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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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To Travel Through the World and Not Be Alone (Good Omens Fic)

Last week I asked for some more fluffy prompts, and @sparkkeyper suggested Crowley getting flustered and turning into a snake. Well, it looks like I’ve used up all my “Short Fic” mojo for the time being, as the result was over 10k and is available on AO3.

I really, really tried to make this one light and silly, but my brain does not operate that way, and so...a somewhat emotional deconstruction of the trope I guess?

Aziraphale stepped out from the dubious shelter of a sharply angled rock, shaking the last of the rain from his wings. Since leaving Eden the weather had certainly become much more variable. Days so hot his skin ached, nights that left him shaking with cold, a dryness that got into his mouth and eyes, and then – quite unexpectedly – more rain! Not as much as the first time, of course, but unpleasant enough.

The demon, Crawly, had been walking by his side, as he generally did, nattering on about the way sand moved in the wind and something about camel noses, but he trailed off as the rain began to fall. Aziraphale had lifted his wing to offer a bit of protection, until he noticed the rock in the distance, just tall enough for two man-shaped beings to crouch behind. Perfect, he’d thought and quickly gave Crawly’s hand a tug, intending to lead him over. Instead, the demon had all but run from him, vanishing into the night without another word.

Odd, that.

Stretching his arms in the bright morning sunlight, Aziraphale took a deep breath. Lovely, really, the slightly moist smell of the air after a rain. He suspected it would be even more pleasant once they found a place a bit more like the Garden itself – lush and green, rather than this endless expanse of sand, stone, and stunted trees.

He could see the humans up ahead, packing up their camp. The shelter they’d found had been no better, and Aziraphale hoped the cold and the damp hadn’t done any harm to the Woman or the child she carried within her. Quite a lot was riding on that yet-unborn human. There was still a chance the whole of humanity could end, now, here, in the blink of an eye. But the Man put a hand on the Woman’s shoulder, and she smiled, shaking her head, and helped him pick up their supplies.

As they moved out, Aziraphale began to follow after, but stumbled as some sort of black shadow twisted away into the brush, moving too quickly for him to make out. His body helpfully supplied a massive dose of adrenaline, which sent Aziraphale’s heart racing.

Steady on, he warned himself. It would take some getting used to, these human instincts, but there was no reason he couldn’t control himself. He was, after all, an angel. Aziraphale forced his breath back into a steady rhythm, expelled the unneeded chemicals from his system. That was better. He squinted at the line of dried-out bushes, then tilted back his head to scan the sky, but whatever had cast the shadow seemed long gone.

Well. Probably nothing important.

Already, the humans were fading into the distance, but it wouldn’t be difficult to keep up. Day by day, the Woman grew larger about the middle, and their pace slowed. The real danger was not accidentally overtaking them, or stumbling across them at rest and revealing themselves.

Both he and Crawly had received orders to observe the humans until their child was born. Not to protect, or disrupt, or involve themselves in any way – simply to observe. As for how to deal with each other – they’d been given no instruction whatsoever.

And so, for the past week, they’d passed their days traveling together, trailing behind the humans unseen. Aziraphale had expected it to be a time of silent contemplation, but Crawly had apparently never heard of such a thing. He constantly pestered Aziraphale with questions, tried to make conversation about topics that, if not technically forbidden, were certainly better left alone. He crouched sometimes, digging around in the sand, never saying what he was looking for. It was an annoyance, but whenever he was out of sight, Aziraphale found himself worrying. What is he getting up to now? And when will he be back?

He found he didn’t like being alone. Which was absurd – he was an angel – a Guardian. Being alone for long stretches of time was part of his job description, his very being. And yet, in the same way his body was programmed to overreact to every shadow, it also needed to have other bodies around, to see them, hear them, possibly even to touch them. Unfortunately, until the Woman delivered her child and Aziraphale was allowed to reveal himself to the humans, his only option was the strange demon who talked too much and wandered off without warning.

Just as Aziraphale was certain he would lose sight of the humans – and was making up his mind to leave without the demon, and let him find his own way – Crawly materialized, stepping out from behind a sand dune and shuffling over to Aziraphale.

“It’s about time,” the angel said in a low voice, ignoring the unwelcome wave of relief. “I hope you’re not planning to leave me waiting for you like this all the time. And where, precisely, did you go?”

“Not far.” Crawly shrugged, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Anyway. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“You’re planning something, aren’t you? We agreed not to interfere until the child’s birth – these humans been through enough, Crawly, and they don’t need you—”

“Sssss’not that.” His lips twisted as if he’d eaten something sour, then pressed flat again. “Didn’t go anywhere near them. Promise.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he believed that, but up ahead the humans had already vanished into the heat-hazy distance, apart from the flare of the flaming sword and a long line of dark footprints. “If you say so. Keep up now, Crawly, there’s a good fellow.”

After two more weeks, their path began to run alongside a stony ridge. The base of it was cool, a little damp, and small flowers grew there, shielded from the sun. The humans had paused up ahead, and so Aziraphale stood watching them, grateful for a chance to rest in the shade.

Crawly, on the other hand, was causing some sort of trouble again.

“Look at these!” He tugged at one of the plants. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

Aziraphale glanced down. Tiny flowers, just a speck of white or red on a thick stem growing out of a mass of green, low but thick. “We had much larger ones in the Garden,” Aziraphale commented. The humans were gathering rocks, it seemed, tapping them against the exposed stone of the ridge.

“Yeah, but look!” He’d been going on like this all day, digging at plants, collecting funny stones, running over to show each to Aziraphale, as proudly as if the demon had created them himself. It didn’t seem to be harmful or wicked behavior, but Aziraphale couldn’t decide what to make of it. “No water, no sunlight, barely even any soil to root in. You wouldn’t think anything could grow here. But they—oops.”

“You killed it, didn’t you?”

“No, just – look I pulled off the flower. The rest is fine.” Crawly wandered over just as the humans seemed to finish their task. The Man took the Woman’s hand – how odd, to walk like that, yet it didn’t seem to slow them down – and together they headed eastwards. Aziraphale stepped out of the shadow of the wall, and bumped directly into the demon. Crawly skittered back, clearly struggling with his own adrenaline, though Aziraphale had mastered that particular unwanted reaction ages ago.

“Terribly sorry,” the angel said, brushing his hands down his robe. Crawly’s dirt-smeared arms had left a mark, but he found he repeated the action more times than necessary. “But, please, Crawly – learn to pay attention to where you stand.” Another brush of his hands. It was soothing, in a way.

“I meant to be standing there.” The demon scowled. “I was going to show you…here.” He thrust the flower towards Aziraphale.

It was a bit unusual. Formed into a little cup, petals strangely thick to store the rare water of the desert. A sturdy little plant, a survivor, but beautiful in its own way. He plucked it from Crawly’s fingers, in order to study it from every angle. Their fingers brushed each other in passing, and Aziraphale found he was rather more aware of the contact than justified for such a minor thing. “It’s…quite nice, I suppose.”

“Good.” Crawly stepped back, fingers twisting in his robe. “Um. You can have that.”

“I see. And…what am I meant to do with it?”

Crawly shrugged. “Whatever you want. Just thought, you know. Flowers. Very angelic. Let’s go.”

He hurried along the ridge while Aziraphale looked at the flower again, fighting back a smile. Did it look better after their now, after their brief exchange of words? He found himself admiring the way the petals faded from dark to light.

“Oi! Angel!” His head jerked up. Crawly had stopped at the same spot where the humans had paused. “Come look at this!”

Tucking the flower into his sleeve, Aziraphale quickly stepped beside him, glancing over to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh, that is…” but words escaped him. Somehow, the humans had made marks in red and yellow, white and black across the stone. Not just marks, shapes.

Aziraphale could see two rough, humanoid figures standing hand-in-hand, one holding a brilliant yellow line. The sun illuminated the rock ahead of the figures, and cast a deep shadow behind. Other, simpler marks indicated parts of their journey – a hint of storm clouds, the line of the Garden Wall, a lion, crouched, ready to pounce.

“I think…” Aziraphale’s gaze traced it, east to west. “I believe this is what they call art.”

“Huh. Thought it was gonna be, y’know. Fancier.”

“Well, they’re just starting out. I’m sure we’ll see improvements soon.”

“Right.” Crawly was digging around in the dirt again, and stood quickly with a lump of charcoal. “Just need to make a few adjustments.” He rubbed the dark, crumbling stone against the ridge, making a black streak some distance behind the two figures.

“Crawly! What are you – you can’t – that isn’t allowed!”

“Oh, what, now it’s forbidden to make marks with rocks? Heaven is nothing but stupid rules these days.”

“No – yes – you’re distorting something the humans created!”

“I’m making it more accurate.” He stepped back, studying the newest figure. Thin and black, legs splayed in a funny way, arms spread by its sides. “That’s me, following behind. Hand me some red ochre, gotta do my hair, too.”

“This is, without a doubt – we’re supposed to be observers, not – not making ourselves part of the – what are you doing?”

Fingers now coated in ground-up lime, Crawly was dabbing another figure onto the stone. Brilliant white, and with a bit more care taken to the limbs, this one stood close beside the black one.

“Adding you, of course. Little me can’t be up there alone.” He glanced at the two human figures, then rubbed at his own one last time, extending the white figure’s arm to end…just where the black’s did.

Hand-in-hand.

“What do you think?” Crawly asked, rolling his neck as if he’d just finished some strenuous task.

“It’s…” Aziraphale stepped closer. “I mean, you really shouldn’t…” His mind raced, trying to think of any response that would be even remotely appropriate. This was a…a gross breach of protocol, surely, and Aziraphale had to…put his foot down, make it clear such things were not acceptable.

Instead, rather without his direction, his hand drifted over to clasp the demon’s.

Once again, it seemed the work gained more beauty the longer he looked at it. And Aziraphale found he was very aware of Crawly’s hand, just as he had been of his fingers. Crawly squeezed his hand, an uncertain, welcoming gesture, and Aziraphale felt a strange tingle, a rush of warmth roiling up his arm, filling his head. He squeezed back—

“Sorry. Gotta.” Crawly dropped his hand and bolted away, back up the path they had just walked down.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that isn’t even—!”

Vanished.

Aziraphale waited a long moment, wondering if he would return. It gave him ample time to study the wall, the little flower. His own hand.

Then, with a sigh, he followed after the humans alone.

When Crawly returned, just before sunset, he didn’t mention running off. Or the art. Or the flower that Aziraphale had carefully set aside on a rock where he had stopped to rest.

Probably best to forget it all, then.

More weeks passed, enough that Aziraphale lost count, and the humans came to a river.

Not perfectly clear-blue water running merrily over rocks and under sweeping trees, as they’d had in Eden, but a large brownish affair making its way between steep banks covered in reeds. There were some trees, larger than the ones in the desert, and fruits hung from them for the humans to gather. It was painstaking work, as they grew too high, or over thorny patches. Some fruits were too ripe, others not quite ready. The Woman was also in no state to be climbing trees, so the Man did most of the work, tossing fruits down for her to catch.

“I know we said not to interfere,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his palms together. Another habit that seemed ingrained in the body, but it seemed to help his worries. Perhaps he’d keep it. “But surely it wouldn’t hurt to – to lend a hand, would it?”

“Wuzzat?”

The angel turned, ready to repeat the question, until he saw something that put the humans out of his mind entirely. Crawly had tied his robe up around his knees and was walking along in the river.

“What on earth are you doing, you – you strange creature?”

“It’s hot,” the demon griped, scooping up some water to pour over his head. More of it got on his robes than anywhere else.

“Well, now you’ll be hot and covered with dripping wet clothing, does that really sound more appealing?”

“Don’t know, haven’t tried it.” Crawly reached into the water again, drenching his sleeves. He frowned as they emerged. “No, that’s…heavier. Not very comfortable. But…a little less hot.” He squeezed his sleeve, water dripping back into the river. “Could take the clothing off entirely,” he mused. “That might work.”

“Now you’re being absurd. It isn’t allowed!”

“It isn’t?”

“No! There are – Crawly there are rules.”

“Only for the humans. And look, they’re not wearing nearly as much as I am.” He tugged at his dripping garment again. “I can wrap some leaves around my bottom if that will make you feel better.”

“It’s not about making me feel better! It’s – it’s the principle of the thing. You and I should be setting a good example for the humans, not…not…” He waved helplessly as Crawly arched his back to dip his hair into the water.

“This is a good example! Problem solving! Using the available resources to make yourself more comfortable. If the humans bothered to look back and see us, they might learn a lot.” He flipped his hair forward, spraying droplets everywhere. “You wanna join me?”

“Certainly not.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, where itchy sweat was beginning to accumulate. “We have more important things to worry about right now, like—” He glanced back to where the Man lowered himself from the tree, seemingly entirely unharmed. The Woman smiled and handed him a piece of fruit, which he accepted gratefully.

“You know the humans are fine without you.”

That, surprisingly, hurt. Aziraphale found, more and more lately, he had a strong desire to join the humans. To walk beside them, to hear what they said, to laugh when they laughed. When he watched them walk away together, he felt…oddly empty.

An emptiness that vanished when he turned back to Crawly. Much as the demon grated on his nerves, Aziraphale found he enjoyed his company. When he spotted Crawly crouching in the shade of a tree, long fingers scratching at the ground, or scrambling up a ridge of stone to see what was on the top – there was always a bubble of anticipation, an eagerness to see what he’d found, to see that shining excitement in his eyes.

He felt it now, as Crawly waded deeper into the water to investigate a log floating in the current.

“I mean, m’not saying you should give up or anything, but…you can’t spend every day worrying about them. They’ll be fine.”

“Of course I spend every day worrying. I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature to want to help and protect those around me.”

“Ohhhh, is that why you’re always nagging me? Or is it because—”

Without warning, the log split into an enormous, tooth-filled jaw, lunging forward to snap at Crawly. With a yelp, the demon tumbled backwards, kicking water at the revealed crocodile, scrambling back towards the shore.

Aziraphale rushed forward, colliding with Crawly, wrapping one arm firmly over his chest to pull him back to safety; the other hand he flapped at the snapping creature. “Shoo!” he called and, just to be safe, put a note of angelic command in his voice: “WE ARE OF NO INTEREST TO YOU.”

The crocodile snapped its jaws one more time before turning away, lowering itself again to float downriver.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to settle his mind. The adrenaline had flooded him again, but this time it had helped, giving him the speed he needed to react. Perhaps these instincts could be useful, if properly regulated. Unlike Crawly, who still clutched at Aziraphale’s arm, heart racing so that the angel could feel it. He pressed Crawly back a little more firmly against his own chest. “I hope you’ve, ah, learned your lesson.” He wasn’t sure what lesson exactly they should take from this, but he needed to continue his policy of blanket disapproval of all demonic nonsense.

“That thing—” Crawly started, but his voice pinched off, too tight to speak.

“That thing could have bitten your leg off,” Aziraphale chided, brushing Crawly’s torso with his free hand, making sure everything was intact. “I’m not sure if I can heal a demon at all, and I certainly can’t regrow limbs. You must learn to be more careful, my dear fellow.”

His eyes met Crawly’s enormous golden ones, and a heat rose in Aziraphale’s face that had nothing to do with the sun and the desert.

“I, uh…” Crawly very nearly blinked. He tilted his head back a little further and his breath brushed across Aziraphale’s cheek in a startling way.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale let him go, though his arms seemed slow to obey.

Immediately, Crawly scrambled away, jumping into the thickest part of the reeds.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Crawly! Is it too much to ask that you comport yourself with a little…” But when he looked along the riverbank, there was no sign of the demon.

Aziraphale took a good long while to search – until the humans had finished their mid-morning meal and begun walking again – but all he managed to find was the usual wildlife: rodents, reptiles, a few birds.

“Typical,” Aziraphale muttered. Such strange behavior had become increasingly common as they traveled, and the angel had learned by now that if Crawly didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Best to just keep walking while the demon got over today’s mood; Crawly always managed to catch up in the end.

Sure enough, well after sunset, a dark-robed figure slunk over to the spot Aziraphale had chosen to rest in. “Angel,” he mumbled in greeting.

“And where were you this time?” He felt another wave of relief, but sternly reminded himself not to encourage the demon. “Honestly, I half thought some river creature had devoured you, and it would serve you right for – for disturbing it…”

Crawly didn’t say anything, merely dropped onto the ground and stared at the light of the humans’ fire, far ahead. Not even a glance at Aziraphale.

When the silence had drawn on too long, Aziraphale lowered himself to sit beside Crawly. “I…am glad you’re unhurt, you know.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t know what to make of that, so they sat in silence for the rest of the night.

“Aha!” Crawly crowed, leaping from one rock to the next, pale skin flashing in the sunlight. “I knew this was going to be better!”

“I’m sure it is,” Aziraphale said as neutrally as possible, trying to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

“You can’t even imagine! I feel so much lighter! I can finally move!” He dropped into the river with a splash, Aziraphale turning quickly to make sure Crawly was unharmed. But, no, he stood in the shallows, tossing water all over his bare skin. “This is…Angel, you have to try this!”

“And why, precisely, would I want to do that?”

“I told you, it feels good. Washes off the sweat and – I dunno. Like the heat can’t touch you through the water. Just come down, I’ll show you.”

“Crawly, get out of there. I’m not about to see you be devoured by wildlife again.”

“It’s ffffine.” But he hopped out, dashing up the path to a fruit tree. Before Aziraphale could say anything, he’d pulled himself up onto the lowest branch.

“Crawly! No, get down, you’ll break your neck and…and…”

“Why do you worry so much?” He pulled himself higher and higher, vanishing among the leaves. “I’m a demon, I’m not going to fall unless I want to.”

“I’ve told you, I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature—”

But surely Crawly couldn’t hear him all the way up there. A head emerged from the crown of the tree, gazing out into the distance as the wind stirred his bright red hair, sending streamers in every direction. He glanced down at Aziraphale and waved and, quite at a loss, the angel waved back.

He almost wanted to join Crawly. Not with the nakedness, though his robes were getting to be something of a burden, ending each day heavy with dust and sweat. But it seemed peaceful up there, cooler. And ever since the incident with the crocodile, Aziraphale had been feeling a strange urge, to be near the demon, to touch him, to ensure that he was safe.

Perhaps it was related to the instinct that compelled him towards proximity to the humans. That made sense; lacking options, his mind was trying to reach out for the only other being available. Though that didn’t really explain the strength of the urge, or why it seemed to grow daily as they spent more time together.

Crawly’s head disappeared. Branches rustled, leaves falling along the riverbank, and suddenly he dropped onto the lowest branch, grinning like he had a secret. “Look, I know you’re hot, Angel. Just admit it.”

“Certainly not! I am perfectly content as I am,” Aziraphale lied, trying to subtly flap the collar of his robes to let in a little air. “Perhaps it is your…Fallen nature, but I am completely immune to the effects of the environment.”

“Are you? Here, catch.” Something flew towards Aziraphale’s head, and his hands barely snapped up in time to grab the oddly shaped, greenish fruit. “I think that’s a pear,” Crawly continued. “Also, pretty sure it’s ripe.”

Golden eyes sparkling with excitement, he grabbed the branch with two hands and leaned back a little with an eager smile.

Aziraphale studied the fruit, turning it over in his hands. Well. No point in being rude, was there? He raised it to his lips and took a bite.

The inside was soft, but not too soft, with an oddly gritty texture. More importantly, it flooded his tongue with a mildly flavored liquid, sweet and refreshing. He’d gotten so used to his mouth being dry, Aziraphale had stopped thinking about the discomfort, but this – this was exactly what he needed. He eagerly took a few more bites.

“Oh,” he finally said, glancing up at Crawly, who still watched from his perch. “This is absolutely marvelous.” He wiped the juice from his chin and smiled.

Crawly grinned back, swinging his legs with a bit too much excitement, but it was an infectious excitement, bubbling up in Aziraphale’s chest with every bite.

Until, suddenly, Crawly’s expression fell, as did he, dropping from the tree to scramble about on all fours, racing back the way they’d come. “Don’t wait for me,” he called when he managed to get his feet under him, and by the time Aziraphale had even turned around, he had vanished again.

Well. At least it was quieter now. Aziraphale took another bite of his pear and continued his walk.

He was, by this point, getting used to Crawly’s unexplained disappearances. He never arrived later than the following dawn, and sure enough he caught up just as the humans were settling down to sleep. Once again, he didn’t say much or even look at Aziraphale, merely crouched on the ground, watching the distant firelight.

The next morning, however, was a different story.

“Ow! Stop that, it hurts.”

“Well, I do apologize, but I need to know what’s wrong!” Aziraphale rubbed his finger again across Crawly’s now bright-red skin, peppered here and there with some truly nasty looking blisters. It was extremely hot to the touch.

“Sssstop!” Crawly tried to wriggle away, but he was firmly trapped: Aziraphale sat on his back, legs pinning the demon’s hips in place, one hand lightly on his shoulder, but ready to press it flat into the dirt if required.

“If you don’t stop moving around, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“You aren’t – this is torture, that’s what it is. Bloody sadistic angel!”

“It would appear you have burns covering every inch of your skin. How on earth does that even happen? What were you getting up to yesterday?”

“Nothing! Just – you saw. Walking around. Wanted some space’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Ngk. Might have. Stretched out on a rock to bask for a bit at noon. Felt good.”

Aziraphale sat, considering the boiled red of Crawly’s back and his own slightly pink hands, the itch at the back of his neck. He’d been working on a hypothesis, and this would seem to be his first clear bit of proof.

“Crawly, I believe you’ve been burnt by the sun.”

“Didn’t go to the sun,” Crawly grumbled.

“This is no laughing matter. I understand burns can cause permanent damage to humans.” He brushed his fingers down Crawly’s spine, carefully avoiding the blisters, but even that was enough to send the demon squirming. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes it hurts! What have I been saying? Are you even listening?”

“I am,” Aziraphale assured him, looking for any spot that was still mostly pale. “How about this?” He pressed fingers into the side of Crawly’s ribs, just under the armpit.

“Ssssssss…not as bad, but yes.” At least he’d stopped struggling, but still Crawly’s fingers curled into the dirt, scraping deeply in the brown clay.

“If I’m right, the burn is the worst in areas that received the most exposure to the sun, and only light or incidental in areas that were shaded or protected.” There weren’t many of those. Crawly was a very thorough basker.

“Wait, really?” He started to twist around to look at Aziraphale, then cringed and looked forward again. “You think human skin can be burned just from being out in the heat?”

“Perhaps. I’m still gathering evidence.”

“Well, the humans aren’t getting burned!”

Aziraphale bit back another remark about Crawly’s Fallen nature. That wouldn’t be helpful here. “I’m not quite sure why that is,” he admitted. “But my own burns are very minor, perhaps theirs are the same. Certainly, they keep to the shade as much as possible, particularly in the hottest part of the day. Meanwhile, you are the first one to spend half the day lying naked in direct sunlight.”

“Not half the day.” Crawly whimpered a little as Aziraphale pressed his shoulders down one more time. “Seems a major design flaw, you ask me,” he grumbled.

“Hush, now.” Aziraphale lifted his hands and rubbed them together, summoning just a thin line of celestial power. “This may sting a little.”

“What? What are you doing now? Everything stings!” Another squirm as Crawly tried to pull free, but there was very little chance of that.

“I’m going to heal you, if you can hold still, you ridiculous thing.”

“Heal me?” Crawly went still and stiff. “Why?”

“Why? Because you’re in pain. What other reason do I need?” He reached a finger towards the worst burn, then hesitated. Could he dilute his power even further? “What did you think I was doing back here?”

“Dunno. Thought you were just…curious. Or wanted to learn for the humans.”

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale traced his finger across Crawly’s shoulders. It left behind a trail of bright white, which rippled out several finger-widths in every direction, a wave of healing that left behind unburnt skin. He sighed in relief. “Well…there was that, too, but I thought I’d made it clear by now, I have no interest in seeing you come to harm. Even if it is harm by your own doing,” he added, so that Crawly could be sure he wasn’t entirely off the hook for his choices.

“So…you’ll…heal all of it? Entirely? No…leaving scars so I learn my lesson?”

“Crawly! How could you even think such a thing?” He pushed his fingers to the healed skin. It was a bit darker, browner than before, with a smattering of darker spots. “Does this hurt? Or here?”

“No…it’s…it’s good.” He lay his head on the ground, seeming subdued.

“Wonderful. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Down by the river’s edge, the humans finished picking up their woven mats and bundles of food. “They’re getting away,” Crawly muttered as they wandered down the river.

“We’ll catch up,” Aziraphale assured him, carefully applying just a touch of healing along his spine.

“You’re not worried? Thought it was your job.”

He glanced up, taking another look at the Woman, her blossoming belly, the Man helping her step over a patch of rough earth. He did feel an emptiness, a need to follow them, but it felt less important, less urgent, than the task in front of him. He smoothed away a particularly horrid patch of burn, and Crawly murmured with relief, a relief Aziraphale felt in his own chest.

What was this? The human need for proximity, an instinct he still couldn’t control? His own Guardian nature, perhaps, leading him to want to protect the being nearest to him?

Both of these, yes. And something more. Something that made him wish to see Crawly running across the riverbank, carefree and smiling again.

“Why did you disappear so suddenly anyway?” Aziraphale asked, carefully working on Crawly’s arm.

“Nrrrg. Just…wanted to be alone. Don’t you want to be alone sometimes?”

“Well…yes, but…” But I’d thought we were having a good time.

“Aaaaah, s’not fair!”

Aziraphale moved to kneel beside the demon, and Crawly rolled over, sitting up so he could watch Aziraphale heal his legs. “I used to handle actual stars, you know. In my bare hands! Now look, I can’t even stand in the light of one without…this.” He gestured to his still-burned front.

“You were fine for many days, Crawly. You just have to be careful.” The bottoms of his feet were fine, at least. Perhaps the thicker skin had helped protect them. “And, I think, keep your robes on. They seem to block the burning aspect of sunlight.”

“But I don’t want to be careful.” Aziraphale released his foot and Crawly crossed his legs tightly so the angel could start on his chest. “I want to explore. Experience things, everything, now while I can.”

“What do you mean, while you can? The world is going to be here for a good long while, regardless of what happens to the humans.”

“Mmmmph.” His shoulders hunched forward from something unrelated to the pain, and Crawly looked away. “Not supposed to tell you.”

“Ah.” His thumb ran across Crawly’s throat. “Then don’t.”

“I’m not…actually supposed to do anything when the child is born. Just, watch the humans, learn what I can, and then back to Hell until they decide what to do with me.” He shrugged, still not looking at the angel.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers moved slowly across Crawly’s chest.

“Guess I surprised them all, with everything in the Garden. Don’t know what to do now, right? Your side has a Plan. My side needs information, to figure out what to do. So they gave me until the humans have their child, then I go back, tell them everything. Maybe...maybe they’ll send me back to Earth. Maybe they’ll send someone else. Maybe it’ll all get locked up in bureaucracy and they won’t make a decision until everything comes burning down.”

“I see.” Somehow, Aziraphale had assumed they had the same orders.

While the humans were banished from Eden, no Word had come down whether they were to be considered entirely lost. The Archangels had determined that, regardless of the status of the Man and the Woman, it was possible their child had not been completely corrupted. So Aziraphale was to assist in raising the young human, and any others that came along, asserting as much Heavenly influence as possible.

He’d thought Hell would want the same, that he and Crawly would be working…not together, but in parallel. A Guardian and a Troublemaker, guiding the little souls.

“Is that why...you’re always running around...investigating everything? Gathering information for your side?” He kept his fingers as steady as possible, tracing across Crawly’s stomach.

“Nah. Hell barely cares about the humans, you think they want to know about...flowers, and rocks, and little ducks? The way ants follow each other in lines that go on forever? No one gives a shit. I just - I want to see it all. So...I have something to remember when I’m down there again.”

“I see.” Aziraphale wished he had something more to say.

“Except I can’t do everything! Stupid…things…getting in the way. Stopping me from…what I want to do.”

“Well, your time is limited, it’s true.” Careful strokes under the eyes, sending a ripple of healing across his cheeks. That long nose was absolutely covered in tiny darker dots. “But…I don’t think this should stop you from experiencing everything you can.”

“Everything?”

Aziraphale ran his thumb across Crawly’s chin. It wasn’t necessary – all the burns were gone – but he found he couldn’t stop himself. Each touch made him feel…jittery. Electrified.

It was like the human bodies were made for contact, fingertips picking up invisible details, the bristle of little hairs, the flex of muscles at the edge of the mouth. Look, how perfectly his hand slotted on the side of Crawly’s face, cupping his jaw and cheek, thumb moving across the sharp cheekbone.

“Hnnnnngh.” Crawly shoved him back – not hard, but enough to give the demon room to scramble to his feet. “I’ll catch up.”

And once again, he vanished.

Sighing, Aziraphale called in the general direction he’d run off to, “Just make sure you don’t lie about in the sun again, I can’t be doing this every day.”

Seasons changed – hotter, cooler, wetter, drier. Aziraphale hadn’t yet learned how to mark the passage of time, but Crawly explained it had been almost half a year, then explained what a year was, then tried to explain how he could tell from the stars, then gave up.

The demon’s newly-browned skin seemed more resistant to the sun, but he still sometimes burned himself if he wasn’t careful. He took to wearing his robes again, but with sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Every few days he slunk back to Aziraphale for a fresh round of healing, staring determinedly at the ground between them while the angel cradled his hands and gently rubbed the burn off his forearms, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Afterwards, he usually scurried off to sit against a nearby tree.

