#Virgil needs a hug

[personfrommars10]

Patton: *up beat and cheery like usual* Do you ever just have an existential feeling of dread and then go back to normal like 5 seconds later?

Virgil: yes, except for I have an existential feeling of dread all the time

Patton: Do you want a hug buddy

Virgil: no I am darkness, I don't need hugs

Patton: *walking over to him ready to give him a hug* too bad I'm giving you one anyway

[hubba1892]

[edutainer2022]

So it's done! The little story that tidied me over this week of missile hellfire and long stretches of power outages. Jeff is back from Oort Cloud and is forced to question his strengths and aptitudes when things go unexpectedly very, very wrong very fast. All boys get to feature, eventually, but Scotty is having the worst time of all. Many thanks to @janetm74 for cheering me on through brief patches of power going up.

GRAVITY

Some days were worse than others. Some days the heady rush of pure JOY and BLISS of being back with his beloved boys, his Ma, in his own home, back on his own PLANET, beneath the blue skies, breathing unprocessed air... were not enough to tide him over the bone deep weariness. Days, when the bustling world around was suddenly too much effort. Too much, period.

That morning he woke up, gruff and bleary, feeling every ounce of gravity amplified weight down to his marrow. He didn't remember sleeping a wink, but he knew he was late. The corner of the blanket peeled away, catching on his stubble, revealed a silhouette perched on the side of his bed. Scott. Already dressed to the nines in a suit that looked like it was shipped straight from the Milan runway. It probably had been. His son's aftershave was fancier and more expensive than he could ever afford or had any clue to choose at that same age. Predawn light was casting a grey hue over Scott's features, gleaming in silver highlights, making him look older. Tired. His eldest looked hauntingly like Jeff felt, sagging under the crashing weight, stretched thin, even put together all sharp like that, bright and early. The sudden heartache of that thought came out as a hoarse groan.

They were supposed to meet several executives first thing in the morning to get Jeff up to speed a bit more. To get the company brass reacquainted with the Tracy Patriarch too. There had been many new promotions and appointments over the past eight years. But Jeff could barely keep his eyes open. The thought of getting up and moving gave him a shiver, which, in turn, deepened the worried frown on Scott's face. The taut lines in the corners of his son's eyes and mouth became prominent. Much as the pallor and dark circles, belying a sleepless night. Scott took a call out in One, right off the roof of Tracy Tower. It was the fastest and most expedient option, regardless of Virgil's protests. That's how Jeff remembered most of his sleep being drained by nightmares - One screeching off and him spending eight endless years calculating and hoping (praying) the rocket plane made it out of the Zero-X launch blast radius in time, taking his son to safely far enough. He winced at the memory and squinted against a nauseating headache. Scott's worry was obviously reaching the red zone.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to press for the pulse. His boy's fingers were uncharacteristically cold, but maybe Jeff was just catching space chills.

"Dad, are you alright? I will cancel the morning! I'll get you to the hospital right now, then Virgil will fly Grandma in!"

The on the go plan was all IR Commander, but blue eyes blown up twice the usual size in panic was Scotty at any given time Dad was about to disappear. Again. He hated the treacherous frailty that got his unwavering boy so scared. As much as he hated the very idea of hospitals, enthusiastically shared by all his children.

"It's okay, Bluejay! No need to worry! Just one of those days. I'll sleep it off. You go ahead with the meeting and I'll rise and shine to have brunch with you, deal?"

Between the Zero-XL assembly under wraps, the possibly one-way mission to the middle of the galactic nowhere, and Jeff's subsequent laborious rehabilitation, the Tracy Industries senior executives really needed some quality face time with the Tracy-in-charge. So they would have it. Jeff was under no illusion he was in any shape to be that, anymore. Scott was, still. But that would have to change maybe sooner, than they both wished, if mornings like that became a recurrent thing.

