#lots of feelings

[cerleansky]

The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.

I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.

~Edit~

Yikes guys I didn’t expect this post to blow up.

I’m grateful it did though. Looking at all the comments and tags really takes a stab at my heart because it just shows how wired we are for connection. If life has any meaning, then it’s that.

This concept really sunk its teeth into me as it reassures the notion that no one is ever truly gone. Parts of them just change into you.

That teacher I talked about inspired me to become a teacher myself. This was my first year teaching. Here’s to a new generation of curved i’s.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 2)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

GIF by aenhanse

(AO3 Mirror), Part 1, Main Masterlist

summary: You confront Miguel.

warnings: breeding kink, cum play, animalistic behaviour (not quite ABO), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, praise and degradation, Miguel eats ass like a fucking champ, general filth etc etc. very very 18+, minors dni (and i will b blocking!) 

a/n: thank you for all the support for part 1! I will say, all the comments about relationship building and stuff do make me laugh a little bc this part is literally just p0rn with a teensy tiny bit of feelings.. but if you follow me this should be pretty standard by now.

wc: 4k ish

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

You let yourself in again, but not until after pounding on the door. 

You think he's home, the scent of something in the air. At first glance, his place is empty, but a mess : cushions ripped off the couch, kitchen ransacked of its contents, floor covered in blankets and clothes. It makes you worry: Miguel is so clean it's scary . He would never leave his place like this. You hear something from his bedroom and rush towards it.

He's there, back turned on the bed. But something's wrong. In sweats and a tank top, he's breathing heavily, clutching at the sheets. 

"You shouldn't be here." He strains. 

Eyes wide, you step closer. Is he in pain? Is he hurt? "Miguel. I just want to help. Did something happen?" 

All he does is shake his head, unable to make eye contact with you. "I c-can't let you… please, bichita. It's not safe for you."

Your heart breaks at his helplessness, you get closer, and perch on the bed next to him. He jumps at the hand you place in his shoulder. Fuck. He's drenched in sweat. 

"Miguel, please. Let me in… I'd do anything. Just let me help."

He groans with his head in his hands. "I know, bichita. That's the problem. I can't let you…"

You look at him properly now. He's writhing on the sheets, tense and unable to sit still. Guiltily, all you can think is how good he looks; pretty even when his hair sticks to the nape of his neck, when he groans lowly at your presence. Your eyes rake down his body, looking for a secret wound, or something he's hiding. When you spot it, you gasp. 

Miguel is rock hard under his sweats. And he is massive. 

It clicks. Ashamed, he makes hesitant eye contact with you. "It's not usually this bad. And it gets worse if I'm near someone I'm…" He breathes. "Someone I'm attracted to."

You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement; of the situation. "I think that's just what erections do, Miggy." 

He rolls his eyes, too annoyed to be as uneasy for a moment. " No , God, I meant my DNA. There's something wrong with me, something animalistic , that makes it ten times worse. I'm going crazy. Smell, taste, touch… and it doesn't just go away. "

You hum. "And what's your hypothesis?" 

He looks at you, a little crazed, but he gets it. If you talk to him like it's one of your status reports, like it's another mission, maybe he can stop thinking about pounding you into the sheets and filling you up with his cum. 

He clears his throat. " You . Gets worse when I t-think about you, or you're near."

You've got a hand on his thigh, rubbing circles that go straight to his head. 

"What makes it feel better?" 

Deep breath. "Touching myself. But I haven't… and I won't-" 

"Why?" You smile like a Cheshire cat. Are you… enjoying this? 

"I can't. You're a friend and it's a violation of your trust."

"It hurts. You're in pain. I give you full permission to give yourself some relief. You can touch yourself, for me. I want you to feel good."

His hips buck up involuntarily. Just thinking about it is driving him crazy. " Mierda. Stop talking like that-" 

"Like what?" You bat your eyelashes. 

"Like that ." He hisses. "Like you want to get fucked."

He squeezes his eyes shut, even more guilty. "I'm sorry. That's not appropriate at all. I shouldn't have… snapped like that."

You rub your legs together: you're fucking soaked. Like this, with his senses going crazy, you don't know if he can smell it, taste it in the air. The thought makes you even wetter. 

You mumble. "Meant it, Miguel. I just want to watch."

Agonisingly slow, you sink to your knees in front of him. He watches, eyes wide, trying not to lean into it. 

"Do you want me to beg? Because I will, if it makes you feel better." 

He grabs his crotch, rocking into his palm. You're breaking him down, bit by bit. 

"I think you like punishing yourself, Miggy. You think you deserve it. How long have you been like this? Weeks, I bet. When all you needed to do was ask me. I would've helped you over the phone if you wanted it. Told you how to stroke your cock, where to put pressure, asked you if it felt good. Think about how good it would feel. The relief. "

You rock on your heel and it doesn't go unnoticed. You light him on fire, and the thought of you getting off only pushes him closer to the edge. "Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper. He nods fervently. "I've always wanted you in my mouth. Just wanted to know what it would feel like; how pretty you'd look when you cum."

It's too much. His back arches, and he groans, spilling into his sweats. Astounded, you look up. So. Much. Cum. You didn't think a person could physically produce so much, but here he is, coating the inside of his boxers with it. Miguel, however, looks embarrassed: his first orgasm in a week and it's spilling into his trousers in front of a pretty girl like a teenager. He groans, covering his flushed face. 

"Can I…?" Your eyes are wide in amazement. Shakily, he nods. 

Is it bad for you to say he looks just like you imagined? Tan, long and with a bit of girth, and under all the cum he seems well-groomed. He's still half hard, which is impressive considering the sheer amount of cum splattered everywhere. Probably, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. As you pull down his boxers, your very obvious glee makes him pause. 

"...you like this?" He seems genuinely confused, and it makes you giggle. You've flustered him, yet again. 

Resting a head on his thigh, you look up at him through innocent lashes. Your other hand swipes cum off his tip, making his cock jump. "Could ask you the same. You're still hard." 

"I can't believe…" He mutters. "You're gonna kill me." 

"What do you want, Miguel?" You put a hand on his length, rubbing up and down ever so slightly. "You want to get off?" 

"I want…" It makes him grunt all the same. He goes from wayward glances to looking you straight in the eyes. " You . I want you." 

"How do you want me?" Deceptively innocent, you coax his length back to full mast with your hand. 

How do you want me? There are a thousand thoughts flying through his head, and his brows tense with the weight of them. Head back, he leans into your touch. He doesn't want to scare you, with the way he's been thinking about that question long before you asked: weeks, months, years before now. You see him hesitate, and bite his lip.

Your hands still and he cries out, cursing the loss of warmth. "M'not asking again." A little softer now. "No judgement, Miggy. I just want to help." 

Deep breath. "Anyway I can. Wanna fill you up with my cum. On top. U-Underneath. Mierda. I want your mouth. I want your sweet cunt. I-" 

You silence him with a moan when you envelope his cock with your mouth. You close your eyes in bliss as you bob up and down. Just the tip, teasing , and he's already addicted. With a pop, you separate, pressing sticky kisses and kitten-licks to his shaft and torso. He can't take his eyes off of you: peeking up at him through wispy lashes, licking up his cum. 

Pretty, plump lips smack at his tip obscenely. He can't help but think about how well it suits you; mouth around his cock like something holy.  Precum pours from his slit and you lap it up, chasing his moans. Your own moans vibrate deliciously around him and he wraps a hand in your hair. Finally. You want him to enjoy this, to lean into your head-bobbing, and force your head down onto his dick. You want to feel him in the back of your throat, bullying into the warmth of your mouth and moulding you into the shape of him. 

It starts with a little pressure at the back of your neck, deceptively subtle as he rocks his hips into your face. Making eye contact, you look up and feel your pussy clench around nothing. His eyes are lidded, gorgeous, mouth slightly parted and tongue darting out to wet rosy lips. 

"You want it, hermosa ?" His voice has a different texture to it: deep and wanting and needy. 

As best you can, you nod, humming affirmations around his cock. Oh God, of course you do. You want him; anyway you can, anyway he'll let you, more than he'll ever know. 

He pushes you down, hard, cock hitting the back of your throat like a piston. You gurgle and choke around him, throat tightening in a way that makes him melt. You force yourself deeper, hot tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. Your hands claw at his thighs, nails digging so tight into the fabric you think he might bleed. Winding a hand down to your heat, you press your palm into that sweet spot at your clit and Miguel watches, hungry. 

"Oh fuck , you feel so good. I'm gonna– m-mierda – m'gonna cum."

With a final tug, he pushes you down so your nose brushes at the curly hairs leading down to his cock, spilling into you with vigour. It pours down your throat and you drink it up with pleasure. 

"All gone?" He asks, panting with exertion. In response, you open up your mouth, sticking out your pink tongue so he can inspect it. He stirs when he realises just how cock drunk you are: nary a trace of him left on your tongue.

Slowly, he brings a thumb to your mouth, and watches intently as you swirl it around, and suck on it keenly. The pressure makes him light headed, other hand reaching for your waist to pull you up. And pull you up he does, turning you around so he can take off your suit and have you seated on his lap, where you belong. 

You let him, shrugging off the top half of the suit as he pulls down your zipper. Surprisingly gentle, he traces the slope of your shoulders, and down to your bare ass. He groans. No underwear, because of course , you want to kill him. You want him to die, pussy-whipped and half-hard. He pushes you towards the wall, back pressed flush against him. He drags his fangs across your neck and whispers into the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver. 

"Once I start," He kneads your ass, grinding his cock against you. You gasp. He's still hard. "M'not gonna be able to stop. And it's not going to be sweet, bichita . You leave now and I won't be angry . I–I'll give you space, whatever you want."