The humans moved more slowly now, not just because the Woman’s child was nearly ready to arrive. Sometimes they would stay in one place for days at a time, experimenting with creating shelters for themselves out of leaves or reeds or branches. When they did move, it was only over short distances, trying a little closer to the trees, then a little farther from the river’s edge.

Aziraphale found he had a great deal more time now, and not much of an idea what to do with it.

He tried keeping closer to Crawly. To keep an eye on the demon, yes, but also because…it felt right. It made the hollowness he felt vanish for a little while, particularly whenever he saw that look in his golden eyes, the burning passion that was woven into every disrespectful question, every ill-advised endeavor. It was unlike anything Aziraphale had ever seen before. More and more, he found he could hardly look away.

He felt he needed to do more. When Aziraphale found a new and interesting type of berry, he wanted to share with Crawly, find out what he thought. When he greeted the demon on returning to their resting spot, he wanted to straighten his robes, his hair, rub a bit of dirt off his cheek. When they sat, he wanted to move closer, until their fingers brushed, until the warmth of another body tickled down his side.

And yet, any time he indulged one of these whims, the need for more only grew stronger.

Disgraceful, really. Maddening. If this was some sort of human instinct, perhaps he should return to Heaven and have the body adjusted. He could ignore the body’s need for sleep, for food, for almost anything else - there was no reason this one instinct should be so much more powerful than the rest, unless something was wrong.

Besides, his actions tended to send Crawly scampering off again, vanishing for most of the day.

It was very hard not to follow.

After the half-moon set, Aziraphale had very little to do apart from watching the banked fire in the distance and waiting for the sun to rise. Crawly wasn’t talking, for once, lying on his back nearby, either studying the stars or drifting off to sleep.

Aziraphale thought he saw some movement in the human camp, shadows at the edge of their shelter. They sometimes woke before dawn, but rarely did much apart from hold each other and talk in soft voices. Seeing it always made Aziraphale’s arms itch in a strange way. But there seemed to be too much movement this time.

“Crawly. Crawly!”

“Whaaaaa?” He shifted in his awkward, ungraceful sprawl but didn’t turn his eyes away from the stars.

“Can you see anything?”

“Mmmmh?”

“The humans!” It was Aziraphale’s angelic instincts this time, his Guardian mind telling him something was wrong, that he was needed. “Something is going on over there, but I can’t quite make it out.”

Slowly, too slowly, Crawly rolled onto his side and glanced at the shadowy figures. “S’fine. Just moving those reed mats around.” He slumped back, wriggling around again. “You think those things are comfortable?”

“They’ve been using them every night, so I imagine they are.” Aziraphale kept his eyes on the distant figures, even though Crawly seemed to have lost interest already.

“Cuz this ground. S’really starting to make my back hurt.” He arched his spine, stretching. “Another design flaw, you ask me. S’like this body isn’t even made to be bipedal. Hurts if you walk too much, hurts to sit, hurts to lay on the ground.”

“My back doesn’t hurt,” Aziraphale lied piously. “Perhaps you’re just using it wrong. I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to just…fling your limbs all over like that. Not to mention the way you walk.”

“What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, a little too quickly, pressing his lips together. Lately, Crawly had been trying to swagger, but he hadn’t quite gotten it down yet. It was more a meandering progression of flailing limbs, an embarrassment to watch, and Aziraphale always had an almost overwhelming urge to pull Crawly against him and tell him to stand still.

“S’right. Nothing wrong with that.” Crawly turned back to the stars again, deep in thought.

A flare of light drew Aziraphale’s attention, but it was just the Man building up the fire a bit, crouching outside the shelter. Unusual, he supposed, but everyone got restless sometimes. Seeing the flames reflected off the Man’s dark skin, Aziraphale felt himself relax. He wasn’t needed here, a thought that was both soothing and slightly disappointing.

A few more pokes at the fire, and the Man picked up another woven mat and carried it back inside.

Aziraphale could just make out the shadowy shape of the Man offering the mat to the Woman, shifting her onto it to lay more comfortably. Once again, Aziraphale felt that itch in his arms, that ache in his chest for a warmth that had nothing to do with fire. He was often alone, in the Garden, in Heaven – but only now, wandering the world, did it have a physical effect on him. Aziraphale wondered how much longer he could bear it.

He glanced over at Crawly, and for some reason remembered a pear offered on a hot day. It wasn’t wrong to give his body the refreshment it needed. Even if the offer was made by a demon. Surely, surely if his body had a comparable need for contact, there was no harm…

Aziraphale made a decision and rose to his feet.

“Here, this should make you more comfortable.” Crawly twisted around, and Aziraphale smiled a little at the shocked expression that crossed his face. The angel shook out the mat he’d miracled up, making it snap in the wind. It was modeled after the ones the humans used, but better; Aziraphale had a little insight into materials they hadn’t yet found in the world, ones that would be a bit softer, provide a little more support.

“Angel, what are you—?”

“You’ve complained enough for one night, haven’t you? I know how to take a hint.” One more shake and the mat stretched across the ground. “Go on. See if this makes your back feel any better.” He crouched on the ground beside it and smiled encouragingly.

“Look…s’not that bad. I was just. Making conversation.” Crawly rolled onto his side, but still eyed the mat as if it might turn into a crocodile.

“Fine. Let’s make conversation. I’ve designed a new sleeping mat and would like your opinion.” He pressed his hand against it, showing how the mat compressed slightly. “Do you think the one is enough? Sometimes the humans pile a few together, but that might not provide much advantage. Come, now, I want to know your thoughts.”

Crawly’s eyes finally flicked up to look into Aziraphale’s face, then shot back down to stare at the mat again. “It’s, ah…” Crawly ran one finger along the soft surface. “It’s big enough for two.”

“Is it?”

Aziraphale doubted his tone sounded as casual as he meant it. Already the heat was rising in his face. It was, of course, a foolish idea. And painfully obvious. But these human bodies were not designed to go for half a year with only minimal physical contact. He craved it, like he craved food, rest, a comfortable seat, and he just…very much needed to feel…closeness.

He’d thought he could resist it. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

“You don’t sleep.”

“You do.” He’d seen how the humans slept, the Man pressed against the Woman’s back, arm across her protectively. He thought about it at night, and sometimes during the day. There was no reason Aziraphale should want that, no reason he should have any desire to protect a demon, and yet…he did.

“I nap. During the day. When it’s hot.”

“There must be a reason they sleep at night.” Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing his hands on the mat. It was more than just a physical need. He wanted to see Crawly smile. Wanted to feel him slowly relax inside the circle of his arms, trusting and content. He wanted to whisper secrets in the darkness, like the humans did. They had no need to whisper, there was no one to overhear, and yet they did, and Aziraphale wanted to know why. “Let’s find out. You’re the curious one.” Hands a little closer, until they almost touched Crawly’s. “You told me you want to experience everything.”

“Tempting me?” Crawly didn’t smile. He looked tense, almost panicked. Aziraphale lifted a hand to reach towards him, and the demon flinched. “I…I can’t.”

Aziraphale’s stomach plummeted, a wave of shock, of disappointment, of shame. “Crawly…”

No. He wouldn’t argue. What more was there to say? This was his foolishness, Crawly had rejected it. There was no need to drag things out. “Of course.” A wave of his fingers, and the offending mat was gone. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

Crawly still looked away, past the human encampment, away across the endless expanses of desert.

“I…didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said. No wonder Crawly always fled from him. He needed to learn…boundaries. Needed to learn control. His fingers had already reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Crawly’s ear, but Aziraphale forced them to stop, hovering in the empty night. “It was never my intention to—”

Crawly grabbed his hand and, fast as anything, pressed his lips to the knuckles. Then, just as suddenly, he surged to his feet and started walking away.

“Wait!” He hadn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel pulled him back, so sharply Crawly nearly fell. “Don’t just – we need to talk about this, Crawly! What I’m feeling – I don’t understand it, but – if you feel it too—”

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re…let me go!”

“Crawly, please!” Aziraphale still knelt in the dirt, clinging to the demon’s hand in confused desperation. “Yes, these – these human emotions are confusing and intense, but we can’t just ignore them. It was foolish of me to try and act on them, but—”

“Don’t talk to me about human emotions, Angel, you have no idea—”

“Then tell me!” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, wishing Crawly would look at him. “Regardless of – of everything else, Crawly, I want to help. I care about you!”

The words seemed to echo through the empty plain, across the river, up to the stars above.

It really was that simple wasn’t it? Human emotions and Guardian instincts and everything else aside, Aziraphale had simply come to…care about his enemy.

“You—!” Golden eyes turned back, wide with shock. “You said – But I’m—”

Crawly jerked his hand free, stumbled back two steps, and fell.

Except that what landed on the ground was not a red-haired, pale-skinned demon, but an enormous black serpent with a red belly.

“…Crawly?”

The serpent stared at him a moment, then shot out across the desert.

“No, get back here!” Aziraphale ran after him, fast as he could go, but the black shadow moved too quickly. “Crawly, wait!” Already he was vanishing into the night. “Crawly, please! Let me help you!”

But the serpent had vanished, as Crawly always did.

Aziraphale found his legs were shaking, trembling, until he could hardly stand. Even tugging his sleeves and smoothing his robes was not enough to set things right. He stumbled across the brown sand to sit on a rock, trying to make sense of it all.

Two puzzles presented themselves: What had he just seen? And what had he just said?

I care about you. And not in a…Guardian Angel way, aloofly wishing to ensure his charge’s safety. This was something different, something not at all of Heaven. He thought of the way the humans took care of each other, as equals. Not just providing safety, but happiness, and taking it from the other in turn. There was a gentleness in their actions, hiding a deep burning passion that would quite possibly consume an angel. He certainly didn’t feel that for Crawly, but…could he? Was this how it started?

What he felt just now was worry. He knew Crawly had come to Earth as a serpent, of course, had seen that with his own eyes. He didn’t think the transformation had harmed Crawly, but…it wasn’t supposed to happen. His shift to a human form was supposed to be permanent.

And the way Crawly had transformed…the suddenness…his distress beforehand…it hadn’t seemed entirely voluntary.

As he sat there thinking, one long streamer of shadow detached itself from the night and slid closer, coiling itself by his feet.

“Crawly?” Familiar golden eyes reflected the light of the stars as the serpent’s head rose. “Can you still understand me?”

Slowly, the serpent – Crawly – nodded, then tilted his head to the side. Yes, but not well, Aziraphale guessed. That made sense; this form didn’t have ears, and demonic senses could overcome only so much.

“Are you hurt?” Crawly shook his head. “Can you…change back?” Another shake, and he looked up at the stars, slowly progressing across the sky. Not yet.

“Why…” Too many questions, buzzing around Aziraphale’s mind. Crawly was the one who knew how to handle questions. Where to even begin? “Why did you run away?”

“Sssssshame.” It was hard to make out the word in the hiss.

“Shame? But why would you feel…” Aziraphale slid off his rock, kneeling next to Crawly. “There’s…you don’t have to be ashamed.” The serpent pulled back, coiling into himself, tucking his head somewhere along his body until everything appeared to be a black knot of night.

“No, listen. I’m the one who should be ashamed.” Aziraphale reached a hand towards the cool black scales, but stopped just shy of them. “I…I have behaved reprehensibly. Saying…all manner of things. Touching you when you didn’t want to be touched. And my actions tonight…no. It was my choice to – to indulge, to explore these new emotions, but I never should have attempted anything without seeing if you felt the same. Crawly, I never wanted to upset you…”

As he spoke, the narrow head emerged from the coils and shook, indicating a negative.

“No? Am I…wrong about something?”

A nod, but Crawly wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something worse, perhaps? “Can you…tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Ssssss.” This time he could decipher nothing.

“That…let’s try another way.” Once again, Aziraphale stretched out a hand. Crawly pulled back his head, looking at it uncertainly until Aziraphale lowered it back to the ground. “Sorry. You don’t want to be touched, do you?”

A nod, followed by a complicated ripple down fifteen feet of serpent that might have been a shrug.

“Alright. Let’s see…did this happen all those times you ran off?” A nod. “And…do you have any control over it? Changing to this form, I mean.” A shake. “What about changing back?” A head tilt and another rippling shrug. What did that mean? Some control? He wasn’t certain if he had control?

Well, that wasn’t important right now.

“Do you know what…causes this?” Nod, again not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Can you tell me?”

“Sssssssss.” A defeated head shake.

“Well…I know it was usually when we were talking, or when I…reached out or…” He swallowed. “It’s my fault?” Of course it was. It was so blindingly obvious. Foolish Principality, invading Crawly’s space again and again, driving him away, forcing him to change form.

But Crawly shook his head frantically. “Sssssss.” This one sounded frustrated. “Ffffffff. Fffffeeeel.”

“Feel?”

“Ffffeeeel. Hhhhhhaby.”

“Feel happy? Feel…Crawly, are you telling me you – you change into this form every time you feel happy?” A nod, this one eager. “But you’re always happy! Or most of the time. Not tonight, though, you were very sullen and…”

But Crawly shook his head again. “Hhhhhhhaby.”

“You were happy?” Nod. “That…I came over with that mat and…?” Nod. “And that I said I…care about you?” Nod, and his snout moved a little closer to Aziraphale’s face.

“So, you change when you’re happy. Very happy, I assume.” Nod. “And…I’m the one who…?” Another nod, this one looking more embarrassed.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, feeling strangely pleased that he could have this…incomprehensible effect on another being. Oh, it wasn’t something to be proud of, but it made that warmth surge inside, to think that of all the things that made Crawly happy...

“Ah. But. Um. Why change? You said it wasn’t because you wanted to.” Head shake. “Then why?”

“Sssssss.” Crawly drooped. Whatever it was, he couldn’t explain it in this form.

“Never mind then.” Aziraphale stood up again, dusting off his robes. “Ah. How long to change back? You’re usually gone for hours.” A nod. “Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, back towards the human encampment. Surely…they would be fine on their own…for one night. “Should I stay with you?”

“Ssssssssssss.” The serpent pulled back into his coils again, but, after a long pause, emerged to nod slightly.

Aziraphale smiled, settling back onto the rock. “It’s my pleasure, dear fellow. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Ssssss.” Crawly reached forward and rested his head on Aziraphale’s knee. “Ssssss?”

“Oh.” Serpents were, after all, much simpler creatures than humans. A human body needed many things to be happy, physically, mentally, and emotionally, as Aziraphale was rapidly learning. But a snake only desired heat. “Yes. Of course.”

Crawly darted forward, twisting himself up Aziraphale, wrapping around his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, tail twisting down around one leg, head coming to rest by his cheek. Aziraphale managed to get one arm free, the other pinned against his ribs. A squeeze went through Crawly’s body, gentle and brief, as he settled into place. “Ffffffffffine?”

“Yes, this…this is perfectly fine.” He scratched one finger carefully on the back of Crawly’s head. The serpent leaned into it, then shook free to tuck his head under Aziraphale’s chin. Another brief ripple of a squeeze, before bit by bit Crawly drifted off to sleep.

“Have pleasant dreams,” Aziraphale said, fingers stroking the black scales wrapped around his belly.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined. And yet, Aziraphale did spend the night with Crawly pressed tightly against him. He did provide his companion with comfort and safety.

Not at all how he’d thought it would happen, but Aziraphale was still radiantly happy.

“Itsssssstupid,” Crawly muttered, still lisping a little after his change back.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Just tell me.”

Crawly had awoken just as the stars had begun to fade, quickly twisting free of Aziraphale to transform back into his usual shape. He’d explained, somewhat embarrassed, that sleeping usually helped him change back quicker, and that sometimes he even woke up back in his humanoid form. This had presented Azirapahle with a very interesting mental image that he didn’t have time to indulge just now.

Crawly walked beside him, golden eyes darting in the pre-dawn light, reading Aziraphale in an instant before turning to stare at the ground again. “It isssss.” Crawly clenched his jaw and continued more carefully. “Sspent too long in the sserpent body. All that time in Hell. But. Ssnakes don’t…have emotions. Not like human bodies. Sso…I get…overwhelmed. And I can’t hold my shhhape anymore.”

“I see.” Aziraphale carefully studied Crawly out of the corner of his eye, almost afraid to look at him straight on. “And all those times you ran away?”

“I can ssort of…feel it coming. I have a little time to get away, but there’ss nothing I can do to sstop it.” He swallowed, seeming angry with his own mouth. “Stop it.”

“But why would you need to get away?”

“Ngh. I mean. You’re the enemy, I’m not supposed to…” Aziraphale couldn’t hide his pained expression fast enough, as Crawly’s eyes flicked over again. “And…it’s embarrassing. Don’t want to be that snake anymore. This is me now. This body.” He took a breath. “I…didn’t want you to think less of me. Because I can’t control myself.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale stopped walking entirely, but managed to fight down the urge to grab Crawly’s shoulders. “My dear fellow, we’re both learning to control ourselves here. You might be struggling with it physically, but I assure you…” He thought back over the choices he’d made since leaving the Wall. Things he’d said, ways he’d reached out and pulled back with almost no warning. Blaming it on urges and instincts, but he could have resisted if he’d wanted to, could have spoken about his feelings, could have done many things that were better, wiser, kinder. “I thought there was…something between us. Some understanding. But I was completely unaware of your struggles the whole time. I have been abominably selfish.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Crawly watched his toe trace lines in the dirt. “I think this…whatever it is, that makes you act the way you do and makes me so…mind-numbingly giddy I can’t keep my shape…I mean. It’s meant for the humans. We’re the first angel and demon to feel it. Of course it isn’t easy.”

“But…you do feel it, too?”

“Think so, yeah.”

Aziraphale tried to fight back the smile, but there was no stopping it. He turned away, preserving at least a little dignity. “So…what do we do about it?”

“Dunno.” Then, softer, “I want to touch you. Your hands, your face. I’d only...you know…but I want to.”

“I as well. It’s…I’m resisting but…it seems to grow harder every day.” He smoothed his hands down his robe. “Do you suppose it will always be this way? Between us? With every being we spend enough time around?”

“I hope not. It wouldn’t feel as…important if it were common. And it’s…distracting. I miss just talking.”

“As do I.” Aziraphale turned back in time to see Crawly’s smile. “I suppose…if it’s a question of the human-shaped corporation, you could always have it adjusted. Remove the troublesome emotions.”

“No!” The vehemence of Crawly’s voice startled him. “Aziraphale, that’s the last thing I want. I told you before, I want to – to experience everything this world has, including stupid human emotions. I don’t need them taken away I need…I need to build up a tolerance.” He nodded, staring ahead. “That’s it. A little at a time until…until…”

“Until you can feel whatever you want. Without…repercussions.”

“Nh. Don’t know how I’ll pull it off but..yeah. It, ah…” Another quick glance. “What about you? Probably help with your angelic duties if you didn’t have to worry about…all this.”

“It probably would.” They started walking again, slowly, side by side. “But I think…I think I would also like to experience all this world has to offer. And I can learn to control myself.”

They continued in silence for a little while, each lost in his thoughts.

“Do you think it will take much longer?” Aziraphale asked, twisting his fingers.

“You definitely need to learn patience, Angel.” Crawly grinned. “Yeah. Um. Remember when I tried to explain what a year was? Probably lots of those.”

“Ah. Is there…anything I can do to help?”

“Ngk. Well. You—”

A high-pitched scream echoed from the camp ahead, long and drawn out.

“The humans!”

They both took off at a run.

In the end, despite half a year of careful observation, Aziraphale and Crawly did very little. By the time they arrived it was nearly over; by the time they’d finished awkwardly re-introducing themselves – and convincing the Man not to skewer them on a flaming sword in a blind panic – there wasn’t much to be done except provide encouragement.

The Child was born, a healthy young boy who shouted quite indignantly at the inconvenience of it all.

The human race had truly begun.

Much later, as the Man and Woman rested, Aziraphale held the tiny baby in his arms. The boy had settled down somewhat, now that he was wrapped tightly and warm, and looked in danger of falling asleep in the angel’s arms.

“How does it feel?” Crawly asked, sitting at the edge of the camp.

“Oh, I can’t – it’s incredible, Crawly. I know he’s just a little thing but – I can feel it, his presence, his potential. Everything he can be, good and bad, and it’s just—” The baby opened his mouth in a wide yawn. “…It’s adorable.”

“You’re pathetic,” Crawly said, but with a smile, rising to stand closer, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the Child. “So? Everything there? I know you spent about an eternity counting fingers and toes. Didn’t think it took that long to get to twenty.”

“They’re just the most precious little things! Look – look at his ears.”

“I’m looking.” One hand stretched out uncertainly, tracing along the Child’s cheek. The baby turned his head immediately, searching, sucking on the fingers he found. “Look at that. Not even a day old, searching for food, trying to survive. They just…they just keep going, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Holding the Child filled an emptiness in Aziraphale he hadn’t known was there, not the strange magnetism that drew him to Crawly, but that deep desire for connection, the need to walk with the humans, to be known. Accepted. Though it wasn’t all that different, he reflected. Two sides of the same…two-sided object. A need to not be alone. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Angel…” Crawly’s hand drifted back to the Child’s head, resting on the nest of dark downy curls. “Aziraphale. I really don’t think I can.”

He turned around, and was surprised to see tears in Crawly’s eyes.

“Sssstupid, huh? Child’s got nothing to do with me. But…” He turned abruptly and walked away from the camp.

“Crawly, wait!”

“Nope. This was it, Angel. Just on Earth until the kid was born.” He turned back and shrugged, arms spread wide.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go now.”

“I can feel them calling already. In here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Longer I wait, more likely they’ll send someone to get me, and that’ll just be...messy. And what am I supposed to do now, anyway? Sit here and watch you...carry him around...wishing I could...” He bit his lip. “What would be the point?”

“But…but I thought…”

“Yeah, I thought, too. But what can we do?” Crawly looked down at the ground, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Look. Take care of them, alright? They don’t need your help. They’re smart. But…be kind. S’what you’re best at.”

“But…” Aziraphale looked down at the future of humanity in his arms. “Is that enough?”

“It’s everything.” Crawly stiffened, clenched his fists. “Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale took a step forward, and immediately the Child started fussing, sensing his anxiety.

“Well. Guess it’s not just happinessssss.” He swallowed hard, clearly fighting something. “Look. Angel.” Crawly walked back to hover beside Aziraphale again. “I – I really liked working with you. I hope…If I get another chanccccce…” He shook his head, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s cheek.

It spread across his face, a warmth, a blush, a smile, blooming like a flower.

Aziraphale turned his head, catching Crawly’s lips with his own. He’d seen the humans do this from afar, and he’d wondered why, but now…

Now he knew.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Crawly was gone, and a large black snake slithered away, fast as a shadow.

The Child started to cry. Aziraphale rocked him, bounced him a little. “No, dear, don’t worry. We’ll see him again.” The taste of Crawly was still on his lips, new and intriguing. “Nothing ends today. This is the beginning of our story.”

Thank you for reading! If that ending wasn’t satisfying enough, I recommend the fic Snuddles (Snake Cuddles) as a very distant epilogue.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #aziraphale and crowley #ineffable husbands #snake crowley #snek crowley #asexual ineffable husbands #lonely aziraphale #curious crowley #crawly #post eden #historical fic #crowley turns into a snake #first kiss #falling in love #feels #my writing #ao3 link

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asongeverlasting · 4 years

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Happy Holidays @adrienettes-hamster!! I was your backup gifter for @mlsecretsanta this year! I hope you enjoy this platonic Ladynoir bonding :)

Many thanks to @strangerahne for beta-reading!

Laughing in the Starlight

read on AO3

Marinete had known this was a bad idea the first time he suggested it, but that meant nothing. Even with all the luck in the world, she could never hold out against his kitty eyes and impassioned pleas for very long. One would think she'd have some sort of immunity, after babysitting Manon for so long, but no dice. It was almost as if his kitty eyes were magically augmented or something. No ordinary human should be able to expand their pupils that wide. It was just ridiculous. (Utterly ridiculous, her internal monologue supplied unhelpfully.)

And really, it was just a game of Truth or Dare. As Chat Noir helpfully pointed out the third time he tried persuading her to play, if she was really worried about secret identity things, nothing was stopping her from just choosing dare every time. Eventually, after two weeks straight of him bugging her during patrol, she gave in. Sort of.

Her acquiescence was accompanied by a number of ground rules designed to safeguard their identities and avoid injuries (practically a necessity when pitting two teenage superheroes against each other in a game designed to embarrass). She also added three vetoes apiece, just in case. Going into the game, Ladybug felt confident that she was prepared for anything, because her rules accounted for every possible awkward situation — and they would have, were her opponent anyone but Chat. Right now, sitting on an isolated rooftop three rounds into the game, she knew she'd made a mistake. Nothing could have prepared her for what he was throwing her way.

“Okay, so, imagine you were suddenly turned into a peach pit that was inside of a ripe peach and on a tree, and then the peach fell off the tree, sprouted, and you grew out of it back to the body you were before turning into the peach pit. Then imagine all this happened in the span of twenty minutes. What would be the first thing you did after all this happened?"

Her brain refused to compute. “Sorry, what?”

Chat just smiled earnestly at her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Did- did someone turn me into the peach pit?” she stammered, totally taken aback.

“Take it however you want, I just want an answer to my question.” Chat seemed shockingly normal for someone who had just spouted the most ridiculously out-there question she'd ever heard. Did these sorts of thoughts just exist in his brain?

How did one even begin to handle such a situation? But then again, stranger akumas had happened. “I guess I’d… first try to figure out how I’d been turned into a peach in the first place—“

“Peach pit, you mean,” he prompted, leaning forward.

“Yeah, that.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d probably also grab another peach off the tree to use as a weapon if I needed it. Oh wait, are the other peaches also people?”

His grin grew even wider before he responded. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out”

She shot him a frosty glare and responded, deadpan, “Horrible.”

“So….. what would you do?” he asked, genuinely curious now.

“Hmm. Probably... pull a peach off the tree so I have something to throw, look for the culprit - which was probably an akuma, honestly - and if I find no one, then get to high ground and keep looking. Oh, and before I leave, toss the peach at you like so.” She picked up a small pebble from the rooftop beside her and threw it at Chat, who yelped and turned away.

“Hey, what was that for?" Chat pouted.

Ladybug winked. "That's for me to know and you to never find out."

"Ah-hah-hah I see what you did there," he said, shooting finger guns at her. "Very clever. Now, I believe it's your turn again, Milady. I hope you come up with something interesting." He quirked a brow in challenge.

"Alright Kitty-Cat, truth..." She paused dramatically. "Or dare?"

"Dare, if you please."

"Hmm…" she mused, glancing around for inspiration. An idea came when her eyes landed on a house with two chimneys, about eight feet apart from one another. "Oh! Okay, I got it. Stick your baton between those two chimneys over there, grab it, then swing and flip yourself onto it, landing on your feet. Dramatic dismount for bonus points."

The spark of excitement in Chat's eyes had grown with every word she spoke. As soon as she finished laying down the challenge, he leapt up gracefully and bounded over to the designated rooftop, Ladybug following close behind.

Unsurprisingly, he executed the sequence perfectly, swinging around his baton like a gymnast on the uneven bars before landing on it, striking a pose, and backflipping off, all with the grace of a jungle cat.

She applauded as he put his baton away and sauntered over to where she now sat.

He gave a courtly bow before sitting down opposite her. "Only the best for the lady! My turn now, so choose your poison."

"Umm… I think I'll mix it up a bit with a dare."

"Okay, I dare you to…" Chat began slowly, "pick up the pointiest rock you can find, show it to me for approval, and then hold it in one of your armpits for the next two questions. Oh, and if you drop it at any point, the question count resets."

Ladybug shot him a dirty look before searching around for an appropriate rock. She picked up two, showed them both to Chat for inspection, and then unceremoniously stuck the chosen one under her left arm, taking care not to press too tight. "My turn now. Pick."

"Sheesh, someone's prickly! Something jabbing at you?" Chat snickered at the growl she let loose when his pun registered. "Truth! I pick truth."

She thought for a minute before speaking. "You claim that you're just a human with weird cat traits instead of the cat I'm convinced you are. Now, if I were right and you were an actual cat, what weirdly human trait would you have?"

Chat furrowed his brow in contemplation. "There's so many options to choose from! If I had to pick one… I'd probably make human sounds, either so my meows would sound like a real person making them, or so I'd scare the real humans in the house by saying 'hewwo' or something"

"An agent of chaos! Now, that sounds just like you. And I know better than anyone how much you hate not making human sounds," she chuckled.

He tried to mock pout, but couldn't hide his smile. "Okay, okay, my turn again. Truth or dare?"

"Ugh, I don't want to move with this thing under my arm. Truth."

With a soft laugh, Chat responded, "Well, now I know how to get you to answer my questions! Okay, okay, don't hurt me!" he exclaimed, raising a placating hand when he saw her glare turn threatening. "My question for you is… what name would you want to have, if your name wasn't what it is? And don't say this is against the rules, you could even give me your real name and I'd have no idea, so there's no way I can use this to ferret out your secret identity."

"Uhh…" She tilted her head to one side as she considered her options. "I'm not sure… maybe Celeste, or Isabelle? Or… Oh! I've always been partial to the name Bridgette, so I'd probably pick that."