Scott didn't appear entirely convinced and there was definitely a ping being sent up to Five to monitor Jeff's space-addled sleeping hunk extra closely. However, the anxious scowl softened into warm mirth as Scott smiled down at Dad's rugged face. Cool fingers moved from the pulse point to brush away the matted grey curls from Jeff's forehead. The gesture was definitely well practiced on any and all of the younger brothers, but in that moment all Jeff could see in the slight tilt of the head and a special, radiant fondness in the blue gaze, was the boys' mother. He nearly choked on a sob and covered his eyes, feigning a fit of cough. Scott moved immediately to give him a glass of water from the bedside table. Once done blinking away the stinging moisture, Jeff caught the tail end of a hastily covered wince in the boy's features. If he were operating at full capacity, he would have probably dug to the bottom of it with proper insistence. As it were, Jeff settled for a squeeze of the premium wool clad bicep:

"How're you holding up, son? Tough night?"

"I'm okay, Dad! You don't need to worry! A couple of bruises here and there. Mostly my ego, as I landed in a heap when the jetpack gave out. I'll never hear the end of it from everyone!"

The edges of Scott's "cheeky flyboy" smile were tighter than Jeff should have been placated with. But gravity was already pulling his lids down.

***

He marginally remembered a quick tender peck on his forehead, or maybe he dreamt it up, conflating the endless years of longing for his mother and for his wife even before that. The scent of his eldest's aftershave, laced with a familiar wiff of One's fumes, lingered and calmed him down. He came to think of it as home and hope over the past months. Jeff next woke up to an anxious face of a different son.

John's hologram practically vibrated with anguish, bouncing on the bedside comm unit. Eyes wide and wild, John looked all too much like an Alan Jeff last remembered - eight years old and left at the Warton boarding school for the very first time.

"Dad!!! What's going on!?!! Are you alright?!!!"

Jeff's headache still didn't agree with the yell, audible practically from orbit. He didn't master much but an incoherent grumble to that.

"Somebody called 911 to the TI Conference Room for Mr. Tracy! I can't get through to Scott's comm! You were supposed to have a meeting first thing today! Are you okay!?"

Words rushed and stumbled one over the other, so unlike John's usually impeccable, professionally honed articulation. It took an extra moment for John to compute Dad's state of underdress - a testament in and of itself of the ginger's distress.

"Dad? Are you still in bed?"

Awareness was catching up with him and with it the heavy drag of gravity and dread. His ginger spaceman was still faster on the uptake, his own overwhelming horror finally pinned on a name:

"SCOTT!!!"

The only Mr. Tracy at the TI Conference room at that moment. It all was coming to Jeff in bits of a disjointed puzzle - the overnight rescue, Scott's ashen paleness he chalked up to lack of sleep, the stifled painful grimace his son wasn't quick enough to hide. And Jeff wasn't there for him!

***

If the younger employees of Tracy Tower were secretly looking forward to meeting the Resurrected Space Outcast, Founder of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, Hero of the Century and a Living Legend - Jeff Tracy - it was probably not barefoot and clad in pink flamingo print pijamas, sporting a bedhead and an overnight shadow, stumbling his way down the hallway at an alarming speed with a formidable assistance of the wall and an occasional doorknob. Jeff practically flung himself into the Conference room and nearly toppled over several people in expensive suits, crowded over a prone body on the floor. He shoved somebody's shoulder aside with enough force and less ceremony than was maybe appropriate.

His knees hitting the floor gave a jaw-jiggling rattle and it remained to be seen if he'd be able to make it back up unassisted, but he didn't give a damn. Scott was still and sheet white against the navy blue of the carpeting. Somebody had the presence of mind to loosen his tie and unbutton the shirt. Scott's face and chest were wet as someone apparently tried to sprinkle water on him to ease the fainting. To obviously no effect. Jeff might have noticed a shadow of bruising on the toned torso, but his eyes were on the beloved yet lifeless waxy face. He cupped Scott's cheek and shifted the other hand to rub his sternum forcefully .

"C'mon, Bluejay! Give me those eyes! Time to wake up!"

Either the father's voice or the strenal rub had the effect - Scott eyelashes fluttered and a sliver of blue became visible. Jeff felt encouraged, thankful the baffled and paniced executives were giving him a wide berth.

"There you go, Scotty! Open them up for me, eh? Dad is here, Bluejay!"

Jeff moved his palm from Scott's chest to grab a cold limp hand and squeeze. His other hand never left the son's cheek, the thumb caressing cool clammy skin carefully. Give the boy a sensory anchor.

"Stay with me, kiddo! It's alright!"