" Miguel," Head back, you moan into his touch, dragging his hand towards your slit, hoping he’ll relieve the pressure at your pussy. "I want it to hurt. I want to feel it tomorrow– fuck– f-feel it when I walk and know it was you . Need it. Need you , please-" 

He bites into your shoulder, and you moan wantonly, back arching into his length. He places your hand on the wall, palms flat. Like the chaser after a burning shot, he soothes haphazard squeezes down your back with his mouth. Hot, messy kisses, as he sinks to his knees. He forces you to hinge at the hip.  Breasts pushed against the cool wall, you gasp when you feel him spread the globes of your ass as he presses his tongue to your hole. He licks the length of your slit, and like a slut, you lean into it. 

"Prettiest cunt I've ever seen, hermosa." He brings his hand to your clit, giving you a wet slap as he watches you shudder. Again, and again, until you cry out. 

" Miguel, fuuuck." 

How has he gone his whole life without hearing you say his name like that? Yet again, he almost cums in his pants, loosely shoved over his aching length. All he can do is watch as your holes flutter and clench around nothing, mesmerised. 

"You'd look even prettier filled with my cum, hmm?" He presses a sticky kiss to your puckered asshole, before easing his tongue inside. One hand holding you open, the other comes to play with your pussy, swirling your wetness around your throbbing clit. 

He tongue-fucks you with fervour, like a man starved: only coming up for air to babble obscenities. 

"Tan bonita, bichita." Slowly, he eases his fingers into your cunt, scissoring them open and shut. He wants to break you apart with only his hands, if you'd let him. "So pretty– fuck. So soft, baby. Beautiful."

You're close and he knows it, fucking yourself on his fingers and face like a bitch in heat. Undeterred, he brings a thumb to your clit pressing down with juust the right amount of pressure. 

"Wanna feel it, hermosa . Can you cum for me? All over my fingers like a good girl, just like that, así de simple."

With the way he paws at your pussy, all you can do is clench around his fingers. He guides you through a shaking, biting orgasm, licking up your cum with a flourish. Even with shaky legs you manage to turn around and pull Miguel up, and he follows eagerly. He looks fucked out already, eyes low and lips swollen with your slick. He motions to strip, stretching his tank top across the expanse of his chest and letting his cock spring free from his sweats. When you move to help him, he stops you, moving your hand from his tank to his solid torso beneath. He wants you to touch him; to feel your soft palm run across his skin, and sink into the warmth of your body. 

One hand at your waist, he presses you against the wall, grinding his cock to your clit. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and they fit like they belong there. Close, impossibly close, and his pupils are blown, wide. It's like he can't decide what he wants to do to you, sharp red eyes darting over your lips, your neck, down to the juncture where you both meet. A paralysis of choice, and all he can do is drink you up in the low light. 

And so, you make a choice for him, lips crashing against his, hand snaking around to guide his cock into your hole. He sinks into you - finally - and you swallow his moans in the aftermath. He's slow to start, eyes screwed shut as he gets used to how tight you are around him. Slowly, he rocks into you, the heat of his palm steady at the crook of your back. 

Miguel opens his eyes, caging you in with his other arm. He's testing the waters, angling his hips to find the spot that makes you tick.

"I didn't-" He breathes. "Didn't think it would be like this." 

You look at him in your haze, brows knitted. 

"I thought that when I finally fucked you, it would be more romantic." He gives you a strained chuckle and warm smile. "This is better in some ways, though." 

"Better , Miggy?" 

"Real." Your cunt flutters around him, and his pace stutters. Not once does he break eye contact, something swirling beneath the surface. "Not in my head. God , that sounds pathetic."

You giggle into the crook of his shoulder. It shouldn't be possible, but his eyes soften even more. And then, his expression changes into something dangerous. 

"I can't do this just once, bichita. You can't give me a taste and then take it away. Es cruel, mi vida."

As if to punctuate his point, you feel his tip slam into that spongy spot in your walls. His strokes become more calculated, punishing and exact, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your body. 

"Miguel – fuck– that's not fair- " 

"Can't keep humping my hand como un perro , like a dumb dog, anymore." He brings both his palms to your ass, spreading you apart, and pulling you up onto his dick so your toes barely touch the floor. The slap of your ass against his thighs and heavy balls fill the room, pornographic in nature. 

"Let-" Smack. " Me-"  Smack. " Fill-" Smack. " This-" Smack. " Cunt. " Smack. 

You babble into his ears, affirmations and praise that makes his heart and cock swell. 

'So pretty, Miguel. Yours. All yours." You rake your hands through his hair, harshly tugging him closer in a way that makes him burn up. Clenching around his length, you wrap your legs around his waist. He barely falters, pulling away from the wall and slamming into you regardless. You've seen him like this before; fiery determination that flares up on a tough mission. Tunnel vision: a razor-sharp resolve that has manifested itself in a man hellbent on your pleasure. 

"Miguel. Miguel, I-" I love you, I love you, I love you, I- " -wan' you to cum with me. Deep, please."

Now, his pace gets sloppy, hips stilling to drive himself as deep as you asked; so you can feel him long after you separate. Hot, sticky cum pumps into you and his balls strain with the effort of it. You claw your hand against his back, trailing delicious marks with your nails. When you clamp around him, you swear you see his eyes roll back - lost in the bliss of your cunt. Together, you come down from the high, bare chests panting against one another. 

"Don't look at me like that." His lips graze yours, soft and plush. You stretch your chin upwards, chasing the trace of a kiss he refuses to give to you. Eventually he relents, leaning into a sweet kiss, arm wrapped around your waist. 

He pulls himself off of you with a wet smack, gently carrying you to his bed. He places you in his sheets and you look beautiful, blissful, and fucked out. Cum drips onto your thighs and he feels a pang of possessiveness. His cum. His baby.

Clambering in to spoon you, he can't help but paw at your pussy, using his fingers to stuff his cum back into you, tracing lazy circles on your thigh with his other hand. 

"I'm on birth control, Miggy. So no need to worry." You snuggle into his touch, bare skin against one another. 

"Wasn't worried." He grunts, sounding almost disappointed. You catch his tone, intrigued.

"No harm in trying," You lilt, turning around to place your palms flat on the wide span of his chest. "You wanna fuck a baby into me?" 

Nodding, he groans, head back into the pillow, and you push him onto his back. Pussy throbbing, you straddle his hips; thighs tight around his middle. You can feel him growing harder in the slick of your slit. 

