night. If you strain your ears hard enough, the cooing of the owls filter through the cracks of your windows. The moonlight is scarce, you can barely see the expressions painting his face. Though, you’re sure your expression is as lovesick as his. Practical hearts in your eyes as you stare.

“Looking after Vince is more than I could ever ask for, honey.” he whispers, pinching the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and pointer finger.

“No Sam,” you murmur, taking his face into your hands. your hands frame his face, warming the cool skin of his cheeks. Desperation fills every movement in a plea for him to understand. “I meant you.”

You inhale, relishing the smell of sweat, mint and rubbing alcohol on his skin. The scent smells so comforting, and so familiar.

You hope he finds that same solace in you as you do with him.

“I want to take care of you,” you say more firmly, stroking him on the skin of his brow bone. “Won’t you let me?”

He stares at you, enveloping your hands with warmer ones. You sigh contentedly at the feeling. They sear into your skin, warming you with the righteous heat of his devotion.

To you, he is the sun and you have the sun right in the palm of your hands. You know he won’t ever burn you, nor leave your skin red and raw from his intensity. His rays are gentle, a featherlight whisper of a kiss on the expanse of your body.

But the sun never stops shining. It is steadfast in its duty to provide. You worry, will he explode in a grand supernova or crumple into a black hole?

Either way, you will never allow it. You’d rather douse the sun in the water of the ocean to hold him in your arms. Maybe then, he can finally rest soundly.

You feel his thumb rub back and forth on the back of your palm, silent and considering. The brush of it melting you against him like a contented cat. A smile graces your lips, you can wait.

Though you do not need to. Sam turns his head and kisses your wrist. His nose bumping into the crease of your thumb. You feel honeyed warmth drip down your heart, collecting in the cavern of your chest.

That's all the confirmation you need.

(There are some days his words fail him. The days his mind is bursting with ideas, so much so it’s difficult for him to convey a singular thought.

That's alright. Perfect, even. Sam has always been better at expressing himself through actions.)

“I love you,” you kiss his forehead, then over each of his eyelids. You want to kiss every inch of his skin until there is nothing left to cover. “so, so much.”

You press your lips to the corner of his. Opting to speak your promise against his skin, to tattoo your undying love into the smooth expanse of it.

Sam tilts his head, causing his lips to brush completely against yours. He presses them firmer against yours, the taste of spearmint gum heavy on his tongue. You lick the seam of his lips—let me in, let me in.

“I love you too. more than you know,” he gasps, tearing his lips away. His breath puffing warmly against the skin of your cheek. He declares it as if he’s running out of breath, and it is his final words. A willing sailor drowning in the deep ocean that is you. “More than anything, more than life itself.”

You press your forehead against his. Your eyes meet the depthless green of his. The twinkle is there; flickering and faint but present.

Love is what brought him to you. It’s what keeps bringing him home to you every night. You want to be his refuge, his comfort, his partner for life.

Your eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Share the burden with me, Sammy. I can take it.”

At the end of the day, he is all you want. All that you need. If it takes him time, you won’t mind. even if it takes centuries.

Sam captures your lips again. Murmuring his agreement greedily against you. You love him, you love him and he loves you.

You are the one he comes back to, his spouse. The greatest love of his life. Home isn’t the farmhouse you’ve built a life in—

It’s you, always has been you.

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arthursfuckinghat · 1 month

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"I was gonna say you're like a son to me.. but you're more than that."

"It ain't that complicated!"

How quickly that shoulder pat of comfort turned into a condescending one.

