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theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

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IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING

It was the weekend.

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.

He checked his phone. No messages from you.

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.

Pedro knocked.

Nothing.

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”

Still nothing.

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.

Snoring.

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.

God, you were adorable.

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.

He’d give you another hour.

Maybe two.

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.

The problem?

You were not a morning person.

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”

“No.”

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”

He smirked. There we go.

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."

Your stomach twisted at that.

He had noticed.

Of course, he had.

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.

Damn it.

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.

For one, he had somehow procured a car.

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”

“Would I lie to you?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.

And then—

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.

Okay. Fine.

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.

Your brows furrowed.

“Wait a minute—"

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.

Not just any bookstore.

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.

It was perfect.

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”

He smirked. “No catch.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”

The words were simple.

Too simple.

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON

You took your time browsing.

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.

It made your skin warm.

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.

Because this was Pedro Pascal.

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—

Oh god, were you on a date?

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.

No. Not a date.

Just… Pedro being Pedro.

Right?

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.

“That one, huh?”

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.

You nearly choked.

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”

You exhaled, nodding.

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”

You looked up.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.

He made it sound so simple.

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.

Just Pedro. Just this.

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.

And maybe it did.

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"

You blinked at him. "Little me?"

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.

You snorted. "Of course you were."

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.

You glanced up.

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."

Your stomach flipped.

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."

You groaned. "Oh my god."

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

The camera counted down—three, two, one.

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.

The flash went off.

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.

For a beat, neither of you moved.

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”

Your breath hitched for a split second.

Right. The room.

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.

But tonight?

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.

But tonight?

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further.

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta

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clawdee · 8 months ago

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🌶️ WIP Tag Game 🌶️

tagged by @cas-readsandwrites AND @sizzlingcloudmentality 😘😘

rules: list the names/titles of docs in your wip folder + open your inbox to asks about them!

So I only currently really have 1 TRUE WIP - the Din/Cobb/Boba x Reader thing I posted about on WIP Wednesday

But here's my list of things I plan on writing that I call my WIP list - some have names, some have vague ideas - pick one and I'll tell you a little about it!:

For my Control series:

DMAMC 2025

The Crucible

Angel Gets Traumatized

The Break-In

For Joel:

Hiding out on Patrol

Birthday Celebrations (part of the Summer Fling series)

MonsterSmash October 👽

Hells Kitchen AU

For Din:

Sequel to Early Sunsets over Jebble songfic - boygenius 'Black Hole'

My re-write of S2, S3, and BOBF

For Tim Rockford:

Sequel to Daddy's Girl

Scooby-Doo/X-Files monster of the week series 🤷🏻‍♀️ (FREYA'S FAULT)

Immortal (this one is Freya's fault TOO!)

All the rest:

Kept ch. 4 - Donald Pierce (Boyd Holbrook)

A Little Broken continuation - Max Phillips

Over the Hill - Resnik (technically takes place in the Control series but Dave is only there briefly)

Coops Biggest Fan - Coop/The Ghoul FalloutTV

Teach Me - Reed Richards/Johnny Storm x Reader

Run to Me - Bodyguard AU - series

I need to stop joining challenges 🙃🙃 anon should be on for this, be nice or I'll close it again

tagging any writer who sees this!

#personal #WIP tag game

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wankerwatch · 7 months ago

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Commons Vote

On: Opposition Day: Farming and food security

Ayes: 187 (55.9% Con, 34.9% LD, 2.7% DUP, 2.7% Ind, 2.2% PC, 0.5% RUK, 0.5% UUP, 0.5% TUV) Noes: 359 (98.6% Lab, 1.4% Ind) Absent: ~104

Day's business papers: 2024-10-08

Individual Votes:

Ayes

Conservative (104 votes)

Alan Mak Alberto Costa Alec Shelbrooke Alex Burghart Alicia Kearns Alison Griffiths Andrew Bowie Andrew Griffith Andrew Mitchell Andrew Murrison Andrew Snowden Aphra Brandreth Ashley Fox Ben Obese-Jecty Ben Spencer Bernard Jenkin Blake Stephenson Bob Blackman Bradley Thomas Caroline Johnson Charlie Dewhirst Chris Philp Christopher Chope Claire Coutinho Damian Hinds Danny Kruger David Davis David Reed David Simmonds Desmond Swayne Edward Argar Edward Leigh Gagan Mohindra Gareth Bacon Gavin Williamson Geoffrey Clifton-Brown Geoffrey Cox George Freeman Graham Stuart Greg Smith Gregory Stafford Harriet Cross Harriett Baldwin Helen Grant Helen Whately Iain Duncan Smith Jack Rankin James Cartlidge James Cleverly James Wild Jeremy Hunt Jeremy Wright Jerome Mayhew Jesse Norman Joe Robertson John Cooper John Glen John Hayes John Lamont John Whittingdale Joy Morrissey Julia Lopez Julian Lewis Katie Lam Kemi Badenoch Kevin Hollinrake Kit Malthouse Laura Trott Lewis Cocking Lincoln Jopp Luke Evans Mark Garnier Martin Vickers Matt Vickers Mel Stride Mims Davies Neil Hudson Neil O'Brien Neil Shastri-Hurst Nick Timothy Nigel Huddleston Oliver Dowden Patrick Spencer Paul Holmes Peter Bedford Peter Fortune Rebecca Harris Rebecca Paul Rebecca Smith Richard Fuller Richard Holden Robbie Moore Robert Jenrick Roger Gale Saqib Bhatti Sarah Bool Shivani Raja Simon Hoare Steve Barclay Stuart Anderson Stuart Andrew Suella Braverman Victoria Atkins Wendy Morton

Liberal Democrat (65 votes)

