Work Text:
>ashswagg whispers to you: help
Tubbo’s communicator gave a faint chime as he looked down, the soft hum of static blending in with the consistent white noise that The Regime's factory provided. He paused, a wrench halfway through tightening a valve on one of the Regime’s transport skiffs, and glanced down at the device. The green text flickered across the screen.
>ashswagg whispers to you: tuboloaj
>ashswagg whispers to you: tubbo????
Tubbo squinted, his shoulders dropping, tilting his head. The message was horribly simple, but the uneven spelling and the way Ash clearly had typed it without thinking had made Tubbo jump to his own conclusions. Was Ash in trouble? Did he need pots or help? Nah, no way, Ash could tank them. Maybe he just needs an out of a conversation, Tubbo knows the feeling. Yeah, Hopefully its some mundane shit like that.
…Even still, Ash needed his help. He (not-so) carefully set the wrench aside, wiped a smear of machine oil across his already stained pants, and typed back a short reply. He frowned a bit at the sight of black now smearing his machine screen.
yo im here
Is something wrong man?
The response came almost immediately. Whether or not that was a good thing was entirely up for debate.
>ashswagg whispers to you: I miss you
Tubbo's heart skips a beat.
>ashswagg whispers to you: ur so nice to me tobias and i don't desereve it at all
>ashswagg whispers to you: you dont think im useless right?
Tubbo desperately needs to knock some sense into Ash when he comes home. A sense of worth, maybe.
The mechanic let out a slow sigh, leaning back against the workbench, choosing to ignore the object that clattered against the ground in response. The space where his heart is supposed to be churns, white-hot guilt filling the spaces between his ribs.
Of course, he didn't think Ash was useless, far from it, he would never dare think that way, Ash was so powerful, strong, commanding. Tubbo didn't mind it one bit, it seemed to be the opposite, actually.
Another message blinked in before he could even think of how to respond.
>ashswagg whispers to you: can you pick me up tubbo sorry
>ashswagg whispers to you: im at ewrons new casino thing it looks liek shit you cnat miss it lol
Tubbo frowned—
>ashswagg whispers to you: im so sorry
Tubbo's eyebrows pinch together as he pictures Ash, his supreme leader, drowning his worries in cheap alcohol; knowing Ewron, it tasted the same as cheap liquor, maybe worse, but was priced as 'the shit'. That was besides the point, Ash was messaging him still.
>ashswagg whispers to you: iits okay if you dont wanna see me ims uch a fuck up im sorry
Tubbo dug out his way-stone from wherever he last remembered it being was in his inventory,
>ashswagg whispers to you: i dont wanna bother you anymore tobias
Tubbo flicks through the list of way-points he has before realizing that he doesn't even have the one to the Casino, so he (begrudgingly) settles on Katie's KFC, hoping that it's at least somewhere near wherever Ash is.
>ashswagg whispers to you: forget i said anything actually sorry
The world snapped before he could read the next message Ash sends, the dull colors of The Regime spinning and then disappearing entirely, and as he walks forward, eyes still locked onto his communicator, thinking of how to respond, the garish, almost lavish glow of Ewron’s casino floods his eyes, making his head snap to the general direction of the place.
Even from here, the air smells strongly of mixed perfumes and stale alcohol. Tubbo's nose crinkled inward, face scrunching up as his tail flicked behind him in discomfort. Despite this, he approaches, fighting the urge to lift his cardigan sleeve to his face just to evade the smell for a blissful second.
As he passes through the archway, smooth marble pillars that were surrounded by meticulously trimmed bushes, he can almost instinctively spot a shape of a man in the corner of the lounge, the black curly hair unmistakable. Tubbo briefly appraises the warm lighting as he sees the man shift, leaning crookedly over a plush, black couch, was Ash, the man, the myth, the Supreme Leader himself.
What Tubbo assumed was not his first glass dangled loosely from his fingers, eyes unfocused on the lights above. Ash's arms were splayed across the top of the couch, eyes glazed and occasionally flicking to where his communicator lay next to him and then back overhead
Was..
....Was Ash waiting for a message back from him? He had forgotten to text back, hadn't he…Oopsies.
Tubbo hesitated for a heartbeat, then willed himself to start walking, his boots thumping softly against the carpet. A warmth grew in his chest as his brows furrowed together.