#he makes me feel so emo #this life was never meant for you but your fate was forced #the way dutch (and hosea) talks to arthur like he's stupid will never sit right with me #like they've been by his side over 20 years they KNOW he isn't stupid because if he was he would have been gone a long time ago #not only is arthur incredibly emotionally smart but he's a trained conman vault breaker gunslinger horse rider you name it #the fact that his own adoptive parents break him down like that hurts #it's a manipulation tactic on dutch's end - break your victims self esteem to make them chase your praise and approval #hosea I believe has just gone along with that kind of attitude but in a different way he just likes to jest lightheartedly #arthur doesn't see the difference though and it's understandable but he takes it to heart #the worst part is that hosea sees through his tough guy act and has called arthur out on it #his act is a defence mechanism to protect himself from being too vulnerable - in arthur's mind #and it isn't a sudden thing it's very likely something that has built over the years given the life he has lived #and hosea notices he knows this #but they still jab at arthur #oh it hurts #is he your son dutch? or is he your guard dog? your personal workhorse?#playing through the second time is opening my eyes more and more #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mick squeaks #mick rants #mick gifs #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #liveblogging #you guys gotta understand - arthur seeks and longs for dutch's approval he'll never say it but it's the key motive behind his loyalty #and arthur *rejects* dutch's comfort #he doesn't *want* dutch to pat him on the shoulder because he knows dutch is digging them an even deeper hole #he doesn't want that touch he craves #it's so insanely monumental for such a small scene because it shows us how arthur feels without telling us

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lexumpysfunland · 6 days

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*I shove walter down on a therapy bed with a stick and click my pen* What happened to make you this way... how do you f e e l?

sounds like you're not going to get info out of him-

#yeah naaaa he won't talk about his past or feelings that easily #maybe at one point you'll see how he feels...#for now... imagine you're in from of a vault and you don't have the key to open it #what's inside is all the things he doesn't want you to know about #meaning his feelings and other things like that #narratorverse #tsp narrator #tsp #tspud #tsp art #the stanley parable narrator #tsp au #heartache au

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banicraft · 1 month

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Minecraft, But the patchnotes said "Ominous" so many times that it doesnt feel like a real word to such a point that i could be easily convinced that Jeb Underscore himself invented the word

#minecraft #mineblr #banicraft texture pack #minecraft blocks #minecraft items #minecraft 1.21 #ominous bottle #ominous trial key #ominous trial spawner #ominous vault #am i even spelling ominous right???#like actually #that doesnt even look like a word #what kinda word is spelled o m i n o u s????#om in us??? at least buy us dinner first #(ok but i actually love the ominous event system cant wait to see how that gets expanded on in the future)

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eeriedragone · 10 months

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Happy ten years to Pacific Rim!

I am so glad to have found this film, even if I'm a decade late :v

Also please I need a spin off for these two bc they've been living rent free in my brain for months now (i have so many aus and crossover ideas it's not even funny)

More Newmann stuff

#also please someone give me the key to all the old newmann fanart i know tgere's more that i haven't found yet #where's the vault guys #hermann gottlieb #newmann #newton geiszler #newton x hermann #kaiju #pacrim #pacific rim #pacific rim 2013 #pacific rim fanart #fanart #my art #eeriedragone art #traditional art #sketchbook #i miss being able to scan my drawings #do you like newton holding a generic science thing in a very unsciency way?

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akreon · 1 year

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Book cover I had the pleasure to illustrate for 'Keys from the Golden Vault' | Dungeons & Dragons

#dnd #dungeons and drawings #wizards of the coast #keys from the golden vault

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constantvariations · 30 days

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If Salem obliterated Vale, does that mean she has its relic?

#rwde #ozpin said it was better hidden than the rest and ive been so curious abt it ever since #bc he's got two options for accessing it: the fall maiden who killed him and is working for his genocidal ex or the missing summer maiden #(seriously oz why the absolute shit do you not have a skeleton key for these vaults)#this was like. THE reason i wanted the story to go back to Vale. i wanted so bad to see what 'better hidden' meant #ngl i was hoping for smth like it not being hidden in the conventional sense but rather chose its wielder for their qualities #mayhaps someone w a simple honest soul #but alas. vale is destroyed offscreen w only a single sentence to convey the horror and tragedy #since patch was close to Vale does that mean Tai is dead too? Raven was the last person to see him and he aint w her so...#dude's probably dead right? or did the writers forget he existed again?#either way fuck that epilogue. i cant believe im prefering the half episode exposition dump ending but it truly is the lesser of evils

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rin-bellatrix · 6 months

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Some Things Are Meant To Be

"Take my hand, take my whole life too. Oh, for I can't help, falling in love with you." - Haley Reinhart

Exploring a near dilapidated building in search of anything worthwhile with her boyfriend, sister and brother-in-law, Fiona nearly ends up empty-handed, but leaves with a little more than she expected.