You arch into him, tender hand around his throat. It's a sight he won't forget easily: you on top of him, the gloom of the night tracing the swell of your tits. An angel, all the same. You whisper something into his ear that gives him goosebumps; a full body chill that goes straight to his cock. "My turn, bichito."

~~~

"You never called." Miguel says, laying his head next to yours, after wiping you down with a clean towel. He hands you a spare shirt of his, and you put it on, self-conscious. 

The two of you had fucked well into the night, making good on your promises. His stamina was relentless, pumping load after load into you, pussy-drunk and babbling. There was an intensity there that couldn't be explained: one that made both of you crazy for one another, burning you out between the silky sheets of his bed. Something you had initially attributed to his rut, whatever he had called it, but desperately hoped it was something more. How could this be just sex? After everything you had said and done, it would crush you: to taste the forbidden fruit and have it snatched away just as easily. 

You had both laid there for a bit, afterwards, cock softening in you. Plugging up his cum, he had said, but it felt more intimate in the quiet calm of his bedroom. 

"You didn't either." You throw back at him. 

"That's not th-" 

"I know, I know. It just felt weird, s'all." You turn from him, looking up at the ceiling. Counting the mottles and marks in your head, suddenly shy. After all the filthy things you've said and done to him, he still makes you shy. "I thought I did something wrong."

His heart breaks. "No, no , it wasn't-" 

"Not just today. Last time…a-and the time before that, honestly. We see each other less. You're always busy with something. Felt like you were avoiding me." Rubbing your temples, you sigh. "S'why I cut some corners on the mission. Made mistakes. I thought if I did well, and we had something to talk about…"

"Mierda." You can't bring yourself to look at him, to see the disappointment in his scarlet eyes. But it isn't disappointment, and it’s not directed at you. 

"I wanted to call, but I didn't. Because I didn't think you would answer." Finally, you turn to see his brows knitted: swirling with shame, guilt, sadness. Quickly you add, "I mean, I know why now. I think. And it's really on me, I should've said something or-" 

"I just… I didn't know what to do with it." He takes your hand in his, squeezing tight. 

"...I don't understand."

"All this love I have for you." He says, impossibly soft. "I didn't know what to do with it."

You know him like the back of your hand and you've heard it all: angry, snarky, giddy, beautiful Miguel O'Hara. But this? Confirmation of the feelings you've held for years at this point, dismissed during late nights and pored over during lonely ones - this? 

"And I didn't think you felt the same way, how could you? You're beautiful, and smart, and you have this… way of making people burn as bright as you. So I poured myself into work. That's all I know how to do, bichita. Work. Suffocate under everything. You don't deserve it."

With the way he says it; resigned, matter-of-fact; you want to cry. Still, he hangs on to the notion that he must earn it : that his claws are too sharp and fangs too bloody for redemption. For love, for life, for good things. Miguel O'Hara; doing what needs to be done. Alone, always. 

You come closer to cup his chin, to make sure he's looking at you. There can be no ambiguity, no gray area when you say what you want to say. 

"You don't tell me what to do, O'Hara . " You press a kiss to his cheek, and another to trembling lips. "I decide what I deserve. No-one else does, not even you."

"It's not like you listen to me, anyway." He says with a shaky smile. 

Sitting up slightly on your forearms, you place your head up on his chest. Listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart. You don't need your super senses to know that he's alive, that he's here. The look in his eyes; you couldn't explain it if you wanted to. 

"Bichita." You say, out of the blue. No doubt due to your poor pronunciation, he winces. "What does it mean?" 

Clicking his tongue, he waves it off. " Very vulgar, you don't want to know. I mean, I shouldn't really-"

"Hmm." Shaking your head, you feign ignorance. "It's just that Lyla said it meant sweetheart, or little bug... terms of endearment, I think was the phrase."

"She said that?" He frowns. "Lyla's filling your head with nonsense, m'afraid. It's sarcastic. Post-ironic, metatextual… it comes across completely different in Spanish, mi vida."

"Post-ironic? That's not even the second most pretentious thing you've said today…" Giggling, you bury your head into his chest. 

"Of course not. I reserve my best stuff for you."

"Real classy, O'Hara. Bet you say that to all the poor women that end up in your bed."

"Nope." He hums. "Just the ones I've been in love with for the past two years."

He pulls you closer, smiling into light kisses on your shoulder, the fat of your stomach, your thighs, on your cheek. Kisses everywhere, anywhere he can reach.

"Just you, bichita." He breathes into your skin. "Only you ."

_

_

_

taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @ebrysteria

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

allegedly supposed to be applying for jobs but I’m super not

[loveismyrevolution]

"Good things come to those who wait" they say. And I hope the wait was worth it.

Finally, after all this time, here's the chapter all the drama, heartbreak, misunderstandings, confessions and feelings have built up to. Here's what all of you (and the boys as well 😏) have been waiting for since the start…

✨

Chapter 22: Bound to Lips' Touch

(As a "warning" of sorts...this chapter earns its E-rating. 12k of almost only very emotionally charged smut...)

summary:

If he was honest, he knew exactly what the difference was between all his former experiences and...this. He thought he had taken it into account in his equation though. Deep within, Sherlock had always known that he loved John Watson. … And there it was, the reason for his nervousness. Never, never, had he had a lover like John. John cared for him. He cared for John. This wasn’t merely sex — this was about so much more…

(or read from the start here : X )

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[cradleghost]

LYLA helped Miles escape Nueva York

Hear me out

- as soon as the Go Home Machine booted up she would have theoretically know about it         -  I’m not sure exactly how integrated she is in the Spider Society system in ATSV but my personal opinion is that she basically runs the place.                 + She has a connection to all of the gizmos in order to send pings and allow them all to communicate

               + constantly scanning for anomalies 

               + able to keep track of and record information across dimensions 

               + Miguel would want her to be able to have access to basically everything because he has severe FOMO and wants to be in-the-know everything in order to keep a handle on it — and LYLA is the only one he trusts to do it. 

- with all that, Miles didn’t Sabotage anything when he returned to the base, he simply booted up the systems, which would immediately alert LYLA 

- My Guess is, that since she has such a close relationship with Miguel, she has seen the downward spiral he has been on, and knows that Miles fighting back and not following Miguel’s orders was the final push for him to snap (I have other thoughts about this in regards to both LYLA and Peter B. that I will get into later. 

- Because she knows that Miguel has tipped over that edge, and what she is capable of, once she receives the notification that the GHM Is active (after “seeing” the whole chase and, again — theoretically, hearing the conversation between Miguel, Miles, Peter, and Gwen, she makes the decision to help Miles.)            + she does this by letting the program run, letting Miles boot the systems and filling in what he missed in the startup that he didn’t know about, allowing him access to the hand-scan and admin protocols.

- when Margot trying to figure out what was going on, LYLA kept throwing screens in front of her, and distracting her

               + if she is as integrated as I believe she is, she wouldn’t have had to ask “what’s happening” — it would have been simple: ALERT: unknown admin access — no designation (which should have been denied (she’s a super computer, she could make an educated guess that after they all lost track of Miles that the attempted access was him)), SCAN: earth-42 (which, if she is able to access a database of dimensions, like when she was tracking spot, she knows is one with no registered spider-person, which again, educated guess could tell her that Miles (who she knows is from Earth-1610 and who was bit by a spider not from his home dimension)) was the one booting it up.

- with all of that: Miguel knows that Miles’s DNA scan would come up with something other than Earth-1610 (he’s a geneticist in the comics so I’m translating that into him in ATSV, and knows that the scan would be funky with it). While he may not know Exactly what universe Miles’s dna would show, he counts on LYLA to send him wherever the GHM sent Miles when Miguel opens his own portal, and because he is so in-the-moment and pissed, doesn’t double check, ending up in E-1610 where LYLA knows Miles Is Not Currently Located.

Anyway I’m sure I’ve missed some things but these are just some of my Many Thoughts on the subject

[rainbowrelyea]

Supercorptober Day 21: "Lavender"

Read on A03 instead

Lena stands in the hallway playing nervously with the key in her hands. A key she’s surprised she still has. She's stood in front of this exact door a hundred (a thousand?) times, used the key to let herself in at least a few dozen times, probably more - yet here she was, unable to force herself to turn the knob. She’s not really sure how long she stands there, but at some point, she finally takes a deep breath to steady herself, squares her shoulders, and lets herself into Kara’s apartment. 

It hurts more than she expected it to, being back here. The last time she was in this apartment Lena had come to tell Kara she was wrong about Non Nocere, to ask for forgiveness - and then ended up with Alex’s gun pointed at her head. It’s not exactly a fond memory. Before that, it had been nearly half a year, back when Lena still came over for movie nights and cuddles on the couch. Before Lena found out about Kara’s secret identity in the worst possible way and everything went to shit. 

And now Kara is gone. The apartment is quiet and achingly empty without the joyful sound of her laughter to fill it up. It’s been three days since Lena’s deranged half-brother sent Kara to the phantom zone - fucking Lex - and the super friends still have no idea how to rescue her. Lena’s not sure Kara would even want her here, with their friendship still on rocky terms, but she just needed something , some kind of connection, some reminder to keep her from giving up hope. 

The apartment hasn’t changed all that much from what Lena remembers, at least as far as she can tell. She walks slowly around the space, taking in all the details she’s seen so many times before, but that suddenly carry so much more weight now because the details are so uniquely Kara. The fluffy blankets on the couch. A blue coffee mug on the kitchen counter with a red supergirl logo and yellow writing that says “Have a SUPER day!” (a gift from Nia), and another mug next to it covered in a pattern of brightly colored donuts. The easel in the corner with some of Kara’s paintings propped against the legs and her box of painting supplies next to it. The assortment of different sized picture frames scattered throughout the spacious loft on various tables and shelves, filled with smiling photos of Kara’s family and friends. Lena stops short when she realizes the picture of her and Kara together is gone from the shelf where it used to sit. It shouldn’t surprise her, after all the hurt she caused, but it still stings - more than it should, considering Lena smashed her own framed picture of them with a whiskey glass. She squeezes her eyes shut and forces herself to swallow the lump forming in her throat. 