The once warm lights now start to bleed almost neon against his skin as he starts to get consumed by the Casino, blues and reds and greens that dance across Tubbo as he steps closer.
The air feels dense, suffocatingly so. It makes Tubbo want to hurl. He's acquainted with this scent enough to know what it does to someone.
Ash stays slouching on the black couch, as if trying to desperately merge into it.
The Supreme Leader was reduced to a man barely holding onto consciousness. His dark braid has unraveled, strands of black, curly hair falling over his flushed face. He'd have to redo it for him when he's sober. The code in his eye pulses erratically, illuminating his dazed expression in flickers of sharp, digital light.
Tubbo hesitates, boots sinking into the (stained) white carpet as he approaches. God, this place was a mess, he thinks, chest tightening at the sight of Ash sitting among several bottles. His factory wasn't in the best shape, he can admit that for certain, but at least it didn't have drunk people littering the yard 24/7.
And yet, if somebody asks him what he thinks of Ash after seeing him like this, he'd always respond that he was still the commanding, untouchable, powerful Supreme leader; a forceyou couldn’t look at for too long without feeling small. But as of right now?… now he looks unbearably human. Fragile. Like a tall child.
Tubbo disregards those thoughts quickly and leans down and nudges him gently. “Ash?" he prompts, voice intentionally quiet but firm.
Ash’s breath hitches loudly, painfully as soon as Tubbo's finger barely makes contact with him.
His whole body jerks, practically convulses, with the sudden contact, and the glass in his hand falls from his hands, a fizzing, red liquid seeps into the velvet beside him, the glass, clinking to the floor, miraculously unshattered, the stain of... some sort of drink spreads like a wound into the fabric. His arms come up to block an attack.
Ash blinks up, confused, squinting as the lights blare in his eyes through his haze. A side of his face flickers with code, a rhythmic pulse of black-purple nonsense and faint binary code.
Then, as if Ash finally comes to, his hands drop, and the one exposed eye's pupils expand wholeheartedly.
A lopsided smile creeps onto Tubbo’s face, tail swaying behind him. “Your ride’s here, Supreme Leader.”
For a heartbeat... maybe a few more, Ash just stares. Then, slowly, a dumb, drunken smile spreads across his face.
A mixture of glee, warmth, and something else he can’t quite name filters throughout Ash's chest, running into his veins. He can't tell if seeing Tubbo has sobered him up or made him even more drunk. Ash leans forward without any verbal or physical warning, wrapping his arms around Tubbo and pulling him close.
Tubbo freezes. How could he not?
The supreme leader’s weight crashes into him, heavy with alcohol and exhaustion. He smells like sharp liquor and crushed velvet. Ash’s face presses into his neck, and Tubbo can feel the faint tremble in his breath.
“Ash—” Tubbo's voice caught on the second syllable, nearly a squeak.
He's hugging me. His tail starts to wag, like a mutt, without his approval.
Ash hums low in his throat, words slurred against Tubbo’s skin. “Tubbo… you came...!" His voice is small, raw. Vulnerable. A belated laugh bubbles up inside him, oscillating in and out of a low mumble of a humming noise.
Tubbo swallows hard, arms hovering before finally settling around Ash’s back. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Someone’s gotta keep you from like, killing yourself, man."
Ash laughs softly, his breath smells strongly of alcohol. His fingers clutch at Tubbo’s cardigan like he’s afraid to let go. Tubbo suddenly feels utterly out of place because he's sober and his hands itch to grab his warp-stone.
But he can't leave.
Not when Ash is clinging to him, one sudden movement away from sobbing into his neck.
“You're...all mine,” Ash slurs into his skin, arms tightening around Tubbo,
Tubbo’s heart stutters, he doesn't feel his heartbeat for the next couple of seconds. He can't recall when it comes back. Tubbo's world whites out behind his head. His ears are faintly ringing, pounding, pulsing but he doesn’t need to hear the outside world. He just needs to hear those words fall from Ash's lips again and again and again and—
Tubbo knows that he doesn’t mean it, right?
He's just... Drunk. That's all.
And yet he can’t fight the warmth that begins to rise in his cheeks and then travels to the tips of his ears.
