#vicar.ask

[theremustbeabear]

Solittle for the ask game please!

I hope things get less stressful for you soon 💞🫡 this is such a sweet thing to do

send me a terror character/ship and i’ll write a drabble about them

(and thank you!!)

“Sergeant. A moment, if you would.”

Tozer recognizes the hitch in Little’s breath for what it is immediately, and, without hesitation, abandons all other plans to steer himself away into Little’s cabin. He shuts the door behind him and looks down at the dishevelled lieutenant, who had retreated to sit on his berth and remains there now, hands clasped between his thighs and eyes clouded.

“Solomon, I…”

“Shh.” Tozer goes to him, taking a knee next to his leg for lack of space on the bed, and gently coaxes his hands into his own. “I’ve got you, Edward. Yeah? I’ve got you.”

Little’s eyes brim with tears, and he meets Tozer’s gaze with all the composure of a newborn babe. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, as his hair flops down to shade his face. “I’m sorry, Solomon.”

“Don’t waste your time apologizin’ to me,” Tozer tells him, quietly. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He squeezes Little’s hands, and forces a small smile to his lips, even as he feels the very same dread that haunts Little stalking around the edges of his consciousness.

“Yes,” Little agrees, blinking slowly. “Yes, I suppose you are.” He shifts his grip, and squeezes Tozer’s hands back. “Thank you.”

“Always,” says Tozer, and he means it.

[theremustbeabear]

gibson/hodgson for the ship asks.... 👀👉👈

send me a terror character/ship and i’ll write a drabble about them

“May I, sir?”

Hodgson gives his assent with a nod, and raises his arms to let Gibson slip his slender hands around his torso. He’s only taking measurements, but it is unbearably intimate; Gibson’s fingers trail down the faint lines of Hodgson’s ribs through his clothes, and Hodgson shivers.

Gibson stills. “Are you alright, sir?” he asks, his voice barely disturbing the air next to Hodgson’s ear. He leans closer, breath wisping over the lieutenant’s skin, and murmurs, “Do you need me to come back later, when you’re less… twitchy?”

Hodgson should chastise him for speaking so familiarly, but the thought entirely slips his mind as Gibson’s nimble digits ghost over the curve of his hips. “No,” he blurts, cheeks alight with a faint dusting of red that could be easily dismissed as cold. “No. No, please proceed, Mr Gibson. It’s only— a little bit chilly in here. Perhaps it’s a draft, perhaps I ought to alert one of the caulkers—”

“I’ll take care of it, sir,” Gibson interrupts, coolly, and a rush goes straight up the back of Hodgson’s neck. “Right now, I need you to stay quiet.” There’s a beat. “I mean, if you don’t mind, sir. For the measurements.”

“Right, yes,” stammers Hodgson, and the room feels very small all of a sudden as Gibson moves even closer to him. “For the measurements.”