For whatever reason, Lena decides to wander past the partition into the space Kara uses as her bedroom, running her hand over the familiar blue and green patterned comforter on Kara’s bed. When she glances at the bedside table, she feels her heart stop. Kara didn’t get rid of the picture of her and Lena - it’s right there, on the table next to her bed. Right where she would see it every morning and every night. But why? Why would she want to look at that after everything? 

It’s all of a sudden too much for Lena, and she sinks down heavily on the edge of the bed. She can’t stop the hiccuping sob that claws its way out of her chest or the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, so she grabs one of Kara’s pillows and squeezes it to her body as tight as she can. As she does, her nose tingles with the lingering scent of lavender and vanilla. Kara. Years of being best friends (years of being in love with her best friend), Lena knows that scent, one she used to breathe in and try to memorize every time she and Kara shared a hug or snuggled up on the couch together.

She’d give anything to hug Kara again. 

The sharp pang of her anguish cuts into her like a knife twisting in her stomach, and suddenly she feels like she is drowning under a tidal wave of emotions. She clutches desperately at Kara’s pillow and rocks herself back and forth, while she cries deep gasping sobs that feel like they are being ripped from her lungs. Her eyes burn from the hot tears that are now streaming relentlessly down her face, dripping onto the pillow and sliding down her neck to soak the collar of her shirt. Once again, she feels like her heart is being cracked open, but this, this is infinitely more painful. This isn’t just some fight between friends, this is her possibly losing Kara forever. She doesn’t think she can live with that possibility. 

“I’m so sorry Kara.” Lena chokes out between labored breaths. “I’m so so sorry. This is all my fault. I promise I’ll find a way to bring you home. I promise.” Her voice cracks on the last words, her throat so raw she can barely speak above a whisper. 

Lena cries until exhaustion wins out, until her body hurts as much as her heart, and she has no more tears left to cry. When her breathing finally returns to normal, she decides it’s time to pull herself together and go back to her own apartment. She can’t stay here any longer, it’s just too painful of a reminder of Kara’s absence, and Lena needs to be focused if she’s going to help the team find their missing friend. She breathes in one more deep breath of the lavender and vanilla scented pillow, trying to commit the smell to memory before she leaves. 

She’s about to walk out the door when she stops herself. She turns around and walks back to the couch, where she picks up one of the fluffy blankets Kara always keeps there. One they used to share, with popcorn, and chinese takeout, and hot chocolate, and stories about their respective days. One that still smells like Kara. She takes it with her so she can have just one little piece of Kara to hold onto, a reminder of what she used to have, of who she is still fighting for. 

———

When Lena gets back to her penthouse, she carefully removes the picture of her and Kara from the broken frame and puts it in a new one. She falls asleep with Kara’s blanket wrapped around her and the picture clutched to her chest. 

———

Lena returns to Kara’s loft a week later when the blanket finally loses its scent. Kara is still gone, and the apartment is still too quiet and lifeless. Lena’s heart still feels like it’s been hacked open by a dull axe.

She lets herself curl up on the couch for a moment, finding the other blanket she had left here last time and pulling it tightly around her, breathing in the familiar smell. She imagines Kara cozying up on the couch next to her, socked feet tucked under her legs, her head resting on Lena’s shoulder, blonde hair tickling her neck. She thinks about all the times she wished their cuddling would turn into something more, how she wished she could have had the courage to tell Kara how she felt. 

“Kara…” she pleads to the void. “Please come back Kara. I’m so sorry. For everything. I miss you so much.” 

“Please… I love you.”

The blanket is wet with tears when the whispered confession floats away into the silence of the empty apartment. 

———

Lena ends up staying at Kara’s apartment. She told herself it would be too painful, but it turns out her crippling misery was determined to follow her no matter where she went. So she surrenders, and just lets herself be surrounded by everything Kara. It hurts, but there are also happy memories here, ones Lena wants to hold close to her heart for as long as possible. 

———

Another week and a half drags by, and then by some miracle, the super friends are finally able to rescue Kara from the phantom zone (with help from Lena’s yellow sun grenades, which she is very proud of, as she should be). When Kara stumbles onto the ship and collapses into her sister’s arms, everyone can tell that she is physically and emotionally drained. There’s no time for pleasantries or conversation - Kara needs to be taken as quickly as possible to the med bay for a full exam and to get her onto a yellow sun bed so her body can begin to heal. 

It’s two full days later when Kara is finally recovered enough for the super friends to throw her a welcome back party at the Tower. Meanwhile, Lena’s anxiety is at an all-time high. Her and Kara’s friendship was in a shaky place when everything went down with Lex, and Lena doesn’t know if Kara blames her for what happened. She doesn’t know what Kara may have experienced in the phantom zone and how that might affect her. Trauma does strange things to people, Lena knows that from firsthand experience. Is Kara even the same person anymore? Will Kara still want Lena in her life? 

The first positive sign is that when Kara enters the common room to the sight of donuts, flowers, balloons, and her friends and family gathered around, her face immediately breaks out into a genuine Kara Danvers smile, all full of white teeth, dimples on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. She still seems a bit tired and perhaps a little more reserved than usual, but otherwise very much still herself, and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. 

Kara works her way around the room exchanging hugs, each team member expressing their joy at having her back, and Kara expressing her own joy and gratitude in return. Lena is the last one left, and she feels her heart flutter and her throat go dry when Kara’s eyes meet hers. The superhero nods her head towards Lena with a fond smile and her arms open wide, and it takes all of Lena’s willpower to force herself to walk when all she wants to do is run at full speed into Kara’s warm embrace. When their bodies finally meet and they melt into each other, everything feels right again. Like all the empty spaces in Lena’s heart are being filled back up and every ache and pain in her soul is being soothed by Kara’s presence. She’s home. She’s home. She’s finally home. 

“It’s only because you’re on the team that I’m here,” Kara murmurs in Lena’s ear. She squeezes her so tightly it almost hurts, but Lena just squeezes back as tightly as her own strength will allow her. She feels the tears sliding down her cheeks and takes a deep breath through her sniffles, trying her best to hold herself together. When Kara finally pulls back, she pauses for a moment, her hands drifting to Lena’s shoulders. She cocks her head to the side and looks at Lena with a soft smile on her face and a gentle question in her eyes. “Your scent… vanilla and lavender…?”

Lena knows exactly what she is asking, because Lena usually smells like her expensive perfume, or her coconut and hibiscus scented shampoo. And there are a thousand ways Lena wants to answer that question, a thousand things she wants to tell Kara that she can’t put into words just yet. So she tries to pour all her emotions into a single sentence, and hopes Kara understands. She bites her lip to stop it from quivering and gives a tiny shrug, before she answers in a small shaky voice. “I really missed you.” She ducks her head down and tries to swallow, her throat constricted with emotion. She gathers what courage she can to open herself up, to lift her head and make another confession, whispered so softly only Kara can hear her. “The only thing that kept me going was the hope that I would get to see you again.”

Kara is silent for a minute as she stares into Lena’s glassy green eyes, her own tear-brimmed blue eyes searching Lena’s face for some hidden truth. Lena wills her to find it, to see all the love Lena holds in her heart for her. She wills Kara to hear the way that same heart is currently hammering against her ribs, even while it feels like it's stuck in her throat. 

When it seems like Kara has found what she is looking for, she whispers back, her own voice cracking just a little. “I really missed you too.”

There’s a weight to the way Kara says it, the words feeling charged with hidden significance. Lena's thoughts go to the picture of them she found on Kara’s nightstand, and wonders - could she…?  Now it’s her turn to search Kara’s face for answers, and as she does, she finds herself looking into a longing gaze, blue eyes filled with overwhelming affection, and sparking with a sudden fire she’s never seen before. Kara moves her right hand from Lena’s shoulder to softly cup the side of her face, her thumb gently wiping away a tear from her cheek. Lena lets her eyes flutter closed for a second as she leans into the warm touch. There’s a moment between them, a low buzzing electric current connecting their bodies, air thick with anticipation, a silent conversation with their eyes. Kara's eyes flit to Lena's lips, nodding her head almost imperceptibly, and then she leans her body closer to Lena’s, drawing them both towards the inevitable. 

The collision course they are on is abruptly derailed by Alex, completely oblivious to the moment of intimacy she just interrupted. “Apologies from Kelly, she really wishes she could be here, but she had a full day of orientation at Social Services.”

Lena reluctantly steps back to allow the sisters to talk, but she can’t help noticing the way Kara's shoulders droop ever so slightly, and the look of disappointment on her face. A sentiment Lena definitely shares.

(What she doesn’t see is the way Alex glances between her and Kara, and the fleeting moment of realization in the older Danvers’ eyes, followed immediately by a quick flash of guilt, as she puts two and two together). 

The moment is over though. Conversation moves on, and everyone goes about their business as if nothing happened. And as far as everyone is concerned, nothing did happen - only Lena and Kara are privy to the wordless declarations that passed between them. 

But it did happen, and it gives Lena hope. More hope than she’s had in a long time. And she knows there are conversations to be had. Her and Kara need to talk about their fight, and how to trust each other again. Lena should probably explain why she was sleeping in Kara’s apartment. Clearly they need to discuss the feelings it seems they both have for each other, with actual words this time. (though perhaps some of those feelings could be expressed in other ways…)

She knows Kara will need to heal from the emotional and physical trauma of being in the phantom zone, and that alone could prove to be a difficult obstacle to overcome. There’s still a long road ahead of them, and most likely not an easy one. 

But for now, Kara is home, and that’s enough. 

[jgabi51]

“Home doesn’t exist anymore… because of you!”

Sonic Prime was great and I can’t wait to see what happens next. There are still so many questions that we have unanswered. But listen y’all Sonic is gonna need therapy.

!!!!SPOILERS(sort of)!!!!

And its a lot of reading, like if you are going to read this next part sit down and be ready for bad grammar and to think critically