"How—" Tubbo is surprised by how much his voice cracks, and has to clear his throat with a cough, "How much did you drink, Ash?”
“All of it.”
“All of it? Wow man, that's certainly a lot to drink, must have a liver of fuckin' steel, yeah?"
Ash leans heavily against Tubbo instead of indulging in his antics, practically draping himself over his second-in-command like a spoiled, soggy cat, and giggles quietly at nothing, a raspy vibration muffled by Tubbo's skin, his lips dangerously grazing close to the column of Tubbo's neck.
Tubbo catches sight of their reflection in the mirrored wall. Ash’s code flickering weakly, Tubbo's own expression caught between worry and something softer, something that didn't feel comfortable describing as Ash begins to slowly, surely, release him from his grasp.
Tubbo could feel the way Ash's hands trembled as he reluctantly pulled back, the warmth of Tubbo’s cardigan leaving a strange, hollow ache in his chest. One that was once temporarily filled with the slosh of alcoholic drinks.
Ash's face distorted with binary static even as he attempted, and failed, to take deep breaths to calm himself, tiny flickers of 1s and 0s rippling across his flushed face, going as far as to his forearm.
Ash wavered on his feet as he tried to lean back, knees wobbly, dizzy not only from a mixture of what he’d drunk and from the sensation of prolonged, overwhelming, short-circuiting physical touch.
Tubbo hesitated, scanning Ash’s flushed, static-filled face. Then, with a sigh, he reached forAsh’s hands and squeezed lightly.
The contact was enough to make Ash’s system stutter again, a faint shimmer of static traveling down his arm as if corrupting it, and yet trying to reach for Tubbo's own.
Tubbo didn’t let go. Not even as he gently guided him out of the casino, past the multicolored haze of lights that painted their shadows red and yellow and soft oranges.
The night air outside was cooler, a relief for Tubbo and painful against Ash's still burning skin. Tubbo shivered, but his fingers curled instinctively around Ash's palm.
Ash faltered for a fraction of a second, then grasped Tubbo's hand impossibly tighter, seemingly reluctant to release the only tether he felt he had left.
Tubbo’s tail flicked anxiously as he muttered, “C’mon big man, let’s get you back before you, like… crash in someone’s gutter, or some shit.”
Ash’s chest rose and fell in uneven waves. As they approached the spot where the warp stone was, the Supreme Leader hesitated, his steps faltering, staggering behind a few steps. Tubbo glanced back, ears twitching.
“…Just one more drink?”
Tubbo let out a stretched-out sound, almost akin to a door creaking,. “Sorry big man, you can drink some water tho, how does that sound? a niceee, cold, jug of water when we get home...?"
Ash looked confused, like he didn't even know where 'home' was.
...Man, he must be really drunk, Tubbo decided once again.
He didn’t shake Ash off. He couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t even want to. Instead, he tightened his grip on Ash’s hand again, guiding both of them into the warp-stone's faint pulsing glow with a sound of encouragement.
The world twisted and dissolved in a shower of small specks of violet static once more. That probably wasn't the best for Ash's drunken state.
When they landed in the familiar shadows of The Regime, Ash stumbled forward, still clinging to Tubbo’s hand like a lifeline.
Ash's face was still flushed, code still pulsing faintly under his skin, gaze fixated on Tubbo like he was the only real, tangible, believable thing left in the universe.
The Supreme Leader's face grimaced at the sudden onslaught of noise that came from Tubbo's machines.
Tubbo’s heart was still hammering from the hug, from the scent of Ash clinging to him in return, and from the way that single word—mine, Ash had slurred directly into his ear,—still echoed loudly in the forefront of his mind.
He didn't even notice how loud the machines were until they were halfway up to the Pantheon and Ash had groaned, "It's loud, Tobias…" Like Tubbo could just shut the machines up in an instant
…The machine lord didn't sound like a horrible title actually—
"Tobias…" Ash lamented in his ear once more, making Tubbo flinch from the (rather sultry) voice coming from directly behind him.
"Oh shit, s—sorry, yeah?" Tubbo had to remind himself that he was accompanying a drunkAsh, and that drunk people don't tend to be the most… coherent?
Even as Ash gave a frustrated choked noise and lolled his face downward at his inability to vocalize his needs properly, no tears fell from his eyes.