Written for Rhyiona Week 2023 with the prompt "trick/treat"

Header art by AnnaSabiNoKami 🌌

Purple galaxy dividers from this post. Purple glitter divider from this post. Purple reblog and feedback divider from this post.

Enjoy and Happy Halloween! 🎃

"Hey! Can you believe it? It still works!"

Fiona stood from where she had been hunched, sifting through a chest of knickknacks, turning to face Rhys who was handling some type of electronic device as he showed it off to Sasha on the other side of the room. Her sister stepped closer and observed him manipulating the cracked interface, and she tilted her face up to his with a question and his grin widened.

The sight of them in such a moment would have wounded her heart in the past, but now it made her smile in private satisfaction. Her boyfriend and her sister getting along so well always soothed some broken part of her, one that always wanted love and safety for the most important people in her life. Sasha welcoming Rhys so readily into their small family was a balm to her soul, just as Rhys had when securing Sasha as another best friend. They got along so great, and the sight softened the most jaded parts of her. Her two favorite people were happy and healthy and honestly, what more could Fiona ask for.

Sasha scoffed, taking a step away from the company man, idly running a hand over her hair as she pointed out a latch in the back. He turned it over and inspected it as the younger Pandoran walked away at the call of her husband's voice. August complaining about something, as was his usual, his grousing mutters making the young woman smile in affection as she sought him out.

Even newlywed, Sasha couldn't resist a good treasure hunt.

Rhys tapped against the outer shell of the device, his face showing clear confusion as Fiona sidled up beside him.

"What cha got there? Anything worth selling?"

He turned towards her, his bi-colored eyes falling down to her face. "If I'm right about what this is, this has the potential to be either a removable hard drive which could contain all kinds of secrets, or... It's a handheld video game system. Can't really remember right now, I've gotta take it back to HQ to run a more thorough scan." His lip twisted into a pout as he considered the retro machine in his hand.

Fiona reached up and brushed off some dust from his lapel, her hand moving up to the slope of his broad shoulder and down his arm, the expensive material of his suit gliding beneath her fingers. By the time she lifted her eyes back up to his, his pout had disappeared and his face had softened as he looked down at her.

"As long as it's not the digital remains of a megalomaniac, I'd consider it a successful heist," she joked, her lips kicked up in a playful smirk.

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head at her coy words. "Yeah, never wanna deal with that again. I'm good. Uhm, but hey..." he began, his mood suddenly shifting.

The vault hunter tilted her head, allowing her lover to take hold of her hand and pull her away from the room they were in. The distant sounds of Sasha's amused tones and August's loud curses faded gradually as he lead them further into the abandoned building they were rummaging through.

They walked down a long hallway, past other rooms that had already been ransacked, Rhys all the while holding her hand gently in his own. He finally slowed as he reached an overturned bench, releasing her hand to right the piece of furniture and dust off the old cushions. He sat down and patted the space next to him, his smiling face bright in the dingy light.

Fiona felt herself mirroring his expression as she sat next to him, her knee knocking against his. "What's up? Found something special?"

He grinned, and he looked so boyish in that moment that she had to resist reaching over to pinch his cheeks. "Actually, yeah!" He slipped his mechanical hand into the breast pocket of his blazer, pulling out what looked like an old, curved metal piece. "I think it's some kind of wrist guard. It looks like it might fit you, what do you think?"

He handed it over and the vault hunter took it, turning it over in her hands to inspect it. Intrigued, she removed the wrist brace on her left arm and tucked it away, fitting the new one into its place. It fit pretty good, a few adjustments and she'd actually be able to wear it comfortably. Tapping a turquoise nail on its tarnished metal surface, she determined that it was probably most effective when parrying bladed attacks.