What Sonic is going through in Prime felt like/reminded me of the metal virus and or lost world. In those stories the basics are: Sonic doesn’t listen, does something impulsive, makes the issue worse, everyone gets on the ‘Sonics fault’ bandwagon sooner or later and yells at him; people expect Sonic to fix everything, forgetting that he is a living being too who needs food, rest, support, to fix the problem. In past games Sonic seemed too happy in the face of the grave situations he was faced with. For the sake of argument, to me this is Sonic putting his ‘hero’ persona on to inspire hope in those around him. And maybe to try and fool himself as well. But in recent stories, and under certain writers, Sonic has matured to show more emotion and vulnerability to better flow with the dark themes his adventures address. Some great examples of this are Unleashed, Frontiers, and of course the metal virus saga. To clarify, I’m speaking in reference to the difference between: Sonic showing genuine emotion of (mostly) any kind [typically when by himself as an internal monologue or when around 1+ of his very close friends] vs. Sonic being exaggeratively bravo, trash talking his opponent(s), overly optimistic, and narcissistic [typically dawned while enemies or someone whom he met recently or doesn’t see often are present or when he his in public/has a lot of eyes on him]. Think Sonic in the Tail’s “am I a burden?” Scene in Frontiers vs. Sonic being allegedly in prison and tortured for 6 months after he gets his behind handed to him yet seeming fine and as confident as before once a complete stranger comes and saves him in Forces. Also to note, if it wasn’t clear, Sonics impulsiveness, impatience, quick-wit, fast learning/adapting nature, creativity, sense of justice, and ‘valuing his friends/family’ mindset is shared and holds strong across the board. They’re skills, traits, and morals that shape the spiky blue speedsters opinions and views; his personality. Those things are just who he is. Woo! That was lengthy but theres more, I bring this all up because in Prime I saw hints of both: the too-happy/‘hero’ persona Sonic who’s sassy, snarky, and a bit of an a-hole and the Sonic who feels the pain, would sacrifice a world/universe (hehe) for his friends, is Tails’ (adoptive and unofficial) big brother. This shows that Prime has a lot of potential and Prime!Sonic has a lot of layers yet to be explored as a person. Which may shed light on what Sonics personal and mental journey might hopefully for me be as the story is told. I just hope either Sonic snaps, breaks down and cries or yells and rants about (not killing anyone or a villain arc, just not yet) or if Sonic is gonna be able to keep it together til the end we see him get his trauma addressed. Either way blue is gonna shed tears and its all I can ask for.

[this-acuteneurosis]

Rage

Leia isn't sure what Padmé was expecting, but Leia definitely offered something different.

Sabé is very good at being the adult in the room.

[latibulator]

"I love you angel"

Vash x Wolfwood, trans Vash, angst, just a lot of feelings (653 words)

This was written by my intense fear that I'm impossible to love.. Enjoy!

Vash watches Wolfwood stumble into their motel room. He gets up to help him. Wolfwood is leaning his full body weight on Vash and they both almost end up falling. Vash manages to guide his friend to bed. They're watching each other closely. Vash had always assumed that Wolfwood would never like him like that. He had settled for friendship a long time ago. He was happy with them being friends, really the only thing he wanted was to be close to him. But he'd still be lying if he claimed it didn't pain him when Wolfwood flirted with others. In fairness, Vash also tried to flirt whenever he spotted a hot chick, but it was all distraction. Distraction from Wolfwood and his strong yet gentle demeanor. Vash knew that his problems wouldn't go away, but somehow, everything felt more okay in Wolfwood's presence.

While these thoughts usually had a firm grip on Vash, there was only one thing he could think about as he was watching his friend get comfortable in bed.

I love you angel

I-

Love you-

.. angel

These four words were circulating in Vash's mind. Wolfwood had kind of been joking, plus he was really drunk. But there was just something about the way he'd said it. It was as if the words had unintentionally escaped his mouth. There was something sincere in Wolfwood's voice and Vash had thought there was an almost scared look in his eyes after the words had been uttered.

I love you angel

Vash was pretty sure he knew what those words meant. He sat down on the side of the bed opposite from Wolfwood, with his back turned towards him.

Vash was fighting back tears.

I love you angel

The four words Wolfwood was never allowed to say. If he hadn't meant it, it would destroy Vash. But if he had, that would be worse. That would mean that he would never let Vash go. Wolfwood was an addict and if Vash was his latest addiction, he wouldn't stop pursuing him. Vash would have to show him his wounds, including those that hadn't yet scarred over.

He'd have to show him how his body wouldn't match what Wolfwood was expecting. Would he even still be into him? Vash didn't think so, but even if he did, he would soon tire of the nightmares. If Wolfwood could get over his genitals and chest, surely the nightmares would be too much. Everyone always says it won't bother them but after the fifth night defined by panic it would be too much. And even if it wasn't, his body was broken. Wolfwood had seen his scars before and although he said they didn't, Vash wasn't completely convinced they didn't disgust him. But the scars were only a small part of each injury. What would Wolfwood think on the days when Vash couldn't get out of bed. On the days when he was in so much pain that all he could do was stay alive. What would he do when Vash could no longer be of service, and worse yet, when he would eventually require assistance.

Vash started crying, shoulders shaking and his breathing getting caught in his throat.

Wolfwood noticed the strained noises coming from the darkness. He sat up and made a clumsy attempt at pulling the angel close. He couldn't bare to see such a beautiful soul in so much pain. He hugged him tightly, never wanting to let go.

"I love you angel," he whispered.

Vash's crying stopped for a second and he looked up at Wolfwood with his beautiful eyes.

"Don't say that," Vash dropped his head again and the tears came welling back. Wolfwood was confused, he recognized the look in the angel's eyes but he couldn't for the life of him understand what Vash was scared of.

"It'll be okay, I'm here for you. Whatever you need," he said as he held the angel tighter.

[andvys]

part 13 is coming together slowly here’s a little sneak peek:

[kg-clark-inthedark]

Corvo's last travel log entry in Dishonored 2 breaks my heart every time:

"Dunwall. My other home. Full of memories, now tainted by someone else's power fantasies.

I can't wait to give Delilah her nasty spirit back and be done with it. I still don't know how much of what she claims is falsehood.

It's true that she has some of Jessamine’s traits. It hurts to admit that because I don't want to see Jessamine in anyone, except Emily. And I see so much of Jessamine in our daughter. Not only physical resemblances. The sad frown when someone tells a mean joke. The sweet smirk to Wyman during the council meeting, when she thinks nobody's watching. The sharpness in her eyes when she argues with natural philosophers twice her age.

I want to bring that light back into her eyes, undo Delilah's darkness. How many times did Emily tell me she wasn't a porcelain doll, when we were training? Always asking for more, smiling at the bruises and scratches. I want to watch her press the attack again, screaming at me in exhilaration. I want her to be alive again. My little girl."

Corvo, all these years later, is still in mourning. He seems to go through the events of Dishonored 2, not to regain the Empire, but to regain what is left of his small, broken family. He's exhausted, weighed down by regrets, and full of anger, but he presses on for his daughter. Despite all of the tragedy and suffering of 15 years ago, Corvo still sees Dunwall as his other home because that's where all his memories with his loved ones have taken place. He sees so much of Emily's mother in her, but also sees himself as well. His main motivation throughout all of his hardship, it seems, is love.

Idk man he's just like...a really good dad :'(

[sugarhog-au]

A doodle of all the scars Shadow still had after the events in my fic. Plus some comfort doodles because he deserves some.

[dominimoonbeam]

Throwback Whenever Because

ao3 is still down so here’s that DASH get together fic I wrote like a year ago. <3 <3 I don’t remember if this is what I titled it as a fic or not but this is what I named the file.

David/Asher

tags: injury, angst, hurt/comfort, scar, getting together, having feelings

It Was Raining

It was raining, a lot.

They’d been out looking for a runaway when the storm hit, the whole pack prowling the woods just outside Dahlia. It was a job and a favor and something David was starting to regret the worse the weather got. It wasn’t like the guy was a danger to anyone. Just some thief. Some thief with a huge bounty on his head…

“Found him,” Milo said across their link.

David saw Asher change course mid-run and followed. Asher had always been the fastest of them, but he also knew he wasn’t running full out, because he was catching up.

“I see him too,” Miguel added, a laugh in his voice. “Fucker is drenched and looks happy to be caught.”

“We’ll bring him back to the road and the trucks,” Milo said.

“Do it. We’ll meet—” David started to say when he saw the ground up ahead shifting, the mud sliding off a sharp incline right under Asher’s paws. He ran faster, toward him, but the disaster was already playing out. Saplings snapped under the moving ground cover and Asher’s run turned into a tumble and slide as everything pulled toward a cliff edge and treetops below. He didn’t even get out a howl, and when he went over the edge, David felt like his heart had dropped down to the pit of his stomach.

Asher shifted from wolf to human and at first David thought he’d lost his fucking mind. He’d be better off falling in his wolf form than—But Asher was fast. He shifted midfall and caught the slender body of one of those bent over saplings, hanging just off the edge.

David shifted to human when he reached the cliff, the mud still tumbling off and down the slope. Asher laughed against the rain, his sneakers kicking at the wet ground but only shifting it, not able to climb. He looked up at David, hanging on. His breaths came fast, ran hitting his face, but he smiled big. “That looked cool, right?” he called over the storm.

David was absolutely not ready to admit that it looked cool—even if it definitely had. He dug his boots into the mud and crouched, grabbing onto one of the still standing trees and leaning out to try to get ahold of Asher.

Asher reached up with one hand, still smiling. His fingers brushed David’s and then his smile was gone. The sapling he was holding on to came loose from the mud wall and he fell back. David grabbed at his hand but couldn’t get ahold of him, grabbing at air and rain and watching his best friend, his person, free fall.

Asher shifted before he hit the ground, yelping and rolling down the slope. David watched, helpless to do anything but memorize each hit and roll until he tumbled below the tree line, disappearing.

David didn’t wait to hear him howl back up to him. He shifted and started running around the slope, toward a spot where he could get down, even then it was a mess and a struggle and he only barely managed not to go rolling.

“We’re at the road. Putting the bounty in the truck,” Milo said.

“Asher fell. I can’t see him,” David said back. Fuck the bounty. Asher still wasn’t talking. Wasn’t howling. Wasn’t whining.

David howled, running, getting no answer. Fuck. Fuck! He kept thinking about the way his body had dropped, the way he’d hit ground and rolled, the way he’d gone limp.

The thick of the trees dulled the rainfall and David found Asher. He had shifted back to human and was covered in mud and curled up at the base of a pine.