Adam Dance Al Pinkerton Alison Bennett Andrew George Angus MacDonald Anna Sabine Ben Maguire Bobby Dean Brian Mathew Calum Miller Cameron Thomas Caroline Voaden Charlie Maynard Charlotte Cane Chris Coghlan Christine Jardine Claire Young Clive Jones Daisy Cooper Danny Chambers David Chadwick Ed Davey Edward Morello Freddie van Mierlo Gideon Amos Helen Maguire Helen Morgan Ian Roome Ian Sollom James MacCleary John Milne Josh Babarinde Joshua Reynolds Layla Moran Lee Dillon Lisa Smart Liz Jarvis Luke Taylor Manuela Perteghella Marie Goldman Martin Wrigley Max Wilkinson Mike Martin Monica Harding Munira Wilson Olly Glover Paul Kohler Pippa Heylings Rachel Gilmour Richard Foord Sarah Gibson Sarah Green Sarah Olney Steve Darling Susan Murray Tessa Munt Tim Farron Tom Gordon Tom Morrison Victoria Collins Vikki Slade Wendy Chamberlain Wera Hobhouse Will Forster Zöe Franklin

Democratic Unionist Party (5 votes)

Carla Lockhart Gavin Robinson Gregory Campbell Jim Shannon Sammy Wilson

Independent (5 votes)

Adnan Hussain Alex Easton Ayoub Khan Iqbal Mohamed Shockat Adam

Plaid Cymru (4 votes)

Ann Davies Ben Lake Liz Saville Roberts Llinos Medi

Reform UK (1 vote)

Richard Tice

Ulster Unionist Party (1 vote)

Robin Swann

Traditional Unionist Voice (1 vote)

Jim Allister

Noes

Labour (351 votes)

Abena Oppong-Asare Abtisam Mohamed Adam Jogee Adam Thompson Afzal Khan Al Carns Alan Campbell Alan Gemmell Alan Strickland Alex Baker Alex Ballinger Alex Barros-Curtis Alex Davies-Jones Alex Mayer Alex McIntyre Alex Norris Alice Macdonald Alison Hume Alison Taylor Alistair Strathern Allison Gardner Amanda Hack Amanda Martin Andrew Cooper Andrew Gwynne Andrew Lewin Andrew Pakes Andrew Ranger Andy MacNae Andy McDonald Andy Slaughter Angela Eagle Angela Rayner Anna Dixon Anna Gelderd Anna McMorrin Anna Turley Anneliese Midgley Antonia Bance Ashley Dalton Baggy Shanker Bambos Charalambous Barry Gardiner Bayo Alaba Beccy Cooper Becky Gittins Ben Coleman Ben Goldsborough Bill Esterson Blair McDougall Brian Leishman Callum Anderson Calvin Bailey Cat Eccles Cat Smith Catherine Atkinson Catherine Fookes Catherine McKinnell Catherine West Charlotte Nichols Chris Bloore Chris Bryant Chris Curtis Chris Elmore Chris Hinchliff Chris Kane Chris McDonald Chris Murray Chris Vince Chris Ward Chris Webb Christian Wakeford Claire Hazelgrove Claire Hughes Clive Efford Clive Lewis Connor Naismith Connor Rand Damien Egan Dan Carden Dan Jarvis Dan Norris Daniel Francis Daniel Zeichner Danny Beales Darren Jones Darren Paffey Dave Robertson David Baines David Burton-Sampson David Pinto-Duschinsky David Smith David Taylor David Williams Debbie Abrahams Deirdre Costigan Derek Twigg Diana Johnson Douglas Alexander Douglas McAllister Elaine Stewart Ellie Reeves Elsie Blundell Emily Darlington Emily Thornberry Emma Foody Emma Hardy Emma Lewell-Buck Euan Stainbank Fabian Hamilton Feryal Clark Fleur Anderson Florence Eshalomi Frank McNally Fred Thomas Gareth Snell Gareth Thomas Georgia Gould Gerald Jones Gill Furniss Gill German Gordon McKee Graham Stringer Grahame Morris Gregor Poynton Gurinder Singh Josan Hamish Falconer Harpreet Uppal Heidi Alexander Helen Hayes Helena Dollimore Henry Tufnell Hilary Benn Ian Lavery Imogen Walker Irene Campbell Jack Abbott Jacob Collier Jade Botterill Jake Richards James Frith James Murray James Naish Janet Daby Jas Athwal Jayne Kirkham Jeevun Sandher Jeff Smith Jen Craft Jenny Riddell-Carpenter Jess Asato Jess Phillips Jessica Morden Jessica Toale Jim Dickson Jim McMahon Jo Platt Jo Stevens Jo White Joani Reid Jodie Gosling Joe Morris Joe Powell Johanna Baxter John Grady John Slinger John Whitby Jon Pearce Jonathan Brash Jonathan Davies Jonathan Hinder Josh Dean Josh Fenton-Glynn Josh MacAlister Josh Newbury Josh Simons Julia Buckley Julie Minns Juliet Campbell Kanishka Narayan Karin Smyth Karl Turner Kate Dearden Kate Osamor Kate Osborne Katie White Katrina Murray Kenneth Stevenson Kevin Bonavia Kevin McKenna Kim Johnson Kim Leadbeater Kirith Entwistle Kirsteen Sullivan Kirsty McNeill Laura Kyrke-Smith Lauren Edwards Laurence Turner Lee Barron Lee Pitcher Leigh Ingham Lewis Atkinson Liam Conlon Lilian Greenwood Lillian Jones Linsey Farnsworth Liz Twist Lizzi Collinge Lloyd Hatton Lola McEvoy Lorraine Beavers Louise Jones Lucy Powell Lucy Rigby Luke Akehurst Luke Charters Luke Murphy Luke Myer Luke Pollard Margaret Mullane Marie Rimmer Marie Tidball Mark Ferguson Mark Hendrick Mark Sewards Mark Tami Markus Campbell-Savours Marsha De Cordova Martin McCluskey Martin Rhodes Mary Creagh Mary Glindon Mary Kelly Foy Matt Bishop Matt Rodda Matt Turmaine Matt Western Matthew Patrick Matthew Pennycook Maureen Burke Maya Ellis Meg Hillier Melanie Onn Melanie Ward Michael Payne Michael Shanks Michael Wheeler Michelle Welsh Mike Amesbury Mike Kane Mike Reader Mike Tapp Mohammad Yasin Nadia Whittome Natalie Fleet Natasha Irons Naushabah Khan Navendu Mishra Naz Shah Neil Coyle Neil Duncan-Jordan Nesil Caliskan Nia Griffith Nicholas Dakin Nick Smith Nick Thomas-Symonds Noah Law Oliver Ryan Olivia Bailey Olivia Blake Pam Cox Pamela Nash Pat McFadden Patricia Ferguson Patrick Hurley Paul Davies Paul Foster Paul Waugh Paula Barker Paulette Hamilton Perran Moon Peter Dowd Peter Lamb Peter Prinsley Peter Swallow Phil Brickell Preet Kaur Gill Rachael Maskell Rachel Blake Rachel Hopkins Rachel Taylor Richard Baker Richard Quigley