Tubbo laughed clumsily at Ash’s childish nature, the sound echoing in the hollow hallways of the pantheon like a small bell.
The laugh felt more like a nervous reflex, but it still managed to fill the sterile, cold air that clung to every polished metal surface anyway.
He tightened his grip on Ash’s hand, feeling the warmth of the drunken Supreme Leader radiate against his palm, —why hadn't he realized how cold Ash was when he wasnt drunk?— and began to drag him toward the elevator block that lay behind Ash's chair
The Pantheon was a place that had always felt distant to Tubbo despite him building it himself.
Its ceilings soared too high, its walls were too white and reminded him of… reminded him…
Of nothing in particular.
He hated how his every footstep rang out clearly, like he couldn't sneak in if he tried. The air was cold and dry, tinged with the ever-present low drone of machines, too far to be considered noisy from the pantheon, and yet too loud to entirely focus.
Compared to the lively, grimy hum of the factory, this place felt like a mausoleum—a home for the powerful, not for people. Tubbo wasn't quite sure if he was either of those. It felt like he was intruding.
Ash’s weight sagged against him once more, and Tubbo could feel his warmth even through the fabric of his cardigan.
The difference between the two sensations, the freezing room and the heat of Ash’s body, was quite jarring to Tubbo.
The scent of liquor clung to Ash, stagnant, heavy, and diluted by the faintest smell of static and something metallic, almost like blood.
Tubbo tried not to breathe in too deeply; it was hard not to.
He yearned—God, did he yearn—but guilt twisted and knotted deep within his stomach.
His Supreme Leader, the man he admired for being untouchable and commanding, was reduced to this… vulnerable, drunken, inconsolable mess.
Tubbo’s heart thudded unevenly at the intimacy of it all, at the rare permission it gave him to hold Ash this close, and yet shame and worry mixed with that quiet, selfish joy; it blurred all in the same color and dispersed into his brain like flour.
It's not like he didn't… not like physical touch…
…Okay maybe he was a tad bit averse to it, but the sudden on-and-off of Ash pulling back from him and then practically throwing himself at Tubbo with all his strength was a little much, that's all!
“C’mon, Supreme Leader… almost there,” Tubbo murmured, voice soft, almost tender sounding to Ash's ears, like speaking too loud might make Ash start to sob.
When they reached Ash’s room, the door slid open. The breath caught in Tubbo’s throat. Even though he’d seen it before, it always unsettled him.
The room was barren, a void blanketed in white. Smooth walls devoid of personal touches (aside from the image opposite the bed, but we don't speak on that).
No books, hardly any pictures, no trinkets. It didn’t feel like a bedroom at all, if anything it felt like a laboratory, or a cell.
Tubbo didn't think about how that was fitting for Ash out of all people, nor did it manage to pull anything out of the recesses of his mind.
Nothing at all.
Tubbo knew he was being hypocritical, that he didn't even have a bed, much less a room. If you count his factory floor a bed, then yeah, he had a semblance of a space all for himself.
Tubbo didn't even have that much of a nest to be 'all for himself'. Something deep in Tubbo felt particularly wounded at that.
The only noticeable contrast inside the bland room was the massive, plush bed in the center, a rich, deep purple that looked well put together.
Ash’s bleary eyes lit up at the sight of the bed, and a faint, delighted noise bubbled out of his throat. “Oh, m'bed…” he mumbled, voice thick.
Tubbo’s chest tightened. There was something so unbearably human in that sound.
Before Tubbo could react, he was being dragged forward with surprising strength. “Ash—wait, hey!—” he yelped, stumbling, boots slipping on the slick white floor with a screeeeech.
A (dizzying) moment later, they both crashed onto the soft expanse of purple. The bed enveloped them like a cloud, nearly swallowing Tubbo whole. His tail wagged at the feeling of warmth surrounding him on all sides
The first thing he noticed was the heat.
Ash’s body was warm—scalding, even—against his own, and the blankets that surrounded every other side felt as if they'd just been taken out of the dryer.
Ash's breath stung hot with alcohol as he pressed his face into Tubbo’s shoulder. Every nerve in Tubbo’s body lit up like a warning flare. He froze, feeling the tremor in Ash’s fingers as they curled instinctively into his cardigan, clinging as he might vanish otherwise.