He shifted human when he reached him, dropping to his knees in the mud. “Ash?” His arm was bent wrong, forcing David to hesitate over rolling him. He had to move his arm first. He’d cringed, expecting a scream, but when he didn’t get one that was worse. “Asher, please,” David ground out the words. Other wolves were howling through the woods now, looking for them. He rolled his beta onto his back carefully. David’s breath caught in his throat and felt like a jagged stone lodged there. No. Nonono. His hands hovered over Asher’s face. He must have hit a rock or a trunk or something. His temple and cheekbone were…smashed. Smashed. That was the only word for it. There was so much blood.

“Jesus… No. Asher, can you hear me?” he forced the words out, desperate for some snarky response. David touched the side of his neck, leaning over him, sheltering him from the rain with the curl of his body. “Asher, please. Fucking answer me,” the words came out strangled.

Asher groaned, twitching on the ground. David’s eyes grew, his other hand touching his shoulder. Asher’s face pulled into a pained cringe, his body awake with agony and mouth going wide to suck air.

“You’re okay,” he said, as if saying it would make it true. It had to. He’d never lie to Asher.

Asher tried to get up and cried out in surprise, broken arm curled to his chest and body bowing back in pain.

David cringed for him, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Stay down. I’ll get you out of this.”

Asher dragged breaths and forced his eyes open. He looked confused and scared, eyes unfocused. Shit. When was the last time he’d seen Asher scared? “David?” he asked, voice strained.

“Yeah, buddy. You fell. Do you remember falling?”

Asher tried to shake his head and gasped in pain. His unbroken hand reached for his face but David caught the arm before he could touch it.

“Don’t. Just take it easy. We’ll get you out of here and to a healer.”

Howls echoed through the woods. Milo was close, Miguel and Amanda on his heels.

Asher groaned deep in his chest, writhing on the ground like he was trying to get out of his own skin to get away from the pain inside. “I don’t… I don’t. What? I can’t go,” he rambled, words breaking apart and tumbling out of him.

Somehow that scared David almost as much as his silence had. He kept a hand to the side of Asher’s neck, trying to keep him from moving around too much. “You’re going to be okay.”

“D-Don’t tell your dad,” he mumbled, swallowing hard and squinting at the sky. “He’ll make me go home. It’s not even that bad. I just…need a minute…”

David frowned, confused. His dad? Asher would never bring up his dad for a joke.

“It barely even hurts,” he tried.

David felt a pang of terror. Was he remembering the time he fell out of the tree? That was so long ago. He thumbed his jaw on the side of his face that wasn’t bloody and broken. “Asher. You—”

“Don’t make me go home,” he whined, but that usual playful sound cracked in pain. “I want to…stay with you…”

David fought the tears pricking his eyes. This was bad. He shook his head, staying in his friend’s line of sight. “You are staying with me, Ash. And we’re going home together. You’re going to be okay.”

Milo raced up to them from the side, shifting when he was close, breathing fast from running hard. His eyes grew at the sight of Asher. He turned back toward the other two coming up on the scene. “Go find the smoothest way to the road,” he ordered fast, pulling his phone from his pocket and coming over to kneel on Asher’s other side.

David could see him cataloguing injuries. He wasn’t a healer but his mother had insisted on teaching him first aid to a degree that shamed the rest of them. He dialed fast, phone to his ear but eyes still on Asher. He lifted Asher’s muddy shirt carefully, fear shining in his eyes when he put it back down. He gave his mom fast directions when she answered. No explanations. No conversation. It wasn’t a phone call between family—it was a call to the healer of their pack in an emergency.

“Maybe we should carry him to the road,” David whispered. “Even if we go slow, we might get there before she—”

Milo was shaking his head. “We can’t move him,” he said quietly but firmly. “Something could…” he swallowed. “There are too many broken bones. We can’t. Mom will get here first and can get him stable. I’ll call ahead and tell the Department we’re coming in and need a healer.”

Another healer. David’s hands shook. Fuck. He knew this was bad. He could see it, but hearing it sent something cold through his chest.

“D-David…” Asher jerked, like he’d just woken up, whining and shaking. He tried to touch his face again and this time Milo caught his good arm to keep his fingers from reaching that damaged cheek and temple. “Milo? What the fuck…” he sounded small and lost.

David stared down at him. “Yeah. We’re right here. You fell, remember?”

“What? I… Oh fuck. Yeah…” He shifted like he might try to get up but both Milo and David had hands on him now, holding him down. Asher never stayed still easily. He even flailed around in his sleep. “David…” His voice was quiet but panicked. “I can’t…Is it dark?”

David felt his brow pinch. Dark? It was gray out, sure but it wasn’t…

“I can’t see,” Asher said, breathing faster. He started wheezing.

Milo touched his chest, high up and close to his heart. “Hey. Shhhh,” he soothed. “Don’t freak out. Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay. Marie’s on her way.”

Asher had tried to calm down as soon as he was told to. He trusted them. That had never been worth more than it did right then. He closed his good eye and smiled through the fear and pain. “D-Don’t call your mom by her name, man… Sounds weird… She’s yo-ou’re mom…”

Milo laughed a little. “Yeah. You’re right.”

David hadn’t moved his hand from the side of Asher’s neck, but he took the opportunity to reach down and across his body with his other arm and lift the wet fabric of his shirt. He stared at what had scared Milo. It wasn’t just Asher’s face that had been smashed. The whole side of his chest was dark purple and red and some of the ribs weren’t right.

The next thirty minutes were easily the longest of David’s life. He wouldn’t let himself imagine Asher dying. He couldn’t. David couldn’t face a world without him. But he kept it together. He had to. Every time Asher woke up it was different. He either forgot again or he thought they were someplace else. Once he’d thought David had beat him up and he kept asking why, like he couldn’t understand what he’d done. That nearly broke David. But the worst was when Asher had woken up and cried, struggling to breathe and thinking he was alone. It didn’t matter what they said to him or how they touched the uninjured parts of him. It was like he couldn’t even feel them anymore.

And then Marie arrived. Milo gave up his spot to her and called the Department.

Marie cooed Asher’s name exactly the way a mother who had been patching him up all his life could. She carefully looked at his the damage they could see before deciding where to start. She prioritized broken ribs and internal bleeding, and then worked on the breaks in his skull. Breaks. David never let go of his best friend, watching her diligently work to put him back together. His face was still bloody and swollen when she took her hands away and he had to grit his teeth to keep back the demand that she do more.

This was triage. He knew that. He couldn’t ask her to do more than she was able and he knew she’d do the right thing. She had Milo support Asher’s head and then together they all turned him one his side so that she could slide her hand down the back of his neck and over his spine. Something cracked back into place and Asher groaned.

She slumped back, exhausted and muddy like the rest of them. She nodded to David. “You can move him. He needs more healing, but you can move him. He’ll be okay.”

David leaned across Asher to touch her hand, holding her gaze. “Thank you, Marie,” he said. They relied too much on her as their healer and he was going to figure out a way to fix that. But right now, right here, all he could be was grateful.

He picked up Asher as carefully as he could, fighting the fear that rolled through his chest at the dead weight in his arms. Not dead. He could hear his heart beating. He could see him breathing. Not dead. He carried Asher out of the woods, Miguel and Arden close by at all times. When he got to the road, Milo was waiting. He was already behind the wheel of a car, the doors open and the engine on.

He maneuvered Asher into the backseat and then climbed in beside him.

David had never realized how long or bumpy that road was before. He had buckled Asher in and then kept both hands on him, trying to secure him and sooth him even when he was out cold. They drove straight to a department clinic and the staff came out to meet them. They were only at the clinic for another hour before he was told he could take Asher home soon. Told that he was fine and just needed to sleep. Only they used words like “probably” and “should be” that had David growling.

Milo had waited with him the whole time and he knew more of the pack were in the parking lot. He could feel them. But the only person he wanted to feel right now was Asher. And that aura was quiet, like a candle almost gone out.

“I can take him to my place and keep an eye on him until he wakes,” Milo offered.

David shook his head. Absolutely not. “I’ve got him.”

Milo looked like he wanted to say something else but bit it off and nodded instead.

“What?” David ground out, still staring at the door and waiting for Asher to be discharged.

“Nothing. I get it.”

“Get what?”

Milo measured his words again. They’d known each other all their lives. He knew Milo. He knew he’d always been careful not to say things he couldn’t take back. He was careful. That was good, because too many wolves were rash. “I would be a mess if it had been sweetheart,” he said, watching the doors too. “If I saw my mate like that? I get it. I would need to keep eyes and hands on them too.”

It took David a second to soak all of that in. He turned his head to stare down at Milo hard. “This is different.”

Milo stared back. “Is it?”

They were friends. He and Asher were friends. Had he thought about being more? Yes. Of course he had. He’d thought about Asher in every way since they were teens. But had that happened? No. First he’d been too unsure and then he hadn’t wanted to risk their friendship and then he’d been alpha. And now, more than ever, Asher would do anything for him. It had seemed too complicated and too much of a risk. He needed Asher in his life. He couldn’t risk losing him. If anything, today had driven that knowledge home, hadn’t it?

Milo sighed and turned his gaze forward again, on the doors. “He moved out of your place last year because he thought he was holding you back. Thought you’d want to find someone to…be with.” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable but also fed up.

David wrinkled his nose. “What are you talking about?”

“He was waiting for you to make a move and you didn’t. He thinks you’re not interested in him like that, so he left. You two are idiots and it’s driving me crazy which I was ready to live with but now…Fuck, if today had gone differently it would have been heartbreaking and you two never even…” he shook his head, lips pressing, trying to measure those words again. “You have a second chance, David. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

David was pretty fucking sure he was saying a lot more than that. Asher had been waiting for him to make a move? No. No fucking way. Asher was a flirt and if he wanted to make things between them serious, he could have. How many times had he slept in David’s bed? How many times had he sat in his fucking lap rather than his own place on the couch? That was just how he was. He was affectionate with all of his friends. But almost as soon as he thought that, he knew it wasn’t quite right. Yes, he could be flirty with friends. Yes, he liked contact. But he’d never seen Asher sit in anyone else’s lap. He’d never known him to sleep in anyone else’s bed like it was his own.