"Hey, not bad. Seems like you've got a good eye for this."

"There's more, actually."

Fiona looked over at him and he was already holding out his hand to drop something into hers. She cupped her hand beneath his and he loosened his grip to let something light fall into her waiting palm. Bringing it closer, she noticed that it was a pair of earrings, giant gems glittering in the center. It was certainly an older set, the setting around the jewels had warped slightly due to age, but it was still beautiful even in its diminished state.

"Wow, not bad Rhys! Clean these up a bit and you've got a pretty penny sitting in your pocket." The Pandoran felt oddly proud in this moment, knowing her lover had scored a decent haul from the remains of a long-ago abandoned facility.

So far, she hadn't found anything of note, but the thought of leaving here knowing her boyfriend had found some treasure left her somehow satisfied. It's not often that he can leave his company and come meet with everyone like this just to enjoy some time together. This was a much needed break, not just for him but for all of them.

She handed him the old jewelry back, watching in contentment as he pocketed the set, before shoving a hand down his pants pocket. He fidgeted for a moment, before dragging his eyes up to hers. She lifted her brows in silent inquiry.

"So there's also... This other thing that I found..."

"Yeah?" she prompted when it looked like he was struggling to continue.

He seemed to hesitate, before drawing his hand out and reaching for hers. He held her left hand gently in his own as he fumbled with a small object, finally securing a hold on it and singling out her second to last finger. He slid a circular object onto her digit, nestling it past her knuckles until it sat comfortably at the base of her finger.

Fiona immediately zeroed in on the shine to the item, her critical eye noticing that it was new, unblemished like the other trinkets Rhys found before. It was a ring, precious stones flashing brightly even in the slightly darkened room. She lifted her hand and inspected it further, impressed with the fire inside the gems and the quality of the overall expert craftsmanship. This piece of jewelry was truly remarkable, and it definitely cost more than a pretty penny.

She looked up meeting her boyfriend's eyes, finding him watching her intently. "Rhys, where did you get this? There's no way you found this here," she asked, watching him curiously. This was a long ago abandoned facility, the chances of something worth while being left here, untouched by grit and grime was far too low.

He shifted in his seat, his knees bumping against hers as a blush reddened his cheeks. "Well, I did find it, but not here... It was actually in a shop on Dionysus... A jeweler to be exact."

"So... You brought this here from Dionysus?"

Atlas' ceo was watching her intently, and she felt like he was trying to tell her something without using his words. When she only responded with a perplexed hand gesture, he nearly rolled his eyes.

"I found it, at a jeweler's, as in, I commissioned a professional jeweler to make this especially for me, because I was planning on giving it to you..."

"Oh..." Fiona glanced down at the beautiful ring again. The ring Rhys had ordered to be made especially for her. The ring that was sitting on her ring finger, on her left hand. Fiona was typically as smart as a whip, but she had suffered a concussion not too long ago (the perils of being a vault hunter), and it took a minute for the gears to start turning. "...Oh!"

Snapping her gaze up to his, the focused look in his eyes now made sense as he waited for her answer. She swallowed down a rush of adrenaline, feeling the pounding of her pulse all over as she realized that yeah, this was really happening.

Knowing his lady love well, the company man knew that Fiona was currently battling a fight or flight response. Remaining calm, for both of their sakes, he reached over and gently took her hand in his, lightly running his robotic thumb over her knuckles in a slow, repetitive arc, brushing over the engagement ring with every pass.

"You don't have to answer right now, you don't even have to say yes, I just wanted-"

The vault hunter vaulted over his lap, crashing into his body with such force that it knocked the both of them off the bench, tumbling into a heap of ripped up carpet. It was incredibly dusty, smelled a little bit like mildew, but the young ceo was fully preoccupied with trying to meet the many kisses his girlfriend (fiancé?) was trying to suffocate him with.

"Is- is this- a yes? Are you- saying- yes?"

"Yes you idiot," she grinned, her lipstick smeared over her mouth in a truly ridiculous but endearing way, and the Atlas president knew from past experience that his lips were not fairing any better.