"Bridgette, huh? I bet you'd have gotten along with one of my good friends. She's incredibly sweet and caring, like you. And her name sort of rhymes with your fake one! And she—" he cut his speech short, noticing that he was heading off on a tangent. "Anyway, spoilers aside, she's pretty great."

"Seems like Kitty might have a crush, hmmm? I hope this girl is worth your affections," teased Ladybug. "Must be something special if she's caught the eye of the great Chat Noir."

"Oh no, no crush! I only have eyes for you! I mean really, for yonder Tour Eiffel is the east, and you are my sun. This girl is… just a very good friend." The look on her face made it seem like she was intent on pursuing this line of teasing, so he hurriedly went on. "Also, I pick dare, and your rock dare is finished. You can drop the pebble now."

"Very smooth, Kitty," she said sarcastically, releasing the stone, "but moving onto the next turn might not save you. I can still dare you to answer a truthful question, don't you forget."

Chat's eyes widened briefly in shock before his expression morphed into his patented kitty pout — peeking out from beneath his lashes, pupils blown wide and shining, lower lip stuck out and quivering, head tilted to the side just so. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you? That would be so mean!"

She narrowed her eyes and met his pleading gaze with a stony stare of her own for a few moments, but then broke away with an exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll play nice. But one of these days I'm gonna figure out how to defeat your pout, and then you'll be in for some serious trouble," she warned, waggling a finger at him. "Okay, your dare is to… sing about a minute of a song, but replace every fifth word with the word croissant. And I have to approve your choice before you start singing! Also, if you start laughing, you have to start again. Think you can handle it?"

"I'm all over it! Just give me a minute to think up the perfect tune to serenade you with!" he proclaimed confidently.

"No problem, just as long as there's no cat-erwauling," she said with a smirk.

He froze. "Wait, was that a pun?"

She looked at him, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips, but did not reply.

"Not gonna admit it, huh? That's fine. I think I have just the song for you. Go ahead and stop me if you don't approve." He stood and bowed like a maestro walking onstage for a piano recital. "Now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, milady."

With that, he began humming and plucking at an imaginary… cello? Bass? Some sort of large string instrument. He opened his mouth, and sang (in a surprisingly smooth tenor), "I've got a gal croissant always late, any time croissant got a date. But I croissant her, I've gotta ask her, croissant you is or is croissant ain't my babyy?" His voice wavered with suppressed laughter by the third croissant, but he pressed on, counting out words on his fingers as he mimed plucking the strings. Ladybug had no such luck holding back her giggles and had to bite down on her own hand to smother some of the noise. "Maybe baby's croissant somebody new... or is my croissant still my baby truuuue?"

Chat finished the chorus with a flourish on his imaginary instrument before promptly dissolving into peals of laughter and plopping down in a heap next to his partner. They both just sat there chuckling for a while, trying very hard not to look at each other — for every time they calmed down slightly and their eyes met, they burst into laughter and had to start the process all over again. Eventually, they managed to regain control of themselves and quiet down. Tired now, they laid down on their backs, heads beside one another, feet stretched in opposite directions, and looked up at the few stars visible in Paris's night sky. For several minutes, neither of them made a sound.

"Wow," Ladybug breathed, breaking the silence, "what a view. I could just lay here all night."

Chat hummed in agreement. After a few moments, he shifted and turned his head slightly so he could see her profile. "Hey Ladybug," he said softly. She turned to look at him. "Truth or dare?"

She smiled. "Truth," she answered, just as softly.

"If you were playing Max's akuma game, but with Disney/Pixar characters, and the computer chose Hawkmoth, which character would you pit against him?" When she didn't speak for a few moments, he continued, "Take your time, it's a very important decision."

Ladybug pondered her options for a minute or two, weighing the pros and cons of various animated characters. All of a sudden, inspiration struck, and she let out a quiet giggle at her stroke of genius. "Oh, I have the perfect idea: the Pixar lamp." And she turned to him expectantly, amusement and pride evident in her expression.

Forehead wrinkled in confusion, he said, "I don't get it. Explain?"

She propped herself up on an elbow so she could see him better. "Okay, um… look at it this way. He calls himself Hawkmoth, which is a species of moth, right?"

He nodded.

She went on, "And moths are attracted to light and heat, to the point that they sometimes act drunk around things like lightbulbs and small flames."

Another nod.

"Plus, take into account the fact that you and I have some traits from our namesakes — you purr and I snack on flowers."

A rueful chuckle accompanied the next nod.

"So, it makes sense that Hawkmoth might be attracted to lamps. But then, the coup de graçe: do you remember what the Pixar lamp does?"

"It… hops?" Comprehension dawned. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "I get it." He started to laugh again, softly at first, then louder.

Ladybug laughed along with him, trying to speak through her mirth. "So... hahaha... I'm just imagining *snort* Hawkmoth... heeheehee... trying to chase the lamp around, while this… sentient lamp... *giggle*… just keeps trying to bonk him and jump on his head!" She pressed a hand to her stomach, laughing until it was difficult to breathe. "We wouldn't even be needed anymore!"

At this, Chat laughed so hard that his voice was no longer audible, and he just lay there, shaking and gasping for air. Finally, he caught his breath enough to gesture wildly and choke out, "Milady, you're a genius! Hawkmoth would totally just be running around like… *snicker*… 'LAMPY! Let me love you!' and the lamp would be like *BONK* and then… bahaha… they'd be together forever! *snort* Honestly, this is more of a ship than a fight!" His arms dropped back to his stomach as he fell into another fit of laughter.

The two of them laughed and laughed until their stomachs ached and tears streamed from their eyes, and the sounds of their voices echoed across the Parisian skyline. When they'd nearly laughed themselves hoarse, a sense of peace stole over them, and their minds and voices grew quiet and calm once more. They continued to lay there for several minutes, soaking in the comfortable silence, feeling — for once — completely in tune with the world around them.

"Hey, Chat?" Ladybug murmured.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're my partner. There's no one I'd rather be here with than you."

He smiled and gently touched his head to hers. "You and me, Milady. Forever."

Hawkmoth and the rest of the world could wait.

Right here, right now?

This moment was theirs alone.

#mlsecretsanta #my writing #ml fic #ladynoir #lovesquare #platonic ladynoir #truth or dare #laughing in the starlight

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

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Emotional Spanking -8

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has an emotional epiphany, a panic attack, a visitor, and a pleasant disciplinary action. In that order.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

SMUT. SPANKING. FEELS. the L word, previously completed kink negotiations, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego, immediately followed by hard!Diego, overwhelmed Princess, He Licks Everything, is a relationship happening??, literally no one knows, not even them

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

This piece is my baby. My heart is in this one. You have been warned.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

Whoever is banging on your door at 6:45 on a Monday morning is relentless. You know it's not your downstairs neighbors; the second floor apartment is still empty because your landlord is actually very sweet and doesn't just screen future tenants for ability to pay the rent, he tries to make sure they'll fit in with the current tenants too. And the little family on the first floor has that loud-ass two year old. There's no blabbery baby talk and the sound of the impact is damn near at the top of the door. So it's definitely Stranger Danger.

You're just going to wait it out. They have to give up at some point. And you've just spent three days ignoring literally everything in the universe, so really, the odds are in your favor here.

Except… you live in a tiny little town. The population on the sign says 570, but they were being generous in counting all the farms within a 10 mile radius. No one comes to your door accidentally. People don't wander up three flights of exterior stairs on an old farmhouse in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch Country while it's barely above freezing and still dark out. So there are two options:

Serial Killer.

Or, ugh, someone who knows you.

They're not stopping and it's starting to piss you off.

"This better be a fucking murderer!" You mutter as you stomp to the door. Impressive really, considering your pajama pants are over a foot too long and the apartment is carpeted. You reach the door and turn the deadbolt (banging still going on), unlock the doorknob (really, this is just excessive), and yank the door open with a war cry.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Its Diego.

Its Diego looking... odd? You take a split second to catalogue his appearance, it's like a reflex at this point because you can't not ogle him every time his existence is within your range of sight. He's not wearing a belt?? His shirt is half untucked and his jacket extremely wrinkled. One side of his hair is completely flat, as if he slept on it, and his squinted eyes are very, very red. Like he just came off a three day bender. Or he's been crying, your traitorous brain oh so helpfully supplies.

Diego, frozen mid-bang, also takes this time to look you up and down. His eyebrows raise and his brow furrows, clearly not impressed. You're wearing the same pair of pajamas as the last three days. Mismatched socks (one is orange, the other neon green), the overly long drawstring punjammy pants with one cuff rolled up from your stomping, a shelf bra camisole that lost its ability to function as a bra sometime in the last decade, no make up, and your somehow greasy yet simultaneously frizzy floop of curls.

Softly, but with great feeling, he rasps, "What the fuck, Princess?"

Oh no, this is Not Good. This is so, very, incredibly, horrendously bad. Your right arm tenses in preparation to slam the door in his face. His left hand shoots out to land on the door, his arm taut to hold it motionless. He's keeping the door pinned to the wall so he can continue taking up all of the open space of the doorway with his massive body. You snarl silently at him but let go of the door because you know this is the one man who actually can physically overpower you. And you don't need a shattered door to match your shattered pride.

You aim for unbothered dismissive bitch when you ask, "What are you doing here?"

You fail spectacularly when it comes out in a tremulous whisper.

Instead of waiting for an answer you spin around and go left into the living/dining/kitchen largest-space-in-the-apartment all-purpose room. You collapse on your tiny sectional and tuck your feet up under you to sit cross legged. You can hear Diego slam the door and follow after you. As he comes around the chaise of the sectional you reach behind yourself and grab the crocheted blanket your mom made off the back of the couch and desperately try to hide in it. All you want is to become invisible. Diego, of course, is not going to allow that. Asshole.

"What am I doing here? You have not answered anyone for three days! Not your normal phone, not the phone I gave you, not even a Facebook message from your mother! Your sister told Lisa that no one can reach you. Lisa called Julio! What have you been doing?? Clearly you have... gone nowhere…?" His speech started off barking but had shrunk to down to a horrified whisper as he took in the state of your apartment. Everything is everywhere. There are dirty dishes on the breakfast bar. Hair bands scattered across every horizontal surface. A lone lip balm is abandoned on the floor among a sea of used tissues.

--------

This is so not the woman he knows. There's no sarcastic snark of an answer. That woman would never leave something as important as a lip balm on the floor. Shit, she uses packing cubes for fuck's sake. As he kneels down to retrieve the tube of mint goop he hears it. The one sound that always makes him freeze up and opens a sinkhole in his belly: She's crying.

This unflappable woman who makes eye contact with all of his men, who never hesitates to lecture him on 'feminist theory', who gleefully stuffs an entire slice of pizza into her face while sitting in the VIP booth at the club with skinny models looking on in horror, and once called his bluff about putting on a show in the back of a limo by winking and telling Julio to watch them as she pushed him to his knees in front of her while simultaneously yanking up her miniskirt… is crying.

And it's probably my fault. He's almost certain this is his fault. Who else could make her emotional like this? Is someone else important enough to be worth her tears? It had better be my fault. If it's someone else I will kill them.

He looks up to see she has wrapped herself entirely in that weird fuzzy blanket her mother somehow made. The whole blanket creation process had been a mystery to him despite listening to her mother explain it step by step. She even has it over her head like a hood. Which would be adorably hilarious if she weren't ugly crying. Ew, please stop.

It only takes two shuffling steps on his knees to reach her, the living room is so small. He wraps his hands entirely around her forearms and pulls her own hands from her face. How is she beautiful with snot running from her nose? Only for her to flinch backwards. Okay, ouch.

"Look at me." He demands. She just scrunches her face harder. He tries a softer tone, "Please?" That does it. Those bottomless eyes come up and they are so, so lagoon green rather than the normal deepest blue of the open sea. How does she do that?

"Tell me. Talk to me, Princess. Let me in."

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

How does he do that? This large, intimidating, powerful, volatile man should not be able to make you feel safe of all things. Blurting out your feelings to Lisa had been terrifying. Realizing what had just come out of your mouth had brought on a sense of fear so acute it was nauseating. But here you are, staring into that pleading chocolate gaze and wanting nothing more than to answer him.

You can vividly remember the conversation that triggered this entire mess:

You came home from another insane weekend in New York and desperately needed to ruin your best friend's day with extremely detailed descriptions of your depravity. Lisa being Lisa, acted exaggeratedly horrified to hear that you demanded he fuck Franchesca in the bathroom so you could go down on her after to lick out his come while he then fingered you. Okay, maybe she wasn't exaggerating… much. But she knows you. She was not surprised that you wanted to watch him rail Franchesca over a bathroom sink but he insisted on trying to choke you with his tongue while he did it. And she is not shocked that you licked Franchesca off in under two minutes-- or came for him just after. Lisa is still laughing about the finality of Diego's abrupt dismissal of Franchesca the second you come all over his hand when she tells you, "That asshole is a full on freak, girl. Perfect for you!"

And the moment of your damnation, a soft sigh of an admission, "Yeah. I love him."

And you had removed yourself from all human contact for 3 days immediately following that. No social media, no phones, no internet. Nothing.

...so here you are.

His gigantic hands are wrapped around your forearms, fingers so long they overlap his thumbs. You're not afraid of those hands or their assumed capacity for violence. You should be; you know that, you're not stupid. Or maybe you are. After all, you trust this man who runs the most powerful fucking drug cartel in the western hemisphere and you've never even gotten a speeding ticket. While you've been lost in your musings, he released your forearms only to cup your face in those ridiculous hands. Those hands you love, you fucking dumbass.

No other man has ever touched you like this. Never touched your face with reverence, handled your body with an almost jealous possession, or ripped your heart open ever so gently with an earnest expression. He listens, enthralled, when you go off on a rant. He watches where you look while you're out and about. Like a hawk, he notices every shiny little thing you linger on, only for you to find it hidden in your luggage on the way home, wrapped neatly in a tiny box. You once told him that you don't like your elbows touched, it produces some weird overload sensation in your nervous system. And he never took your elbow in hand again, shifted to a hand on your lower back (or your ass, of course. Always a classic). He never seems to care what size is on the tag of the clothes he gets you, only that you like them and you like the way you look in them. He throws his head back with booming laughter when you scream obscenities at traffic. He always thanks you when you make food. Even if he does have to peel the cheese off… he just gives it back to you.

You may have gotten used to the private jet, the SUVs that cost more than your parent's house, the way every restaurant where he takes you has no prices, hell sometimes there isn't even a menu. You've even grown accustomed to the jarring dichotomy of coming home to an apartment the size of his penthouse bedroom while still dripping in precious stones and stuffing your new Louboutins in your purse for the three story climb.

But you're almost certain you will never be over the way your cardiovascular system seizes up when he captures you with a single look, or the functional failure of your lungs when his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, the complete implosion of your stomach when those damn dimples appear, or how your entire reproductive tract clenches with need when he licks his lips, and when your brain stutters to a halt because he lays those hands on your shoulders and swipes his thumbs up your jawline to stroke the pulse point under your ears while leaning his forehead on yours.

You realize you've just been staring at him like a moron for what must be for-fucking-ever. You can tell it's been a while because his eyebrows have lowered and he's starting to look a little defeated. You can feel the weight of his hands easing from your cheeks as he begins to pull back from you. Oh no you don't, you gorgeous fucking asshole.

You slap your hands down on his shoulders with entirely too much force and fling yourself off the couch directly into his lap with a level of violence usually reserved for people who won't put their phones away in a movie theater. He grunts with the sudden addition of your weight and teeters backwards for a second before smashing you into his body via the vise of his arms. You bury your face in his neck, where his stubbly beard catches on your stupid frizz, card your fingers through his amazingly soft hair, and start a whole new round of bawling.

He's kissing the side of your neck, nuzzling into you like he wants to be inside your skin with you. His fingers are spread wide across your back, he's trying to touch as much of you as possible all at once. You can hear a soft, keening whine but you have no idea which one of you is making it. Does it even matter?

The noise stops when you feel his teeth gently sink into the join of your neck and right shoulder. Oh. Guess it was him. His right hand dips low to palm your ass cheek and flatten you further against him. You automatically squeeze your legs around his hips in response.

You realize he's not hard. The shock of this revelation further delays you in understanding that someone is talking. And that someone is you.

"Please please, I'm sorry, please." Hiccup. "Its never- I've never been. I'm scared. It's too much and I'm scared." Another sob. "You keep leaving and it's just. What i-i-i-if you don't come back?" A stuttering inhaled gasp. "Who am I w-w-w-without you? What do I do?" A coughing sob. "You m-m-m-make me weak like this and I fucking h-h-hate it!" And you dissolve into another round of wailing sobs. You know you're practically screaming but you can't seem to stop. Your left hand is clawed into his hair and your right is fisted in the collar of his jacket, ruining the Armani. You're fairly certain the mess of snot and drool leaking out of your face isn't doing any favors for his shirt either.

He's just… letting you. Just letting you ruin his stupid expensive clothes and have a meltdown all over him. Like this is okay. Like it's no big deal. His left hand is rubbing circles over your ribcage while you howl. He releases your neck to raise his chin and tuck you up underneath it. Rubbing his goatee over your hair, then kissing the top of your head so incredibly gently. That can't smell good, you think hysterically.

Your sobs are finally starting to ease but he hasn't made a move to let go yet. You start to wonder how long he's going to kneel here holding you. Can it be forever?

It finally registers that his breathing is rough, labored. His shoulders are shaking under you. Now you're legitimately frightened.

"Diego?" You finally work up the nerve to speak. You hate the way your voice sounds like a small child. "...baby?" He is slowly stiffening under you and not in the fun way. You start to pull your face back from his neck only for his left hand to shoot up into your hair and hold you in place. It's not painful but it's definitely not soft either. Your breathing is starting to speed up. You instinctively know something important is about to happen. And it terrifies you.

He is holding you so tight its bordering on painful when he finally speaks into your hair.

"Why. Tell me why you fear that I never return. You are not weak. And this is not hate." He uses the hand in your hair to pull your head back. You fight it at first, it's just your nature. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and let him move you like a ragdoll. With no vision you don't know what he's doing until you feel the press of his forehead against your own. He bumps his nose against yours then rubs his bristled cheek against your soft one. You realize he's rubbing you like a cat and it makes you smile ruefully. My Murder Panther.

With his lips pressed right to your ear, he rumbles ever so softly, "Tell Diego, Princess."

Your whole body seizes up with the sensation. Oh, you fucking bastard. You would say it aloud except the undercurrent of fear in his voice gives you pause. He's afraid. He's afraid of you. Of the possibility of your rejection. Just like in the kitchen when he blurted out that he wanted to keep you. The way he froze, paralyzed in fear, after he whispered that he loved you. It's the same soft, lost little boy voice, the slight tremble in tone, the uncertainty.

And this time...this time, you can't take it. Tears slowly slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. You remember the night you met. His breathtaking smile when you turned the tables on him. Those damn dimples. When you felt the gun in the back of his pants. The moment you decided to do what you wanted and not what you should. Fuck it.

You press your own lips to his ear, his grip in your hair pliant enough to allow it. He's shaking under you. The fingers of his right hand are digging into your hip like claws, you find the pain grounding. Knowing that you're in control of this entire moment is both thrilling and terrifying. You could break him, right here and now. Fuck it.

And he would let you. This rich, powerful, enigmatic man who has already confessed his love to you. Fuck it.

"Diego.." You breathe into his cheek. He shudders under you and sighs out in a broken whimper.

Fuck it.

"Diego… I love you."

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

There's a long moment that nothing happens. Everything is frozen in place. He doesn't even breathe for fear that he'll wake up from this, just like the dream from a few weeks ago. When he does remember to inhale it's a raspy choke of a gasp. It hurts, he realizes. Is it supposed to hurt?

His eyes are burning. Taking an immediate red eye flight from LA and then driving three hours to her place was probably not his best plan, but he had been terrified. He had needed to have her exactly where she is right now.

He loosens the grip in her hair and turns his face into hers to rub his wet lashes on her cheek. Her hands are coming forward to frame his jaw, hands so tiny and soft. He has refrained from saying it himself for fear of scaring her off. He knows its selfish and he doesn't care, he wants to hear it again. Over and over. Until it stops hurting.

"Diego?" Her voice is so soft, harsh from crying yet still so high. He opens his eyes to see that she still has hers closed. He slides his goatee over her skin until his lips hover over hers.

"Again." He murmurs, "Please, my princess. Tell me you will let me keep you."

‐-------------------------

This couldn't hurt more if he'd reached into your chest and snatched your heart with his bare hands. He sounds so small and hopeful, so vulnerable. Am I his first? The first person to love him?

You can't stand this man begging for your affection. You find yourself wanting to give him everything. Your secret is already out; in for a penny in for a pound, right?

You take a deep breath and dive in head first because you're a fucking Scorpio, damnit.

"Diego, baby." You stroke his cheeks, petting down his stubble with the direction of the growth. Just like you would pet any other cat, you find yourself grinning. You open your eyes to see him so close its dizzying. His are shut but his expression is pure yearning, eyebrows drawn down and brow furrowed, jaw tensely solid, wet lashes stuck together in spiky pieces. "I love you."

He chokes and his eyes snap open to meet yours. Now it's your turn to muck up the basic process of breathing. There's so much everything in his eyes you feel like you're drowning. Every fucking romance novel cliche was right.

"Again." He demands. In typical Diego fashion, he wants it and he wants it now. You can't help your smile growing wide. There's my Murder Panther.

"I love you." You maintain eye contact while leaning your forehead against his. "I love you." Its like you can't stop yourself. You brush your lips over his goatee, he chases you back to ghost a kiss on your lips. "I love you." Its just pouring out of you now.

"I-" Kiss.

"Love-" Kiss.

"You." Kiss.

You expect him to keep kissing you. To slide that perfectly wicked tongue between your lips and drive you even further insane. But he doesn't. He pulls back to pant in your face, then closes his eyes and whimpers. You watch the play of emotions across his features, so quick you can't identify a single one. He finally gathers himself into some cohesive comprehensible thought and speaks:

"I dont. I have never. You have to, to do the...uhh… help?"

Or not.

You can hear so much in that soft rumble. Fear, relief, uncertainty, pleasure, hunger, but most of all, trust. He's trusting you. Trusting that you know what to do. Trusting that you can lead him on this new path. Trusting that you'll take care of him. This man who leads the largest criminal outfit on the continent and is intimidated by nothing, entrusts his being to you. It's like being stabbed in the heart, a searing pain that brings tears to your eyes and a painfully wide smile to your lips.

You slide the thumb of your right hand forward to swipe over his cheekbone. Your left hand goes back to stroke his hair. He nuzzles into your right hand, beard both soft and scratchy. Just like him, all contradictions. You can see his lashes flutter and you open your mouth to speak but…

Wait a minute.

Seriously???

"Diego… Are you staring at my tits?"

He's not even remotely repentant. "They are just. Right There! And no bra!"

You throw your head back and laugh. You laugh so loud it hurts your throat and brings tears to your eyes. You laugh until you're gasping for air. When you finally open your eyes and look at him your heart tries to crawl up and out of you just to get to him.

He's staring up at you, eyes wide with adoration and jaw hanging open in wonder. You bend forward to rest your forehead on his again. "You soft little Murder Panther." You don't even bother trying to hide your ridiculously pleased smirk.

His right hand slides up your hip to your lower back while the left lowers slowly from your hair to the back of your neck. His lips curl up at the corners. His gaze is still soft as he murmurs, "Only for you, my princess."

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

She's so soft in his arms. Relaxed and loose, trusting that he'll take her weight without buckling and keep her safe from falling. It makes his chest ache and his eyes burn. He raises his chin, bringing his lips to her, only she dives down for him at the same moment, colliding together just this side of too much, too fast. Always so eager, the thought makes him groan deeply. She shivers in response and whines, so high pitched it makes his ears ring.

She's curling her fingers in his hair, using the leverage to tilt his head to the angle she wants while he kisses her. He's rubbing his lips over hers, making sure to apply enough pressure that her fair skin will show the beard burn later. When he feels her left arm begin to tense he goes to draw back to look at her… only for her to yank on his hair. He yelps, and she seizes the opportunity to delve her tongue into his mouth. Holy fuck, she is perfect.

And then she's abruptly pulling back. No no no no no no!

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

Like a slap upside the head, you suddenly remember that you haven't showered...for three days. Fuuuuuuuck.

"Wait, wait Diego, hold on-" In the time it takes you to whine those five words he's already moved on to your neck. His left hand is threaded back into your hair and holds tight close to your scalp to gently but steadily pull. Just how you like it.

"Uhhhhhhhhh wuhhh…" Oh yes, so eloquent. He's rubbing that fucking goatee everywhere and you're about fourteen seconds away from passing out. You put your hands on his shoulders and start to push him backwards. He growls in displeasure and you whimper. Okay, maybe a little more, your traitorous brain isn't even helping here. You try again, "Baby, baby. I haven't. Oh god, yes. Uhh huh. Wait, just, can you pause? Mmmmmm… Oh my god, Diego stop!" Apparently barking works.

He growls again but manages to disengage from tormenting your neck with one last long lick. Do not think about that tongue!

"Fucking what?" He mutters, breathing hard. "I cannot have you? Now?" How very Diego. He's blinking at you in agitated confusion, pupils blown wide and flushed lips parted. His hand in your hair is shaking, the other has sunk back down to grip your ass very, very securely.

You can feel your face flushing with embarrassment. Your gaze darts off to the left, this is mortifying. "I haven't showered in three days. I smell." When you finally manage to make eye contact again he's grinning. Oh no.

"Oh si, Princess. I can smell you." His tone is arrogant, but the thickening of his accent betrays just how aroused he really is. His left hand slides down to your butt, too. That grin is all teeth, Pure apex predator.

"Yeah, that's what I me-yeeeeen!" He doesn't let you finish. Instead he slides both hands under you, where ass meets thigh, and picks you up to deposit you back onto the couch. You always squeal in delight when he picks you up, That is never gonna get old. The moment your weight is on the cushion he brings his hands forward and then around your inner thighs to spread your legs wide. Before you can even register what is happening he dives down into your lap, burying his face in your crotch and inhaling deeply.

While your brain has stalled in shock (because Are you fucking serious?) your hips have decided this is a great idea and lurched forward to practically hump his face. His exhale is the longest, loudest, sexiest groan you have ever heard. Your hands fly to his hair, but instead of pushing away they are definitely holding him in place. He's rubbing his face against you, turning his head from side to side, moaning endlessly like he can't get enough.

Your brain finally catches up and you abruptly cut off the whine that's been pouring out of you. You just have to open your mouth, "Are you fucking serious right now? You like that?!?"

With one last hard rub of his face against you, (FUCK YES, rub that bearded chin on my clit) he pulls back to look up at you. And if you thought he looked aroused before, he is positively wrecked now. His eyes are slitted in pleasure, brows drawn together with need, jaw slack, mouth open and panting. He doesn't keep you waiting for an answer. "Well, not your normal sexy bakery scent. You smell like you but just, more. Damn delicious." He growls.

Okay, two things:

You file 'sexy bakery' away for later discussion because wtf, lol.

And. And he really means that. He's dead serious. He has a death grip on your inner thighs, his hands are like steel. As if he's afraid you'll try to push him away, to stop him. Fat fucking chance, babe.

You cup his face with both hands and smile softly down at him. In wondrous amazement you whisper, "Holy fuck, I love you." The transformation of his expression from blissfully needy to Horny Murder Panther is damn near instantaneous.

"Good. Now gimme this pussy!" He orders.

You laugh, but your hands fly to the drawstring of your pants in obedience. He erupts into a flurry of actions, pulling his jacket off to dump it on the floor behind him. He only gets as far as unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves before giving up and just ripping the shirt up and over his head to join his jacket. The sight of solidly muscled chest rippling like that short circuits your brain. What were you even doing? Was it drooling? Its definitely drooling now.

His hands come back to your thighs, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. He yanks you forward until your ass is hanging off the couch. You snap back to awareness and start frantically pushing your pants down. He grabs the waistbands of both your pants and underwear and hauls the whole mess down your legs at what has to be record speed. Before you have a chance to do anything else he's burying his face into your pussy like a starving man.

He uses his flattened tongue to give you a long, slow, torturous lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. Your back arches to mirror his movements while you sob in pleasure. Then he does it again. And again. Over and over in an endless loop of wet decadent friction. He grips the backs of your thighs, the heels of his palms brushing your ass while his thumbs are buried in the creases where leg becomes hip. He pushes your legs back more yet, widening you further and practically folding you in half. You can't even bring yourself to be worried about how your squishy stomach compresses into rolls. Diego certainly doesn't care.

He changes tactics to latch onto your clit. Sealing his lips around you, he alternates between hard suction and softly sliding his tongue up under your hood to drive you mad. The direct pressure is almost too much, you whimper and squirm after only a few rounds of this. He leaves off and you think you're catching a break to breathe. You are so, so wrong.

He goes lower to literally lick you from bottom to top.

With a shriek, both of your hands fly to his head. "Holy fuck. Oh my god, oh my god. Baby. You. Oh god. Baby, fuck yessss… " What started out as some kind of blasphemous incantation ends in you hissing with unadulterated sin. He moans against you in response but doesn't stop. The incessant long strokes of his tongue have you closer to orgasm faster than you can ever remember it happening before. Your legs are shaking and tears are pouring from your eyes. You reach your right hand down to touch his left where he's holding your thigh, needing something, anything, to ground you. And he laces his fingers with yours.