The doors opened and they both straightened. Asher was in a wheelchair, barely conscious and blinking slow like he was drugged. The nurse was smiling big. Yep. Somehow he’d managed to be charming while half-awake and high as a kite. David exhaled hard. He looked fine. He looked fucking perfect. Yeah, he was wearing a pair of sweatpants none of them had ever seen before and his hair was a mess of blood and mud, but all of the wounds were gone, all of those bones put back into place. A red scar snaked from his hairline down his temple to his cheek. It was nothing compared to the damage that had been but it was terrifying to see because it meant there was a limit to how much they could heal—it meant he’d been close to ruin.

David thanked the nurse.

Asher blinked up at him, squinting. “Dude. I feel great,” he slurred.

Milo snorted.

David hummed disapproval and forced himself to look at the nurse again. “Anything I need to know?”

“He needs to rest. Lots of sleep and food. Just keep an eye on him for a day or two? If he’s having bad headaches, give us a call.”

“What constitutes a bad headache?”

“Too dizzy to stand or throwing up.”

David nodded and was about to take over the wheelchair when Asher frowned hard and waved him off.

“No. Definitely not.” Asher got up. David had his hand on his shoulder, ready to push him back down, but he grabbed on to his arm like it had been an offering, using it to steady himself. “M’ not getting wheeled out if I’m conscious,” Asher insisted, voice quiet because this wasn’t a joke.

David nodded once, hooking his arm around Asher’s back to keep him up and leaned into his side. Milo took up his other side and they walked him out of the clinic. The sky was getting dark but at least a dozen pack members were waiting in the parking lot, smiling and exchanging words with Asher before they got him into David’s truck. Arden tossed him his keys. She must have driven it from the road where he’d parked it along the woods. He’d completely forgotten about where they’d been or way.

Arden must have seen it because she smiled fast and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s handled. Runner was turned in and bounty collected.”

David nodded thanks and got into the truck. He exhaled hard when the doors were closed and it was just the two of them again. He felt Asher watching him from the passenger seat and turned his head. Asher looked boneless the way he was slack in his seat, head back and arms in his lap, but those all seeing eyes still focused on him through the haze of all that healing magic in his body. “You okay?” Asher asked.

David laughed but he knew it brought tears to his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“It was an accident,” Asher reminded, as though worried David was about to tell him he’d done something stupid. This wasn’t the same as the tree when they were kids. The ground had literally dropped out from under him. He’d done everything he could to hang on.

“I know.” David sighed and turned toward him, reaching across to grab his seatbelt and tugging it out before carefully buckling it. “You scared me,” he admitted.

Asher’s hand moved just enough to brush fingers against David’s hand near the buckle. It was like an involuntary movement. Like he didn’t even know he’d done it. David turned his hand to take his, squeezing it for a second.

“Thanks for saving me,” Asher mumbled, eyes closing.

David snorted and let go of his hand to start the engine. “What’s the score at now?”

Asher opened his eyes as they pulled out of the parking lot. “Oh, I’m still in the lead.”

“The hell you are.”

“Yeah. Remember that lone wolf you pissed off? I saved your life.”

“I did not piss him off. He attacked me. And I would have been fine.”

“You would have been fine if he was alone, but he wasn’t, and I saved your life.”

David scoffed but he knew it was true. He hadn’t even been alpha for a year when someone else rolled into Dahlia and thought they’d take the pack from him.

“That was like a decade ago. I’ve saved your dumb ass so many times since then.”

Asher hummed in disagreement but was almost asleep again.

He woke up again in time to frown when they were pulling into the parking garage under his building. “This isn’t my place.”

“Your place is a dump. We’re going to my place.”

Asher sounded like he meant to argue but didn’t have the energy. That was something.

David parked, got out, went around and popped open Asher’s door.

His friend pouted now that it was just the two of them. “Carry me?”

David groaned like it was a burden and not setting his heart on fire. He unbuckled him and pulled him out of the truck, easily hoisting him up over a shoulder the same way he did when Asher drank too much and wanted to be carried. Those times, Asher usually made flirty comments about the view of David’s ass from that perch.

Tonight he was too tired. David carried him onto the elevator and all the way into the apartment they used to share. He couldn’t help but think about what Milo said—that Asher had only moved out because he thought David wasn’t interested in more than a friendship and wanted to give him his own space. He wanted to believe it was bullshit, but it sounded exactly like something his friend would do. He put him down on the couch, being much gentler than he was on nights they’d been out drinking.

 -

 Asher landed on the couch and would have happily gone to sleep, but he made the mistake of looking down at himself. He was filthy, half dressed, and wearing sweatpants they’d given him at the clinic. Nope. He got to his feet, cringing at the gauzy feeling of his body. Sure, he played it up for the others like it was fun being high on healing magic, but he secretly hated it. He loved being a wolf, he loved his fast reflexes and sharp sense. He did not, at all, like feeling dazed and sedated.

“Where are you going?” David all but snapped, a hand on his shoulder as if to physically stop him from leaving the couch.

“Gotta shower, buddy. I promise not to fall asleep and drown.” He smirked at the idea. That would be hilarious, to survive falling off the hillside just to drown in an inch of water.

David actually looked like he was going to argue but thought better of it and nodded. He hovered the whole way down the hall to the bathroom and then followed him inside.

Asher laughed, leaning against the wall next to the shower. “I’m fine. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” David bated, arms folded across his chest.

Asher’s gaze flicked to the tattoos sleeving David’s arms. He tried not to stare. He’d started getting them before Gabe passed but after… After, David had turned his arms, shoulders, and upper back into art memorializing his parents and his pack in pieces. He wasn’t sure anyone else realized that though, but Asher did. He saw the meanings of those tattoos and for a little while, when they’d been living together, Asher had taken to tracing them with his fingertips. Sometimes David would grumble and brush him off, but sometimes he hadn’t. Sometimes he let his fingers roam and more than once David had fallen asleep under his touch. Which was thrilling, because David did not relax easily.

“You’re looking at me like you think I’m going to keel over or…” He lost his train of thought when he caught his own reflection in the big mirror over the sink. He reached up and rubbed his palm over the side of his face, trying to smear that line there. His breath came a little faster when it didn’t smear or smudge or fade. Oh god. He took a couple steps closer, hip to the cold counter and face turned. He clawed his mud crusted hair back from his face. Not just mud. Blood. A lot of blood. It colored his fingers.

“Ash?”

He turned his head again, fingers shaking when they hovered over that scar. It just missed his eye and when he looked closely he could see how that whole side of his face was soft and raw, like it had been scrubbed hard. How badly had he been hurt? How bad had it looked? No wonder David and Milo had looked so shaken. No wonder the pack had been waiting in the parking lot. They’d thought he might really die.

“Asher,” David said, voice stern now, and he realized he’d moved. The big guy was standing right behind him, hovering again, his eyes full of worry. Asher could see everything in the mirror, including how his hands hovered in the air, just inches from grabbing hold of his hips.

Asher nodded, gaze turning down to the counter and head tipping the other way, hiding that scar from his reflection and David. “Yeah,” he croaked and winced. Not good. “Yeah,” he tried again, forcing himself to sound more like normal. He even found a smile. “I’m gonna shower. Order us some food or something? I’m starving.” He started to turn away, intent on pivoting around his friend and stepping into the corner shower. But David’s hands finally touched down, one catching his hip and keeping him in place. Asher’s breath came out hard.

David’s other arm curled around his chest, hugging him from behind and still watching him in the mirror. Asher closed his eyes, surprise by the lump of emotion rising in his throat when he leaned back into his friend’s chest. It was almost too much, too good, too safe. He didn’t realize he’d been so tense and wound until that moment of release.

David nuzzled the side of his head into the side of Asher’s.

Asher nodded, knowing what he was saying. They were okay. They weren’t dead. Everything was going to be okay. He took a deep breath and let it out slow. He opened his eyes and glanced at them in the mirror again. He only looked at his own face for a second before turning his gaze down again.

“Are you worried about your pretty face?” David asked, voice against his cheek.

Asher snorted a laugh. “So, you think I’m pretty?”

“We both know you’re pretty.”

It sent a rush of heat through Asher’s body. Yes, of course they both knew that, but David had never admitted it before.

His breath caught in his throat when David stroked a thumb along his face, beside the fresh scar, not touching it but tracing its shape from temple to cheek. “It’ll look cool,” he promised.

Asher met David’s gaze in the mirror and asked boldly, curiously, “Still pretty?”

David’s mouth tugged a little, almost a smile but he fought it. “Still pretty.”

Asher bit his lip to keep from saying anything else, from ruining the moment, but the words broke through anyway. He never had been good at shutting up. “I must have a concussion, because it sounds like David Shaw is flirting with me…” The familiar mask slid into place over David’s expression, taking with it those soft eyes and that almost-smile. Asher sighed but kept a smile when he turned out of David’s hug and went for the shower.

He turned on the water to let it heat up and then used the wall for support when he shucked his borrowed sweatpants. His skin was streaked in blood and mud. What a fucking mess he’d made today. “Do I still have clothes here?” he asked, even though he knew he did, just to fill the quiet. He stepped into the shower and looked back at David just as he answered, “Yeah.”

Asher almost lost his balance when he saw the other man taking off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. It wasn’t like they hadn’t showered together before. It wasn’t like modesty was even a thing in a pack. But they had just been talking about flirting. David had hugged him. And now…now he was taking his pants off.

Asher turned toward the shower spray, stepping into it as though the heat would somehow hide the rise of his own temperature. David stepped into the shower behind him. It was a walk in with just enough room for the two of them to maneuver around each other without touching. They’d done this dance before. But this time, David asked, “Do you want me to wash the blood out of your hair?”

Asher stared at him. Was the healing magic making him delusional? If so, then fuck yes. He wouldn’t mind some doped-up sex dreams about David Shaw. They wouldn’t exactly be his first… “Yeah. Thanks,” he answered on autopilot.