Rosie Wrighting Rupa Huq Ruth Cadbury Ruth Jones Sadik Al-Hassan Sally Jameson Sam Carling Sam Rushworth Samantha Niblett Sarah Coombes Sarah Edwards Sarah Hall Sarah Owen Sarah Russell Sarah Sackman Sarah Smith Satvir Kaur Scott Arthur Sean Woodcock Seema Malhotra Sharon Hodgson Shaun Davies Simon Opher Siobhain McDonagh Sojan Joseph Sonia Kumar Stella Creasy Stephanie Peacock Stephen Doughty Stephen Kinnock Stephen Morgan Stephen Timms Steve Race Steve Reed Steve Witherden Steve Yemm Sureena Brackenridge Tahir Ali Taiwo Owatemi Tanmanjeet Singh Dhesi Terry Jermy Tim Roca Toby Perkins Tom Hayes Tom Rutland Tonia Antoniazzi Tony Vaughan Torsten Bell Tracy Gilbert Tristan Osborne Tulip Siddiq Uma Kumaran Valerie Vaz Vicky Foxcroft Warinder Juss Will Stone Yuan Yang Zubir Ahmed

Independent (5 votes)

Apsana Begum Imran Hussain John McDonnell Richard Burgon Zarah Sultana

#uk gov #uk politics #uk parliament #politics #vote #wankerwatch

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ifeelalot · 3 years ago

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#comics #graphic novel #fantastic four #ch 572 #pg 21 #reed richards #2009 #marvel #nathaniel richards #marvel comics #comiccap #mr. fantastic #panels #father and son #jonathan hickman #dale eaglesham #paul mounts

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brw · 4 months ago

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Sometimes I like it when Reed is obnoxious and bitchy in 2000s comics tbh. I know it's bad writing but I like it when he's a divaaaaaaaa.

Uncanny X-Men #522, written by Matt Fraction

#brieuc reads comics #reed richards #marvel comics #ch: i believe we endure #fantastic four

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mxrvelouscreations · 2 years ago

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[text] I guess I can

[text: photo of Tony laying in bed]

[text] better hurry though ;)

Tony.

[text] you might have a point

[text] but I thought this might get the point across that we should have some fun

[ text ] i won’t be long then. if you can wait that long for me.

#voluntadfuerte #ch: reed richards

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rjhpandapaws · 4 years ago

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Bad to Work With

Ch 3: Things to (Never) Learn from Hindsight

//Going to preface this with the fact that I didn’t mean to write angst, it was supposed to be fluff

Gavin wasn’t one to learn from his mistakes. A considerable feat considering the sheer number of mistakes he’d made just in recent history. He would suffer the consequences and come out on the other side only to make the exact same mistake or one that was worse. Hindsight wasn’t something he benefitted from. He looked back on most of his mistakes with the knowledge that it would only be a matter of time before he did it again. Up until recently he wasn’t a victim of situational regret. This was one of the few times he wished he could go back and undo something. Not so much the night itself, that wasn’t what he had come to regret; but the elevator ride. If he had managed to keep his mouth shut for once in his life he wouldn’t be staring down yet another coffee cup adorned with a sticky note. It was a different cafe this time, they always were. It seemed like whenever Gavin left his desk there would be a coffee waiting for him when he got back. This was the first one he had ever gotten that was waiting from before he’d arrived.

It wasn’t even that it was bad coffee. These niche cafes Richard was finding had amazing drinks. Gavin had even gone to some of them on the weekends. The thing of it was that he had a system despite the fact that his desk looked like a bomb had gone off. Richard didn’t know what the system was and he would set the cups in whatever open space was available and then leave. On the few occasions Gavin didn’t notice them in time they wound up getting knocked over. When they fell it was either onto the other papers or into his computer terminal. The papers were usually salvageable; but he was pretty sure Silas was ready to murder him. He probably had it plotted out and everything. Gavin sighed quietly and picked up the foam cup. There was no logo on this one, so he found it safe to assume it was from one of the newer cafes in the area. The sticky note on the other hand was short and simple. Gavin would have even dared to call it sweet if it were from anyone other than Ricard. He stuck his note to his monitor like had with all the others and settled in at his desk for another long day.

The issue was Gavin was almost endeared by it. He hadn’t been in a romantic relationship since high school, and no one had ever tried like this. Not for him anyway. It was making what was left of his resolve wear thin. Richard had learned exactly one thing about him and ran with it. The level of emotion to it all was what had Gavin on edge. He didn’t do feelings because he wasn’t good with them. It was less draining to just have a night with someone and then go their separate ways. He’d never had to resist his own wants like this. He avoided repeats for a reason, he wasn’t about to change that. He wouldn’t let things get beyond coffee. Except, as he waited for his computer to boot up he texted Richard.

Me: Thanks for the pick me up. Coffee Supplier: Of course, I’ve been meaning to try out that cafe for a while. Me: It’s pretty good Coffee Supplier: Definitely. Coffee Supplier: Have a good day Gavin. Me: Thanks, you too

It was the first time he had actually messaged Richard. He had saved his number to be polite, but never planned to actually use it. He hadn’t expected to have a normal conversation. It was nice in a way.