"Oh okay, that's good, because for a moment there, it kinda felt like you were gonna snap my neck and hide the body under these rugs here... Do you smell that by the way?"

Fiona was laid out over her lanky boyfriend (fiancé?), her armor and sharp accessories poking him uncomfortably, but her eyes were soft and her smile was wide, and Rhys really counted himself fortunate enough that such a stellar woman allowed him into her heart. She leaned down and kissed him again, this time slowly, allowing him to cup the back of her head and close his eyes, enjoying the plush shape of her lips. Her hat tumbled off, but she didn't seem to mind as she tilted her face to taste his mouth from a different angle. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks as his free hand smoothed down her back to settle in the dip of her waist.

She hummed pleasantly, kissing the corner of his mouth lightly as footsteps neared their position.

Fiona pulled away to gaze down at him with all the love she usually held in reserve, and Rhys found the he couldn't look away even if he wanted to. The old facility didn't exist, nor did the smelly carpet at his back, not even the sight of Sasha rounding the corner in his peripheral could get him to break away from his future bride's eyes.

Sasha stopped when her eyes landed on the couple laying in a pile of dirty rugs, and after a moment of assessing the situation, she turned right around and started heading back. August was following her, a curious expression crossing his face as he watched his wife back track towards him.

"Hey, you found 'em?"

"Yeah, let's go, they're fine," she answered, taking his arm and turning him around.

"What, were they like, indecent or somethin' like that?" he snorted, still not over the fact that a string bean nerd like Reese could get any action, period.

"Mmm, something like that," Sasha quipped, a secretive smile on her face.

The blonde snapped his attention down to her, his icy blue eyes wide with shock. "Eh?! No way- tell me, what arm was he usin'?"

The younger Pandoran leveled him with stoic lifted brow, her expression less than impressed.

"Sash, be honest. Was it the fleshy hand or the robo hand?"

She rolled her eyes, stepping carefully over some fallen debris littered on the floor. "You realize you're talking about my sister and best friend, right?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"August, darling?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up before I file for divorce."

"..."

When Rhys and Fiona had reunited with the couple, Sasha snagged her big sister in a tight embrace, congratulating her sincerely, and as the sisters quieted down, from the other side of the room they could hear August ask Rhys, "Since we're gonna be future brother-in-law's, how about you answer somethin' for me..."

"August!" The youngest sister shouted, shaking her head as both men jumped at the sound of her voice. "I swear, sometimes I feel like I gotta keep him on a leash..."

Fiona grinned, bumping her elbow against the smaller woman as she said, "Looks like you've gotta domestic him a bit more."

"Yeah? We'll see how you fare domesticating yours," she teased, poking her sister in the ribs.

"Rhys doesn't need..." The vault hunter trailed off, both Pandoran women watching as the company man wiggled his mechanical fingers, gesturing with his left hand towards it as he explained something in a low tone towards the blonde man, who was listening intently and nodding occasionally.

Fiona felt her face burn with a sudden heat as her fiancé flicked his wrist and a soft whirring of low vibrations filled the room. She felt her sister's pointed stare and realized that yeah, maybe Rhys did have some more domesticity training due... In the very near future.

If you're looking for a spookier Halloween tale featuring our favorite otp, then may I offer up "A Man After Midnight" which features Rhys and Fiona facing off against some supernatural evil~ Also it's like five times longer than this so it should satisfy any creepy cravings you might have 😈

©rin-bellatrix 2023

☆ borderlands masterlist ⋆ main masterlist ☆

#rhyiona #rhyionaweek #rhyionaweek2023 #rhys strongfork #rhys the company man #rhys the ceo #fiona borderlands #fiona the con artist #fiona the vault hunter #rhys x fiona #borderlands #tales from the borderlands #tftbl #rin's fic #sasha the kid sister #august the brawler #august the guy with the key #saugust #is that their ship name?