Blue eyes were still cloudy and unfocused, eyelids heavy. Scott seemed to have just then noticed Dad's presence.

"Dad? Yu'came?"

Jeff's chest constricted. Of course, they were supposed to be in that meeting together. But Jeff succumbed to weakness and left Scott alone. Again.

"I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here!"

The pained, far-away gaze still didn't land on him.

"Yu'never come... Only Mom comes... I call'n'call an'yu'never come..."

He was feeling cold sweat and shivers raking his own body, his head was swimming from strain and fear, but he had to keep Scott conscious and talking.

"Dad is right here! I'm with you, Scotty! Just look at me! Can you do that for Dad?"

Scott seemed to have made an effort to look at him, the brilliant blue almost black with strain.

"Yu'never come when I'm dying..."

With that Scott's eyes rolled back into his head and a thin rivulet of blood trickled down the corner of his lips. Jeff couldn't tell if his son's skin went colder to his touch as his own hands went icy numb. There was a distant sound coming through the pounding in his ears - an animal-like wail of Scott's name in a voice Jeff didn't recognize as his own. Space shifted around him, bodies shuffling urgently as more people entered the room. Multiple hands were prying him away from Scott's unmoving body, but they would need a crowbar. Jeff was putting up a fight to stay latched to his son, or so he thought. In the middle of a vicious flail he was suddenly tipping sideways some distance away, Scott completely obscured from view by a wall off luminicent lined uniforms of paramedics. And Jeff's world went black.

***

[Lucy, please! I know you miss him, love! Oh my God, I KNOW, baby! I know you're all alone there! Please, don't take him! PLEASE! He hasn't lived yet! Our boy, Luce! I let him down so much! I'm so sorry! I asked so much of him, and he gave up everything! I screwed up! Take me, hon! If you absolutely must, take me instead! I'll watch over them all with you, dear! But you can't take him! You won't! I know you won't let him! He needs to live! Please, don't let him stay with you, Lucy! PLEASE!]

***

He started awake yet again with his eldest son's name on his lips, voice hoarse like he'd been shouting over the ocean surf, crashing on the island shore. Caramel eyes were startled by his roar that time. Gordon was quick to collect himself and put on a smile.

"Hey, Dad! You're awake!"

Not unlike Scott's early that morning (was it still the same day?), Gordon's grin was thin, taut, not bright enough to cover the shadows visible on tanned skin. Jeff tried again, putting a worth of questions into the name:

"Scott?"

Gordon's smile faltered and Jeff felt the heady rush of weightlessness, his mind slipping away from the tether of sanity.

"Scotty's in surgery, Dad! There was internal bleeding and he crashed in the Conference room. The paramedics said he coded there, but they got him to the hospital on time! They're working on him now!"

Coded. Scott died on his watch. Because Jeff wasn't there. He took a breather, let his boy take over his slack and his duty. Again. Scott was paying with his life when Jeff was unfit to deal. Again.

He shifted in what appeared to be a hospital bed, but the range of his movement was limited by the IV line, now pulling at his hand. Gordon stopped him from getting up, hands, weighing his shoulders back on the mattress, a lot stronger than he remembered.

"Whoa, Dad! Nah-uh! Stay put! Your BP tanked and you blacked out there too!"

That probably explained the dizziness and the hospital ward spinning slowly around him. Jeff took a cautious look around the room, but for the monitor tracing his vitals it was empty. Gordon read the question in his gaze.

"Allie got so worked up with worry - he threw up. John's with him, helping to clean up. Grandma's watching the surgery and consulting in the OR gallery. They actually let Virgil in the OR! Those puppy eyes are a menace! Or maybe Johnny-boy donated the hospital a research lab or something. Anyhow, they let him stay with the anesthesiologist - you know how Scooter's body eats through painkillers! Freakish metabolism and all! So they wouldn't want him wake up mid surgery,  and Virgie knows the dosage and his stats by heart. It's good, right? Scotty's not all alone in there!"

Gordon was rambling, not pausing for air, and Jeff knew that to be the boy's primary tell for intense anxiety. He reached for his second youngest hand to ground himself as much as to offer comfort.

The door hissed open and Alan waded in, followed by a mile of ginger topped blue. Allie's face was blotchy and ashen, fresh tear tracks marking the skin. John was gripping the boy's shoulder with one hand. He had a tablet clutched to his chest with the other.