That’s where it should have stopped, would have stopped if Gavin had been stronger. The short text conversations became just as routine as the coffee and sticky notes. They didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, and made a point not to talk about work. It was almost like talking with Tina; if there wasn’t that unspoken something hanging over them. The temptation lingered, as it always did. The easiest excuse to use was that Richard was his superior. The truth of it was that Gavin was scared. The last time he had loved someone he wound up burned with his heart in pieces on the floor. He’d been younger and dumber then, but he still wasn’t sure this was a risk he was willing to take again. So it stayed small. Limited to brief conversations at work, notes passed through coffee, and text messages when they had the time. He stopped keeping the notes on his monitor after Hank had asked about them. They had their own desk drawer now. If he kept these things compartmentalized he could pretend that he wasn’t slowly being pulled in. Gavin was short sighted, so at the time it had seemed like a full proof plan. Out of sight out of mind, that sort of thing. Even though he knew ignoring his problems only made them worse. Just this once he hoped it would work.

It turned into a bad week. The kind when he was just praying to make it to Friday. He made plans with Tina to meet up at Eden on Friday night. He just wanted to have a night to let go for a while. Be someone else. Monday was fine, but Tuesday marked the start of everything going wrong. It started with his computer crashing; it wasn’t coffee related for once, and things kind of stock piled from there. The heat went out in his apartment complex, and then his car decided to finally die on him. He had ignored the Check Engine Light for too long. He was at the point that if anything else went wrong this week he was going to fucking lose it. Friday, thankfully enough, was his half day. He wasn’t in the office long enough for things to go wrong. He worked through the morning and pulled a disappearing act the moment the chance arose. He planned to sleep for a while before meeting up with Tina at Eden and then leaving with a stranger. He had things he wanted to forget, and blue eyed problems to ignore. Eden was packed, like it always was on Fridays. Business types and the lucky public who could manage the cover charge were all out to get relief from their weekly boredom, and Gavin was right in the middle of it. Dancing with strangers and accepting any drinks that were offered to him. Anything to take his mind off of his problems. Especially the blue eyed one that had been haunting him recently.

He was in the sweet spot. Just past too drunk to give a shit, but not absolutely wasted yet. Which also meant that he was just beyond sober enough to recognize the steel blue eyes of the person he was dancing with. That they were the same eyes he was drinking to drown out. All he was concerned with was how well they fit. In any other circumstance the fact that this felt so familiar would have been cause for alarm. He was a little more sober by the time they managed to stumble out to a cab. Not enough to care, but enough to confirm that yes, this was something he wanted to do. Gavin was more caught up in the moment than he was concerned with the mild prickle of familiarity in the way this man said his name. He chalked up the ease with which he was unraveled to desperation. Anyone could be an expert in Undoing Gavin Reed if he was desperate enough for an escape. Tonight happened to be one of those nights and every red flag was excused and brushed aside in favor of chasing the pleasure. They were a problem for Sober Gavin. He would have the rest of the weekend to deal with them.

Consciousness came back to him slowly, like it always did after a night of drinking. He was rested and contentedly sore in ways that meant he had followed somebody home. Whoever his companion had been, they weren’t one for cuddling. He rolled over and found himself alone. It was slow to sink in that this particular room was a little too familiar. Once the thought made it through the haze of his hangover Gavin cursed under his breath. His memories of the club were hit and miss at best, he remembered dancing with strangers and drinking more than he probably should have. There were stern blue eyes sprinkled into them here and there. Gavin had done a repeat. That moment of clarity was accompanied to the door of the room quietly opening. From the look on Richard’s face he clearly wasn’t expecting Gavin to be awake yet, “Oh. Good morning.” “Hey.” He replied groggily as he sat up. There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence as Richard set Gavin’s now clean clothes on the bed. He gave him a onceover before retreating from the room like the devil himself was on his heals. It made Gavin feel sick to his stomach. He had definitely fucked up this time.

He got dressed slowly and tried to figure out what to do. Apologize was the obvious answer. But for which thing? All of them? The list of things he hadn’t done wrong was probably shorter at this point. When he finally gathered the courage to leave Richard’s room he was met with the strong smell of coffee. This was the moment of truth. “Your friend Tina says you owe her fifty bucks.” Richard said without looking at him, “And if you ever leave without talking to her again she’ll take your coffee money.” Gavin flinched, “Sorry you had to deal with her. Sorry for everything really. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “Which ‘this’?” He asked as he turned around with two mugs of coffee and held one out to Gavin, “Sleeping with me again, or being so drunk that you didn’t notice who you were with?” “All of it.” He admitted and held the mug with both of his hands like the warmth would protect him from his mistakes, “From the first time till now. For the text messages. Everything.” “Did you even mean any of it?” There was an emotion to Richard’s voice that Gavin didn’t want to dwell on. He was being given an out, and he wasn’t about to pass it up.

If he were a better person he would have been honest. Instead, he set the mug down and reached for his phone. “No.” He said as he stood. He didn’t look at Richard as he walked to the door, “It’s been fun though.” When the apartment door clicked shut behind him there was an air of finality to it. Another mistake he wouldn’t learn from. There was no coffee on his desk on Monday morning. Things were finally back to normal, so he didn’t understand why it felt so empty.

#A Guide to Bad Business Practices AU #AGBBP #Bad to Work With #BWW #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fic #dbh

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phcking-detective · 4 years ago

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patreon exclusive content

I’m publishing my commissioned fics exclusively on patreon right now while I work on the next fic in my reed900 series, so here’s a masterlist of what fics are ONLY available to patrons: (pricing and tiers below the cut)

God Bless Detroit: 10k, E, wingfic; mafia hitman Richard x his guardian angel Gavin, who keeps swooping in and saving him from death only in the dumbest ways possible >:3

Unsupervised Thoughts: 5k, M, hurt/comfort; Gavin is home sick when a serial rapist targeting android-human couples breaks in and assaults him. Fighting him off turns out to be the easy part in comparison to talking to his boyfriend about his feelings afterward ...

You’re My Whole World, Bro: 6k, E, college bros AU; Gavin finds Nines in his dorm room, stressed out and experiencing an unwanted ... issue. He agrees to lend a helping hand, mouth, and pussy, because what are bros for?

RK21 Jump Street: 3k, T, fluff & humor; Nines and Connor both get called into Captain Fowler’s office to determine which one of them is fucking Kamski’s brother. Unfortunately for Nines, Gavin is also the captain’s adopted son. And he is in so much trouble ...