“Ash…” Tubbo’s voice trembled, half-protest, half-plea. He wanted to pull back, to do the right thing, to keep this moment from crossing an invisible boundary.
He should have pulled away. He knew this wasn’t fair; His supreme leader was drunk for God's sake, and he was supposed to be the responsible one! The brains of the operation, the genius-boy mechanic!
But his hands hovered only a moment before they slowly settled against Ash’s back, almost traitorous in their need to touch him.
Touching him sounded wrong. Feel him? No that's worse… Whatever. Tubbo wanted to be close to Ash, what was once a physical and mental need individually, ended up intertwining and dissolving into one. Merging into an indecipherable urge.
Warmth is the singular thought that clouds Ash's befuddled mind. Tubbo is warm, or is Ash just cold? Maybe they were both warm and the bed was the cold one. Maybe everything was always warm. Ash had always been cold, nor did he like the feeling of touch. He wouldn't know,
Touch, to Ash at least, had always felt… wrong. Hugging someone felt like a burden, and being in the vicinity of someone felt like trying to force the same side of a magnet together. It just didn't work, it wasn't meant to. Physical touch and Ash don't mix well, he had come to terms with that a long time ago.
Then Tubbo came into his life, and then suddenly touch didn't seem so bad. It didn't hurt. It felt like up was down and right was wrong. It felt weird, simply. He didn't mind 'weird' all that much now.
Ash’s mumbled words that were incoherent, slurred fragments of sentences murmured against the shell of Tubbo’s ear, and the sound of his voice—low, raw, helpless—sent shivers down Tubbo’s spine.
Tubbo’s tail flicked uncontrollably against the blankets, showcasing his excitement, his longing, his stupid feelings. He wanted this closeness desperately, had wanted it for longer than he’d ever admit.
Tubbo had been born into cold and had both died and killed in it more times than he could count on all his fingers and toes combined. Maybe for once he'd like to live in warmth. Sometimes warmth took the form of a man named Ashswag
And yet… it was too laced with discomfort for Tubbo to indulge in these feelings, these sensations, and endorphins that flooded his brain. His Supreme Leader was drunk, mortifyingly so, barely aware, and still clutching him like a lifeline. The warmth in his chest ached with guilt.
Ash sighed deeply, his breath fanning against Tubbo’s neck, and whispered something that sounded vaguely like his name. Tubbo’s heart stuttered violently, a startling mixture of joy and panic surging through him, passing through his veins like wildfire. Tubbo gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights the urge to show his neck in a show of submission.
He couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto his lips, even as his ears burned red and his tail found its way around Ash's leg.
Tubbo can feel his pupils expand in real time, Ash's hands grip the back of Tubbo's cardigan until they start to shake, and his full lips graze over the column of Tubbo's neck and rest there, as he did before in the bar.
Tubbo closed his eyes, he told himself it was just for a minute, letting the thrum of Ash’s body under his hands sink into him like liquid. He fights back an embarrassingly loud sound that instead comes out as a quiet, humming, noise that builds in the back of his throat almost primally.
Ash’s weight pressed more firmly against Tubbo in lieu of verbal response, his breath smelling faintly of cheap, harsh liquor and something metallic, the scent enough to cling to the heat of the mechanic's skin.
Tubbo’s pulse hammered at his throat, drumming an uneven rhythm that Ash seemed to instinctively find, match with, and respond to. The Supreme Leader shifted, nuzzling further into the (sensitive) crook of Tubbo’s neck, the sensation of his hair—messy, still slightly damp with sweat and something that smelled strongly of wine, which, it probably was wine—tickling along Tubbo’s skin.
The first graze of binary static sent a shiver lacing up Tubbo’s spine. It wasn’t painful, at least, not exactly, but every pinprick felt like a sudden flicker of electricity, tiny needle-pricks that danced across his nerves, like his joints had just miraculously fallen asleep in response to Ash's glitch, or like when he accidentally stubs his toe on something.
Tubbo stifled a soft gasp as Ash’s face moved, the distorting hum of his code brushing directly over his pulse point. He wanted to push him back, to preserve whatever life-force he had left.
Ash murmured something incomprehensible, a broken string of syllables that might have been Tubbo’s name again or might have been complete nonsense, and then—he pressed a small, clumsy kiss to the side of Tubbo’s throat.