"Dad!"

Alan sounded so young Jeff's heart ached. He lifted the IV bound arm and Alan was quick to tuck himself to Dad's side, lanky teen limbs curled into a ball. The boy was not bothering to be discrete about crying again. Gordon flopped over Jeff's legs, uncharacteristically lost for words and craving contact too. Jeff waited till John walked around and perched by his shoulder. The ginger was engrossed by the video feed on his tablet. The live stream from the OR Jeff was not sure the hospital authorized or even knew about. He didn't care. He was dying to ask how the surgery was going, for how long, but Jeff wasn't sure how much John had clued the Tinies in. So he craned his neck to better see the screen and waited. Silence stretched. Virgil's massive form in sterile scrubs, cap and mask was visible, hunched over Scott's face, his fingers drumming lightly over the brother's bare shoulder. Jeff couldn't tell if Virgil was tapping in Morse code or playing out a mute tune. Either way it was definitely a way to reach through to big brother and not to disrupt the doctors. The surgery site was a hustle of frantic activity Jeff didn't dare follow too closely. At some point John's eyes went almost sea-green dark and the grip on the tablet turned his knuckles white. Jeff squeezed his shut, hugging Alan's trembling shoulder closer.

[Please, Lucy! No! Please!]

Time stretched further without meaning in perfect silence. John finally shifted to get up and announced:

"They closed him up! He'll be wheeled to Critical Care now."

Turquoise met caramel across the ward and it occurred to Jeff the statement was addressed more Gordon's way, as the blond was on his feet immediately. There was a LOT of communication between his family going right over his head. Maybe they didn't trust his strength that day. Or maybe they were just too used to not factor him into the synergy of their tightly knit world. Either way, it hurt more than he could ever let them know.

Gordon got his cue and was peeling Alan up and away from Jeff's side.

"C'mon, Al! Let's go find Grandma before she instills fear of hell into the nurses! And maybe grab some snacks for everyone! On my word, Dad DOESN'T want the local variety of green jell-o!"

Alan, as well as everyone else in the room, knew it for what it was worth - a diversion tactics to get him away. Allie could be stubborn with the best of them, and he wasn't a kid anymore, despite a widely acknowledged belief, but he knew there would be no real talk of Scott's post op prospects with him around. Not right then at least. Besides, the boy looked veritably drained by fear and all the uncertainty, and could use a change of scenery.

Shortly after Gordon chaperoned Alan out the doors to Jeff's ward hissed again. Virgil appeared like a giant ghost, swaying on his feet. He shed the surgical mask, gloves and cap, but was still in the OR scrubs. Drenched through with sweat. John was by his brother's side in one long stride. The boys leaned into each other for a long moment, their foreheads touching. Jeff longed to envelope his sons into a massive hug and let them draw strength from their father, as should be. He longed to rush to Scott's side and hold on to him as tightly as he knew how, not letting the boy slip away. He longed to console the Tinies and shoo away the haunted desperation from their eyes. He longed to ascertain them all they were not loosing Scott. Because they couldn't. HE couldn't. But he was marooned by the stupid IV, bedridden by gravity, exhausted by dread and guilt, eating him alive. Not for the first time that day Jeff felt redundant and useless, a fragile husk rolling around, causing mere nuisance.

Virgil heaved a breath to center himself and John stepped around him to head out. But not before giving his brother another quick fierce hug. Virgil seemed to be gathering his bearings, his mind booting up, previously lost in whatever he saw and felt going on in that OR.

"John, wait! Scott is critical. They won't let you in!"

John's face was a chiseled mask, a shade paler yet, if it were at all possible.

"I just bought this hospital equipment enough to research immortality. I'm going to be with my brother!"

With that he was gone through the door. Virgil seemed lost for a moment, lonely in the middle of the room. Chocolate eyes landed on Dad and just like that - the dam broke. The tidal wave of years worth of fear and pain, and toll of anticipatory grief as well as the actual one, for reasons Jeff only began to piece together, breached through defenses and Virgil collapsed into his father's eager arms, sobbing.