Your heart clenches. "Diego…" you whisper for him, sobbing from the intensity of everything. With a choppy groan he refocuses on your clit, ferociously determined. Your entire abdomen is tense, you're wound too tight. He presses his flattened tongue against you even harder, shortening his strokes just to cover your clit. It feels infinite, you can't tell where one lick ends and the next begins. Just constant, unyielding pleasure. It's too much, holy fuck it's too much, never stop.

Everything clicks into clear focus. Your pussy compresses tight on nothing, and then you snap. Your whole body seizes up with your orgasm. For one long, terrifying moment your heart pauses and your breathing stops. It all comes crashing back together and you suck in a lungful of air with a choking sob. Waves of agonizing pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each one. He's still pressing that incredible, miraculous, entirely evil tongue to your clit. Holding fast and drawing your climax out as long as possible. Growling against you with heavenly vibration. As the rounds of your clenching cunt ease in both intensity and frequency he slowly slides up and off of you.

He rests his sweaty forehead against the inside of your right thigh, panting so hard his breath is hitting you with almost physical force. You pry your right hand off your own thigh, keep your fingers laced together, and bring his hand up to your chest where you lay it over your heart.

You keep your eyes closed while you brokenly cry. "I love you, Diego."

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

His right hand snakes up your body to slide around the back of your neck. He's pulling you forward, sitting you upright. His left hand slides back down to your hip where he grips you tightly and pulls toward him simultaneously. Your eyes pop open when you feel like you're going to fall off the couch.

Diego scoops you back into his lap with your momentum and proceeds to just stand up. You yelp in surprise as your arms shoot around his neck to hold on. It takes a second to realize that you're essentially just sitting on his left forearm, his right hand is still gripping the back of your neck tightly. You moan in pure arousal, hiding your face against his shoulder. The fact that he just tosses you around like a ragdoll is so mind-meltingly hot. The sheer bulk and breadth of him never ceases to render you speechless. There's just so much Diego that he blocks out everything else. Its overwhelming in every sense. Let me just drown in Diego.

By the time you've contemplated your fate, bodice-ripper romance novel style, he's made it halfway down the hall to your bedroom. You tuck your legs tighter around his torso, the hallways in an old farmhouse aren't exactly spacious, and he purrs against you in response. Your body's physical reaction is so strong that you choke. Is there anything about this man that does not turn me on?

He makes it to your bedroom without incident (a miracle, really, considering it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment) and deposits you on the bed. He's been so incredibly gentle with those huge hands that it takes you by surprise when he firmly grasps your jaw and growls at you. "Look at me."

You swallow, hard, and open your eyes. He's staring at you so intensely, his gaze unreadable. He uses his grip on you to slowly push you down onto your back. You don't even try to fight it. You're not sure what he's doing but it's very clear that he needs to do it. He squeezes your jaw with purpose and you blink up at him in confusion. He cocks his head and regards you like… well, like prey.

It's been a long time since he has made you nervous like this.

He finally releases your jaw to slide his hand down your throat and rest it over your pounding heart. He pulls the neckline of your camisole away from your body then allows it to softly snap back against you. "Take this off." His growl is quiet, but it still sets off alarm bells in some primal part of your brain. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and barks out, "Now!"

You whip the top off over your head before he loses any more patience and rips it off of you in shreds. His hand is back on your jaw, ensuring you look nowhere but at him. His breathing is harsh, you can see a muscle tic in his left cheek, and his eyes are wild. Feral, you shiver with the thought. "Stay, Princess." He orders softly and releases his hold on you.

You don't dare move.

He straightens back upright and his hands go to his pants. You have a brief moment of hysteria, Have fun getting those impeccably tailored pants over that massive cock, but you manage to stifle the thought and keep your expression steady. He's toeing off his shoes while undoing the button, then pulling the zipper down. You watch his hands in fascination. It's an obsession you have no plans of shaking. He manages to get the pants over his hips with no problems, a complete lack of underwear always expedites the process.

He moves to climb on the bed and you spread your legs for him like a reflex. This man has had a profound effect on you. Before you get too far he throws his left leg over both of yours, straddling you and effectively immobilizing you. You reach up for him as he plants his elbows just outside of yours and cups your face in those hands you so adore. Your own hands land on his shoulders and he allows it, for now. You try to urge him down on top of you, but he's not budging. You want to touch more, feel all of him, but he's just looming over you to block out the rest of existence.

His hands are like iron, caging you in to bend you to his will. His eyes search your face, you have no idea what he's seeking. Finally, he rumbles down at you, "Do you know what you did?"

The question is soft, dangerously so. You can feel yourself starting to shake. You have a sneaking suspicion that there is no right answer so you just shake your head in a 'no'. He cocks his head again and you find yourself blinking rapidly. His eye twitches when he finally answers, "You scared me."

You're shocked. Never in a million years would you have expected this man to straightforwardly admit fear. He leans in close to your face and your breathing hitches. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never meant to scare you." You don't even recognize your own voice. Its small, plaintive and timid.

He moves back upright and kneels over you. His expression is only becoming more fierce. You start to draw your legs out from under him, curling up some, instinctively seeking to protect yourself. "You didn't mean to?" He rumbles incredulously. His eyebrows are rising and you can feel actual anger radiating off of him.

He snaps, "You didn't mean for me to drop everything I was doing?" And faster than you can comprehend his right hand comes down on the outside of your left thigh. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in your tiny room. Your jaw drops in shock, then the pain blooms out from the point of impact. You look from his face to his hand, then back again. "Diego, I--"

"You didn't mean for me to cancel two drop receivements and a business meeting?" His hand comes down again, but you're already moving. You try to turn away, rolling your legs to the right. His hand lands on your left hip, fingers long enough to catch the outside of your cheek. You shriek and start trying to escape in earnest. His left hand shoots down and grabs both of your wrists, stopping you from pulling yourself away from him. "Diego! Wait, I don't--"

He clamps his legs around yours and uses your momentum against you to turn your hips entirely to the side. He has both your wrists pinned down in a bruising grip. Your shoulders are flat on the bed, there's nowhere you can hide your face. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause--"

"You didn't mean for me to take an immediate flight across the entire country?" This time the slap lands fully on your ass. And it hurts. You yelp as tears spill over your cheeks. "No! I'm sorry! Please--"

"You didn't mean for me to drive two hours from the airport after I've been awake for almost two days?" His volume has risen, he's practically yelling. His hand comes down again, lower this time to catch the bottom of your cheek, where it becomes the tender skin of thigh. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No I didn't--"

"You didn't mean for me to find you here like this? Having some sort of tantrum like a child?" He roars. This time there are three slaps, one right after the next, all landing in the same spot. Your shrieks are coming out in stutters, interspersed with gasping inhalations. "No! No no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Diego! I'm sorry!" You're sobbing with it, choking on humiliation. You can't hide your face, there's nowhere to run from this.

"Or you didn't mean for me to find out that you cared? Huh? That you love me!" His voice cracks over the sound of his near constant strikes. You're wailing in tears, "Yes! Yes! Okay! Damnit Diego, I'm sorry! I was afraid! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…" you dissolve into incoherence.

He releases your wrists and grabs your face again. You try to push him away, but you're too weak. "Look at me! Look at me, Bicki!" he hisses. You shake your head no. "Mirame, Princesa! Please, please." His voice is hoarse, dripping with fear and desperation. You open your eyes to find him right in your face. His expression is twisted up with pain and desire. "You cannot do this! I have to know you are safe! Protected! Let me keep you!"

It suddenly dawns on you what he means with 'keep'. He wants to protect you yes, but what he really means is 'have' you. Present in his life. At his side. Your heart in his keeping.

His hands are stroking you, over your hair, down your arms. He grips your hands tightly, bringing them up to his face. You hold onto him, your only constant in this. "Diego.." you hiccup. Then, with no warning and no conscious command on your part, you slap him. Hard.

You're both frozen in place, equally shocked. Staring at each other in escalating tension. You sniffle and it launches him into action.

He grabs your left hip in a bruising grip, pushing your leg to your chest, pulling it out from under him so he can get between your thighs. You frantically claw at his shoulders, his biceps, anything to pull him closer. You need him. Right now. You need him so deep inside you that you don't know where he ends and you begin.

He slides home in one powerful thrust. Your whole back arches and you grimace in excruciating ecstasy. The stretch of it burns, it hurts so perfectly. His left hand is wrapped around your left thigh, holding you open for him, his right on your left shoulder, keeping you steady and still for him to bottom out. He stays there, grinding his cock into you as far as possible. Still trying to push the last few inches into you. Your vision blacks out and you scream yourself hoarse with your orgasm.

When you come back to awareness he's kissing all over your face, murmuring your name. You turn your face to his, seeking. He fits his lips over yours and you both moan. You pet over his shoulders, reach back up to tug on his hair.

He starts a steady rhythm of long, slow strokes. You can feel every damn inch of him and it's so incredibly, deliriously good. You open your mouth to him and he deepens the kiss, tongue moving to match his hips. He tastes like you. All you can smell is his cologne, underscored by pure lustful male. This is indescribable. Each and every one of your senses is nothing but Diego.

His right hand glides down to cup your breast, hefting the weight of it and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. You break off the kiss to throw your head back, whining in pleasure. His lips trail down your neck, beard leaving fire in his wake. He laves his tongue over your nipple before latching on and suckling. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and so can he.

"That's it, Princess. Come for me. Show Diego what a good girl you are." His hoarse voice and soft commands push you right over the edge. You're rippling down around him, sobbing and nodding. Yes, yes, your perfect little princess.

He picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed into the wall with a steady banging. You can't seem to care. You're whining and pleading, "I'm sorry, please please. Yes baby, yesyesyesyesss…"

"I know," he coos softly to you. "You are so very sorry, aren't you?" You're nodding desperately in agreement. "Will you do this again? Huh?" You shake your head 'no' so fast it makes you dizzy. His words would be condescending if his tone wasn't so very emotional. It's okay. You need him to vocalize what you can't. And he knows it. He knows you.

He pushes your left leg out to the side, sliding his right hand up your thigh to grip your hip. His left hand travels down your back between you and the bed. Through nothing but raw power he lifts your wide hips and rotates you so you're flat on your back and fully open to him. You keen at the show of strength, just like he knew you would.

"Are you going to be a good little Princess for Diego?" When you don't answer he pulls back and stops. Your eyes snap open and you whimper in desperation. He's watching you, waiting. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his jaw is set tight. Those beautiful brown eyes are nearly black with hunger. He digs his nails into your hips while he waits.

You struggle with gathering enough oxygen before you can answer, "Yes, yes I'll be good. Be good for you, I promise!" You aren't sure who is in control of your mouth right now. You don't feel like you have any control. He rewards you by filling you up completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, taking all of him at once always steals your breath.

He stays fully sheathed and leans over you. Bringing your knees up to your shoulders and his face to yours, he takes your lips under his. You sob into his mouth, you can feel the head of him pressing against your cervix. He nips your bottom lip then swipes his tongue over the sting. "Does my princess want this? Does she want Diego to keep her?"

You cling to his shoulders. Closing your eyes in chagrin, you nod. He keeps his face pressed to yours. "Tell Diego. I need to hear it!" He hisses.

"Yes. Want you to keep me. Please." you whisper, broken and needing. He rears back and starts a frantic pace. His thrusts are short and brutal, stabbing directly into the core of you. You can do nothing but howl in pleasure and take it. Your spasms around him are nearly constant, one after another you come in rolling waves. You're begging, or cursing, hell, you have no idea what's coming out of your mouth at this point.

He brings the weight of his torso down on you, crushing you into the bed. "Come! Come now! Come, my princess, come for your Diego!" His words are a command, but his voice is begging.

You're bawling again. "Yes, yesyesyes. Diego, Diego pleeeeease!" You have no idea if he can understand you. You're pretty sure only dogs could hear that. "Please Please please please please, baby. Please. Need you. I love you!"

He buries his face in your hair and drops your legs in favor of engulfing your shoulders in his embrace. You wrap your legs around his hips, you have to keep him as close to you as possible. Your arms snake around his torso, squeezing tight to bring your chest up against his. He's grunting, his thrusts becoming erratic.

Then you hear him. His voice is quiet, words pleading, "Come. Let me keep you. Please, please. C-come. Princess, need you. Come home with me!" You nod tightly, sobbing silently as he freezes up in orgasm. He chokes out a groan, then collapses on top of you. You welcome the weight of him. He nuzzles into your neck, tickling you with beard and a big sigh. "Love you."

It hurts. It hurts deep in your chest. You hope it never stops hurting like this.

He retreats out of you, faster than you would like. You're pretty sure he forgets just how large he is. You feel wrung out, stretched out of shape and hollow. He pulls his right arm out from under you and rolls off to flop face-up on your right side. His left arm is still trapped under your back. Do you care that it's lumpy and uncomfortable? Nah. You unearth your right leg from under both of his and he makes a whiny huff about it.

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

He's struggling to catch his breath. He didn't mean for things to get so… out of hand. So to speak. She always does this to him. She withholds her more serious emotions and it drives him crazy. She never makes a fuss about his responses, never freaks out when he shows her affection, never gasps in shock when he gives her his ultimate deference. She acts like she has no deep feelings for him and it makes him want to beat it out of her. Apparently that is the correct method.

Her body is relaxed and casual on his arm. But he's greedy and doesn't want her to seal off all those delectably vulnerable emotions she just displayed. Soft, pliant, obedient, needy Princess is his new favorite.

He rolls her into his side with his trapped left hand while rumbling softly, "Come here." And she does. She snuggles into his side willingly and it makes him feel so soft that it's disgusting. Or maybe that's the guilt. She didn't agree to the spanking before hand. She didn't even know it was coming. Honestly, neither had he. His next thought feels like a stab to the lungs. What if she is afraid of me now? Did I hurt her? This is disgustingly emotional.

"Princess?" She sighs a soft 'Mmmm' in answer. She burrows into the coarse hair and soft skin of his underarm. Is, is she sniffing me?? He decides that ignoring her utterly adorable weirdness and addressing the ceiling is his safest option at this point. "Are… are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

Her left hand freezes on his chest. Her face slowly creeps into his field of vision from the bottom left corner. Her expression is… mystifying. He keeps his head still but moves his eyes to his peripheral vision to squint at her in concerned concentration.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curve up in an absolutely evil grin. That damn left eyebrow arches imperiously and he is completely certain that she will be the death of him.

"Did you hear me use the safeword?"

#Damnit Diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #soft kitty #zash writes #all the feels #this is gross #love confessions

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nemo1230 · 4 years

Text

About dying stars and second chances

This is a second part to this fic !

The dark night sky had finally settled over Derry and a strange, eerie even, calm came with it.

Richie hadn't been able to sleep, for obvious reasons, so he had decided to go out for some fresh air. The night was quite cold, causing goosebumps rise on his skin and cheeks go pink. But it felt good. To feel something real, - everything else surely didn't.

He felt like the world had come to an abrupt stop - everything was moving so fast - the call from Mike, returning to Derry, Pennywise, all of it. And now, it was somehow, over.

The cigarette he had lit was hanging loosely in between his lips, the smoke rising above him in a big cloud. He had actually stopped smoking at one point, turning to alcohol instead, so the smell was giving him nostalgia stronger than the effect of the cigarette.

This, however, definitely was an occasion for a smoke, at least in Richie's understanding. They had defeated IT, quite successfully so, and he couldn't be more grateful. Yet he couldn't help but to feel there were some unfinished businesses which did leave a bittersweet taste on his tongue. The memory of that one life changing night lingered at the back of his mind every time he looked at Eddie, rubbing more salt into the wound each time.

He was standing on the porch, right outside the hotel they all were staying in for one last night, before leaving as fast they could the next morning. None of them wanted to stay here, and reasonably so.

And don't get Richie wrong, he more than anything wanted to get the hell out of here and never return, the trauma this place caused, the old wounds that it had ripped open once again upon returning; all of it was driving him mad.

Yet that one drunken night, that forsaken night, that had changed the whole track of Richie’s life forever. Nothing after was the same, and even if both of them refused to acknowledge it, it didn’t make it less true. Like you can’t unbreak a shattered plate, you can’t ever unmake the cracks in their perfectly established, polished and carefully, without a doubt selected position: “friends” and nothing more, put on a pedestal, like a fragile, fragile china, the smallest of nudges against it pushing it closer to the edge. And god forbid it met the hard floor of reality, that none of them seemed to be able to face.

Back then even thinking of that night seemed dirty and just plain wrong, Richie felt like it didn’t even belong in this time and space, the memory, as his drunken mind had helpfully supplied that night, buried somewhere between always and never, making it impossible to trace back to this life, this Richie and this Eddie, even trying to string it together with this life felt disrespectful to it. It was far, far out of reach, only allowed to watch from afar, because the closer he got, the more it faded away into nothingness. It might as well could have been those stupid stars Eddie was blabbering about with the help of heavy dose of wine.

However now some things have changed. Now, they weren’t stupid teenagers with their whole lives right in front of them, not a care in the world. Richie had forced himself to think it was quite ridiculous to think of memories that way, to bury them in dumb metaphors, as an excuse to hide the painful parts. He just got blackout drunk to ease the ache these days, and it seemed to do the work quite as well.

But something about this one particular memory didn’t allow him to do that now. Everything in him screamed to drown it in a bottle, but he, perhaps for the first time ever, screamed back, that he wants to keep it to himself, he wants to remember it, he wants the memory to live on, in which ever plane of existence it was on, in whichever time it was hidden in. And for some weird reason he wanted that for Eddie too.

As dumb as it sounded to his own ears, he wanted Eddie to know how he felt that night and how he still feels now. That the night is long gone, but the feeling is burned in his mind, skin, bones and heart, each step, each breath, each beat reminding him of its presence. Of course it could be the rush of adrenaline that was still flowing in his veins like a live wire, the images he saw in the deadlights were suffocating him, forever now engraved in his mind to supply his nightmares later but perhaps it was the beer he had earlier, but all in all, Richie had never wanted Eddie to just know, to understand, and to just acknowledge the memory as real this much. Because maybe he was tired of flying around in space all by himself. Because maybe was tired of screaming in the void, only ever hearing the hollow echo of his own aching heart. But yet whenever he tried, the words just got more and more tangled even before they left his mouth.

Richie leaned against the railing with his back, and let out a big puff of smoke. He thought about the fact that he, literally a grown man, couldn’t just say, hey, man that kiss? Yeah well it meant something to me. Maybe he was too much of a coward to do so, or maybe the world had made him into one. He didn't know for sure, but he did know that having a crush on one person all his life and not confessing once was, in fact, quite pathetic.

So deep in thought, he didn't hear the hotel door opening and somebody stepping out behind him.

“You know I've always hated those things.” A voice made him jump out of surprise and turn his head in their direction, instincts kicking in to instantly fight whatever’s caused the sound.

But it was only Eddie. 'Only' being an understatement, of course, because Eddie had never been 'only Eddie'.

Eddie was pointing at his cigarette. Richie chuckled. “If you're here to talk me out of it, you can go back in, cause that ain't happening.” He said, looking ahead, something stopped him from looking directly at Eddie. Maybe it was the general idea of the person he liked just being there, how ever pitiful that sounded, and he was afraid of accidentally saying something and crossing a line. Or maybe he couldn't look at Eddie because he couldn't bear the thought that Eddie was, in fact, married, straight and quite frankly, soon returning to his wife and probably didn’t even remember that one night that has legitimately moved into his mind like a god damn apartment. Either way, it all circled back to Richie being pathetically, utterly whipped for Eddie Kaspbrak, a straight, married man, who kissed him once while being drunk. Honestly, how unlucky Richie had to be to get into a mess like this.

“No, not here to judge you,” Eddie replied simply, and walked over to where Richie was perched against the railing and stood next to him. “Actually, pass me that shit.”

And that finally made Richie turn his head to look at Eddie, eyes wide with shock. He raised one eyebrow, “What am I hearing, Eddie-Spaghetti, Mr. I-worry-about-everything-and-anything, the person who probably has signed like at least 15 different petitions to ban all cigarettes, wants to take a drag? Did I die and get sent to an alternative universe or what?”

Eddie shook his head and looked Richie in the eyes, and while there was uncertainty glistening within them, his gaze never faltered and the determination most certainly overtook as he said, “Give me the damn cigarette, Richie, I think it’s clear we all need one after all of this bullshit.” He looked like a man fighting for one last resort, the only thing that'd give him satisfaction after years of searching.

Something in that look made Richie take the right cigarette out of his mouth instantly and pass it to Eddie, who had already extended his hand, two fingers raised, “Jesus, okay, okay dude, chill the fuck out, here is the fucking cigarette.”

Richie watched as Eddie slowly raised it to his lips and took a hesitant smoke. He instantly started coughing violently, clasping his hand over his chest and then at his pant pockets, no doubt looking for his inhaler out of habit.

Richie laughed, “You smoke like a beginner, dude.”

“Fuck you, better a beginner, than 40 year old rotting lungs.” Eddie wheezed, still not entirely getting used to the cigarette. He still hasn’t given it back though.

“Actually I stopped smoking; it's my liver that's getting rotten.” Richie replied when Eddie finally had stopped wheezing and his breathing was back to normal. Also, he felt his cheeks getting a bit warm, and not from the cold, - he couldn't deny that seeing Eddie perched against the railing, holding the cigarette between his fingers was doing things to him. Even after all these years it still felt kind of dirty to look at a man in that way, and he almost turned his gaze away but then Eddie looked at him with a questioning look. Richie signed; he really didn't want to get into it as it did pull a painful string in his heart. But then again, what didn't.

“Come on, Tozier, it can't be worse than me marrying the literal clone of my mother.” Eddie said, looking Richie deeply in the eyes, as if challenging him. Those god dammed eyes that had never once had failed to make his brain to malfunction.

Richie laughed, but it came out strained, “And here I thought out of us two, I'd be the one marrying your mother.”

Eddie shoved him not so lightly with his shoulder, making Richie almost stumble. For a man his height, he had quite the strength, Richie had to admit. Kind of hot in his option, but whatever.

“Dude, you already know about my shitty life, I want to know about yours.” Eddie once again pressed his shoulder to Richie's, this time not showing, but simply touching, comforting. Richie barely held in a shiver.

After overcoming the small breakdown about them being this close, he finally registered Eddie's words. Shitty life? What about it was shitty? Sure, he poked fun at Eddie marrying a woman twice his size and having the most boring job in human history, but he hadn't actually thought that Eddie didn't enjoy those things.

Maybe his brain was ever so desperately trying to hide such this in plain sight, completely making him deny even the smallest of chances that maybe Eddie might not be so far away from him as he seemed.

Noticing Richie's silence, Eddie nudged his shoulder and passed him back his cigarette. Richie nodded thanks and took a deep drag and slowly blew out the smoke, both of them watching as it faded into the air.

After taking another drag he finally gathered his thoughts and spoke, feeling strange saying such things out loud. “First of all, there's nothing much to say. I'm just a sad excuse of an adult, living half comedian, half loner life and drowning my sorrows with alcohol. There, my whole life explained in a few words,” He tapped his cigarette with this finger, the ashes falling to the ground, “Second of all, no, I didn't know your life is shitty.” He added, looking back at Eddie with the same questioning look he had previously.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, “I thought that was made clear when I said that I married a woman that pretty much is my mother. But if your thick skull needs it spelled out, then, yes, my life is shitty because I am in a fucked up, unhappy marriage that I didn't even want to get into in the first place.”

Richie felt guilty for the rush of excitement that ran trough him upon hearing that. Not that he was happy that Eddies life was shit, but at least it meant that Richie wasn’t entirely alone as well as that meant his marriage probably was only temporary commitment. That didn’t change the obvious being straight obstacle, but still. “Then why the fuck aren't you divorcing her?” He asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as thrilled about the idea as he felt.

“I've been thinking about it,” Eddie then raised his left hand showing that it didn't bear a ring, “but it's not that easy.” He dropped the hand, it hitting the railing lightly. He signed and looked ahead, a dark shadow of aching heaviness glooming over his face. Richie felt that feeling deep in his bones.

He took another drag from the cigarette, and signed as well. This place had really ruined them for good.

They settled in a hesitant type of silence, the heaviness of their lives vivid in the air. Hesitant because while wanting to talk, the topics seemed to always circle back to the same dept, the same old painful wounds that had never seemed to have closed.

Richie took one last drag out of the cigarette and then turned and rubbed the butt against the railing, putting out the lit part and then leaned over to throw it in the trash can. Then he settled back where he was, still pressed against Eddie.

Being this close certainly did things to him, just feeling Eddie's warm body, his whole being, so entirely him, right next to him was calming and pretty much lit Richie's insides on fire at the same time. Richie longed this feeling to go on forever. Like a spoiled child this heart screamed for more, please more, and with everything he had he tried to tame it, but you know how they are, children and hearts, they want what they want, and no amount of silencing them will settle them down. Once again, the memory of that night rang like an alarm trough his mind, making him remember the way it had felt to let his heart to just feel instead if trying to tie it up in barbed wire to forever keep it from escaping.

“You know, Eddie, do you..do you remember..” Richie started, but once again the words just seemed to be flowing away the second he thought he had a grip on them. He felt his throat do dry and hands tremble, the memory finally shaping its self into reality, finally finding a real place where to anchor its self down. It felt raw and exposed, so many years had it been wrapped in a safety blanket of simply being ignored or forgotten.

He was about to dismiss it, to just say it’s nothing, to leave it be, to let he sharp edges of it dig into his heart painfully for the rest of his time, but the way Eddie was looking at him, genuine, eyes gentle and honestly curious and maybe a little concerned, made him rethink it.

He took a deep breath. If he could fight a killer clown, twice, then he could do it. He thought of Eddie being one of the bravest god damn people he’s ever known, and knew, that maybe, just maybe he could borrow some of that strength too.

“Do you remember that night on my rooftop, when we got drunk as hell?”

He heard Eddie take a sudden, sharp intake of breath and then nothing. Talk about pin being able to be heard being dropped. So, Eddie does remember, at least that’s out of the way, it sure would be quite awkward to explain.

Richie couldn’t look at Eddie, too afraid what he might see, so since Eddie hadn’t spoken, and Richie, always needing to fill the silence, continued, “So after that second bottle of wine you know how we..how we..”

“Kissed?”

Here is the pin being dropped again, because now Richie was robbed of words to say. Instead he nodded dumbly, still not looking at Eddie, not being sure if he even saw.

But turns out he did see, because Eddie, in a whisper so quiet Riche barely heard, uttered, “Yeah, Richie. I remember.”

Richie took a shuddering breath. This was it then. He’s going to say it, face a polite, perfectly packaged rejection on silver platter, Eddie-style, meant to cause the least harm, as if saying it nicer would be like blowing on a wound. Well, blowing on a wound my ass, everyone knows that only lessens the pain for a few seconds max until it’s right back at the start. “Well, the kiss, it actual-”

But Richie didn’t get to finish, because it looked like Eddie had adapted Richie’s ever running, awkward mouth as words fell out of his mouth mile a minute, “Shit, Richie, I’m sorry for what I’m about to say, but I can’t hold it in anymore. That night, I know you only saw it as a one time thing, so I panicked and said that it didn’t mean anything, but god Richie, when I say to you, it did, it so did, and it..still does, and I can’t stop thinking ab-”

“Eddie,” Richie interrupted quietly.

Eddie took a shaky breath, then in a panicked voice replied, “Yeah?��

Richie felt like his heart is going to fucking explode and with all his will he tried to keep calm. “I thought you wanted it to be one time thing.”

Eddie seemed to be a bit out if it as he asked, “What?”

“You said it yourself dude!” Richie exclaimed, maybe a bit too loud, this nerves taking the toll on him.

“Yeah only because I panicked because as we pulled away you frowned, and I thought you were about to call me disgusting or something!” Eddie, matching Richie’s tone, yelled back.

Richie run his hand trough his hair, approximately one second away to totally losing it, “Dude I was legitimately about to confess to you!”

“Shit.”Eddie looked truly at loss of words. Richie could practically feel his thoughts running marathons in his mind. “Shit, oh god, Richie, fuck. I fucked it all up. I-I am so sorry, I just thought, I just panicked I was so scared I-”

Richie didn’t yet know whether he would touch Eddie but he desperately wanted to comfort him, to calm him, anything, so he tried the best he could with words, “No, no, Eddie please breathe, it’s okay, its fine, I wanted to say something afterwards but then-”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You didn’t either!”

“True, fuck but I still can’t believe I fucked up our chances to.. to you know..” He gestured vaguely between them as if to represent their mess of an almost-relationship.

Richie chuckled nervously, “Eds, seriously, it’s okay. Better late than never right?”

They both looked at each other and in that exact moment the reality if the situation truly hit, - they just confessed that they both as dumb teenagers had been scared and lost and in love with each other. And now they’re still scared and lost, but with each step towards each other a little less. But the love had not wavered at all.

“We’re fucking stupid, aren’t we?” Richie breathed, heart beating out of his chest.

“Yeah, real fucking stupid,” Eddie agreed.

And like glass shatters the wall between them, so carefully built, each brick made to keep them apart, to hide the obvious in plain sight.

And then they are diving in, taking that one last step before the leap.