Tubbo froze.
His tail gave him away entirely, at first just a traitorous flick, then a slow, methodical wrap around Ash’s leg, finding its original state, and then squeezing tightly as if confirming he was present.
He didn’t pull away. He didn't want to do that much anyway. He couldn't find it in himself to care.
Another kiss followed the first, feather-light and yet burning all the same, traveling up the length of his neck, catching on healed scars and scales he had forgotten were there.
Tubbo’s breath faltered, catching in his chest as he felt the wet warmth of Ash’s lips trail upward, toward the edge of his jaw. Ash moved slowly, instinctively, like a man swimming through clouds.
Tubbo let him, for a moment.
A shameful moment that he allowed himself to indulge in, if only for a minute. Or two… Maybe more.
His tail unwrapped and wrapped itself again, an endless, methodical loop that gave Tubbo some sense of control, despite all these… confusing feelings—delight, yearning, all tangled together.— The mechanic’s hand, which had been pressed flat against Ash’s back, shifted upward almost of its own accord, sliding along the warm ridges of Ash's spine, feeling the faint tremor in his muscles beneath his shirt.
His fingers grazed the nape of Ash’s neck, and he could feel the static buzz faintly there too,it reminded Tubbo of the hum of an overstressed machine.
Ash’s lips found the line of his jaw, a noticeably hesitant press, and Tubbo’s ears burned crimson.
He had to swallow hard to steady the warmth crawling up his throat; it threatened to spill out in the form of a sound he vehemently refused to let loose. He gave himself one heartbeat, two, then moved.
His fingers tangled in Ash’s messy curls, the strands soft and slightly damp against his calloused hands. He gave a gentle tug, lifting Ash's head away from his body, away from Tubbo’s neck, away from the skin he so desperately wanted to keep innocent of this moment.
Ash's mouth was left slightly agape at Tubbo's actions, his eyes lidded and scanning Tubbo's face.
“Supreme leader—,” Tubbo whispered, voice low, almost tender. “Ash, man, c'mon. Stop for a sec."
Ash gave a confused hum, the sound vibrating, and tried to lean back into the warmth of his neck. Tubbo held him steady, hand firm at the back of Ash’s head, pulling him in for comfort but steering his lips away from his jawline.
He wanted their first kiss—if it ever happened, Tubbo reminded himself—to be one Ash remembered, one not soaked in the sting of liquor; consumed in the blur of static and binary.
Ash’s breath hitched as the touch in his hair became a slow stroke, fingers brushing his scalp, and he sighed like a contented animal, melting against Tubbo’s chest instead.
His arms slackened slightly, the earlier desperation giving way to a heavy, exhausted cling, his face now buried safely against Tubbo’s shoulder instead of his skin.
Tubbo exhaled shakily, tail still coiled firmly around Ash’s leg, moving in small, unconscious squeezes. His other hand still pressed lightly against Ash’s upper back, feeling the faint tremor of his body as the alcohol pulled him toward an inevitable drowsiness. The mechanic allowed himself to relax slowly, letting the heat of Ash’s weight press him deeper into the plush bed.
The static from Ash’s skin dulled into a faint thrum, not as sharp but soothing in its rhythm, like how the factories hummed when Tubbo slept on the floor, distant machine humming in the quiet of the factory.
Tubbo had to admit though, a bed was waaay better. Maybe he'll have to invest in one. It'd have to be on the floor though, no massive wooden border that propped it up. He'll have pillows, and blankets, maybe some shirts and other stuff that smelled li—
Oh. He wants an actual nest, doesn't he?
He'd have to borrow (steal) some of Ash's stuff later to set that up, he blearily registers a sound residing from the front of his chest starting to bubble up, it sounds like purring. Tubbo chalks it up to Ash snoring.
He let his fingers card slowly through Ash’s hair, murmuring softly, “You gotta sleep, man. I’ve gotcha.”
The Supreme Leader hummed again in response.
Tubbo vowed never to tell Ash of what happened here today. If Ash ever comes to the realization of what he did this night, it would be on his own, without Tubbo's guidance, or his help.
He wanted their first kiss to feel like their first.
…
Tubbo chooses to allow himself to rewind those small, shameful, warm moments before he winds up closing his eyes, too.