***

Maybe it was fitting he only got to do his vigil bid by Scott's side after all his kids, and his Ma, had exhausted themselves. Maybe it was his turn to step up, finally. Or maybe he wasn't ready before. How could he be? No amount of bracing himself could prepare Jeff for seeing Scott in the Critical Care unit - translucent and perfectly still - machines doing breathing for him, pumping blood for him, doing all the living for him. Even after That Place there was more life in his son's body, more tangible reality beneath the gossamer skin. His son's spirit was nearly unmoored, yet Jeff felt like he was the one needing life support. A lifeline. So he reached for the one that had yanked him from the brink more than once, led him out of cosmic limbo, sure and true - his son's hand. And held fast.

***

[I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here! I never come when you're dying, because you're NOT! I'm right beside you! Mom will show you the way home! I'll be waiting right here, son! I'm not going anywhere, I promise!]

[caitcat04]

I've not been in the tss fandom for a while and I forgot the TERMOIL these characters are in

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 7

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/The Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

Ao3 Link: click here

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

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"I believe you wanted a conversation? Let's talk."

And so they do.

Rules are established to assist with boundaries, and in the days that follow, they are adjusted as they adapt.

Rule number one: Thomas's bedroom is a sacred temple. When the door is shut, no one shall utilize incorporeal states of being to trespass. Anyone may knock as needed, but it's up to Thomas if he'd like company. Likewise, if the door is open, it is understood that company is welcome.

Seems simple enough, right?

Thomas wakes up to the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. He scrubs the sleep from his eyes, peering at the alarm clock to see he's been asleep all of three hours.

"Whass it?" Thomas mumbles and pushes up clumsily. He thinks something must be wrong, or that he must not have heard a knock. Maybe he's dreaming. Wouldn't be the first time that he thought he woke up in a dream.

The door practically slams closed.

"Eh?"

Is he...being spied on? What did they want? Who was it? Why did they have to wake him? Can he lay back down and go to sleep? Wow, that was loud. And rude. Or something's wrong. What's wrong? Was he having a nightmare? He thinks he was having a nightmare. There was a math test involved. Ew.

The door opens again, wider this time. Virgil hovers in the doorway, shoulders hiked up to his ears and shame-faced.

"I am so sorry," he blurts out. "I didn't mean to do that. Or wake you. I'll go."

"No, no, what's wrong?" Thomas calls back before the door can close. Sleep dust cakes his eyes, but he's got half a brain functioning. He can tell something's off.

"It's stupid," Virgil deflects, as if that is a compelling defense.

"S'not stupid. What's up, buttercup?"

Wow, Thomas really is only half awake. The only reason his head hasn't reacquainted itself with his pillow is because of his propped-up arm. His eyes don't get the memo. They droop down, closed.

Virgil doesn't answer.

Huh.

Thomas has a sneaking suspicion he'll have to open his eyes again.

"Virge?"

"I, uh, I was just checking on you. In case anyone was trying to break in. Or if you had fallen. Or if there was a gas leak. There could be a gas leak right now. You never know, ya know?"

"...eh?"

"Anyway, I'm dumb, go back to sleep dude. Sorry."

And the door shuts once more, more mindful this time.

If it had just been Virgil, Thomas thinks he could have puzzled through it. Clearly Virgil is the anxious sort. After the fire incident, Virgil has insisted on being present whenever cooking is involved. Even if he's not the one cooking, he wants to watch like a hawk. It's like his own personal lifeguard, but on land. In his house. This is a perfect analogy.

Thomas can hella relate to having anxiety. Most people, when they meet Thomas, mistake him for being an extrovert. And that can be an exhausting image to keep up, but Thomas is an actor after all. Regardless, he wants to cut Virgil some slack. With the installment of the new rules, he's having trouble adjusting, and that's okay. It's all part of the learning process.

Virgil confides that sometimes he would check on Thomas in the middle of the night (or day, curse Thomas's sleeping habits) to soothe his random bursts of paranoia. Thomas sympathizes, he does. If something happens to Thomas and he dies, what happens to the dream people? Where do they go?

It's not just Virgil though. Roman and Remus keep forgetting about the knocking rule.

Thomas dives headfirst back into work the first chance he gets. He sits at his desk in his bedroom, screen displaying a script. It's the final countdown so to speak, and Thomas is delaying the inevitable because the perfectionist in him tells him it's not good enough. There's something missing. It could be better. It can always be better.