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haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted · 1 year

Photo

Dungeons & Dragons: Keys from the Golden Vault - Mirrors by Katerina Ladon

#Dungeons and Dragons #Dungeons & Dragons #D&D #Keys from the Golden Vault #Fantasy #Art #Mirrors #Katerina Ladon

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appri-dot · 12 days

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Woody has yaoi with Fencer

Lemmy has beef with Construct

Now I need oc interactive goobs for literally everyone else

#/silly #im too scared forever to actually branch out from the two ppl who enjoy my presence #but in theory i have a few ideas of interesting character matches #Croth meeting one of the softer human living Nutcrackers would be a blast to see because he fucking hates them #yet this silly thang can pop his head off like confetti if he tries anything #especially if hes stuck w them to survive #big joke NEEDS other masked omg it has no freakazoid friends 🥺 it would be cool in the way they may perceive it being half conscious #benji is just a short king i think any company employee oc would be hilarious to see him arguing with #whats that you literally killed a coil head? well mr 4ft thinks you insulted him so he hid the key to the food ration vault #hester jead....we don't talk about hester jead

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sillyandquiteawkward · 10 months

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lemme get back to you on that

#never gonna get over pickmans key having a lil vault boy keychain on it. loser.#pickman #guy #maccready #silly art tag

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peeweekey · 16 days

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cliff talk | sebastian x reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: sebastian brings you on a ride.

tags: emotional hurt/comfort, slight angst, dialogue heavy, sebastian and reader have a heart to heart

a/n: i never thought i'd be writing for the emo boy but here i am. hope you guys liked this as much as i liked writing this! :D

Like the green rain phenomenon or the cute little junimo creatures that live in the community center, there’s always something new to experience in the valley. As odd as it might be.

Hunched over, tending to your crops—is like living in wait, the calm before the storm, the thrum of anticipation as you await the next exciting thing.

Like today—now.

“Ah, there you are.”

The garden shears in your hands are dropped into the thick down crawl of growing fruit. You look up, squinting your eyes due to the warm beat of dying sunlight.

“Sebastian?” you pause, looking up at him from your spot amongst growing melon vines. Your overalls smeared with dirt and damp with sweat—this is the last state you’d want to be seen in.

“Hey farmer,” The keys dangling from his index finger jingle as he gives you a close-lipped smile. “Wanna go for a ride?”

—

The place Sebastian stops at is quiet.

But not in the way most people think—the valley is never quiet, birds chirping, the breeze singing through tall grass and the rustle of branches swaying slowly. You’re aware of the sounds in the recesses of your mind.

The view is breath-taking.

The sun set long before you arrived on Sebastian’s cliff side spot. It’s cool and grassy, ticking your ankles as you walk through the field. The air, no longer warm but a cool breeze that you greedily inhale.

You stop right before the edge, there’s a big drop that you'd rather not slip and fall into. Zuzu city lay just under the horizon, a smatter of light in the otherwise now-dark forest. A cluster of flashing lights that remind you of stars—that have fallen and gathered from the night sky.

“Amazing, I know.” Sebastian says, a few steps behind you. He’s leaning against his bike, staring at the same view as you. “Zuzu city is miles from here, but there’s so much light—you can see it even from high up.”

You fold your arms, turning your back at the view—facing him. “Well, it is nicer from afar.”

Sebastian gives you a look, then nods his head to the grassy patch behind him. “Mhm. Let’s sit?”

You settle down together, side by side. You, him, and his motorbike beside him—there’s barely any space between your legs. You feel the warmth of proximity—so close. What you’d give to bridge that gap once and for all.

“Want a drink?” he asks, pulling out a beer bottle from his hoodie pocket—your brow raises, a miracle it didn’t break on the way. “Only got one though.”

You shrug, taking the bottle. It’s warm—warmed by his body heat. “S’okay with me. We’ll just have’ta share.”

He looks at you, eyes momentarily flickering to your lips as you use your teeth to pop the bottle cap off. “I guess we do.”

—

The beer is settling warmly low in your stomach, loosening every tightly wound muscle in your body. You feel weightless, the edges of your mind made fuzzy.