Blood and Blown, ch 3: 15k!!, E, vampire AU / gangbang; Gavin goes to a tailoring appointment with Nines to get his measurements taken for a bespoke suit so he can be officially debuted as Nines’s pet and first lieutenant. And of course he needs to thank each of the tailor’s assistants, to show what a good, obedient pet he is ...

coming up next: (these fics haven’t been published yet, but they are next in line in my commissions and will be published one fic every Sunday)

Nothing Fucks with My Baby, ch 2: 4k, E, pure smut; A continuation of the fic on AO3, in which Nines roleplays as a companion model learning how to service his new owner Gavin <3

The Honeypot Mission: 10k, E, hurt/comfort; Nines isn’t jealous that Gavin has to seduce a mob boss to get incriminating evidence on him, but he is still very possessive of his boyfriend, especially when said criminal threatens him.

Babey Backstory: 5-10k, T, fluff & humor; Backstory for the Babey AU showing how Gavin mistook his new partner RK900 for the ~*companion model*~ he drunkenly tried to order, and how RK “I’m too pretty for this” 900 decided that yes, he is that companion model, yes he will live rent free in Gavin’s apartment wearing cute maid dresses with his whole pussy out, and no he will not be returning to the DPD. Die mad about it, Connor.

Nothing Fucks with My Baby, ch 3: 4k, E, pure smut; Another installment! In this one, Nines will get all dressed up in his pretty cat accessories and dress, and maybe he’ll even get to crawl over and look at how beautiful he is in the mirror while Gavin pets him <3

more in the works: (not drafted or planned yet, but still on my commission list)

Findom fic: Nines sugars for Gavin, who got rich off of his brother’s money and has a kink for letting beautiful bitchy ice queens spend it for him

Blood and Blown, ch 4: Nines gives his darling pet silver piercings, to remind Gavin that he will always own him (and care for him)

A/B/O fic: Nines loves his mate Gavin, and he most especially loves his mate’s heats, which he counts down to each month almost religiously

Partner Sharing: Nines is a benevolent dom who allows his human Gavin to suck off and get fucked by other humans sometimes, as a treat uwu. Hank is just here to get his dick sucked

my patreon updates once a week, every Sunday. each tier charges the amount listed per week

$1 tier: access to all of these fics as PDFs, plus polls and patron rewards

$2 tier: bonus content like deleted scenes, unpublished roughdrafts, and writing advice / plot outlines for my main series

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years ago

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 23

First - Previous - Next

Hey..... a member of my household just tested positive for Covid-19, and I am displaying symptoms sooooooo hopefully that won’t affect posting but it has made this chapter a little shorter than I had wanted. Basically if the next chapter isn’t out on time that’s why.

cw: b a d parenting, references to trauma

Remus chewed on the end of his pen. Riley, Alberts, Robertson, Robinson, Richards, Allison, Reese, Arlowe . . . something that started with an 'A' or an 'R'. But what? Why couldn't he remember his own last name?

Logan was always saying something about brainwashing and trauma, but Logan knew his own last name! Stupid Logan Sanders and his calm explanations for everything in Remus's life. He didn't want someone telling him how he felt or why, he wanted to move on. He wanted to figure himself out for himself. He wanted out.

The trip to the library a couple weeks ago had been even worse than expected. Logan hadn't even let go of Patton, despite how uncomfy the kid looked. It had to suck to be twenty-something and have your dad drag you around by the shoulders everywhere you go.

Patton had only wanted one book, for some reason. There were so many books in that building, and Logan had pulled like a hundred from the shelves just to show him. He'd signed so quickly about the book that Remus couldn't keep up, but Logan had frowned and talked to the librarian for a few minutes, before eventually presenting Patton with a book—which was probably the one he'd been asking for. His face looked weird after receiving it, happy, but also seriously depressed. It looked pretty old, Remus had no idea why he'd wanted that book.

Rivers, Albright, Abbott, Ramsey, Russell, Reed, Rowell, Austen. . . . Nothing. Not even a smidge of anything. Well, if he couldn't remember his last name, what about the name of where he used to live?

The city came to him almost instantly.

Sharon.

Remus snorted. That was a stupid name for a city. Actually, he could remember joking about it with his brother, about how their mom shared it.

Energy flooded to his limbs with a suddenness, and when the bell rang from the door opening beside him he literally fell out of his seat.

“W-welcome to Chevron,” he said, straightening up. The customer nodded barely at him, making a beeline for the refrigerators in the back. Remus quickly wrote on the scrap of paper he'd been doodling circles onto so far: 'sharon – town and ma'.

Now he just had to figure out which state sounded the most familiar, and if Sharon was a city there. He'd spent days just driving around town with friends, he probably still knew his way around.

The customer paid for a few jugs of Gatorade, then left, dust puffing up behind his truck as he pulled out of the parking lot. Remus sat back down, scratching his mustache with his pen. He could google the city when he got home, then. . . .

Then he'd figure out how to tell Patton and Logan he was leaving.

Patton sighed, flipping through the first half of the book again. Summer, it was called. This copy looked almost identical to the other one. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the slightly indented title, like Virgil would. He'd had it for almost two months now, asking Father to renew the book instead of allowing it to be returned. He really wanted to finish it, after all.

Not that he could ever get himself to read past around the middle.

Patton's notebook was almost full now, but he couldn't ask Remus for another. Not after how much Remus was already doing for him. The pages were filled with studying mouth movements, bad jokes, and journal entries that mostly were about Virgil and what they'd do when they were together again. In tiny, cramped handwriting was a detailed recollection of everything Patton could remember that Virgil told him about where he lived—which wasn't much. It was hard to hold on to any memories from there. His therapist said it had to do with trauma memories being stored incorrectly, and said he might have flashbacks about it. So far, none had happened, but sometimes he wished one would—just so he could see Virgil again.

He wasn't good at drawing, but here and there in his notebook were vague sketches of Virgil. Some days, Patton woke up not sure what he looked like. He couldn't forget him. Patton would never forgive himself if he forgot the lovely mistiness of Virgil's eyes, the way his hair fell into his mouth and made him sputter, the stark paleness of his face against his black hoodie. . . .