They met each other halfway, desperate lips meeting each other after years of separation. And this time it isn’t any less desperate and uncoordinated, however now for entirely different reasons. Good to know Eddie hadn’t lost his flame, Richie thought, because he was not holding back whatsoever, kissing with the same burning passion he did that night. The overwhelming feeling was making him dizzy, so he put his hands around Eddie's face as Eddie’s wrapped around his waist.

Eddie turned out to be quite bold, leading the kiss, leaving Richie to follow, which he was only glad to do. Eddie pushed his tongue against Riches lips, asking for permission, Richie granting it immediately. Fat chance he'd let the opportunity of having Eddie Kaspbrak’s tongue down his throat pass.

They easily found a rhythm, their whole bodies falling into sync, pushing and pulling, becoming one. Richie didn't want to seem that desperate, but he couldn't help himself, he pulled Eddie as close as he could, but soon learned that Eddie shared the same desperation as he did the same.

They pulled apart and panted into each other’s mouths, foreheads still pressed tightly together. Richie's emotions were going off the charts, tears threatening to spill out any second now. He willed them to stop; it would be quite embarrassing to cry while the love of your life just kissed the shit out of you.

And just like all those years ago an overwhelming urge to just declare his feelings for Eddie overcomes him, but this time it’s not liquid courage making him speak and this time Eddie is not scared either, so he’s not stopping Richie from saying,

“I’m in love with you, Eddie.”

And because nothings stopping Eddie this time either, he smiles a smile that transfers years and years or regret and longing mixed with pure relief, and says it back, “I’m in love with you too, Richie.”

And this time it’s not hurt what Richie feels when he lets Eddie kiss him senseless, its happiness. And no stars are involved this time because who needs old rocks in the sky when you have the person you love in your arms. With each swipe of lips two lonely, trembling and scared hearts found the home they've been searching for their whole life, the broken pieces slowly threading together.

Eventually they had to pull apart for breath. And then Richie couldn't stop the tears, a small sob escaping him. It felt like being finally being able to breathe again, nothing but pure relief passing through his whole body, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

He never, in any world, had thought that anything like this would be able to happen. He closed his eyes and lifted his head against the sky, a tear running down his face. "Fuck.." he whispered, scrunching his eyes tightly together.

Eddie put both of his hands on Richie's face, wiping at the tears. "Hey, Rich, it's okay, I've got you.."

That only made Richie sob harder, so Eddie pulled him into a bone crushing hug, starting to rock them from side to side, quietly murmuring words of comfort, repeating that he’s sorry over and over again and gently petting his back with one hand, and his hair with the other.

He did that until Richie had somewhat calmed down. When he felt like he could breathe again, he pulled back and saw Eddie looking at him with those big, beautiful eyes; there were tear tracks on his face too. Still he put his hands back on Richie’s face and gently fixed his glasses that had gotten crooked while hugging and kissing. This man is going to be the death of him, Richie thought.

Eddie then all of a sudden stepped back and coughed, "Fuck, I'm never smoking again, and you aren't either, this is so disgusting," he exclaimed, and cleared his throat repeatedly, pretending to gag.

That made Richie chuckle. He then finally allowed himself to look at Eddie, really look at him, to see him, not only in stolen glances that felt dirty and wrong, but in the way he deserved to be seen. His eyes mapped his face, looking at each and every line and crook the time had created, how life had treated Eddie, and he will ask him about it all, he will talk with him till his voice is gone, and he will trace every one of those lines with his hands and he will try to never again feel dirty for doing it, he will be proud and not ashamed, because he is free and so is his heart, its healing, its mending the broken parts and drying the tears and no longer guarded harder than fucking Mona Lisa or something, because has finally let his feeling to exist here and now and tomorrow and for the rest of days. They are no longer just dying stars, untouchable and hidden away, now they are real, they are limitless, they could be the whole god damn universe for all he cared, because fuck it, he will not be masking them anymore. He loved Eddie Kaspbrak, a man, always has and always will; he’s no longer alone in space, he’s in the arms of a man he loves. Though, for now he has only one question.

“Hey, where did your piercing go?”

Eddie snorted at that and subconsciously traced the place on his nose that once beared the little silver ring with his thumb, “Myra, my wife, hated it and made me take it out. It’s long gone, Rich.”

Richie frowned, pictures of young Eddie with that piercing flooding his mind, “Damn, that sucks, it looked so hot on you, those punk vibes really suited you.”

Eddie smirked at that, leaned in and whispered while pretending to fix the collar of Richie’s jacket, “Well, then wait till you see my tattoos.”

Richie’s eyes instantly widened, cheeks turning pink, “Wait what? What tattoos?

But Eddie’s smirk only grew bigger as he winked and turned to walk back into the hotel.

“Eddie, seriously what tattoos??”

Thank you for reading!

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fix-it #eddie kaspbrak x richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #IT movie #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter one #it chapter two #the clown gays are at it again #its me im the clown gay #nemo writes

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 4 years

Text

Just Sit Down!

I know in the USA that some states are starting to pull back on their self-isolation orders but Please, I’m begging you to listen to the science.

This isn’t over.

We need to continue to flatten the curve.

STAY AT HOME.

__________

Summary: Peter Parker is a man... well, teenager of action. Therefore he and 'social distancing' don't exactly mix and he's about to drive Tony up a wall. The good news is he's able to come up with a plan that will undoubtedly wear his kid out.

Tags: social distancing, Pandemics, Peter Parker is Going Stir-Crazy, Tony Stark is Being So Patient, Superhero Tag, Raising Morale, Staying Positive, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure... ...

Word Count: 3202

Warnings: None Rated: G

Link to Post on AO3[2020-3-21]: Just Sit Down-happyaspie

From the moment the virus, the pandemic, hit the United States, May immediately started talking precautions. One of which was making sure that Peter was being careful while on his patrols. No diving into crowds, cleaning his hands regularly and washing his suit after every single use. Peter complained that she was being overprotective. Insisting that they had no proof that he could get sick at all but being a nurse, she didn't relent. They didn't know enough about his immune system to be sure that he couldn't catch this particular virus and even if he couldn't, he could still spread it. Being cautious was the best course of action.

Later when things began to spread, the local and national governments decided that social distancing was the best way to slow the progression and prevent the healthcare systems from being overwhelmed. That meant that events were being canceled, the schools were being closed and businesses were beginning to move towards a 'curb-side pickup model'... it not temporarily closing their doors altogether.

At that time, May was the first to volunteer to take on extra shifts at the hospital. Especially as some of her co-workers began having to navigate through a sudden need for child care or had fallen ill themselves. She didn't mind the extra work, it was hard but it was also fulfilling. The problem was that it didn't take long after the first major influx of patients for the hospital's supply of personal protection equipment to begin to run frighteningly low. That didn't stop her from pressing forward. She knew she was part of the frontline. People's lives were in her hands. That wasn't to say that she wasn't worried. In order to prevent the possibility of bringing the virus home to Peter, she did the next most responsible thing she could think of. She sent him to stay with Tony and she knew she was extremely lucky to have that sort of an option for her nephew. Many families didn't.

Having Peter stay at the tower actually eased most of May's major concerns. Not only did it reduce the possibility of her passing the virus on to him, should she be directly exposed, it also meant that he would be well fed. Getting enough supplies to properly feed an enhanced teenager during a time when people were buying in bulk out of fear was difficult. That wasn't a problem for Tony. He always had a large supply of everything stocked up at the tower. It came from housing several heroes, including a super-soldier. However, she also relieved to know that the man would be available to make sure that Peter didn't try to sneak out as she knew he was itching to do.

Tony was, as expected, quick to accommodate. He even made sure to have May's kitchen stocked for her. She tried to refuse but he simply waved her off. Saying that he'd already made several large donations to various community food pantries and created a few helpful programs of his own to support the at-risk communities. Supplying her with two weeks' worth of frozen dinners and canned goods that he already had laying around was nothing. "Besides, you're really helping me out. The team is sort of spread out across the country, Pepper's stuck overseas for the time being and the penthouse is entirely too quiet.", he said, not really knowing at the time, what exactly he'd signed up for.

~o~o~o~o~o~

By day five of being completely banned from Spidering at both May and Tony's insistence, Peter was starting to go a little bit stir-crazy. He'd not used his web-shooters or any of his spider-powers during that entire time and he had so much pent up energy that he could feel himself vibrating. "I need to get out.", he randomly jumped up and announced after having been jittering in place for the past twenty minutes while Tony watched the news.

"No, you don't. Sit down.", Tony casually stated before flipping the channel to something a little more upbeat.

"I can't sit down. There're... things I could be doing out there.", Peter retorted as he began to pace.

Tony hummed in response. "Like what?", he asked despite knowing the answer. He knew the kid was going nuts from sitting around. A daily jog at the nearby park wasn't enough. Not when he was having to go at a leisurely human pace.

"I don't know! Things!", Peter snapped but felt instantly sorry for having done so. Taking a deep breath he looked longingly out the window and sighed. "Stopping crime. The usual."

"There's nobody out there, kiddo. ...and the police are already taking precautions to help handle any kind of mass panic.", Tony helpfully supplied but the boy didn't look convinced, instead, he went back to pacing the room and periodically sighing.

Eventually, Peter paused in front of where his mentor was sitting and began to chew on his thumbnail. "Maybe I could help buy groceries for the elderly or something.", he suggested because that sounded reasonable. He could swing around the city and deliver necessities to people who otherwise shouldn't be out. That would allow him to really move while helping the community.

"Stark Industries funded an emergency drone delivery service for that very purpose. It's free, highly advertised and my understanding is that it's getting a lot of use.", Tony replied and steeled himself for an argument that never came. Instead, the kid when back to pacing. Then, the pacing turned into digging around in the kitchen and before he knew it, the boy was back in front of him.

"We're out of pudding, Mr. Stark. I should go out and get some.", Peter stated matter-of-factly, shifted his weight as he spoke.

"Pete... I have enough food to feed me, you, May and a small army for the next three months, you'll be fine for the next two or three weeks.", Tony said in exasperation. A lack of pudding was not even slightly on his radar. Lack of coffee might have gotten his attention but he knew better than that. The coffee he liked was delivered to his door, in bulk, on a monthly basis. Not to mention the backup supply he kept in the back of the freezer. "Don't you have some homework you can sit down to do?"

Midtown had turned to digital learning for the duration of the preventative period and posted assignments daily. Extensive ones. Yet, Peter had managed to blow through them in record time. "I finished it already.", he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Throwing his hand up in mild annoyance, Tony rolled his eyes. Of course, the kid was done with his homework. "Well, call Ned or do that Discord gaming thingy that you do. Just sit down, kid!"

"We did that already today", peter complained as he began to absentmindedly bounce on his toes. "You can only play so much Minecraft, Mr. Stark."

Tony huffed a laugh. "Really because it wasn't that long ago you were all, '...but there are bees now, Mr. Stark...', when I asked you put the game down for ten minutes to help me with something in the lab.", he playfully mocked. He really didn't understand the fascination with the game and this was coming from a man who's entire generation had thrived on clunky plastic cartridges and boxy eight-bit characters.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Peter, sighed and then reluctantly plopped down into a chair only to then relentlessly tap his foot on the hardwood floor. "I have a short attention span, Mr. Stark. The bees are no longer of interest.", he proclaimed and then immediately stood up to continue his aimless wandering.

"Do you want to go down to the workshop?", Tony asked next. Even if they had run out of things to do as far as Spider-suit updates go, there was always an abundance of half-finished projects down there to look at. He sort of hoped that he could get the kid's brain working and that would, in turn, temporarily cease to the whining. "We can do whatever you want as long as you stop pacing. You're going to wear a hole in my carpet. Sit down!"

"Why can't I go out as Spider-man, Mr. Stark?", Peter pleaded, not really expecting any kind of surprising answer. He'd already asked that question multiple times over the last few days and the response wasn't likely to have changed.

"You know why, kid.", Tony warningly returned causing the boy to grunt in frustration and then turn back towards the large windows. It was as though the sly line was calling his name. No screaming. The skyline was screaming his name.

"What if I just swing around for like, an hour and then back. No direct peopling.", Peter begged, hoping that was enough of a compromise. While he missed talking to his many neighbors, shaking hands and playing with all the children in the streets but he did understand. He was just aching to get out. Like he would suffocate soon if he didn't.

Rolling his eyes, Tony sat up taller in his seat and pointed an accusatory finger towards the pouting teenager. "Right. Do you think you can just sit there and lie to me like that? I've met you and there is zero chance of you going out in that suit and not talking to every single person you come across."

"I promise, Mr. Stark!", Peter nearly shouted but his mentor remained placid.

"Nope.", Tony causally countered but when it looked like the kid might actually start to cry he relented. Just a little. It wasn't that he had any real problem with Spider-man going out to swing the afternoon away. The problem was he didn't trust the teenager behind the mask to not dive right into the middle of the first crowd he spotted. He required supervision and he supposed that technically he could offer that. "What if I go with you?", he proposed.

Narrowing his eyes, Peter tried to decide what the man had meant by that. "Like... as my sidekick?", he asked, feigning confusion.

"Iron Man is nobody's sidekick, Spider-boy.", Tony impassively asserted. "I'm going as your--"

"--Equal?", Peter pipped up with a wide smile. He knew that was definitely not what the man was going to say either but he was sure his mentor's reaction would be nothing less than entertaining and he desperately needed some entertainment.

"That's cute, Pete but no.", Tony said with a smirk. "I'm going as your Superhero mentor or what have you.", he flippantly declared before turning the television off completely. Apparently his spider-child required another, more vigorous walk.

Peter stood by the window and quietly contemplated the offer. It didn't really take that long for him to decide that the plan, though vague was good enough for him. If it meant getting to use his web-shooters, that was all he needed to hear. That didn't make him any less curious about what the man had in mind, though. "That's cool. What are we going to do?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas.", Tony said with a grin.

Within the next thirty minutes, the two for them were suited up and on top of the building. While Peter hopped in place Tony stood there rapidly typing something into his phone. "What are you doing?", Peter asked as he tried to see over the man's shoulder. "I thought we were going to actually do something."

For several seconds the man didn't dignify the question but when he did he was smiling triumphantly. "There we go. ...Now you can swing around and get your crazies out while doing something nice.", he stated before turning his phone so that Peter could read his latest tweet. 'Bored inside? Spider-man and I are about to hit the skies for some practice. Enjoy the show from your windows.', it read and tagged several specific locations including the nearby children's hospital.

"That... is a really cool idea, Mr. Stark!", Peter giddily exclaimed.

"It was one of my more genius plans.", Tony said with a flourish of his armored hand. "Now, let's get going, that's a lot of ground to cover.", he added, engaging his faceplate and then subsequently shooting a mild repulsor beam directly between the kid's feet calling out, "Tag, you're it!", before taking off into the sky.

"Hey! I wasn't ready, Mr. Stark!", Peter laughed as his mentor hovered tauntingly above him. Though, before he had the chance to gather his thoughts or shoot a web towards the nearest building the man was swooping back towards him.

"You coming or what, Spider-kid?", Tony said, holding out his hand with the intention of taking another shot but before it could go off, Peter managed to get his wits about him and shot a web towards the man's outstretched hand. Completely undaunted by his now web covered palm, Tony didn't change his position. Instead, he raised his face-plate and smiled. "Nice try, Spiderling.", he calmly replied right before the repulsor went off, burning right through the webs and hitting peter right on the heels as he had already begun to run towards the edge of the rooftop.

They continued to soar through the city, playing their superhero version of tag while people cheered them on from their windows and balconies. Some of them wearing their hero of choice's colors while others held up signs to show support. Although, Peter's favorite part of the entire chaotic outing was climbing up the side of the children's hospital and waving to the kids as they sat up in their beds giggling whenever Tony would zap him in the rear. It was probably the most fun he'd had in a really long time.

By the time they had hit all of the spots that Tony had promised they would appear in, Peter was actually tired. Not exhausted but comfortably worn out. So, when the man told him it was time to head back to shower and eat he was more than willing to go.

"That was really awesome, Mr. Stark. Like, I can't remember the last time I've ever been able to play with anyone like that.", Peter sighed out as they sat together at the kitchen counter eating dinner. After the spider bite, any and all rowdy antics had come to a rapid halt. It wasn't like he could wrestle around with Ned. He had super- strength and didn't want to hurt him. Yet, it had never crossed his mind that maybe Tony or even Steve would willingly rough-house with him. Sparring, jogging, team practice, those could be fun sometimes but they weren't the same thing.

"Yeah? Well, I'm glad you had a good time, Buddy.", Tony said. He'd not really considered that end of the exercise. His goal had been to allow the kid to wear himself out using his spider-powers without putting himself or others at risk. He'd had no idea that when he'd chosen to turn the whole thing it into a game, that he'd be filling a hole that he never knew existed. "I think the people watching had a good time too."

Nodding his head, Peter smiled. He thought about all the families that had come outside to see what the ruckus was about then stood on their balconies laughing and yelling, back and forth towards each other as they watched the action. He thought about how they were enjoying each other's company without going against any social distancing suggestions and how happy everyone looked while doing so. "It was sort of cool to see everyone being excited together even though they were still apart.", he mused between bites of spaghetti.

"We gave them something fun to focus on for a little while.", Tony acknowledged. He'd not expected the impromptu air show to go over quite as well as it had but then again people had been confined to their homes for a while at that point. No school, no concerts, even the libraries were off-limits. They'd needed a pick-me-up beyond a computer screen. An excuse to interact with their neighborhood at a distance.

"Can we do it again, Mr. Stark?", Peter asked as he began to clear the table. He wasn't sure exactly how much longer they would have to all be inside but he hoped to have the chance to lift the city's spirits again. That and the game had been fun. Laughing, goofing off and scuffling without having to worry about hurting anyone had been amazing.

"At some point.", Tony agreed with a smile. He could handle that and honestly, he had already decided that after everything had settled, that he would occasionally take the kid out just to play around as they had. Peter had made it very clear that having someone to horse around with had been something he'd been missing and it had been fun for him too. It would also come off as good publicity. Two superheroes working in tandem to brighten the lives of the people around them but mostly the former. "In the meantime, what do you want to do now? Lab or movie?"

"Movie.", Peter readily replied as he darted across the room and flipped solidly into the large chair beside the window. "They released some new ones to digital early since the movie theaters are closed. Like Onward, Frozen Two and most importantly, the newest Star Wars movie."

"Of course, Star Wars.", Tony replied with a roll of his eyes but settled down on the couch all the same.

They sat on the sperate pieces of furniture for the duration of the first movie but by the time they had started into their second, Peter was growing tired. Eventually, he got up from the chair he'd been curled up in and wandered over to sit directly beside Tony on the couch. That way he could stretch out a little more. Though as more time passed he found himself leaning more heavily into the man's side and his head resting snuggly on the man's shoulder.

Looking down at the kid who finally seemed to be more at peace than he had been for the last several days, he smiled. "You know we're supposed to be practicing social distancing.", teased said while nudging Peter's head with a shrug of his occupied shoulder. It wasn't that boy had never sat with him like that before or that he really minded, so much as he just wanted to give him a hard time. It was fun.

"I live with you.", Peter reason, without bothering to move an inch. He was comfortable and sitting closely beside someone that you were actively sharing space with was to be expected.

“You live with your aunt.", Tony counted with a chuckle. Though he did realize that the kid spent more than a good bit of time living with him as well. Even before the short term change in his primary residence.

Peter looked up and grinned. "Not right now I don't.", he sing-songed before pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch.

"Whatever.", Tony returned with a fond roll of his eyes. "At least your sitting down."

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #spider-man #covid 19 #social distancing #mcu fanfiction #stay at home #tony stark & peter parker #irondad #irondad fandom #cross-posted #also on ao3 #my ao3 #stayhealthy #flattening curve

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racerchix21 · 2 years

Text

Definite Second Chances

Word Count: 1644

Tagging: @sunnyfleur23

Warnings: Angst and f-bombs

A/N: This is a sequel piece to the drabble Maybe Second Chances I wrote in November 2022.

Summary: I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him and I definitely hadn’t meant to fall into bed with him. Tyler Black did things to me, unexpected, unexplainable things and I needed to get the fuck out of here before he woke up and realized what we’d done.

Work Text:

“I’m not having this conversation here in a busy ass restaurant with the 3 Stooges listening in. You really wanna know why I left I’ll tell you but I get to pick when and where we meet again. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got places to be and people to see,” I tell Seth and based on the look in his eyes our little meeting is gonna have to happen soon, but I think I’m gonna let him wonder a little longer.

“Yeah, yeah princess you go do that but know that I ain’t gonna wait forever for you. It’s been 6 years and I’m getting tired of wondering why I wasn’t good enough for you,” Seth’s got tears running down his cheeks and his voice cracks more than a few times as he talks.

Leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, I make the decision to find a way to meet up with him tomorrow and finally let him have the rest of my heart. I hadn’t meant to make him cry but I had to get the hell out of there before I did something stupider I’d never be able to take back or fix. Like admitting that I was stupidly in love with him and had been since our ROH days.

“Ambrose, Reigns it was nice seeing ya. Bub, I’ll text you later and we can arrange that trip home we were talking about. Rollins, meet at our spot tomorrow morning and I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, but please show up alone. And hey Seth I never intended to hurt you for what it’s worth.”

“Then why? Why the hell did you lie and leave?”

“Tomorrow, my Tyler. Always my Tyler, even if you aren’t mine,” walking away is still as hard now as it was all those years ago. If I was being completely honest with myself it was worse now because I really truly was in love with the idiot and I didn’t think anything would change that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Showing up at Black and Brave, I can see why Seth is still in love with his hometown. Davenport was beautiful and I could already see myself living there. “Not that thats gonna be an option soon because made a huge mistake and I wasn’t gonna blame him if he never wanted to speak to me again,” my brain and heart so helpfully supplied. It was time to face the music and see how badly Seth was gonna react to the tiny little munchkins attached to my legs. Maybe I should’ve left them with Finn and Bayley and shown up by myself, but it was too late now to change it.

“Come on, you two let’s go see how much trouble we can get into. We’re gonna go meet an old friend of Momma’s, so I need y’all to be on your best behavior and maybe we’ll go find a park nearby and have a picnic later, okay?”

“K, momma. Hot chocolate too?,” Kota asks glancing both at me and her brother. She’s definitely her fathers daughter and it once again hits me that I’ve deprived not only my babies but also their daddy of so much all because of my stupid pride.

“Yeah, honey we’ll get hot chocolate before we head to the park. Now come on kiddos and remember best behavior and be polite. I promise that Mr. Seth is a good guy, kinda goofy lookin but a good guy nonetheless.”

“Mr. Seth, huh? And who are these little cuties if I may ask?”

Spinning I find myself face to face with Ty… I mean Seth now and I once again realize how expressive his eyes are and how I used to see my future in them. That was a whole lifetime ago before everything fell apart before I fucked everything up. “This is Dakota and her little brother Kellen. Kel, Kota this is Mr. Seth. He owns this place with another old friend.”

“Well come on in and we can see what we can get you kids into then you and I talking,” he says looking at me before holding the door open for the 3 of us and I realize I’m about to break his heart a second time in less than a decade as I walk inside his dream school.

“Okay, yeah. And Seth it’s not what you think before you start overthinking everything. I’ll explain but at least not yet. Not in front of the kids,” I say as Seth leads us through the school and into a little classroom/office off to the side. Watching the man I once upon a time dreamed about having a family with, talking and laughing with my babies I feel myself smile for the first time in a long time.

“Alright, if you need anything at all we’ll be over here okay,” Seth tells the kids standing up, coming towards me pointing me towards the opposite end of the room. “Alright talk. Tell me what I did so wrong that you up and left without a word. I guess first though how old are Kota and Kellan? They’re mine, aren’t they?”

“Rollins, they’re 4 so no they aren’t yours and you’re off the hook. They’re father found out I was pregnant and decided that being a parent wasn’t something he wanted. I walked away from wrestling until a couple years ago when my brother and Bayley got together. They managed to get me a deal and I’ve tried to keep those 2 out of the spotlight. I guess maybe I realized how you felt when I walked out.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry. He walked out because he was an idiot. I’m still curious about why you walked away but we can table that for now if you want.”

“No, no but it’s gonna require a little trip back to that night. Just listen and then I’ll answer any questions you have.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flashback 6 years

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him and I definitely hadn’t meant to fall into bed with him. Tyler Black did things to me, unexpected, unexplainable things and I needed to get the fuck out of here before he woke up and realized what we’d done. Slowly and ever so gently moving Tyler’s arm, I slide out of bed and try to locate all my clothes from where they’re slung around the room. Fuck where the hell is my bra? There’s my tank top but where the fuck is my bra? Shirt, shoes, pants, jacket but no bra, groaning internally at the idea of doing the walk of shame out of Tyler’s bedroom sans bra. I mean there’s worse things but I wasn’t looking forward to facing his roommates Marek and Jimmy feeling less than put together.

If I walk out I’m protecting us both, right? If I stay I’m gonna get my own heart broken and if I leave I’m gonna break his but he’s going to WWE and there was no way in hell either of us can do long distance. We can barely handle seeing each other all the time and being apart all the fucking time probably won’t be any good either or maybe that’s just my self preservation skills kicking in. I’d be holding him back from his true potential otherwise. My internal monologue is interrupted by a soft snuffling sound and I glance over my shoulder to see Tyler has rolled even closer to the side of the bed I had just gotten up from and had wrapped his arms around the other pillow.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! Forget finding your bra woman go go go before Ty wakes up, I scream at myself and I’m out the door as I hear him start talking. Stopping just for a second I can barely make out what he’s saying.

“Where ya going,” I hear Tyler mumble and I can’t help but feel bad about running away.

“Just gonna go get a glass of water. I’ll be right back sweetheart, I promise just save me some cuddles,” I grimace at the lie but I can’t outright tell him the truth of my feelings. “I’m sorry Ty but I have to leave,” I whisper and l can feel my heart break a little when I glance back and see he’s curled up even tighter, beginning to softly snore again.

End of flashback

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Baby, we would’ve figured it out. I was so fucking in love with you and yo.. you left me,” Seth stutters out, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I would’ve turned down the deal with WWE if it had meant you and I could’ve worked out. I don’t hate you, just the way everything went down.”

“Pretty boy, that's what I was afraid of. You’d grow to hate me and I couldn’t bear to think of how long we’d last once you realized how much you gave up because of me. I don’t regret anything about us back then just me leaving and explaining why. Hopefully one day maybe we can be friends again cuz I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me now.”

“Princess, if you’ll give me a chance maybe we can try again and you’ll let me help you with the kids while we’re on the road. Now I’m gonna kiss you,” Seth tells me pulling me into the most mind blowing kisses I’ve had since the last time we did this a lifetime ago when we were different people all together.

Pulling back just enough to catch my breath I have to laugh because I can’t believe I get him back after all the things I’ve done to him. “Sethie, there’s nothing I’d like more than a chance at forever with you.”

#Definite Second Chances #Seth Rollins x Reader #This angst and fluff rolled into one

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cagestark · 5 years

Note

Could you please write about Tony being jealous after Peter spends too much time sciencing with Bruce?

Sorry if you didn’t want so much angst. Hope this is okay

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: alcoholism. Unhealthy behaviors all around. But it does have a hopeful ending I think. 5.7k

Peter is elbow deep in his paper on NASA’s Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope when he gets that tingle, like a finger being dragged up his spine. It sets all his hairs to standing, heart pounding. He is not alone. Keeping perfectly still, he holds his breath to better listen and scans what little of the kitchen he can see without moving his head. But the breaths—so quiet, he can barely hear them—are coming from behind him. The person is still, seated, unthreatening.

He relaxes, twisting on the stool at the island. “Hey, Nat. I didn’t hear you come in.”

She is the picture of poise, perched in the armchair across the room. Peter still isn’t quite used to seeing her like this. In private, she is very different from the woman he first met on the tarmac in Germany with the chic hair and tight, dark outfit. Not relaxed, per se, but maybe as relaxed as the assassin can be, dressed in loungewear, face clear of makeup, her growing hair plaited back. It must be a huge sign of trust for her to show this side of herself, but Peter has been told that he always looks for the best in people.

“Peter,” she greets coolly. Her legs cross, slowly, the dragging of nylon loud. He thinks she might be trying to seduce him. The Avengers already know that he is gay, but maybe old habits die hard. His internal character assessment almost causes him to miss what she says next: “Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

Peter blinks. He points at the paper scrawled with notes. “Actually. Not really. I’m working on this paper for my Physics class, see. But we’ve been discussing gamma-rays and there is something about electromagnetic—”

“I mean with Bruce and Tony,” Natalie says.

His face puckers into a comical expression of confusion, glancing around the kitchen like the two scientists might actually be there without him knowing. “Uh—nothing?”

She looks unimpressed. “You’ve been spending every day with Bruce in his lab or up on the roof.”

Does she think that something is like, going on with Peter and Dr. Banner?

“We’re looking for signs of gamma radiation in thunderclouds. There was a big study last month that found gamma-rays preface some lightning strikes—” Natasha’s flat, unmoved stare stops him before his rambling monologue can truly begin. He swallows, throat dry, feeling some sort of dread in his gut, though he doesn’t know why.

Why is she being so cold to him, right now? It’s reminiscent of the stress dreams he used to have after Tony first offered him the position with the Avengers, dreams where he moved into the tower only for everyone to ostracize him and ignore him, dreams where Tony and Steve would sit down with him and say, Sorry Pete, it isn’t working out, you don’t mesh well with us, and may we please have back your suit?