“I’ve been savin’ up a lot,” he suddenly says, picking absentmindedly at the blades of grass underneath him. “Almost have enough too. Once I do, I’m skipping outta this town on my bike.”

You nod your head. “It is a pretty cool bike.”

“Mhm,” he drawls, patting the side of his motorcycle—almost lovingly. “It’s gonna take me all the way to Zuzu city.”

“Zuzu city,” you repeat slowly, feeling the sound of the words in your mouth. It’s unpleasant, Zuzu city is a place you’d rather leave behind. You look down at the view of it, squinting. “Why go there?”

He pauses, inhaling the cool night air deeply. His fingers itch—like they’re searching for the comforting hold of cigarettes he so enjoys.

A part of you wishes you didn’t ask. Difficult conversations and cliff sides don’t mesh well together, you think. You don’t dare move a muscle as you wait for him, your eyes drifting back to the glittering light-filled view of Zuzu city.

“It’s suffocating here—everything about the valley,” he replies mirthlessly. “I live in the basement of my mom’s house for fuck’s sake. I know how she looks at me, like she could’ve done so much more to make me less of a shitbag. Maybe she could’ve, I don’t care. It’s way too late now.”

A low whistle escapes past your lips. You swirl the beer bottle loosely in your grip. “I see…”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you, scoffing. “You’re pretty shit at comforting words, y’know that?”

“Harsh,” you look at him quizzically, shoving the beer bottle into his hands. He accepts it immediately. “What do you want me to say, Seb?”

“Nothing,” he smirks, downing a generous gulp of beer, the bottle is a little less than half full now. “‘m just teasing. Don’t gimme that look. I didn’t want comfort anyway, I’ve had enough of that. I want you to tell me the stone cold truth.”

“Promise not to get pissed off?”

Sebastian clicks his tongue against his teeth, then smiles. “Depends on what you say.”

“Wow, guess I’ll have to lie.” you joke.

“Hey—”

“Kidding.” You laugh softly at his pinched expression. His eyes narrowed—lacking any real aggression—at you as you poke harmless fun.

You grin, slowly turning back to the view. “You won’t find yourself there,” you say simply, taking a slow sip of beer, the smoothness of it running smoothly down your throat. “Believe me, I’d know.”

Sebastian turns to face you, irritation spelled out in every feature of his face.

“Smartass…”

“Hey, you asked for the stone cold truth,” you lift your fingers into air quotations to emphasize your point.

“Tch. Tell me this then. If I can’t find myself there, or here in the valley. Where the hell do I go?”

You pause, clicking the bottle with your nails idly. He’s irritated obviously. But you think more frustrated and confused than anything.

You sigh, then smile. The valley hasn’t been the kindest to its resident shut-in.

“Mid-life crisis at 24,” you tease gently, poking at his side. Sebastian shoots you a heatless glare. “Don’t worry too much Seb, your hair is gonna turn gray.”

“Ha-ha,” he replies sourly. “You talk as if that isn’t the same reason you moved to the valley.”

“Hey, I gave a generous amount of my life to Joja,” you snort, shifting your feet into a better resting position. “I paid my dues over there before I found some semblance of peace here.”

“I can’t just sit around and wait my whole life.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply. “God knows I wish I followed my dear old gramps’ footsteps sooner.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Yep. It isn’t. It does get easier though.”

“You say it so easily.”

“Sometimes, it just is.” you reply. “Only sometimes, though.”

For all you remember, your grandfather absolutely adored the valley, though he couldn’t convince you in the height of your angsty teenage phase to do the same. You’re long past that now, life didn’t go as planned and you ended up right where your grandfather said you would be.

Funny, how fate works so mysteriously, so weirdly.

You shake that thought away, turning to Sebastian—who has the same contemplative expression as you.

He’s silent, thinking. His fingers grasping and twirling the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You never told me the story.”

“Well,” you purse your lips, handing him the bottle. He drops the drawstrings to grab it. A wordless agreement between the two of you to share what remains of the liquid. “You n’ver asked.”

“I wanna hear it,” he says, looking at you at the corner of his glittering obsidian eyes. “please?”