Patton wrapped the hoodie around himself. He needed to think about something else, or else he'd start crying again. Crying made his head and ears hurt, which his doctor said would probably always be the case. So he mostly did his best to not cry, ever.

Patton cast his mind around for something new to think about, and landed on the trip to the library several weeks ago. The trip wasn't . . . optimal?

No. The trip sucked.

Father wouldn't let go of him, which just made him feel like a toddler having to be guided around. It was bright, and had a lot of people, and was a little startling, but Patton was sure he could have handled it. Why didn't Father trust him?

It wasn't just that. Father made him go to bed at a specific time every night, wouldn't let him have any say in what he ate, wouldn't even let him pick what to watch on the TV. It was . . . it was stupid! It was awful, it was embarrassing, it was demeaning! It made Patton feel worthless, like he wasn't even a proper member of society! He wasn't a boy anymore, he had even had a job back at the Haven, he wasn't helpless!

Maybe soon, with all that he'd been learning, he could prove to Father that he was capable. And if Father wouldn't believe him, well . . . Patton would have to make him.

Again, that anger was right at the surface, ready to spill out into the air. At least he had the book.

Somehow, Logan had let Remus convince him that he didn't need to go to every therapy appointment with Patton, so Logan was at home alone. For the first time in months. He was exhausted, but he did not have time to sleep.

Patton was hiding something. Logan was undeniably certain of it. And when Patton hid something, he hid it under his bed.

Logan didn't get up immediately. This was a matter of privacy, after all. He understood that he was likely being a little too restricting with his son, but who could blame him? He'd almost lost him. So if Patton was hiding something, it was likely best to know what it was. Patton didn't seem to realize the amount of danger he was in. It wasn't his fault, he was just a child. Children weren't supposed to worry about this sort of thing, it was their parents' jobs to care for them. So, naturally, he had to make sure that whatever Patton was hiding wasn't going to bring harm in some way. If it was, he could gently confront him about it, and explain why it was not acceptable.

With that plan in mind, Logan stood from his desk and made his way to Patton's room. His door was always open, even when he was inside—it made sense, all things considered.

The room still had almost precisely the same setup as Logan had put together, down to the making of the bed. He'd told Patton that he was allowed to customize his room and ask for personal items, but so far he had done neither of those things. The only difference was that the small closet now had a few more pieces of clothing in it.

Logan bent to his hands and knees beside the bed and peered beneath. Sure enough, there were items underneath the boy's bed: a battered blue notebook, the singular book that he had wanted from the library last month, the jacket that had belonged to the other other prisoner. Logan reached for the notebook, grunting when his back popped.

He pulled himself onto Patton's bed to open it. It was confusing, at first, some jokes in his son's handwriting, rather poor sketches of an unfamiliar face. Then. . . .

Oh.

That—that was bad.

Logan took a few deep breaths, then flipped another page, then another. More of the same. This wasn't good. This was not good at all.

These diagrams and instructions, clearly for lip-reading? These would get Patton taken away from him. These would hurt him. These would make Patton want to leave the safety of home.

These were dangerous.

Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck @larkiaquail

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harrenhollaback · 5 years ago

Note

5, 6, 9 and 11!

5. rank the starks and explain yourself, you monster

love that we sent this to each other. leo energy (my moon). OKAY.

jon snow << rickon << robb << bran << sansa << arya << LYANNA.

sorry to say it to your face, raniyah ): i just find jon so boring? he might get more interesting to me in the books but his chapters are sooo cold and bleak and woman-less and that’s a big ol dock.

don’t know enough about bb rick yet but he still has more personality to me than jason sno. robb i feel like outside of red wedding sympathy just has a rachel berry-ness to him. like if richard madden wasn’t hot, we’d all see it. bowlcut bran has rights. sansa and arya is pure favoritism. LYANNA is the OG-EST. the quim that toppled MULTIPLE dynasties. the knight of the laughing tree?? stunt queen til death and BEYOND. who else is doing it like she???

6. rank arya’s dads: syrio, yoren, the hound, ned, whoever else

fuckinnnnn this is a thing w me in everyday real life, i’m always asking ppl questions i can’t answer myself lol.

show!hound > ned > syrio > yoren > book!hound.

oh wow i really hate this LOL. je suis regrette!!!

9. ideal endings for the starklings in the books?

i’m still on like ch 5 of storm aha butttt. i’m down with king bran in the NORTH w sansa and arya on council. i wanted arya to kill cersei in the show but i don’t actually want her to kill anyone in her prayer in the books, i’d rather that just be a successful spell she casts. her giving mercy to lady stoneheart is also the way for me .-. anyway, ALIVE rickon brings unicorns to winterfell. bran somehow brings back the children of the forest and gives them lands. he learns from the reeds how to enjoy frog meat (’: and jon chilling w the wildlings and ALIVE giants is pleasing to me. basically need the north to be the most magically poppin disneyland of westeros.

11. how would you have spent arya’s 3 names in harrenhal?

i would NOT have been clever enough to name jaqen so i super respect her for that one. joffrey at the top, speed this whole thing along. tywin so he can get off my boy robb. and then the mountain for taking me off the schedule putting her in harrenhal in the first place and bc he’s out there being too op. do multiple factions a favor bc i’m generous like that.

thank you for hitting me with the hardest ones, you sadist!!

arya-centris asks 📜

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chalabrun · 7 years ago

Text

between the dirt & desperation, ch. 2

Word count: 2,420 Pairings: Symbrock Rating: T Warnings: Animal death, non-sexual vore, violence Summary: Sequel to “Angry & Half in Love with You”, it’s been well over a month since Eddie moved away from San Francisco to start over in his hometown of Manhattan. Yet, it’s difficult to return to a normal life when what you were once addicted to becomes addicted to you. A/N: This is a crossover between Venom (2018) and Sam Raimi’s Spiderman trilogy (2002-07)

( READ ON AO3 )

The symbiote was relentlessly starved when they finally made some sort of harbor a dark place where grime crawled deeper and lower than the rats Venom gorged itself upon, being generous, ginger. It withdrew from coating the whole of Eddie’s body and instead emerged like a serpent, slithering and bobbing as it devoured what it could while Eddie watched on apathetically. Not because he didn’t care, but because it held less horror for him than it should. Those few days together—had it been less? Whatever it was, there had been no time to slow down and think. Here and now, in the deafening silence, there was.