“What is it?” Peter asks, trying to be brave. “Have I—did I do something?”

Natasha sighs, lifting herself from the armchair gingerly like she is twice or thrice her real age. She crosses the room and he has to force himself not to move away. The tingle is back, and this time, that primal spider-instinct inside him feels threatened, like he is bug beneath an incoming shoe. A large black stiletto maybe, with the Black Widow insignia on the bottom like a target for where his tiny body ideally will be smushed.

But he overrides the instinct and swallows down the fear: this is Natasha. She wouldn’t hurt him.

She does box him in, though, coming into his space and bracketing him with her arms, palms flat on the marble countertop behind him. “Tony doesn’t like me, much, Peter. Surely even you have noticed that. I once broke his confidence in me, and now I work very hard to make that up to him. You could say that a part of my reparations involves looking out for him.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Peter says, polite but firm. “I like to look out for Mr. Stark too. Excuse me—could you give me some space?”

After another moment, she pulls away. “You’re too smart to play dumb. Stop hurting Tony.”

Then she is snatching an apple out of the fruit bowl and strolling out of the room, not even leaving the scent of perfume behind. Peter feels baffled enough by the conversation to wonder if maybe the entire thing hadn’t been a hallucination. There’s no feasible way that Peter could be hurting Mr. Stark—he’s barely seen the man all week, since Peter has been so busy being tutored Bruce for his physics class.

Still, it takes him a long ten minutes for his senses to stop feeling like he’s in danger, and by then, he has completely lost his train of thought for outlining his paper. Sighing, he closes the book.

“It’s just going over my head,” Peter admits. It’s the weekend, when any other college student would be out on the town. Not many college students have the option of hanging out with the Avengers though, so. You know. Peter isn’t totally lame. At this time on a Saturday evening, most of the core Avengers are occupying their floor in the Tower. Peter has his own room there, with sheets that are royal blue and soft as silk and a picture on the wall of Tony presenting him with his Stark Industries internship certificate. “Every other aspect of physics is cake to me. Chocolate cake, even.”

“That’s his favorite,” Clint supplies helpfully. He’s playing cards with Nat and Tony at the other end of the island. Natalie is the best bluffer, but Tony can count cards in his sleep, so the odds are pretty evenly stacked, he’d say.

“Yes, it’s my favorite—! But as soon as gamma-rays come in, it’s like my brain shorts out. I failed the quiz over these, and it’s throwing off my curve. If I don’t ace the paper, I’ll freak out.”

“Cheer up, kid,” Tony says. There is an amber glass at his elbow, even though it was whispered very quietly around the tower a few months ago that Mr. Stark was working on getting sober. Peter guesses that it isn’t going well. Now that he looks closely, the man doesn’t look well at all: thinner, grayer, sadder. His dress-shirt collar is rumpled. That’s so not Mr. Stark. His voice is a warm vibrato that Peter feels in his bones: “Take a break. We’ll deal you in. No one is good at everything.”

“What are you bad at?” Natasha asks, maybe flattering him, maybe teasing.

The smile Tony gives her shows too much teeth to be friendly, eyes hidden behind his tinted glasses that he is wearing more often than not these days. “I’m bad at plenty of things, Miss Rushman.”

“He’s right, Peter,” Bruce says. They’re at the other end of the island, both of their shoulders aching from hunching over Peter’s textbooks for the last hour and change. “This is pretty advanced stuff. Difficult enough for scientists who are in this field to grasp. You said that this isn’t the focus of your major? Then I wouldn’t stress over it.”

Peter is stressing though. MIT has been tougher than he thought it would be, and he still worries that his success in high school was just him being a big fish in a small pond. Suddenly the pond is bigger: a fucking ocean. He feels like algae on the waves, tossed to and fro compared to some of his classmates.

Glancing up, he catches Natasha’s eyes. She is watching him, face blank, but he can’t help but feel that there is a silent message in her eyes. Seeing her unfriendly disposition makes him remember the conversation they had the day before—the one where she threatened him, in vague terms. Against his will, his eyes flicker to Tony. The drink beside his chips is empty now. His elbow is propped on the table and his chin rests in it, one shaking thumb running over the edge of his cards. He looks lost in thought. Sad thought.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter says slowly. He closes his book. “Go ahead and deal me in, Mr. Stark.”

And that makes Tony sit back in his seat in surprise, glasses slipping down his nose to show pleased though bloodshot eyes. He grins—not one of those shark-grins he gave Natasha, but a real one. A smile. It makes butterflies spread their wings in Peter’s gut. God, he’s had a crush on the man for, like, ever. But Mr. Stark is a crush so unobtainable that Peter’s never even had to stress over it. Never had to stress about the juvenile stuff like does he like me back or what can I do to make him notice me. He’s just able to melt in it, enjoy his attraction and idol-worship. It’s all very sexually frustrating and uncomplicated.

Tony pulls back the stool at his side and pats it invitingly. When Peter sits down, he can just barely smell the bourbon on the older man’s breath. Tony then asks: “Bruce, do you want in on this, too?”

There is a difference in the way the billionaire asked Bruce to play when compared to when he asked Peter, but Peter can’t put his finger on what it is. Something about the tone, the inflection... Under the countertop, Tony’s hand comes to rest on Peter’s knee for a moment, squeezing warmly. But then it doesn’t move, just rests there, burning a hole through Peter’s jeans. It prickles, but this is a different kind of danger, he thinks. He’s so busy trying to remember how to accomplish basic human functions like breathing and swallowing that he completely misses Bruce’s response—a kind no thanks. Then Tony’s thumb is moving, brushing the outside of Peter’s leg in a few slow, firm strokes, and Peter feels a dangerous stirring in his pants. The hand starts to slide up his leg—

Then the hand is gone. His blood is still rushing south, propelled by his hammering heart, but it’s like all his senses beside touch come rushing back the moment Tony removes his hand—Clint is dealing, cards whispering over marble as he passes them out, Natasha and Tony are bickering though Peter doesn’t yet have the brainpower to decipher what about. His knee is still burning hot, and it tingles for the rest of the night.

But he doesn’t think it’s his imagination that the entire evening is lighter, smiles and laughter flowing more freely, and when Mr. Stark gets up to get a drink, he comes back with water.

From then on, Peter’s image of Mr. Stark begins to change. Mostly thanks to the patchwork of knowledge Natasha feeds him in passing moments—when they encounter each other in the hall going different directions, when she is running on the treadmill beside him in the gym, when she passes behind him at the kitchen island for another apple, or, like today, an orange.

“He only drinks when he’s sad,” she says in his ear.

Peter starts to look for that as an indicator to Mr. Stark’s mood: times when it’s late at night and he walks in on Mr. Stark standing alone by the window looking at the view of the city, shaking hand clutching a drink that rattles when he sets it down to avoid Peter seeing it. Nights when Tony passes through the living area, glancing at the group gathered around (almost always Clint and Nat watching television, and Peter and Bruce talking through Peter’s homework), rejecting their offer for him to join with a quiet, just passing through, before grabbing a bottle from the kitchen and disappearing into the elevator. If Tony drinks when he’s sad, then he is often sad.

Peter thinks it’s safe to assume that when Tony isn’t drinking, he’s happy—or at least neutral. And taking into account the poker tournament from a few weeks before, Peter begins to notice that he himself seems to make Tony happy.

The knowledge weighs down his shoulders…but mostly, it makes him feel full of helium, light and bouncy, liable to lift off the ground and break through the atmosphere should he not hold on to the world around him. Peter makes Tony happy. For some reason.

“Everything he does is for other people,” she pants, trying to keep up with his enhanced abilities in the workout room. Peter himself is sweating from the break-neck pace he’s adopted on the treadmill, but he doesn’t need to focus to run, so instead his mind is far away.

Natasha is absolutely right. The topic is a sore spot. Peter knows that there were cutting words exchanged between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers at the beginning of their relationship when the super soldier accused him of selfishness. It’s obvious how little they knew each other then, because even now he sees the fondness Steve has in his eyes for Tony, the gratefulness he exudes and goes out of his way to express to the billionaire. Tony funds the entire Avengers Initiative. He lets them live expense free in his home, feeds them, clothes them, patches them up. Scraping by with his Aunt for most of his life in a tiny apartment in Queens has made Peter keenly aware of all the things he has in his life now, solely thanks to Mr. Stark. And the older man doesn’t bat an eye at it.

And alright, Tony is a billionaire. Those expenses probably don’t scrape the surface of his wealth. Yet there are many other ways his altruism is expressed, ways only Tony Stark could express them. When Peter’s suit was malfunctioning in the wetter-than-usual New York springtime, Tony didn’t sleep for three days while working on it. Got to make sure you’re safe, kid, he’d muttered. Wouldn’t get a bit of sleep otherwise. Tony hadn’t even delivered it in person so that Peter could thank him, just left it neatly for him outside his bedroom door.

There were other things, of course. Providing Bruce his own lab and the resources to expand his research. Once he sat for a portrait at Steve’s insistence, and it was the stillest he’s ever seen the billionaire be. Mr. Stark makes it his personal responsibility to enrich the lives of those around him—he even seems to enjoy it—

“Did you hear me, Peter?” Natasha asks.

Peter stops the treadmill, jogging while it slowly decreases the pace. He’s been a thousand miles away, or several stories away, rather, down in the lab with Tony. “Sorry, I didn’t.”

“I said—what does he have for himself? What does he want for himself?”

Then she is gone, ponytail bouncing as she disappears towards the showers, a towel over her shoulder. Tony has everything. He has an inordinate amount of money at his disposal. What he could possibly want for?

The questions haunt Peter for the rest of the night, even as he spends the evening in Bruce’s lab while the man reads over his paper on the Fermi Telescope. Peter is anxiously squeezing a stress ball—carefully, though, because last time he truly squeezed one, it crumbled in his hand—when Tony appears in the doorway. He’s dressed in what Peter knows to be his lab-attire: comfortable, cheap t-shirt, jeans that are wearing through at the knees. The man’s hair is un-styled, free from gel, and it looks so soft—

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says. “Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t even greet him, still reading Peter’s paper. He does lift a hand though.

“I brought the LVC permits for you, fresh off the government’s press.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce says absently.

“What are you doing up here, Pete?” Tony asks, putting the papers on a nearby lab table. There’s something in the older man’s voice—something. But Peter’s never been good at stuff like that: deciphering looks, or tones, or subtextual clues. On instinct, he scans the man’s face, trying to determine his mood. It doesn’t look promising, the circles dark beneath his eyes, the frown lines deep. Even when he smiles, it looks tired and sad.

“Just having Bruce look over my paper, Mr. Stark.”

“When are you ever going to call me Tony, kid?”

Peter laughs a little. “Never, probably,” he jokes.

Tony doesn’t look like he thought the joke was funny. He gives a half-hearted wave goodbye and then disappears. Peter is at the perfect angle to watch him through the glass door. He stops outside the elevator and hits the button, leans his head forward to press his forehead to the doors, the picture of dejection. There is an uncomfortable knot growing in Peter’s stomach.

What could the man who has everything possibly want?

Bruce glances up ten minutes later after flipping to the last page, glasses a little askew. “Was that Tony I heard?”

The days afterwards, Natasha seems more disgusted with him than usual. Her occasional comments about Mr. Stark have stopped, and Peter laments the loss of help, because he feels no closer to understanding what she wants from him or what’s wrong with Mr. Stark.

Peter spends his nights laying in bed, restless, staring up at the ceiling to avoid listening to the distant movements of the Avengers around him in their own respective rooms—he didn’t need to know so much about Steve and Bucky’s after-hour activities, thanks very much—pouring over his interactions with Natasha.

What do you think you’re doing with Bruce and Tony? she had asked. And what was Peter doing? He’d been spending much more time with Bruce lately trying to grasp gamma-rays. Usually his time was spent equally divided between patrolling, school, homework, and spending time down in the lab with Tony. Of those things to take the backburner, it had been his time spent with his idol-cum-crush. Was the man feeling neglected?

Peter rolls out of bed. He’s tempted to put on his suit and go into stealth-mode, but instead, he tiptoes out of his room in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, using all of his enhanced senses to make sure he doesn’t encounter any other Avenger on his way to Natasha’s room. When she opens the door, she looks like he’s the last person she ever wanted to see on the other side.

“It’s late,” she says. Peter slips through the crack between her and the door anyway, but he figures if she truly wanted to keep him out, she might have tried. You know. At all.

Her rooms are as large as Peter’s, tastefully decorated. He notes that the only personal decorations in the room involve the Avengers: the group photograph taken of them and a few drawings of Steve’s, framed carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about all of the things you said, and I still don’t get it. I don’t know what’s going on—I see that there’s something wrong but I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Natasha sighs, already opening the door to usher him back out. “Everyone needs everything spelled out for them. It’s late, and I’m tired. Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce over him, or I’ll have to spend the next few weeks finding an incredible foreign benefactor willing to sponsor Bruce’s work only if he relocates overseas. That takes a lot of work Peter. A lot of work. Now get out, and fix this mess.”

He doesn’t even hear the real door shut in his face, because he’s too stunned by the metaphorical door that has been shut in his face. He gapes at the hardwood, eyes unseeing, all of his senses growing dim as he focuses his brainpower on the words that just spilled out of Natasha’s mouth.

Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce.

Peter lays awake the entire night. He can’t spot Natasha’s angle, can’t determine why she’d want to lie to him that way. Surely she has some sort of motive that Peter can’t see—he’s not a super-secret-spy type. Espionage and subtext aren’t his forte. She could probably run cryptic circles around him, and Tony once jokingly said that Natasha wouldn’t even sneeze unless she wanted someone to say bless you. So what is this? What is she doing to him? Hoping to embarrass him? Maybe she thinks that he’ll make some grand gesture, some romantic monologue to Tony and he’ll be so crushed at the subsequent rejection that he’ll leave the tower and stop Avenging altogether.

When sunlight is coming through the tinted windows of his room, he has not slept a wink, and has the throbbing headache to show it. His paper is due by 11:59 PM, and he still has a few revisions he needs to make. The other quizzes on gamma-rays and other electromagnetic radiations weren’t much better than the first, and all of his hopes for maintaining his perfect grade point average are riding on this one paper.

He dresses, only able to find mismatched socks, and takes the subway to make it to class on time. He’s there until early afternoon, and by the time he arrives back in the Tower, his stomach is growling painfully and he’s emotionally at the end of his rope. Why hadn’t he taken a gap year before starting school like Ned had? Maybe a year older, Peter would be more capable of handling all that is on his plate. As it is, he feels like a waiter balancing one-too-many glasses of water. Failure seems imminent.

As soon as he is in the tower, he cracks open his laptop and begins to finish the revisions Bruce advised him on—but then the word count is just under what the professor asked for, and now Peter is scrambling for extra content. His senses alert him that someone is coming, but he knows the length of the steps to be Tony.

“Hey Pete,” Tony mutters, looking like he just woke even though it is nearly three in the afternoon.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “How are you?”

“Has this coffee been here long?” Tony asks, pointing to the half-full pot. His hand is shaking.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I just got here.” Peter frowns to himself, fingers hovering over the keyboard even his brain feels like a train stuck on the same track. He has to say something to Mr. Stark. Has to. “Hey—um. I wanted to say. While you’re here—”

His mouth dries up as Tony turns to give him his full attention. The man is always so courteous, stopping whatever he’s doing to listen to what Peter has to say. It’d be impossible not to notice that the man has a problem with interrupting, talking over other people. But it’s never been that way with Peter. He stops. He listens with a kind of single-minded intensity that makes the younger man flushed. That much focus and attention feels like a laser beam directed at him, about to dissolve him into goo.

“—I wanted to say. That I hope we can hang out again soon.”

Tony leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. For a guy in his 40’s, he’s still fucking fit, biceps thick and strong, core toned. “I hope so too, kid. I’ve—missed you.”

Peter melts, heart aching in equal parts joy and sadness. “Maybe tonight? If you’re free. I could come down to the lab.”

Tony feigns like he’s thinking it over, knuckles rasping against his chin. “What about your—” he waves a vague hand at the laptop on the countertop. “I don’t want to come between you and school, Pete. I’m not very good at being a responsible role-model, but even I know that your education is important. That should be your focus.”

“Don’t worry about it. How does seven sound? I’ll finish this up, get it turned it, and then I’m all yours. I mean—we can—you know. Hang.”

The older man has that look he always gets when Peter’s mouth runs away from the rest of his consciousness: equal parts amusement and endearment and exasperated fondness. “Sounds good. You know where to find me.”

Peter does know. He does. The knowledge weighs on him for the next four hours that he spends staring at his laptop, writing a sentence just to destroy it, flipping frantically through the notes that Bruce gave him. Not meeting the word count means that he will automatically lose 10% of his grade, no matter how good the paper might be. But it’s like his brain is drawing a blank, all cylinders firing emptily.

By the time he is done, it ten PM. The hours ate him up like quicksand. His head aches with exhaustion, eyes burning from staring at the glow of the laptop, but he rushes into the elevator, eyes filling with tears. Surely Tony will understand why Peter is late. But it still makes him feel like shit.

“To the lab please, FRIDAY.”

The elevator moves without any verbal confirmation from the AI. By the time the doors open, he realizes he’s made a mistake. The lab is dark and quiet, lacking the usual soundtrack of classic rock hits. When he grasps the handle, it doesn’t turn. He’s too late. Mr. Stark was probably so angry that he went straight upstairs to the penthouse. If Peter were to follow, the door would probably be locked against him, refusing him entrance—

The door beneath him opens, automatic lock clicking open. Peter nearly falls through as it swings inward, his enhanced senses being his only saving grave. The lab is even more eerie from the inside, because it is all right and all wrong mixed together. The smell is comforting. The darkness is unsettling. He knows this place like the back of his hand when it is lit, but suddenly it is an entirely foreign place as he wanders through, carefully feeling his way, unsure why he hasn’t turned around and left yet.

Lights come up, blue dots like holographic breadcrumbs on the floor. FRIDAY. Where is she leading him, and why?

The lights circle on lab table, and when he comes close his eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to see why. Mr. Stark is there, slumped over the lab table. Peter would say that he is asleep except for the stench of alcohol and the empty bottles beside him, faceless in the dark. Sad sentinels watching over their king.

“Oh Tony,” he says. His heart feels too heavy for his ribs to hold. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, gently trying to rouse him. It doesn’t work. Even when he whispers the man’s name in increasingly louder increments, the man doesn’t stir. Throat closed up tight in the fist of fear, he gently presses two fingers to just under the man’s jaw—

Tony jerks away from the lab table, striking out at Peter. His aim is off, so his knuckles barely glance against the younger man’s chest. The force of the failed punch tips over the chair and Tony nearly falls to the floor—would, if Peter weren’t there to catch him. Still he struggles against a foe he doesn’t recognize.

“Getaway—”

“Mr. Stark—it’s me, Peter.”

Mr. Stark blinks, eyes moonish in the dark. He squints. “Pete?” he asks, voice thick.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry that I’m late.” He guides the man back to the chair and searches for one of his own, finds a stool with wheels and rolls it over so they can sit side by side. Tony is swaying dangerously even just sitting.

“’s okay, Pete,” Tony says. “You were with Bruce.”

“What?” Peter cries. “No, I wasn’t. I was working on my paper, remember? Just like I told you in the kitchen? Why would I be with Bruce when I had—” he just barely catches himself before the words a date slip past his lips, “—when I had plans with you?”

The laugh the older man gives is mirthless, slumped over the table. With every shaking breath comes a cloud of acrid liquor. Peter has never understood how Tony could drink that stuff, alcohol with so much burn and no sweetness or sourness. “Why wouldn’ you be with Bruce, kid? I get it.”

“I don’t know what there is to get,” Peter says gently. He knows from his minimal experience with drunk people that drunkenness heightens emotion, and they can be as likely to lash out in anger as they are to burst into tears. Without his suit, Mr. Stark probably couldn’t hurt Peter even sober, but he doesn’t want the man to hurt himself.

“No, no, Bruce ‘s a great guy. He’s a great man. Better man th’n me.”

Peter gapes, even if Mr. Stark isn’t even looking or couldn’t even see him through the darkness. Because, what? Seriously? “Mr. Stark, you’re like the greatest man I know. I don’t—I don’t know anybody who I, I admire or look up to the way that I do you.” That answer is maybe a little too honest, but he can’t help it. This vulnerability, this sheer pain coming from the man who has held Peter’s heart between his palms since he was just a little boy. It’s a terrible thing to witness, and he’d do anything to change it.

“You’re a good kid,” says Tony. He reaches with a hand like he wants to pat Peter on the head but loses strength far before then.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs again in that terrible depreciating way. He rests his forehead in his palm, staring down at the lab table. “Trust me, Pete. I know.”

“Why have you been so upset lately?” Peter asks smally. “I’ve been worried.”

“Didn’t mean to worry you, honey.” The name makes Peter glow, even if its slurred in that terrible, sad voice. “I guess ’ve been—going through some stuff.”

“Like what?”

The exhale he gives is long and loud in the quiet lab. “Adult stuff.”

“What, like, erectile dysfunction?”

The sound Tony makes is indignant. “No you little shit.” It’s said with unbearable tenderness and fondness though, until it almost feels like a caress instead of an insult. “Just, you know, your general everyday average feelings of inadequacy and unbearable loneliness.”

“You’re too hard on yourself Mr. Stark. I mean what I said. You’re the greatest man I know and I—I like you a whole lot. I know you’re having a tough time. But I’m here for you. And I know that you don’t think I’m strong enough, but you can lean on me. I can take it.”

When Tony stirs, lifting his head from his hands long enough to glance at Peter, his cheeks are wet, tracks of tears that just barely catch the light. He could almost mistake it as his mind playing tricks on him, but the man’s shoulders begin to tremble like his hands when he hasn’t had a drink, and Peter gets off of the stool so quickly that it goes rolling in the other direction.

Peter wraps his arms around Tony, pulling his head to his chest like a mother might hold a baby to her breast. There are no sounds, no sobs or whimpers, but the shaking lasts forever it seems. Then all at once the man melts, soft and languid. When he pulls away a hairsbreadth, Peter’s shirt is wet where his face was pressed.

He turns his head and leans in again, this time resting his temple on Peter’s abs. The younger man barely resists carding his fingers through Tony’s hair—just lets one hand gently rub at his back instead. When he speaks Peter can feel the movement on his stomach. “You’re too good f’r me, Pete. I’m so sorry I’m like this. Hated seeing you spend so much time with Bruce ‘cause I’m just a jealous old pervert. A fucking drunk, just like Howard—”

“Don’t say that.”

“’s true, kid.”

Peter swallows, struggling to gather courage. But if he can’t ask questions of Tony now when the man is drunk and possibly unlikely to remember them, when the man is too relaxed to lie, then when can he? “Why—why are you a pervert?”

All the breath seems to go out of Tony in a hot rush of air that Peter can feel through his shirt. “C’mon kid. You have to know.”

It does all make sense then: Tony’s recent behavior, Natasha’s cryptic comments.

What does he want for himself, she had asked.

Carefully—so, so, so carefully—Peter lets his hand drift up the back of Tony’s neck and slide into his hair, dark waves that are soft and free of product. It feels like silk under his fingertips, so fucking intimate. If this is all he gets of Tony, then he’s going to savor it, sear it into his memory. Blunt nails scratch gently at the man’s scalp and he purrs. He groans, the vibrations sinking through cotton and skin and muscle deep into Peter’s bones. “God, Pete,” he says. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Peter gasps. He’s hard, 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye, heart hammering, struggling to draw in breaths. “I won’t, Tony.”

“Never stop,” Tony groans softly. “You are the most important thing in my life, kid.”

And then the man is asleep, snoring breaths into Peter’s abs. It takes a while, listening to the gentle breathing, for Peter to calm down. “FRIDAY,” he croaks. “Unmute.”

“Thank you, Peter,” she says. “May I turn the lights on? I’m afraid boss might need some assistance getting to his room tonight. Would you be of service?”

“Yes. To all counts, FRIDAY. Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” A pause. “And thank you, Peter.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters, hoisting the heavier man up. There’s no use putting just an arm over his shoulder—Tony is out cold. Instead, Peter scoops him up, grateful for his enhanced strength, and begins the trek to the elevator.

In the morning when Tony wakes, Peter will be there waiting. With some water and aspirin.

Because they need to talk.

#starker #tw: alcoholism #tw: alcohol

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vminni · 5 years

Text

128. It’s Called A Prank

“Why can’t you go to your boyfriend’s room for once?” Minho grumbled, gathering his blanket and pillow up into his arms. He snagged his favorite stuffed animal and balanced it on top of the pile, turning to glare at his best friend once everything was settled.

“His roommate isn’t very understanding.”

“I’m going to stop being understanding,” Minho rolled his eyes, reaching for the doorknob. “This is getting ridiculous.”

He managed to wretch the door open without dropping anything and all his annoyance melted when he saw Felix’s smiling face on the other side.

“Hey, Lixie.”

“Sorry you got banished again,” Felix looked way more sheepish than Changbin had five minutes earlier when he announced that Minho needed to make himself scarce.

“It’s okay,” Minho wanted to reach out and ruffle the younger boy’s hair, but his hands were full. He settled on leaning in and smacking a noisy kiss off his freckled cheek instead, “Bin’s lucky I love you so much.”

Minho shuffled out into the hallway and Felix replaced him in the room, giving Minho one last thankful smile before the door swung shut. Sighing, Minho hitched his belongings higher up into his arms and headed towards the common room.

Usually Changbin gave Minho a few hours of notice so he could find another place to sleep, but it had slipped his mind tonight. Minho had tried calling Woojin, but it went straight to voicemail, and he knew Chan was most likely working in the music building, and he didn’t want to disturb him.

Minho could handle sleeping on the common room couch for one night.

No big deal.

Minho was rudely awakened to the sound of popping popcorn and he sat up, blearily rubbing at his eyes as he tried to make out the figure on the other side of the room.

“What the hell?”

The figure jumped at Minho’s sleep heavy voice, the microwave offering just enough light for Minho to see him turn, but not enough to make out any of his features. A few seconds later brightness flooded the room and Minho groaned, his hands slapping up to cover his eyes as his blanket pooled around his waist.

“Turn the lights back off.”

The boy didn’t listen, “Were you sleeping here?”

Minho pulled his hands away to give the boy a proper glare, hoping his bedhead and swollen face wouldn’t weaken the effect. The boy didn’t seem fazed, just blinked at Minho, waiting for an answer.

“Yes, I was sleeping here,” Minho finally grumbled, dropping back down onto the couch and tugging the blanket up over his face. “Can’t you make popcorn in your own room?”

“Can’t you sleep in your own room?” the boy countered. Minho ignored him. “I don’t have a microwave anymore. There was a bit of a fire situation.”

“That was you?” Minho groaned. If he wasn’t so tired he’d get up and smack the boy with his pillow for the late night evacuation they’d had to endure the week before. “Thanks a lot.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” the boy sounded so insulted that Minho lowered his blanket to peek at him, laughing at the offended look on his face. “I followed the instructions on the box!”

“If you followed the instructions, you wouldn’t have almost burned the damn building down,” Minho threw the blanket off his body and stood up, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and arching his back before he shuffled over to the stranger, “I better make sure you’re doing this correctly.”

“I’m fine,” the boy huffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest and glaring as Minho got closer. “Go back to bed.”

“I can’t, not with all the noise you’re making.” Minho peered at the microwave and saw that there was only thirty seconds let on the cycle. “Plus, now I’m kind of hungry.”

“I’m not sharing with you,” the boy uncrossed his arms and shoved lightly at Minho’s chest, nudging him away from the counter and back towards the couch. “Get your own snacks.”

Minho allowed himself to be pushed back onto the couch, landing with a soft noise. The stranger lingered, staring down at the couch with a small frown, and Minho used to opportunity to check him out. He was pretty, with soft blonde hair and full cheeks and wide eyes, and in any other situation, Minho probably would have hit on him. Instead he yawned and made to lie back down, but was stopped by the boy’s hand.

“The couch looks super uncomfortable,” the boy bit down on his bottom lip, eyeing a spot near Minho’s head where a spring was nearly breaking through. “And who knows how many nasty things have happened there?”

Minho hadn’t even thought of that. He scrambled up, snatching his blanket and his pillow off of the couch and bundling them in his arms as he stared at the boy with a horrified look.

The microwave was beeping incessantly in the background as the boy offered Minho a flippant shrug, “I have a single room. And I’m going to be up all night working on a project. The bed’s free if you want it.”

Minho weighed his options. Stay here and sleep on the floor, or follow an accident prone stranger back to his room for the night?

The boy made the decision for him, scooping up Minho’s plushie, which had fallen to the ground sometime during the night, and cradling it in the crook of one arm as he made his way back over to the microwave. He retrieved his popcorn and headed out, gesturing for Minho to follow him.

Seeing no other choice, Minho did just that.

The boy, who had introduced himself as Jisung during their trudge up to the third floor, dropped Minho’s stuffed animal on the bed and smoothed his hand over the rumpled covers, “I just washed the sheets three days ago and I’ve only slept in them once.” His cheeks flushed a little, “I didn’t do anything nasty, I promise. They’re basically clean.”

“It’s fine,” Minho yawned loudly, dumping the bundle in his arms onto the bed. His weary eyes danced around the room, taking in the posters and photos and albums that haphazardly covered the walls. It had a lot more personality than his own room, which was bare aside from aside from a few pictures of his cats.