“How polite,” you laugh, he lightly hits you on the back of your head with his palm. “Ouch. No need to be rough w’me, I’ll tell you.”

You clear your throat with an obnoxious ahem. “Once upon a time…”

“—C’mon farmer, stop messing around. I wanna know your story,” he interjects, and it almost sounds like a plea. “No theatrics.”

Your lips flatten into a grim line. He’s being unusually insistent on the topic. But now that you think about it, you haven’t told anyone why you moved into the farm. Not your mother, not your father, and definitely not anyone else in Pelican Town.

Sebastian may be your first, you think to yourself—innuendo unintended.

You hug your arms closer to your chest, the cool draft sliding over your skin—making you shiver. No better way to battle the uncomfortable situation with an even more uncomfortable conversation. You take a deep breath.

“I was a fresh graduate when I started working at Joja—worked my way up from customer service to marketing. Crazy, right?” you chuckle, though it sounds hollow even to you. “All the pretentious proposals I would write and those useless meetings that’d take forever. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t hate my 20 year old self for starting at Joja. 5 years down the fucking drain when I quit. Let me tell you, it’s the best decision I made in my stupid corporate slave life.”

Sebastian says nothing, he hands the bottle back to you, which you take a generous swig of. You grip the bottle tightly around its neck, the warm feeling of alcohol loosening your tongue.

You exhale deeply through your nose. “I was in my cubicle when I just ‘bout had enough—by the way, I hate that they’re called cubicles, I felt like a number in some executive’s spreadsheets instead of a living breathing person.” all that talking and your throat itches for more of the sweet burn of alcohol—you oblige it with another weighty gulp. “Grandpa left me this letter, told lil’ old me not to open it until I really, really needed to. Now that I think of it, he knew.”

Your voice cracks by the end of it. Your tongue feels way too thick for your mouth. And your eyes blur—there seems to be twice as many stars as usual.

Sebastian stays quiet, reflective even. Though his hands have stilled, and he feels closer than he was earlier. It’s warmer, you think.

If he asks, you’ve decided you’ll blame it on the alcohol.

—

You and Sebastian talk for hours after, the bottle of beer being passed between the both of you too often. You feel a tad tipsy—having drank the lion’s share of beer. Your head lolls onto your arms as you talk about everything then nothing.

There’s a fair moment of silence that blankets the two of you after—certainly not uncomfortable. You feel Sebastain knows the fact more than anyone. He seems to thrive in the quiet moments.

“I don’t think I’m leaving the valley any time soon, though,” he says softly, breaking the tranquil silence.

So he’s been thinking. “Why so?”

He shrugs his shoulders, taking the final sip of beer that finishes the bottle. “Something’s makin’ it worth staying a little longer.” His eyes meet yours, albeit for a second—before he refocuses on the cliff side view.

Ah, you understand.

Suddenly, alcohol isn’t the only thing making you feel so warm. You thank the stars for the dark, for hiding any warm pinkness in your expression. You smile, more to yourself than anything. Taking the bottle from him, brushing your fingers over his perpetually cold ones.

The bottle is lighter than it was at the beginning of the night—your shoulders too, less achy, less stiff. With all that weight off of them, you can afford to be less wound up.

You tip the bottle over the grass, nothing but a single drop comes out. You watch it fall and drop into the grass. “Good. This something thinks you’ll come to like it even.”

Sebastian tilts his head, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “That’s presumptive.”

You shrug, smirking. “I have a sense for this type of stuff.”

“Really now?”

“Mhm. I don’t just lie for no reason. And my senses are telling me you’ll be alright.”

You hear the silent hitch of his breath, the momental widening of his eyes and the tremble in his jaw. It saddens you slightly, no one has probably reassured him of it before.

God knows you needed some while working at Joja, you’re just returning your dues to the universe—and to him.

He laughs softly, and bitterly. His fingers twitch again—for that darn cigarette. “God, I sure hope so.”

Sebastian will be just fine, you know that. And it’s about time he knew it too.

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