Without having to be told, he knew that it’d known Maria. They had been together for a time, and it let him access that trust through the hum of tension. The hum that sometimes growled. A pigeon panicked and squawked when Venom lunged and crushed the bird in its jaws in a sickening crunch of finality, feathers and thin talons sticking from its jaws before swallowing it down whole. Then, more rats. More crunching and devouring and sick noises instead of what hung in the air like a noose.

Eddie squatted on a crushed cardboard box while it ate, unwilling to shut his eyes lest he saw what Venom did. The blood, the viscera, a taste that would make him retch if he let himself. His skin felt clammy. Oh, he’d been sweating. His clothes clung to his body unpleasantly, almost like he’d been dipped in water. Was it him, or Venom? He couldn’t tell anymore.

All he did know was, in the silence, there wasn’t any censor. While Venom feigned like it was fully absorbed in foraging for prey, everything passed between them. Every badly suppressed sensation, emotion. The cautious relief, the tension, the anxiety—those were Venom’s, he thinks. Or was it both? All Eddie really knew was his own caution, the tension, the suspicion, the—oh. So, there was some overlap. Did he fear it? Suddenly, everything he’d done came in sharp relief and the last month had felt like withdrawal. This…it was like taking a hit but getting none of the high.

Being too fucking aware to drown in the weird colors, to smell sound.

“So, how long are we gonna hole down here and pretend what happened didn’t, Ven?” It’s asked suddenly, tiredly, and now Venom flinches. He can feel it all the way up the appendage. Like a shiver down a spine. His spine, Venom’s? Or theirs. Regardless, Eddie sounded tired, frustrated. Probably not the most inviting front.

Venom slurps down the last rat. It’s morbid seeing it slide down his throat, and he can’t stand to watch. He pressed a finger to his temple, expelling a weary and terse sigh.

“…We’re sorry, Eddie. There’s just so much we didn’t understand—”

He can feel it. Like Venom is going to crumble, like he’d blow away if he didn’t clamor towards Eddie and twist around him for dear life. Eddie wants it, too. He wants it so much he can feel his fingers twitching, biceps tense like they’d open up at the slightest insistence and seize the symbiote in a crushing embrace. But, they can’t. Not yet. Not when Eddie doesn’t trust it. Even if he can feel its fragility, its heart that throbbed painfully.

Not when he can’t distinguish what belongs to whom.

“…Could’ve asked me. I wouldn’t have minded, y’know. Just sat down and watched some fuckin’ boring documentary about… I dunno, goddamn Plato for somethin’. Freud. Those guys. Knew all about how humanity ticks.” Eddie dropped his face in his hand, digging into the hair at his hairline as he watched a trickle of water run past to a storm sewer. He wanted to sleep. But, he couldn’t just leave things hanging like this.

A drop on his forehead. Who…? Nah, it was just beginning to rain. He forgot how cold and dreary Manhattan could be. Glancing towards Venom, the symbiote looking like the alien equivalent of a kicked puppy, the downpour starting.

“Com’mere. I don’t want ya gettin’ all soaked like that.” Putting his hood up, Venom retracted some back into his body, like ink soaking up parchment. The part that remained hung on the hoodie’s collar and tucked itself beneath his chin, warm and pliant beneath his stubble. Meekly did Venom rub himself against his chin, which admittedly tickled. Eddie broke out in a quick grin and chuffed softly, which earned a relieved pause from Venom as it continued to nuzzle into his jawline.

It was a start, at least.

“…We don’t want to end up like last time. We missed you, Eddie. …We want a second chance.” Venom’s words were quiet and admissive, and totally vulnerable. He could feel a tightness in his chest that wasn’t his own.

Eddie nodded, a thoughtful silence descending even as he got soaked, rain dripping from the lip of his hood. “I wanna trust you, Ven. I do, it’s just— …Funny. How people all over the world lead these fuckin’ lonely lives. Top brass. Lowest scum. And everyone in between who doesn’t have anyone to understand them. Not in the way they wish they could. Boy, if they knew the damn cost of it all.” Venom filled a side of Eddie’s hoodie, nuzzling yearningly into the blond’s cheek and rubbing affectionately. Absently, he grazed his lips against the symbiote that began purring deeply. “And now, I got it. Y’think it wouldn’t be this fuckin’ complicated, sharing headspace an’ all.”

Venom breathed softly against Eddie’s neck, pressing into his pulse. “You were kind to her. We saw it through her eyes. You were a good friend.”

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely, voice cracking huskily, feeling his eyes mist wetly. “Too bad she ain’t here to say so. Fuck—”

“You’re a real hard guy to track down, Brock. Guess I’m lucky you didn’t get very far.”

Eddie reared to stand and upset whatever water had been accumulating on him, like a statue suddenly come to life, perched over a gloomy autumn fountain and under a funeral shroud sky. There was the red. Red he remembered. But somehow shouldn’t but did. Spiderman. He’d seen him before in the papers, but that red looked different in person. Realer. Too vivid for a dark city.

“Spiderman? Th’ hell’re you doin’ here?” Eddie asked in surprise, Venom having vanished at the right time.

“Enough of the talk. You’ve got the symbiote, Brock. A lot of people are gonna get hurt if you don’t give it up.”

“What, is there a crime against loiterin’ in alleyways? Or are ya suddenly an avenger for fuckin’ vermin?” the blond demanded incredulously, those inscrutable opaque lenses making it impossible to tell what the vigilante was thinking. He could feel Vernom’s trepidation evolve into something malicious, tenebrous shadow building behind him like a nascent forest fire.

“Spiderman!” Venom seethed menacingly, claws curling and fangs bared menacingly. Its eyes narrowed to slits, Eddie feeling its inky substance creep up his skin and over his clothes. So, it was really coming to that? That they’d be the villains jumping innocent people in dark alleyways?