Jisung crossed over to his desk and flipped open his laptop, then gestured for Minho to turn off the overhead light. He did and the room fell into a soft darkness, broken only by the low glow of the computer screen.

Minho debating switching out Jisung’s pillow and blanket for his own, but another loud yawn convinced him not to. He shoved his own belongings off the bed and crawled in, searching about until he found his plushie. Once that was safely cradled in his arms he shut his eyes, snuggling into the softness of Jisung’s pillow.

He could hear Jisung doing his best to eat his popcorn quietly and for some reason that brought a smile to his face, lips curving up slightly before sleep overtook him and darkness carried him away.

When Minho blinked into consciousness the next morning, he was surprised to find warmth under his hand. His eyes fluttered open, but all he saw was blonde hair, and he let them close as the events of last night came back to him. He’d been sexiled, then rudely awakened in the middle of the night and then brought to a stranger’s room to sleep.

Jisung, his sleepy brain supplied helpfully. Soft, pretty Jisung.

Which meant it must be Jisung’s firm stomach rising and falling rhythmically underneath Minho’s palm.

Minho shifted a little as he reopened his eyes, letting his fingers drag over the lightly defined ridges of Jisung’s abs as he pulled away. A barely audible whine came from the boy next to him and Jisung turned, eyes still shut as he snuggled against Minho’s chest.

Now that his head was pressed into Minho’s neck and no longer blocking his view, he saw that Jisung was on top of the covers, not underneath them like Minho. He must have gotten so tired in the night that he just collapsed on the bed, most likely forgetting that Minho was there in the first place. Minho wasn’t sure how his own arm had escaped the covers and made its way around Jisung’s trim waist, but his plushie was missing, so his unconscious mind must have reached out for something to hold.

Minho thought about rewrapping his arm around Jisung and drifting back to sleep, but now that he was aware of what was happening, he didn’t think it’d be right to touch the other boy without his permission. He also didn’t want to pull away and risk disturbing Jisung’s sleep, because the dark circles under the other boy’s eyes indicated that he needed it pretty badly. Instead Minho just laid there, gaze tracing Jisung’s sleep softened features, and tried to ignore the way his heartbeat was dancing in his chest. He’d never shared a bed with anyone that wasn’t Changbin or Chan before.

Jisung’s lashes fluttered, and Minho managed to squeeze his eyes shut in time, not wanting to be caught staring. A few soft noises came from the other boy as he woke up, briefly snuggling closer to Minho before he became aware of what he was doing and pulled back.

Minho cracked his eyes open at that moment and saw Jisung staring down at him, face flushed and gaze ripe with embarrassment.

He scrambled off the bed, fingers wringing together as his blush bled up into his ears, “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I got tired and I forgot you were here and…”

“It’s okay,” Minho cut him off, sitting up and stretching out his spine. Jisung still looked mortified, so Minho offered him a soft smile, “Really. You’re fine.”

Jisung’s eyes briefly flicked to Minho’s waist and his own followed, noticing that his shirt was riding up as he stretched. He snapped his arms back down and crossed them over himself, a blush making its way into his own cheeks. His stomach was flat, but undefined, and he felt a bit embarrassed by it when Jisung was standing just a few feet away in all his shirtless glory.

“This is so awkward,” Jisung groaned, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “It’s like the morning after except we didn’t do anything. I should have just slept in the chair, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” Minho flipped the covers off and scooted to the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the ground. He looked up at Jisung from under his lashes, noting the the other boy’s blush was now making its way down his neck and towards his chest. “Seriously, Jisung, don’t worry about it.”

Jisung nodded and dropped his hands from his face, but he still couldn’t meet Minho’s gaze. Minho stood, crossing to Jisung to wrap him in a hug. The smaller boy made a strained squeaking sound, but his arms lifted to hug Minho back.

“Thank you for letting me sleep here.”

“Welcome,” Jisung’s voice was muffled by Minho’s shoulder and he pulled away, his blush still strong. “I, um…” he took a few steps back and grabbed his phone off his desk, holding it out to Minho with two hands as he nervously worried his bottom lip, “C-can I have your phone number?”

Minho’s eyes softened and he accepted the outstretched phone, “Of course.”

Jisung clutched it to his chest when it was returned, the pink in his cheeks finally fading at bit as Minho gathered his blanket and pillow up off the floor, “I’ll, um, I’ll text you.”

“Please do,” Minho smiled at him one more time before he stumbled out into the hallway and back down to his own room.

It wasn’t until he crawled into bed that night that he realized his plushie had been left behind.

A week later, Minho found himself back outside Jisung’s room, clad in his pajamas. He’d been kicked out again and this time, instead of texting Chan or Woojin, Jisung had been his first thought.

Minho brought up his fist to knock, then dropped it, realizing he probably should have called and asked before just showing up at Jisung’s door. Just as he reached into his sweatpants pocket to pull out his phone, the door swung open, revealing a very startled Jisung.

“Oh my god,” Jisung clutched at his chest, “I didn’t know you were out here.”

“Sorry,” Minho’s smile was sheepish and his gaze drifted down to Jisung’s bunny slippers, “I got kicked out of my room again, I should have called and asked, but I thought…”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jisung held the door open wider and Minho stepped in. “I’m probably going to be up most of the night anyway. I was just on my way down to meet the pizza delivery guy, but feel free…” he gestured towards the bed, which was just as rumpled and messy as the last time Minho had been there. He noticed a stuffed head peeking out of the covers, but didn’t say anything as Jisung assured him he’d be right back and disappeared.

Minho crossed to the bed and extracted the toy from the blankets it was tangled in, hugging it to his chest as he sat down. He buried his face in its worn fur and noted that it no longer smelled familiar, which meant Jisung had probably been sleeping with it. Minho’s heart did something weird in his chest and he was still sitting up when Jisung returned, a pizza box balanced in his hands.

As soon as his eyes landed on toy, Jisung’s face burned an even brighter red than the week before and he stared at Minho, his eyes panicked.

“You, um, you forgot that. Last time.”

“I know,” Minho bounced the toy on his lap, then glanced up to meet Jisung’s gaze. “I noticed it was missing the next night.”

“I should have told you,” Jisung set down the pizza box on his desk and hovered there, one hand clutching the back of his chair and the other worrying the hem of his oversized t-shirt. There had been plenty of times he could have brought it up, either over text or over the lunches they’d started sharing, but Minho also could have just asked about it, which he never did. He kind of liked the thought of Jisung have something of his. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minho gently placed the plushie on Jisung’s pillow. “You can keep it.”

“I’ll get you another one.”

“I don’t need another one,” Minho shook his head and slid under the covers, making himself comfortable without dislodging the toy. “Don’t work too hard, okay? Come to bed if you get tired. Please don’t sleep in the chair.”

Jisung nodded, his cheeks still flushed, and turned off the light. Minho snuggled deeper under the covers but kept his eyes open, watching as Jisung sat down at his desk and slipped a pair of headphones over his ears. He watched as Jisung munched on a piece of pizza, watched as his hand tapped out a beat on the arm of his chair, watched until his eyes began to feel heavy and Jisung’s soft humming sent him off to sleep.

Minho was awakened by a knee knocking his sometime in the middle of the night and he cracked his eyes open to see Jisung doing his best to get comfortable under the covers without disturbing Minho. It was difficult, given the small size of the bed, and Minho could tell Jisung was hoovering too close to the edge.

“‘S okay,” Minho’s voice was rich with sleep and he reached out, wrapping an arm around Jisung to tug him closer. “Don’t fall.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall,” Jisung snuggled into him anyway, his hand coming up to interlock with the one Minho had resting on his stomach. “Is this okay?” “Mmmhmm,” Minho mumbled his response into Jisung’s hair. “Cuddles are nice.”

Silence settled over them and Minho thought Jisung had fallen asleep when the younger boy spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “I think I like you.”

“I like you too,” Minho yawned and pressed a kiss to the back of Jisung’s head. “Go to sleep.”

“How am I supposed to sleep now?” Jisung’s whispered voice was shrill and Minho laughed, pulling the other boy as close to him as he could. He slid their tangled hands up, stopping when they came to a rest over Jisung’s rapidly beating heart.

Then, so Jisung wouldn’t feel too embarrassed, he released his hand and flipped the boy over, snagging Jisung’s wrist once they were in a more comfortable position. He lifted the other boy’s hand to his heart, pressing it there so Jisung could feel that it was just as flustered as his own.

Jisung smiled and his eyes met Minho’s in the soft darkness, “You too?”

“Me too,” Minho snuggled his face into the curve of Jisung’s shoulder, keeping their hands against his heart. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“You won’t change your mind?” Jisung’s voice was small and nervous and Minho reacted without thinking, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to Jisung’s lips.

“I won’t.”

“Bin, I need the room tonight.”

“What?” Changbin sputtered and sat up, his gaze incredulous. “Why?”

“Sungie’s coming over. You know, my boyfriend.”

“I know who your boyfriend is,” Changbin grumbled. “And I know he has a single room. You’re doing this just to torture me.”

Minho ignored him, “Sorry it's such short notice, it totally slipped my mind.”

“My short notice is what got you a damn boyfriend in the first place,” Changbin snatched his pillow and blanket of the bed and stomped towards the door. “Of course you waited to do this the weekend Felix and Chan went away. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Not my problem,” Minho sing-singed, tugging open the door and shoving Changbin out. “But may I suggest the couch in the common room? It’s lovely.”

Jisung appeared, shooting a confused look at Changbin and his belongings before his gaze flirted to Minho, “What’s going on?”

“Can’t you guys have sex in your room?” Changbin whined, turning pleading eyes on Jisung. “Not ours?”

“Sex?” Jisung’s whole face flamed red and Minho giggled, slipping out of the room to wrap an arm around his boyfriend and press a kiss to his warm cheek. “W-we’re supposed to be going to the movies.”

“We are going to the movies,” Minho assured him, then stuck his tongue out at Changbin. “It’s called a prank. I got you.”

“Brat,” Changbin threw his pillow at Minho’s head but he ducked, taking Jisung by the hand and tugging him down the hallway as Changbin screamed profanities after them.

“Sex?” Jisung repeated, eyes still wide.

Minho laughed and squeezed his hand, enjoying the flustered look on his boyfriend’s face, “We’ll talk about that later.”

#minsung #han jisung #lee know #changlix is mentioned #minho is sexiled from his room and meets sung #thank you to whoever requested this prompt

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voidendron · 5 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea: Ch 2

Chapter 2: Starting Point Subnautica/JSE Egos Crossover

(( just a tidbit: Chase’s PDA’s voice has been replaced with Sean’s voice! the other survivors each have a different (non-canon or not appearing in this fic) Septic Ego as their own PDA ))

Warnings: Swearing, Minor Head Trauma Characters: Chase Brody POV: Chase Brody

Chase groaned as his eyes fluttered.

Then he coughed.

Then he jolted awake with a start as wide eyes set on the fire overtaking half of the lifepod.

“What?! No, no, no, shit!” He punched at the release for his harness. His frantic tapping was in syn with the headache pounding at his skull.

When the harness released he all but fell out of the chair in a scramble for the fire extinguisher. It was heavier than he remembered.

He continued coughing and wheezing as he put the fire out before throwing the extinguisher to the side and scaling the ladder to throw the top hatch open. Smoke billowed after him as he threw himself down on his back on top of the pod, suppressing a hiss at the bright sunlight.

The pod rocked gently beneath him. All that did was contribute to the nausea he could feel building in his stomach. He forced himself to swallow past it and pressed a hand to the bloody welt in his head. He pushed himself to sit up and squinted down at his PDA as he turned it on. It booted in Emergency Mode, only to immediately go on to tell him he’d suffered minor head trauma.

“Well, no shit,” he muttered.

He fiddled with the device for a bit, cursing and mumbling to himself as he viewed the alarmingly limited data it carried in Emergency Mode. Until he made it back to Alterra to have it reset to its original mode, he didn’t have any of his old files. He couldn’t even check in with his maintenance crew, dammit!

A splash to his right startled him and nearly made him drop his PDA.

When he turned to look, the color drained from his face. He was…he was surrounded by water. No land in sight, while the Aurora’s remains loomed in the distance where it had settled to the ocean floor.

He was stranded. On an alien planet. In the middle of the ocean. With no land in sight.

Chase choked on a sob when it finally hit him.

He couldn’t see any other lifepods. What if—no, no. Don’t think that way. They were small. Maybe they were just…too hard for him to see?

He could see a sand floor beneath his pod. The middle of the ocean, and he was in shallows?

Little…fish, swam about. They didn’t look like any of the fish he’d seen in pictures; with massive eyes that took up a good portion of their bodies, funny shapes. One looked more like a decoration or household appliance than a living creature. Occasionally, one of the eye-fish would jump out of the water. That would explain the splash he heard.

A shake of the head and Chase slide back into the lifepod. Rescue had to be coming, right? It had happened so fast, though… What if the Captain hadn’t had time to send out a distress signal? He knew Keen would have done so in the Captain’s place, if not for the fact that the First Officer was just as stranded as he was. That was, if Keen had even survived landing. Chase racked his brain for what problems Lifepod 19 had. He couldn’t recall, and his PDA was no help in its current setting.

Chase just huffed a sharp breath and sat himself next to the storage compartment. Check your supplies, Brody. Remember the survival training the entire damn crew had to go through.

No air tanks. No swim gear (thank god his work attire was waterproof). He didn’t even have a repair tool, scanner, or Seaglide.

Okay.

We’ll start from scratch, then.

Chase shuffled toward the fabricator as it prepared blueprints, altering the original ingredients as needed to be materials it detected on nearby areas of the planet.

Huh. So that’s how they worked. He’d always wondered how they’d work on alien planets that maybe didn’t have the materials the original item blueprint required. It was just replacing materials with the best substitutes, if not altering the print itself entirely.

A survival situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d wanted to learn that, however.

He’d tried waiting. Three hours had ticked by. Nothing.

He took a shaky breath as he made sure the ingredients showed up on his PDA, as he glanced to the bottom hatch of his pod.

He’d tried fiddling with the radio and damaged wiring where the panel had torn free, but without a repair tool he was out of luck. He could pull off the repairs just fine.

Just…not with his bare hands, unless he wanted to severely burn them or lose a finger or two.

Then, he’d studied the Aurora from atop Pod 5; wondered how anyone still on board could have survived its landing. If they had.

When the shock had faded away, Chase knew it would be a good long while before rescue came. He’d spent one of those three hours trying to calm himself after that realization hit him. They were so far out of Alterra space on this planet. Even when the company realized the ship was down, whether distress signals had gone out or not, it could be weeks—months!—before rescue was able to reach them.

No other option but to start scavenging up supplies he’d need.

He opened the hatch, kicked his feet at the water. Boy, he didn’t like this at all. He slipped on a pair of goggles (they were swimming goggles. Swimming goggles. As in, meant for the ship’s on-board pool and not a lifepod’s inventory. Where was the damn diving helmet? Or oxygen tank, for that matter?) and grimaced as he looked at the ocean just inches beneath him.

Steeling himself and taking in a gulp of air, Chase slid out of the lifepod.

The water stung the gash in his head. He kicked to the surface beside Pod 5 and placed a hand over it with a hiss. An alien planet. And it had a salt water ocean. That would be just wonderful when he needed drinking water.

Diving helmet. He needed one bad. Hey, at least the wound would be disinfected! he thought with a bitter laugh.

“’The Aurora will never go down,’” he parroted with a sneer. “Uncrashable my ass.”

He checked the materials for an oxygen tank and repair tool on his PDA, replaced it at his hip, took another breath of air, and dived.

Laughter to his left—yes, laughter, he wasn’t hearing things—startled him bad enough he swallowed a mouthful of water. He was forced to surface; spluttering and coughing as he treaded water, tried to pinpoint the noise. A large creature with a bulbous tail met his eye. It laughed again and his hair stood on end. There were two others farther away.

Chase backpedaled and the creature turned to swim lazily in the other direction, toward the other two. He’d…give them a wide berth.

Multiple times he’d kick frantically to the surface when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, then go right back under to grab as many supplies as he could before needing air again.

One oxygen tank later (low capacity. Why wasn’t there a blueprint for a high capacity tank? Fifteen minutes wasn’t long enough) and he found himself glaring at his PDA. “The hell’s a ‘cave sulfur’?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Okay. Just. Check the nearby caves? There was one not far from his lifepod; if it was cave sulfur, it wouldn’t hurt to at least check there, right?

He fitted the mask back over his nose and mouth (he wanted a helmet. Not the little mask that was auto-constructed with the O2 tank. He needed a dive suit if he wanted the helmet) and cut toward the direction of the cave opening he’d seen.

Looking into it now, it was a lot darker than he would have liked. What if there was something predatory in there?

He gulped at the thought.

No flashlight, and it would be too easy to get disoriented underwater. Hopefully it was just a small cave…

Using just the weak light of his PDA’s screen, in he went.

It didn’t take long for him to discover the exploding fish.

Chase yelped when a round fish exited a flower-like pod and shot straight for him. He didn’t even process what was happening as he bolted back for the cave’s entrance. He’d scrabbled for a handhold in the rocks; ducked at the creature went right past his head. It proceeded to blow up a few meters away, startling one of the big-eyed fish into darting toward then away from Chase.

Okay. Watch for the weird pod thing that hid freaking exploding fish. Good to know.

“It would be best for your health to avoid the planet’s volatile fauna,” his PDA offered helpfully. All he could offer it was a glare. Cheeky bastard.

He resurfaced to let his tank refill, then went right back down to the cave. There had been something left in the pod after the fish left and—Well. It looked like the cave sulfur that the fabricator had very roughly tried to recreate how it thought the stuff would look.

Wonderful. Hopefully nothing else would need it because he did not want to meet any more of those buggers.

Okay, okay. Just get back to your pod and start repairing shit, dude, he thought. At least now he’d be able to send out a distress signal once the fabricator built this little tool. If it was this much of a hassle to scrounge up supplies for a repair tool, he didn’t want to know how hard other stuff would be. Hopefully rescue would come before he had to figure that part out.

A shake of the head and he pushed himself away from the storage compartment just as the fabricator was finishing.

Repair tool. Finally.

He snatched it up and ducked around the ladder to start working on the radio.

He willed its cables to stitch themselves back together while careful to keep his fingers away from the end of the tool; spliced wires that had been split apart. It was a patch job, but all he could do without actual parts for repairing. It would work, at the very least, to send out and pick up distress signals. He wasn’t sure it could handle having a message sent out, though. He’d have to settle for just the signal.

Now, to just try and relax while he waited for—

“Seek fluid intake.”

“Goddammit.”

#fanfic #writersofjack #jacksepticeye #chase brody #subnautica crossover #deep blue sea #dbs ch2 #blitz indites #swearing /

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carrottheluvmachine · 6 years

Note

Prompt: anything with chubby!tony please! It would really make my day :)

It first became apparent after the snap was reversed. Why Tony had chosen to stop eating, of all things, was a mystery. Stephen thought that perhaps it was because it was something he could control, something to ground himself to reality. Tony needed to be in control now, because leaving things to fate was no longer an option.

He was downright skeletal when they had started dating. Stephen noticed that Tony would get nervous whenever they went on dinner dates, choosing to drink instead of consume anything even remotely resembling food.

It took a while, but Stephen slowly got Tony to start eating again. He put on weight and started fitting into his clothes again. He ate normally and laughed when they went out to eat. Tony even began snacking again, preferring to keep things around his workshop to munch on while he worked. All of it made Stephen smile because Tony was healthy again.

In natural Tony Stark fashion, the billionaire began to overdo things. He snacked a little too much, took more than extra helpings during his meals, and it was beginning to show. Tony honestly didn’t notice until one morning when he tried to fit into a pair of jeans he hadn’t worn in a while. He couldn’t get them up over his hips, his bulging belly getting in the way.

Disgust was the first emotion he felt. How could he have let himself get this way? What did Stephen think?

His breath caught in his chest and his hand found the metal plate that held his nanotech. Fingernails scraped against it and his back hit the wall, vision swimming. A panic attack, his brain supplied helpfully. Yes, he knew he was having a panic attack. But what did he do about it?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stephen run to him. He was turned around so that his back was against Stephen’s chest, the sorcerer’s arms around his chest lightly. One shaking palm rested over his heart and Stephen’s soft voice was in his ear.

“Breathe with me.”

Tony did. And then he did again. Bit by bit the anxiety began to ebb away until there was only Stephen.

“Okay?” the sorcerer asked, eyes meeting Tony’s in the mirror.

Immediately, Tony’s eyes began to fill with tears. “Why are you still with me even when I’m like this?”

There was a beat of silence. Somehow, Stephen knew what Tony had meant. He wasn’t speaking about the anxiety or the panic attacks. He meant his weight. Stephen’s free hand went to Tony’s pudgy stomach, gently stroking the soft skin. “You’re still you,” he whispered into Tony’s ear. “There’s just more of you this way. What’s not to love?”

Tony’s eyes widened and he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He noted the way Stephen held him, so ridiculously tall and solid. His eyes fell on his middle and this time that feeling of disgust was absent. This time, all he saw was himself. No eating disorder, just a little extra pudge. Still perfectly healthy, not wasting away as he had been before.

He met Stephen eye and grinned. “I think you’ve got a kink, Steph.” If the way Stephen was pinching at his middle was anything to go by, then Tony was absolutely correct. It felt nice though. It also sent a spike of arousal coursing through his body.

“So what if I do?” There was a wicked grin on Stephen’s face despite the blush bleeding into his cheeks.

Tony laughed and spun in Stephen’s arms to bring the sorcerer into a breathtaking kiss.

#colie writes #drabble #ironstrange #Avengers #chubby!tony

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wherethingscomebackx · 6 years

Text

Top 25 Larry Fics of 2018

It’s here you guys!!!

I did this list for 2016 and this list for 2017 and you guys have been so lovely!

I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is larry. I like making lists and I like larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2018 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

25.) knock knock, i love you by @thelovejandles

“Well,” Louis says, searching for something to relieve this tension. “I think if a bloke gets kicked out of his stats exam for a knock knock joke, he deserves to hear the punchline, yeah?”

“Oh!” Harry says, beaming. “I forgot where we left off, what was it again?” He looks overjoyed to be exchanging a shit joke.

“Ah, you said knock knock, then I said who’s there, and then you said Noah,” Louis supplies helpfully. He hates that he's actually curious about the rest of the joke. “So, Noah who?”

“Oh,” says Harry, in a much different tone, dragging out the syllable. He looks bashful now. Louis cannot keep up with this boy, it's going to kill him. “Right, well.” He shuffles his feet. Fuck, what kind of knock knock joke gets a boy nervous? “Noah a good place we could get something to eat?”

[Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.]

24.) Let Me Be Your Star by @chloehl10

Harry Styles has always been a singer, but he’s never had much confidence in himself. When his idol is brought on as the new judge on The X-Factor, he figures, what the hell? He’d get to sing and meet his idol. What could go wrong?

Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to mentor young musicians. When he’s asked to be a judge on The X-Factor, it’s a dream come true, everything he ever wanted. What he didn’t expect was to meet a curly-headed stranger that would turn his life upside down

23.) The Compulsion to Find Love by @toomanylarrytears

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

22.) Pursuit by DirtyLarryStylinson

Some people may deceive you by acting pleasant and friendly to begin with, but their demeanour can sometimes take a sinister turn when obsession kicks in.

Louis Tomlinson is seventeen years old and carefree. He has close friends and family, a stable education and a pretty good life overall, so what could go wrong?

Well, a lot. Especially when you've attracted the interest of Harry Styles, who hides a staggeringly frightening secret.

21.) ROUGE by lourryalrightee

Submissive Louis Tomlinson is a misjudged criminal who is accused of beating his own Dominant until unconciousness. But the truth is not like that. In fact, Louis has been a victim of severe abuse by his Dom, he only fought back to defend his own life. One could imagine how many times the Dom has raped the Sub, how many scars from canes and whips are there to litter across his body, how many times his flesh has been split open, how many nightmares he has endured that leaves him lose all hope in life.

Sent to the BDSM prison for "behavioural correction", Louis meets the warden there, Dominant Harry Styles. Dominant above all Dominants, Harry is cold and harsh on the outside, but secretly a lonely man in the inside.

Louis supposes he could find his solace here in prison, a time for his scars to heal, both physical and mental ones. But what if Harry starts befriending the Sub, seeing through all the false accusations? What if Harry wants to seek justice? Does Louis even want his name cleared anyways? But the most important question is,

Will Harry be able to give Louis the love he deserves?

If only Louis could tell him the truth.

20.) Now In A Minute by @avocadolouie

13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for Louis it actually was.

More than anything in the world, Louis Tomlinson dreams of growing up. Simply skipping over all of the awkward, embarrassing years of teenage existence and getting on with life. Real life.

So when thirteen-year-old Louis wakes up in the body of his thirty-year-old self, he expected everything in his adult life to be picture perfect. And maybe it is. He has it all…or so it seems.

Except his favorite person and lifelong best mate, Harry Styles, is totally missing from the equation and Louis doesn’t understand why. He has a lot of catching up to do and as adult life turns out to be more than what he bargained for, Louis can’t help wondering why a life that seemed so perfect, feels so empty.

Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

19.) Wild Love by purpledaisy

“Good,” Julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “Now, I only have one more question before you can go. What are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?”

“We said we’d stay friends no matter what,” Harry says smoothly, his chin lifting in defense.

“That was our one thing going into it,” Louis agrees. “Stay friends no matter what.”

Julia raises a perfectly manicured brow, “That’s all fine and good. But I hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. If one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated, you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, I’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

- AU: Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It's supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

18.) Take Our Bodies Higher by @littlelouishiccups

Harry wasn’t often caught off guard at his job anymore. He called different men Sir, Master, or Daddy for work almost every week, but he’d never been told he was a good boy in a voice quite like that.

In which Harry is a phone sex operator and Louis dials a wrong number.

17.) You Got That Somethin’ by @styleandsin

“How are you? Having a good time? Got a couple of beers in? What are those?” Louis hears him ask in quick succession, the loudness of the microphone making him jump even though the screams around him have yet to cease.

“It’s vodka,” Louis says, slightly unsure.

“Vodka! Oh, straight?” Harry asks, louder this time and with a growing smile.

Phoebe and Daisy have turned around to face him, huge smiles on their faces.

Fuck, this man is really going to be the death of Louis. He can physically feel his brain struggling to make his body cooperate and answer the question. He is so gay.

“No, gay!” He shouts, immediately getting an elbow to the side by his sister.

Or, the one where Louis attends a Harry Styles concert and makes an absolute fool of himself.

16.) The Road Less Travelled By by @freetheankles

Louis was a lumberjack happy to be living his life alone in what could qualify as Middle Of Nowhere, Canada.

Every morning, he went out into the woods, cut his logs, then came home at dusk to a scalding hot shower and a good book by the fireplace. Rinse and Repeat. He had a good life, quiet and peaceful; simple. Not a secluded one as Niall annoyingly claimed.

Louis certainly didn't need some chatty trespasser dropping into his life, his forest, his home. Invading his space, his circle of friends, touching his stuff, asking questions about his husband. His late husband.

A trespasser who wasn’t supposed to crawl under his skin, occupy his thoughts, and steal his heart from where Louis had locked it safely away, only to put it right back on Louis’ sleeve — where it once laid.

No, Louis definitely didn’t need Harry.

15.) Dirty secret by iilarryii

"Dad, you can't go!" Louis yells to his father as he watches him pull out his sword.

"Louis, you know that I have to. It's the pack leaders orders," Dan says calmly. "I need you to promise me that you'll take care of the family if I die."

"So what? You'll just give up?"

"Of course not. I am just willing to die for my family's safety."

"So am I."

The Zoely pack is attacked by rogue alphas and the pack leader orders all alphas over the age of eighteen to protect their pack. Dan Deakin is one of the strongest alphas in the pack, but there is one problem. He has a wife and six kids to feed and look after. Louis is the oldest child and the one who wants to protect their family.

Or a Mulan AU where Louis is an omega who takes his father's place in the war.

14.) Breathe Me by eternalxrry

Omega Louis thinks he's worthless, after being told thousands of times a day, he finally starts to believe the bullies. But no one is there to protect him, until Harry and his pack move to Louis' hometown. Will Harry protect Louis? Or is it all too good to be true.

13.) The Second Hand Unwinds by @fullonlarrie

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

12.) won’t you wear my watermark by @bottomlinsons

The new Earl of Harrisson is a young man, an impulsive romantic, forced to shoulder too much responsibility far too soon. He is also Louis’ soulmate, but there’s nothing to be done about that. At least, as far as Louis is concerned.

The Earl, it seems, will take some convincing.

(A slow burn Regency AU featuring secrets, seduction and, our favourite, soulmarks.)

11.) That’s How I Know by @allwaswell16

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

10.) I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) by @allwaswell16

These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...

9.) Have Faith In Me by stylinsoncity

As the son of Anne Styles, millionaire owner of one of the world's most luxurious fashion labels, Harry has spent his last seventeen years living in carefree extravagance. And now he's grown tired of it, along with the pressure from his mum to follow in her footsteps and the constant care given to him by her past assistants.

When his mum's newest assistant, Louis, moves into the guesthouse, Harry determines to be treated differently. To be treated like an adult. Except Louis is not at all what Harry was expecting...

This is a story about growing up, growing in love and having the faith to make it last.