David reached past him to grab the shampoo, standing right behind him while Asher enjoyed the heat of the spray to his chest and neck. This had to be a dream. His skin felt gauzy from the healing, but it wasn’t any less sensitive when David slowly dragged fingers through his hair, massaging soap into his scalp. He closed his eyes and dropped his chin forward a little, reveling in that contact and care. It made his spine shiver despite all the heat in the shower.

David rubbed circles into the base of his skull and Asher tried to bite down on a groan. He felt the minute pause in the other man’s touch at the sound before he continued. “Ash?” David asked, voice so deep and so fucking close. He was right behind him, naked. Asher told himself to stop thinking about it but how the holy hell was he supposed to do that?

“Hmm?”

“Why did you move out?”

Asher’s eyes opened, his heart in his throat. The quiet stretched, David still had one hand in the back of his hair, thumb rolling lazy circles against his scalp. He forced a little laugh. “Well, I did set your kitchen on fire…”

“Asher.”

That tone. That fucking, deep, unwavering, sexy tone. Fuck him. He had to know why. He groaned stepped forward, ducking his whole head under the shower spray and hiding there for a long minute under the guise of rinsing his hair. When he stepped back again, he bumped right into David. It knocked the air from him and it had nothing to do with impact. His back was flush against David’s front, both of them naked and wet. He half expected to get a nosebleed right there and pass out. Instead of shoving him away, David’s arm automatically locked around his middle, keeping him steady and pivoting him out of the spray. “You okay?” he asked, soft.

No. Asher was definitely not okay. He was also fucking over the moon at the moment but it came with a bunch of other complicated feelings and everything was hazy with magic and exhaustion. Fuck! “Yep.”

David grunted like he doubted that but let him go to lean against the tiled wall while he took his turn cleaning up.

And this, was exactly why Asher had moved out. He was constantly riled up by David—constantly tripping over himself at the sight of David at home, at getting to be so close to him so often. But David didn’t seem to react at all. And that was okay. That was fair. He wouldn’t want to pressure him into anything. And he sure as shit didn’t want to mess up their friendship by making things awkward.

 -

 David wished the blast of water that hit him from that nozzle was ice cold rather than hot. He did not need any more heat. Touching Asher had probably been a bad idea right now, but he’d wanted so much to clean the blood off of him—to fix some part of the damage today and get them steps away from the place they’d been in the woods, with Asher blood and broken and begging for help. He probably shouldn’t have asked about why he’d moved out either. He hadn’t answered, but he had pulled away from him in almost a panic. And then he’d backed into him.

David bit into his lip to keep from groaning at that full contact, his hips jerking back and away to keep from pressing himself right up against his best friend’s ass.

He washed up, keeping an eye on Asher just to make sure he didn’t slump down the wall or pass out. When they were both clean of mud and blood, he turned off the water and grabbed them towels.

He was glad the mirror was fogged now, because he hadn’t liked the way Asher stared at himself earlier—like he didn’t like what he saw. If he’d seen how bad the damage had been before, he would have marveled at the scar instead of gaped.

Asher’s legs almost gave out on his way to the bedroom for clothes. David caught his arm but he also caught himself against the dresser. “Dizzy?” David asked. If he was, they were going right the fuck back to the department clinic.

“No. Just…” he growled a little rather than finish the sentence.

Weak. Weak was the answer and the word no wolf who was responsible for defending pack was ever comfortable saying. He grabbed some clothes from the drawers and pulled them on hurriedly, like a clock was ticking on how long he could keep himself upright. David was sure it was. He did the same but stayed close. He didn’t notice until they were halfway down the hall to the living room that Asher had dragged on one of David’s shirts, rather than one of his own. He used to do that when they lived together too. It drove David fucking wild, not that he’d ever shown it. Instead he’d just complained about Asher stealing his shit.

He must have stared too long at his t-shirt on Asher’s body because his friend noticed, looking down at himself now that he was sitting on the couch again. He sighed, tired and annoyed. “Fuck,” he mumbled and reached down for the hem, leaning forward. “Here—” he started to take it off.

“No. Keep it,” David said quickly, more than a little surprised he’d even tried to give it back. He never had before.

Asher stilled his hand, baggy shirt half up his chest and his own sweatpants low on his hips. He met David’s eye, a spark of curiosity in that too-dilated gaze. “Why? You hate when I wear your stuff.”

“I like it,” he admitted, meeting his gaze. What the fuck was he doing? It was almost a lie. He didn’t like it. He loved it. He used to think about Asher wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, his scent all over him, and Asher on his knees with his mouth wrapped around him. He tried not to think about that sort of thing anymore. He tried, but often failed.

Asher slowly let the shirt go, keeping it on and still staring up at David. “I moved out because I had a crush on you and didn’t want to fuck up our friendship,” he said.

David’s eyes widened and he fought the impulse to take a step back from that landmine of truth Asher had just slapped in the middle of his living room. Asher had had a crush on him? Both the truth of it and the past tense made David’s legs bend. Luckily the L shaped couch was behind him. His knees were inches from touching Asher’s thigh. “You had a crush on me?”

“You had to have known…” Asher said softer now, clawing a hand through wet hair. “I mean… Come on. I hit on you all the time.”

“No. No, you didn’t. You never said… You never did anything.”

Asher laughed. His thigh bumped against David’s knees. “Neither did you. You weren’t into me and that’s okay. Our friendship means everything to me. I would never—”

“I’ve always been into you,” he confessed, letting the words he’d held so tightly inside out.

Asher stared at him, smiles gone. “No. If you’d liked me you would have done something.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

David snorted at how stupid they both were. “I didn’t want to mess up the friendship and then…” He hesitated. He’d barely even let himself think about the big part that kept him from trying, but he’d never liked keeping anything from Asher. “After my dad… I became alpha and you promised to do anything you could to help me. You’ve always been with me. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you, Ash. But I wasn’t sure you’d say no. If I told you I wanted you the way that I do… I was afraid you’d give me anything I wanted, whether or not it was what you really wanted. So, I decided you’d either make a move or you wouldn’t and that would be it.”

Asher blinked at him, absorbing that for so long that David rolled his eyes. “Is your brain rebooting or—”

Asher was on him, tackling him back onto the sofa and straddling his hips. Before David could start to complain, Asher kissed him. Now it felt like David was the one with a brain rebooting. He reached up and curled one hand around the back of Asher’s neck, the other on his thigh, squeezing muscles through thin fabric. He kissed him deeper, tongues warring briefly before Asher started sucking at his.

David moaned deep in his chest, hand moving from Asher’s thigh to his hip, fingers sliding up under the shirt to stroke skin. He remembered how bruised and misshapen that side had been just hours ago—how close he’d been to never having this and losing his whole world. Asher bit his lip and David growled in warning, squeezing his hip.

Logically, he knew he needed to slow this down. They needed to talk more. He needed to get them food. Asher needed to rest.

And then Asher rubbed down against him, grinding on him.

David broke the kiss with a deep groan, both hands on Asher’s hips now to stop his movements. “You’re such a shit…” he ground out.

Asher smiled but he looked winded from just this, flushed and a little glassy eyed. That was enough to remind David fully that they needed to slow down. The last thing he’d want is to actually hurt Asher. He lifted him off of him and put him back on the couch. A flicker of worry crossed Asher’s face and he knew what he was thinking—had he misread things? Had things changed? Was he not into it after all? “You’re such an idiot,” David mumbled, leaning over and kissing him again. It felt so good to have that access—that level of closeness. “You’re going to pass out.”

“I’m not,” Asher argued but was already sinking into the couch, the magic tugging him toward sleep. “Okay…Maybe… But I mean, you could still…”

David made a disgusted face and rolled off the couch. “Ew. Fuck. No. You’re going to be awake and don’t think you get to be a lazy bastard either. When we fuck, you’re going to work for it.” The words flew out of his mouth without thinking and his gaze cut to his friend to see if he’d cross some line. Asher’s eyes were wide but his cheeks were red. Not a bad look for him at all…

He grabbed the delivery menus off the counter and came back to the couch with his phone in the other hand. He flopped onto the couch next to Asher rather than across the couch from him. Asher smiled, sleepy again, and put his legs across David’s lap. David rested a hand on his outer thigh, scooting in to have him almost in his lap. “What do you want?” he asked and then immediately added. “No. What food do you want? And so help me Ash, if you say something dirty, I swear I’ll order you salad.”

Asher hissed and grabbed one of the takeaway menus at random. He hummed happily at the sight of the pizza place.

David sighed but nodded. He’d let him eat whatever trash he wanted today. “Fine. But no shifting to scare the delivery guy.”

“What? Why not? He loves it!”

“Ash…”

“We’ll see.”

[aidaran-alha]

I decided to write the ineffable divorce from Zira's point of view and wow, this fic is definitely growing to be a whole 3rd season, haha.

I might make yet a third story combining my two fics for the divorce. It's proving to be a very fun experiment 😁

Chapters: 1/14 Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Michael (Good Omens), Uriel (Good Omens), Baraqiel | Barachiel | Baraqil, Nina (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post 02x06, Mutual Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, recovery from emotional hurt, Aziraphale the hoarder angel, Lack of Communication, Feelings Realization, Character Study, lots of feels, Loneliness, Aziraphale's side on their divorce, Getting Together, Getting Back Together Summary:

Crowley may believe they can stay on their own side, but Aziraphale knows better; the only way to survive is to finally face Heaven and make changes.

Post 02x06.

----- If two things could be said about Aziraphale and doing business, they were that he was a neat paperwork freak, and that he had the ability to deal with even the worst clients. Once he stopped feeling he was underneath someone, he was able to be the worst pest they had ever met.

  The third one was that outside of his neat paperwork, he was a bit of a nesting creature that thrived on his organized chaos, and he planned on using it.

  Something inside him broke as he thought of how much Crowley would have loved seeing him like this. He’d seen him smile with pride when he was being his worst more than once, and he planned on doing exactly that, while looking as holy as possible. He’d managed to not sell one single book in well over 300 years, so he could do this.

[thewitchyqueer]

I’m converting my old unused witchy blog into just a general fandom blog, so be prepared for lots of posts about gay pirates or ineffable husbands, maybe sometimes other stuff too

[madamedestler]

Chapter 12 of “Guardian Angel” is out! Go give it a read if you can! If not save it for later, God knows I need to take a look at my own bookmarks 👁️👄👁️

Quick update as well in the beginning note