Spiderman poised himself to attack, reflexively wheeling a step back when Venom’s form grew like a cloud, sucking Eddie into that familiar black mist. “Wait—you two know each other?”

“Boy, I wish it was just a mutual acquaintanceship, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know what a threat that thing is, Brock. And you’re in danger if you keep using it!” Spiderman proclaimed in a truer accusation. “You have no idea what this thing is really capable of.”

The cogs in Eddie’s brain began turning. “Wait—so you were the schmuck who handed Ven over to those exploitive creeps?!” Anger. There it was. Like finding a pilot light beneath a tank of petrol and lighting it. There was an emotion he didn’t mind sharing for once. And it was symbiotic between them.

A rumbling noise interrupted what the two were saying. “I bonded with him temporarily, Eddie. Because…I missed it. I missed us. Spiderman treated us like another suit. It lasted for a few days before a Dr. Richard Reeds parted us.” The hiss it uttered was low and banal, burgeoning with resentment. And now, of course Spiderman wanted to do the right thing and put them on the slaughterhouse floor they liked to call justice. “We’re a monster to him, Eddie.”

Whatever had gone on between them suddenly didn’t matter. Spiderman acted on impulse and slung his webbing on two dumpsters and hauled them back manfully, both metal cannisters careening and bouncing roughly on concrete before Venom enveloped him completely, like drowning in those 20,000 leagues under the sea without a submarine. It was familiar, like a womb. They were one again.

“YOU HURT US!” Venom roared as it caught one of the dumpsters and pitched it at Spiderman who reflexively leaped over it. “And now—you threatened to hurt Eddie! We’ll never forgive you!” It was less heartbreak here and more a possessive and righteous anger. At least, righteous to them. Here, in the darkness, everything felt right. Only Spiderman was wrong. He would never part them!

“Brock, if you’re in here, listen to me: I know how it feels! It feels great, at first. But this…this thing, it’s leeching on everything wrong! It makes it worse and—” Venom roared indignantly and tore the other dumpster in two, leaping to bear the weight on its blow that Spiderman barely avoided, vaulting into the air several feet up and racing up the side of the building. “—It’s going to ruin you if you keep this up!”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” Venom roared furiously, its own webbing soaring its body into the sky as it gave chase to Spiderman who took off in hot pursuit of a place predictably further away from civilians. “We won’t let you or anyone else separate us ever again!” Rage. The white-hot, poetic rage that would make the stars tremble. A romantic rage of tortured poets who saw the futility of gray skies and death. It was here, raw and maligned. Except towards Eddie. Despite everything, nothing could make it hurt Eddie.

His Eddie.

Spiderman landed squarely against the side of a warehouse, practically soundless. He couldn’t let innocent people get hurt, but inside no one was there in the charge of shifts. Maybe it’d cause damage, but all he cared about was the preservation of life. Not lost assets.

Adroitly did he use his webbing to open a narrow enough window near the roof and catapult his way through it, assessing his surroundings in the blink of an eye. The stacks were at least a few stories high, enough to provide ammunition against the symbiote. And—speakers!

Venom rocketed through the same window with a loud violence, struggling to squeeze through compared to the slender Spider. Glass shards rained as it landed heavily, a shake in the air as its tongue tasted the air. “We can hear you, little spider! Climbing higher up the water spout, ha!” the symbiote taunted, arrogance rife in its very veins. It stalked the long avenues of boxes and paraphernalia, Spiderman high aloft and studying its movements.

Wait—were those exhaust vents? And tankards of gas.

That gave him an idea.

“Hey, ugly! Over here!” The jeer got Venom’s attention, the symbiote snarling as it propelled itself upwards and swung through the rafters, just rows away from Spiderman. The masked arachnid dropped down when Venom barreled through and came too close, landing deftly on his feet before he found the exhaust vents. It was natural gas—perfect!

Venom waited for a brief moment, scenting the air for Peter. Quietly, and as swiftly as he could, he knocked off the spouts of two of the two natural gas tanks and a high pennywhistle of air pitched and already the stench of natural gas flooded the room. Booking it from the narrow office, he stood before and where Venom could see him. Luckily, the office’s doors looked sturdy and all but one entrance were locked, as there was only one way in or out.

“Looking for me? Guess we’re like the tortoise and the hare here, aren’t we, big guy?”

Already with a thin pride as it was, Venom snapped and devolved into a galloping morass of oily sludge as it raced towards him, Peter running headlong towards it as if embracing death. Except, he wasn’t. The smell of gasoline was acrid and likely set to implode at any minute.

At the last second did Peter dive aside while Venom barreled heedlessly into the office, ramming into several desks and overturning them in the process. Papers upset by the collision created a hail of white, obscuring their view while Peter locked the office shut with the fumes pent up inside, using his webbing to topple a row of shelving that landed cacophonously and shed its merchandise to effectively lock the pair inside, hauling it with inhuman strength to barricade the windowless room shut.

Feeling the very air shimmer with heat, Peter launched himself skyward and propelled himself by slinging through the skylight, willing that he was right and no one else was around to get hurt. He raced away as fast as his webs could take him, several blocks so before an explosion rocked the air and he was sundered to skid to a stop on a sidewalk, the silent night brightening hellishly as an inferno erupted and plumes of smoke roiled enormously and black into that grey sky, dying it sable.

Peter coughed and groaned softly, rolling on his back as he slowly got himself back on his feet, wiping away a skid mark of dirt on his mask.

Police and fire engines raced past, a cold breeze of their speeding coloring the night that same, vivid red. So different from the violence several blocks away, the vigilante’s heart heavy with a deep regret.

He didn’t like it when people died. Especially people who didn’t know what they’d gotten themselves into, but what choice did he have? Peter watched on as people slowly emerged from their homes, bundling themselves in coats and shawls as they gossiped worriedly for the flames licking the sky.

Peter bowed his head.

He had to get home. His Aunt May would be wondering where he was. Especially after all of this.

#eddie brock #venom #symbrock #veddie #peter parker #crossover #vore cw #kinda #if this doesn't make the fandom hate me idk what will :'D #angst gremlin here with more angst woop woop

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