8.) falling into you by stylinsoncity

In the grand scheme of adolescence and boyhood, Harry was still working himself out, so far with little luck. But four things he could say for certain: 1) he'd been at the top of his class all through primary and secondary school, 2) he was the shittiest alpha to ever walk the earth, 3) Liam Payne never let him forget it, and 4) he’d been in love with this boy, Louis Tomlinson, ever since he was fifteen years old.

7.) Blue Ice by @larriegal

"Don't ever try to get near me! I don't wanna see you." Harry had slurred in his face looking him in the eye.

"I-I don't understand..." Louis managed to say his voice low, pushing a little from the wall holding his left arm with his right hand.

"What don't you understand? I. DON'T. WANT. YOU!" Harry said again pointing at him, while making his way to the living room, Louis following him in horror.

"Why are you being like this?" Louis managed to get out, though he felt like being ripped to pieces.

"You really thought I love you?! You must be really fucking stupid! Who could even love you?"

•

An AU where Louis finds himself in a marriage he didn't bargain for.

6.) If Anyone Knew by @marastarfar

Harry’s a young alpha who’s strangely gentle. Louis’ an omega who’s strangely protective. Being the only ones in the band who aren’t betas they automatically empathise with each other and decide that it’s their job to look after each other.

Or Harry and Louis through the early One Direction years in an a/b/o universe.

5.) Worth Dying For by whoknows

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

4.) Fucking Animals by @pointerbrotherblog

“Just, off the record,” she says, voice lower, eyes sharper, crook of her mouth quirking up a little, “don’t you ever miss it? A good knot? You must.”

Louis blinks and then swallows, thickly. “No,” he exclaims, offended that she’d even ask, “I love my husband. And anyway, how could I miss something I’ve never had?”

---

Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don't necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she's just settling for less, is bullshit.

But, fucking hell.

3.) the impossible now by stylinsoncity

A wish on Christmas Eve sends Louis to an alternate dimension where Harry is a member of One Direction.

2.) Where You Lay by @ham-palpert

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles. Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

1.) For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by @greenfeelings

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

#larry stylinson #larry #larry fic rec #one direction #harry styles #louis tomlinson #1d #larry is real #larry fic #larry fanfiction #fic rec #fanfiction

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lavendersb · 6 years

Text

Summersaults

Connor x reader

words: 1.4k (hoooo boy what happened)

Summary: “Request for something Princess Bride inspired where reader works at the DPD and takes amusement in ordering Connor around who always responds with “as you wish” until they both realize whoops they’ve been catching feelings the whole time“

Working at the DPD was not an easy feat. When you joined a few months ago, you had anticipated some difficulty and knew that you’d need an adjustment period, but as a keen new detective you took the opportunity as soon as it came up.

On one of your first days, Tina had pulled you aside in the break room and explained to you the hierarchy that evolved in the department.

“Look, it’s nothing personal, but you’ll have to work hard to earn your respect” she had said whilst making her coffee “particularly the detectives, they can be quite bossy” she paused, trying to pick her words carefully. She threw a cautious glance towards the bullpen as if paranoid she might have been overheard from your little corner.

“look, it’s nothing big, I’ll do anything. I’m just happy to be here” you said, instantly regretting your words when Tina attempted to supress a cringe.

“yeah, we’ll see how long you last”

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

Two weeks and three days was how long you had lasted. The buzz of a new job had worn off and you had been driven to your wits end by the nightmare that was Gavin Reed. He wasn’t cruel, so to speak, but by god was he annoying. By now, your days consisted of fetching drinks and filing reports for cases you hadn’t even been a part of, you started to feel as though your new job was Gavin’s secretary and not a junior detective. Your life was consumed by running errands for the older members of the department and you had almost resigned yourself to that fate.

Almost.

Connor had joined the DPD two months after you and had and frankly, he was a godsend. The moment Gavin had first ordered the android to bring him a coffee, your troubles were out of the window. Suddenly you were no longer a glorified servant with a shiny detective’s badge, it was Connor who wordlessly took over your mundane chores that had driven you insane these last few months. You should feel bad, you knew how it felt to run around the precinct doing all the little jobs that nobody else wanted to do, but Connor did everything with no complaint. If he wasn’t an unfeeling android, you might have thought that he enjoyed the tasks.

For the first week you had simply left Connor to his own devices. He got along fine at the precinct besides the android related tension that he unknowingly stirred up amongst some of the officers, but soon you found yourself contributing to his workload.

You hadn’t intended to become so demanding, it just sort of happened. It was a Wednesday morning and you were knee deep in a report for a particularly unsurprising case.

“I can literally feel my brain melting” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and rocking back into your chair.

Gavin Scoffed from the desk opposite you “oh really” he peered around the screen in front of him “that’s your problem, not mine”

You shot him an unimpressed look as he chuckled lowly to himself, disappearing back behind the screen. Huffing a little, you threw a look around the bullpen and watched for anything that could distract you from the work in front of you. The shiny coffee machine in the break room winked at you from across the floor and you let out a needy whine at the thought of caffeine. Your need to drink coffee and your need to move as little as possible conflicted in your brain as you sat there dumbly gazing into space, your brain willing you to both stay in your seat and sprint to the break room resulting in the commands cancelling out leaving you motionless.

Then you saw an opportunity, shaped like the new android detective that had taken up residence at your workplace. He walked through the centre of the office clutching a tablet in his slim fingers and his LED blinked between blue and yellow as he studied what was on the screen I front of him.

Before you could stop yourself, you swivelled in your chair to face him “Connor can I ask you a favour”

Connor looked up at you and his LED settled on a brilliant yellow as he looked at you with his content smile

“of course detective, what can I help you with” he said with his usual lilt and that charming little head tilt. At his response you had to push down the little bubble of guilt in your gut.

“can you get me a coffee since your up?” you asked sweetly, flashing him a hopeful smile and gripping the side of you chair.

Connor’s LED slipped back to blue as he nodded

“of course” he repeated before turning and leaving turning towards the breakroom and you watched the infamous deviant hunter become your personal barista.

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

Much to Gavin’s delight you unknowingly began to adopt his habits. Particularly his work habits as you gradually began to become more demanding of Connor. Now deviated, you were more sensitive when asking for favours from the Android, but now you felt that you were closer, friends even and so you didn’t feel nearly as bad as you should.

“this is it, I give up” you tossed your pen down onto the desk. The case you had been working on had hit a dead end and you were feeling the frustration greatly.

“geez just ask to switch cases with someone, or better yet get the butler to do it” Gavin suggested as he sat down opposite you.

“Gavin” you warned, his nickname for Connor striking a nerve.

“What? It’s not like it isn’t true, you go to him for everything” He leaned forward on the desk.

“I don’t go to him for everything,” you shot back quickly, folding your hands across your chest.

“uh-huh. Whatever you say,” Gavin said dryly and resumed with his work.

You glanced over at Connor, you didn’t rely on him that much, did you? You hated thinking that you might have become a burden to him. You valued the interactions you had with each other and you felt something ugly and heavy tug at your insides at the thought that you had treated him unfairly.

Yet as you continued to ponder the case in front of you, you found you were running out of options. You knew Gavin was busy and wasn’t likely to help you, and you had worked hard to form a decent relationship with Hank and didn’t want to risk that by burdening him with more work. You looked back over at Connor as he worked away at his desk, maybe he wouldn’t mind? He seemed to enjoy solving cases, and he’d probably help sort it for you in no time.

With a sigh you stood up and walked towards Connors desk. He seemed entirely engrossed in his work, rapidly scanning the information on the screen in front of him. Timidly you approached him, clinging onto your tablet with both hands.

“Hey Connor” you said quietly “are you busy?”

“yes detective, this case is quite a handful” he replied innocently. Shit. That does it.

“ohnevermindijust-“

“oh, no detective if you need help”

“nononoConnoryou’rebusy-”

“I really don’t mind, I’d very much like to be of use to you”

Before you could continue your word, vomit Hank interrupted –

“Jesus Christ (Y/N), just accept his help and get on with something else”

You paused, looking between Hank who hadn’t even turned to look away from his screen, and Connor who was looking up at you from his chair.

“Please detective, it would bring me great pleasure to know I’ve helped you,”

And how could you say no to that face? His sincere smile just pressed the corner of his eyes, and those eyes they just made your heart do somersaults at the fact you could do something to make him happy.

“Could I scan the files?” he prompted, nodding at the tablet in your hand, you nodded stupidly and handed it over and watched silently as he briefly scanned the document you had open.

“Thank you, Connor” your brain helpfully supplied as you tried to pull yourself out of the mental shutdown you were apparently experiencing.

“That’s alright, it shouldn’t take long” he said, handing the tablet back to you.

“of course it will, you’re an android, you’re crazy intelligent with a crazy intelligent system. You’ve probably already solved it” your mouth was running on autopilot and the tiny part of your brain that still functioning was screaming at your disaster of a sentence.

“No, it will still take me some time. But I appreciate the compliment detective”

Somewhere across the bullpen you heard Gavin snort.

A/N: so i got a tiiiiny but carried away writing this and i realised that it was like 100% just exposition so..... part 2 maybe? let me know what you think!

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nebulous-frog · 6 years

Text

Outlast the Darkness

Summary: From the prompt: a hurt/comfort fic that takes place during spooky week from any year (i’ll leave the nature of the hurt up to you, as long as it doesn’t involve depression or something like assault or abuse)

Phil was with family for a few days, leaving Dan alone at the flat. Of course, this was also right when they decided to film scary videos for Halloween, so the job fell to Dan. Everything was darker, quieter, and spookier without Phil, especially after Dan filmed Outlast, but he was determined to be brave, at least until Phil came back.

Word Count: 4245

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Some Angst

Warnings: Descriptions of fear of a break-in (although no break-in ever takes place)

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas! This fic is totally not Christmas themed at all lol but it's for my Secret Santa Fic Exchange with @phandomficfests, written for @velvetnautilus. Thank you to m'pal @pasteldnp for betaing, you were super helpful! Also, I’m super late posting this to tumblr lmao whoops but here I am now This fic takes place during Spooky Week 2014 and has a couple direct quotes from this video

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

“That’s- that’s enough. That’s enough. That’s enough for today,” Dan stuttered through a nervous laugh. It was time to be done with Outlast before he had an actual heart attack. He took a deep breath, then reached over to turn on the light.

He flicked the switch on the lamp but immediately squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

When you open your eyes, there won’t be a face staring back at you. There’s nothing there.

He took another deep breath and opened his eyes, sighing with relief when the room was empty. He looked over to the door and saw that he left it partially open while filming, and he shuddered at the black emptiness of the hallway beyond it.

There’s nobody there, so you can go over and turn on the hall light and it’ll be fine. Go do that. You’ll feel better.

Dan stood up and walked to the door, opening it more to look outside the gaming room.

“Quick check for axe murderers in my house,” he said in a sing-song voice. He exaggerated his calmness for the camera through jokes, but he really was shaken up by the game. Once he had established that no one was in the hallway, he flicked on the hall light and walked back over to his gaming chair. “No people wearing baseball bats in my hallway at the moment, great! ‘Cause I don’t have any lockers to hide in,” Dan said with a forced chuckle as he sat down.

Not that that helped me in the game. Or would help me in real life, he thought grimly. He ran a hand over his face. Come on, then, pull it together for the last bit here.

He stared down at the keyboard.

“That was extremely stressful and terrifying,” he laughed, “but I liked it. Whether I do it on this channel or in my own time, I think I’m definitely gonna continue playing this game.”

And it was true. He did enjoy playing the game and he had every intention of completing it. Although, maybe not when he was home alone. He wasn’t sure how he’d make it through the next two days without Phil there to keep his imagination under control.

Whenever Dan played a scary game, Phil was there afterwards to calm him down. The adrenaline from the game would leave him exhausted but high-strung, flinching at shadows and unexpected noise. But then Phil would find him and talk to him about anything as a distraction, and slowly Dan would return to reality. He’d be able to confidently walk through their flat in the dark without fear of unknown entities attacking him. Phil’s grounding presence saved him from many long nights and panic attacks. Without him, Dan was in for a difficult few days.

He shook his head to clear it, then gave a big smile to the camera. He launched into the end card spiel, throwing in a joke about how, once he returned, Phil would be able to distract any murderers in their house while Dan escapes.

Dan ended the video, then went through the process of shutting off the equipment and closing out of the computer. He used this as an opportunity to calm his mind, choosing to put all his brain power into pushing a few buttons so it wouldn’t think of terrifying scenarios with axe murderers.

As he clicked the last button to log off the gaming computer, the microphone fell with a clatter.

Dan jumped in surprise, clutching at his chest and turning to look at the source of the noise. When he realized it was only the microphone, he laughed in relief and bent over to pick it up.

To the camera, he said, “That was my microphone falling off the desk, okay. I’m gonna stop, I’m gonna stop.”

He laughed again, then reached out to turn off the camera equipment. His hand was shaking like a leaf. He shook his head at himself and rolled his eyes.

You’re fine, Dan, it was only the microphone. Calm down.

Eventually, he finished putting away all of the camera equipment and shut down the computer. He turned to the door of the office and stood to leave the office.

Time to go downstairs for dinner and then bed. Try not to think too much about the dark hallways you’ll have to pass through to get there. Don’t think about the faces that could jump out at you, or the murderers that could be lurking around corners, or the terrifying giants that could be ready to kill you at any moment. Don’t think about it.

“Oh, god,” he whispered to himself. He took a brave step forward, then another, and another, until he was in the hallway and staring down the stairs.

While the stairs themselves already had a light on, the hallway at the base of the staircase was pitch black. Dan would have to walk down towards an empty abyss and nearly enter it blind before he could turn on the lights in that hallway.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Okay, Dan, you can do it,” he told himself. “Back to the wall, come on.”

He rotated slightly so his back could press against the wall, then took a cautious step down one of the stairs. It was slow-going because of the awkward angle, but he made it to the light switch for the hallway and immediately flicked it on. Now assured that the hallway was safe, he checked behind him to make sure his back was okay.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. He had left the light on in the office.

I am not going back up there to fix that. That’d take too long and be too dark. He turned back to the hallway. Phil is gonna kill me for leaving all these lights on. Oh well.

Dan continued down the hallway slowly. Luckily, the door to the lounge was closed, so he didn’t have to worry about it.

Unless there’s someone lurking in there and waiting for me to go to bed so they can jump out and kill me in my sleep, his brain helpfully supplied. And what about the staircase down to the bathroom, huh? That’s still totally dark right there. Someone could be there watching you right now. He gulped but decided to ignore the stairs in favour of running the last few steps to the kitchen.

As soon as the light switch was in reach, he flipped it and dove into the now-bright kitchen, narrowly avoiding banging his head on the glass door.

He breathed a sigh of relief into the empty room.

See, Dan? You’re fine. There’s nobody here trying to kill you.

He walked over to the cupboards and opened a few, checking to see what his options for dinner were.

If you cook something, you’ll be out in the open for longer, his idiot brain whispered. A chill ran up his spine. Maybe then, when you turn around, you’ll see someone through the glass door, waiting for you to come out so they can-

“No, no, no, nopity nope, we are not doing this right now, Dan,” he interrupted his own thoughts. “I’ll make some cereal and eat it in bed and everything will be fine. There are no murderers in the flat,” he said into the cupboard.

He went around the kitchen, picking up a bowl, a spoon, milk, and the box of Crunchy Nut (still full, since he’d only gotten it that day and Phil hadn’t been around to steal it), all the while avoiding looking through the glass door.

Rationally, he knew nobody would be outside the door, but his brain had him feeling just paranoid enough that he knew he’d have to convince himself it’d be okay. For the moment, however, he ignored it so he could get his cereal.

Once he had assembled his cereal, he replaced the milk and cereal box to their rightful spots and closed all the cupboard doors.

Now you have to turn around and leave and go straight to your room. It’ll be easy, just turn around and go. There’s nobody there.

Even as he reassured himself, however, his brain rebelled. It conjured an image of a big burly man standing beyond the glass door, breathing heavily through a grimace and holding a baseball bat in his hand. In Dan’s mind, the man was staring straight at him menacingly, waiting for him to get closer.

Dan felt panic creeping up on him, but he forced it down as best he could. He had to stay level-headed long enough to get to his room and then he’d be safe. But first, he had to turn around.

Just in case something was there, Dan put his bowl of cereal down on the counter so he wouldn’t drop it. He gripped the spoon tighter in his hand as if it could be a life-saving weapon somehow, then forced himself to turn.

Spinning quickly on his heel, he faced the glass kitchen door and saw- absolutely nothing.

He sighed in relief, though his shoulders were still tense.

See, Dan? There’s nothing there. You’re totally fine.

He picked up his cereal and made his way to the door.

Okay, you’re gonna run to your room and close the door. You’ll be fine.

With one last breath, Dan took off running down the hall, refusing to look behind him.

Right as he was about to enter his own bedroom, he changed course and dove through the door on the left, shutting it quickly behind him and pressing his back to it. He flicked on the light and relaxed when he saw that he was alone in the room.

He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to go to Phil’s room. It wasn’t even technically Phil’s room- they shared Dan’s for sleeping and only used Phil’s as a set for filming.

Maybe it was the brighter colour scheme, which always reminded him of Phil; maybe it was the knickknacks littering the room; maybe it was that Phil went in there just often enough that his scent barely lingered in the sheets.

Whatever the case, Dan had chosen Phil’s room and there was no way in hell he was going back into the empty hallway.

He walked over to Phil’s bed, setting his cereal bowl down on the bedside table. He took his phone out of his pocket as he sat down on the bed. There was a message notification on his lock screen.

Message from Phil

Dan felt his heart ache. He missed Phil, especially after his traumatizing filming experience. It hadn’t been that long since Phil left, but he couldn’t help it. Phil was his comfort, always there to distract his overactive imagination on nights like this.

The text notification served as a reminder that Dan was alone to deal with his anxiety and paranoia, but it also made his lips twitch upward slightly. Phil was thinking of him.

Dan swiped open his phone to look at the message.

My Spork <3: hey bear <3

Dan quickly typed out a response.

Me: <3 hi

He bit his lip, trying to decide if he should send more. After a few seconds, he sent another text.

Me: i miss u

Not long later, Phil responded again.

My Spork <3: i miss u 2. how was filming?

Dan ran a hand through his hair, his eyes flicking to the door nervously.

Me: ok. the electric bill might be higher than normal though, sorry

His stomach grumbled, so he set his phone on his knee and reached for his cereal. As he took his first bite, Phil’s reply came in.

My Spork <3: :( r u ok?

No, I’m hiding from the imaginary murderers in your room while eating cereal.

Dan took a deep breath. Don’t tell him that. It’ll worry him too much.

Me: ill be fine. hows the north

Despite the hundreds of miles between them, Dan could feel the weight of Phil’s suspicious concern. He felt a twinge of guilt at making Phil worry anyway, but shrugged it off. Phil would be more worried if Dan told him the truth.

My Spork <3: the north is good. my mum thinks she shouldve tried harder to get u to come with me

At least he’s letting it go.

Me: maybe next time, if we dont have spooky week to worry about

My Spork <3: i wish i could be there with u for that. i know what ur like after scary games. u sure ur ok? we could skype if thatd help

Dan looked around the empty room as he debated whether or not they should Skype. On the one hand, it would definitely ease his anxiety about being alone, at least for a little while. On the other, Phil would see the state he was in and feel guilty about making Dan do Spooky Week alone, which Dan definitely didn’t want. Phil was with his family and he shouldn’t have to deal with Dan being ridiculous.

But I really want to talk to Phil...

Me: im ok, i promise

Me: but we can skype anyway, if ur not busy

Me: but we dont have to

Dan bit his lip after sending the texts in rapid succession. Phil would know there was something up for sure.

My Spork <3: im always free to skype you

A wave of memories of 2009 washed over Dan as he remembered how true that statement was. It filled him with a warm sense of fondness and made his cheeks flush.

He looked around him for his laptop, then remembered he was in Phil’s room.

Oh, shit. It’s in the lounge. I’ll have to go back out in the hall.

He stared warily at the closed door, psyching himself up to leave.

The sooner I get up, the sooner I can come back. Then you’ll be talking to Phil, and Phil will make everything better. Come on. Go get it.

Dan took a deep breath, then launched himself off the bed and wrenched open the bedroom door. He ran down the hall and past the terrifyingly dark staircase until he reached the door to the lounge.

You’ve made it this far, he thought as he panted, back against the wall. Just dart in there and grab it. In preparation, he turned on the torch on his phone.

He took another deep breath and opened the door. The lounge was dark, but he ignored everything in the room except the couch, where he could see the dull reflection of his silver laptop resting on the armrest. He dove for it, made sure he had the charger, then fled the room, slamming the door behind him.

Okay, now get past the creepy-ass staircase and you’ll be fine.

Finally, Dan was sitting on Phil’s bed with his laptop plugged in and open to Skype. Phil was already online, so Dan clicked the “Video Call” button.

Seconds later, Phil’s face came over the screen in grainy, laggy quality.

“Hey, Bear,” he said with a soft smile. He looked like he was sitting on his bed in his childhood bedroom.

Dan’s heart ached as he remembered how often he’d done this with Phil before they lived together. He wasn’t sure how they’d managed it back then.

“Hi,” he replied. He reached over to Phil’s bedside table and grabbed the cereal he’d left there. The cereal was soggy now, but he ignored it. There was absolutely no way he’d be leaving Phil’s room now, so soggy cereal for dinner would have to do.

On Skype, Phil’s eyebrows crinkled. “Are you eating cereal in my room?”

Dan felt himself blush and was glad for the poor quality of the camera.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. It had only been a few seconds and yet Phil already noticed that everything wasn’t as fine as Dan tried to lead him to believe.

Not that that was surprising; Dan’s texts had probably been a dead giveaway, anyway.

“Oh, Bear,” Phil whispered. He looked sad. “That game really freaked you out, didn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

Dan looked into his cereal bowl and swirled the milk around with his spoon. He shrugged, but stayed silent. He waited for Phil to get upset with him for lying.

But Phil was much too good a boyfriend for that. Instead of calling Dan out on his lies, he changed the subject.

“I miss you,” he began. “Visiting relatives isn’t the same without you. I have no one to hide in the corner with.” His lips quirked up in a small smile.

“I miss you, too,” Dan said. He finished off the cereal and put the empty bowl on the bedside table. “Have you been eating lots of sweets, at least? I’m sure your mum has been feeding you like crazy.”

“Oh, she definitely has. She’s already been making food for me to take home to you, too.”

Dan grinned. He loved Kath. She always made sure to think of him and include him, which he greatly appreciated.

“Your mum is too nice. Tell her I’m excited to eat whatever’s left by the time you get home,” he gently teased Phil.

“Oi, I’m not that bad!” Phil argued, feigning indignation. Softer, he added, “There’ll be some left for you, I promise. It’ll be a good reward for living without me for a few days.”

Dan scoffed and shook his head. “As if your mum’s baking could replace you. My reward for being alone will be cuddles, a film, and shitty pizza.”

Phil chuckled. “Okay, that sounds good.”

They fell into a companionable silence for a few seconds, each imagining how nice it would be to be back in each other’s arms finally.

Dan broke the silence. “I really miss you. It’s too quiet and empty.”

Phil frowned. “I’m sorry, Bear.”

Dan shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve come with you, but I decided to stay home and play a scary game.” He trailed off for a moment, breaking eye contact and remembering the creepy face of the man with the bat. His finger subconsciously traced over the edges of the square mouse trackpad. He shuddered when he recalled the fear he’d felt. “I almost didn’t call you, actually. I knew you’d feel guilty, but I don’t want you to.”

Phil looked like he wanted to protest, but held himself back. “I’m going to give you some amazing cuddles when I’m home, okay?”

A small smile made its way onto Dan’s face. “Okay. I’m holding you to that, you know.”

“I’d expect nothing less. Cuddles are important,” Phil said seriously.

Dan let out a little giggle and it tapered off into a sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Phil replied. Suddenly, he yawned. “I’m getting tired. I don’t want to hang up, though.”

Guilt shot through Dan as he realized how late it was, and he was quick to reassure Phil. “No, no, that’s okay. You need to sleep. I’ll be fine with all these lights on. I can be brave tonight.”

Phil smiled fondly. “I want to be there so you don’t have to be,” he whispered sadly.

Dan’s heart melted. This whole conversation and situation reminded him so much of that first year, and clearly, Phil was thinking the same thing. He sighed, feeling somewhat nostalgic.

“For the most part, I don’t miss 2009,” he said, pondering. “I miss how carefree we were, that’s for sure, but this long-distance thing really sucks. How did we ever manage it?”

Phil shrugged through a yawn. “Endless Skype calls and nonstop texting? I’m pretty sure we drove our families insane along the way.”

Dan laughed. “Yeah, probably.”

They fell silent again, this time reminiscing about the past.

Or, at least, Dan had been reminiscing. From Phil’s end of the call came a deep snore, snapping Dan out of his reverie. He focused back on his laptop screen and saw Phil with his head tilted so his chin rested on his chest, his eyes closed. Dan chuckled.

“Hey, Phil,” he called softly. “Phil, honey, you have to wake up.”

Phil’s head jolted and his eyes open. “What? I was sleeping, though,” he whined as he regained his bearings.

“You’ll get a stiff neck if you stay like that, not to mention how your eyes will dry out if you don’t take your contacts out,” Dan chided.

Phil blinked, seeming as though he hadn’t considered that. “Oh. Right. I’ll be right back.”

Before Dan could say anything else, Phil stood up and left the frame. Dan adjusted his laptop so it rested on the bed next to him, then got under the covers and laid down. He moved the laptop lid so Phil would still be able to see him.

A few minutes later, Phil returned, this time with glasses. He got into bed and copied Dan’s arrangement, laying down with the laptop next to him.

“Can you stay on the line?” Dan asked tentatively. “I’m going to try to sleep but it’ll be easier if I can kind of hear you.”

Phil nodded. “Of course.” He took off his glasses and put them on his bedside table, then made himself comfortable. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” Dan whispered back. He could feel sleep creeping up on him, and he was grateful that Phil would stay on Skype to keep his mind from imagining other things that might creep up on him. He watched as Phil’s eyes slipped closed, then let his own fall shut. Through the crappy laptop speakers, he could just barely make out the sound of Phil’s breathing, and then the sound of soft snores that grounded him in reality. He finally fell asleep feeling much more relaxed than he’d been all night, thanks to Phil.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days passed by in a blur of excessive lighting and loneliness. Dan kept most of the lights on all the time as if the light alone would be enough to fend off any murderers that may pop in for a visit, especially after editing Spooky Week videos. Playing through the games had been bad enough, but going back through them to pick out clips for the actual videos was much worse. He had to relive the fear from each video multiple times to make sure what he got was just right.

But Phil was finally returning, and that meant cuddles and pizza and safe.

All day, Dan anticipated Phil’s return. He tidied the flat, piled blankets on the sofa, and set aside Phil’s favourite pyjamas for him to change into as soon as possible. Dan himself was wearing joggers and Phil’s York hoodie, which he normally only wore when sick as a reassuring comfort. He felt like he deserved it after his traumatizing few days alone.

Around 5pm, he heard the door open. He jumped up from where he’d been sitting idly on the sofa and ran down all the stairs.

“Phiw!” he yelled happily.

Phil looked up from where he’d been trying to manage his keys, coat, and suitcase in time for Dan to slam into him in a bear hug. He stumbled back a step, his back hitting the door as Dan buried his face in his neck.

He chuckled and put his arms around Dan, one hand going to cradle his head and the other wrapping around his waist. He pressed a soft kiss to Dan’s hair.

“Hi, Bear,” he whispered.

Dan’s arms tightened around Phil.

“I love you,” he said. He kissed Phil’s neck chastely, then settled himself in Phil’s arms with a content sigh.

“I love you, too.”

Phil gently began to sway them side to side and pet Dan’s hair with one hand.

A few minutes later, he spoke up.

“As much as I love this, we should move it to the sofa. It’ll probably be more comfortable,” he mumbled, though he made no move to break the hug.

Dan sighed. “Yeah, and I have everything set up, too. Your pyjamas are on the bed for you.”

Neither of them moved.

“We have to let go if we want to move to the lounge,” Phil pointed out.

Dan groaned. “I know, but it’s hard. The lounge is so far away.” Despite his words, he finally lifted his head. He gave Phil a soft kiss, then stepped back and out of his arms entirely. “I’ll meet you in the lounge, okay?”

Phil nodded, then grabbed his suitcase and trudged up the stairs.

Not long later, they were curled up on the sofa, limbs tangling together. Buffy was on the TV, but they weren’t paying attention to it. Dan had his nose tucked into Phil’s chest and his hands clutched at Phil’s soft T-shirt.

“You’ll scare off the murderers and monsters, right?” he mumbled, glancing up at Phil’s face.

A small smile graced Phil’s lips, and he nodded. “Of course,” he whispered.

Dan smiled lazily in response, blinking slowly. He yawned. “Then I think I’ll just take a little nap. You’re cosy.”

One of Phil’s hands came up from Dan’s hips and rested gently on his face. His thumb tenderly caressed Dan’s cheek, and Dan leaned into the touch with a hum. His eyes slipped closed and he snuggled farther into Phil’s chest with a sigh. Within minutes, he was asleep, feeling safer and calmer than he had in all the time Phil was gone.

#phanfic #fic exchange #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #established relationship

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