"You should throw in a 'Mean Girls' reference there at the end."

Thomas glances towards the bottom of the script. He tilts his head. "Yeah, you're right, I could wear a pink shirt."

"Exactly."

It takes a moment, but Thomas frowns and looks to his right where Roman is reading the script happily over his shoulder.

"I thought I had my door closed..."

The faint smile on Roman's face freezes. His body tenses so hard Thomas can almost feel it vicariously. "Uh...yeaaah."

"Roman."

"...I may have forgotten you can see us."

"..."

"...how mad are you?"

Thomas isn't mad. He understands that it will take time. For years they've lived a certain way. He doesn't expect things to change overnight. However, this has to be corrected. In order to do that, Thomas has to be firm in the boundaries he's set.

Thomas takes one look at Roman's obvious dejection and caves hard.

"Do you want to help me edit the rest?" he asks.

Enforcing boundaries is difficult, okay?! Really, he has no one to blame but himself. He's a sucker. A big softie sucker.

When he discusses this with Logan, the man comforts him by parsing out the reasons behind why he struggles to say no.

"Give me an example," Logan instructs.

"Well, just last night I was laying in bed trying to go to sleep... okay I might have been scrolling on my phone. But anyway! I was in bed, and then the closet door opened."

"Remus?"

"Remus."

"He has a fascination with closets that baffles me beyond comprehension."

"I've noticed. It was kinda spooky at first, which I think was the point. But he ended up coming out and started talking to me."

"Was that all? Sorry, that sounded dismissive, let me rephrase. Is that the only actions he took?"

"Uh...pretty much? He sat beside my bed on the floor and just talked about random things. Like dolphins and Catholicism."

"He has a rather stream of consciousness mentality to the way he jumps from one topic to the other. I believe he only wished to engage you in conversation, albeit at an inopportune time."

"Yeah..."

"Based on the context of this conversation, I guess that you allowed that conversation to continue without interruption?"

Thomas did. He had put down his phone and it invigorated Remus to have Thomas's undivided attention. It's like he'd been saving up years' worth of ideas for this moment.

And Thomas... Thomas didn't want to take that away from him.

"Yeah, I did," Thomas admits meekly, as if he'd been in the wrong. Was it so wrong of him?

Janus sweeps by them on his way to peruse Thomas's book collection. Thomas would think it's an excuse to eavesdrop if Janus hadn't been spending the past few days with his nose in a book. At the very least, he may be taking his sweet time going about it, thumbing through the options.

Janus does indeed reveal he's been listening by commenting, "You're not going to offend him if you tell him to go away, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's not..." Thomas rubs his knuckles together. He squints his eyes as if that will reveal his feelings better. "I don't want to tell anyone to go away."

Janus shrugs and doesn't say anything further. His silence rattles Thomas more than what he could say. It leaves him thinking on it more.

Logan taps at his chin and Thomas waits for him to make sense of this for him. "Perhaps not to go away then. If it is reframed more politely as you saying, 'I am interested in this topic, but as I am busy at the moment, could we discuss this at a later time?' Would that be preferential?"

Still no. Thomas shakes his head.

"What do you believe would happen if you did say something along those lines?"

Thomas imagines it. He imagines cutting off Remus. How it would kill the light in his eyes. He thinks of pushing Roman out of his room. How he'd feel betrayed after Thomas promised to entertain his dreams. He pictures Virgil at his door, Thomas snapping at him to leave him alone. How Virgil would think he doesn't appreciate him.

"I don't want to make them feel bad," Thomas says at length. "And I don't want them to hate me."

Logan places a hand on his shoulder. It's solid and grounding, and for a moment Logan is almost distracted by the contact but pushes through it.

"Remember what we discussed the other day? And how Virgil verbalized a similar fear? That he was afraid you would hate us? You are jumping to a false conclusion and imagining the worst-case scenario. This is known as catastrophizing."

"Besides that," Janus adds, comparing two books in his hands, "if voicing what makes you uncomfortable makes someone upset, then they obviously only care about their own self-interests."

Logan nods in agreement. "For relationships to succeed, communication must take place in some form. If you struggle to verbalize your needs, I would like to propose an alternative."

The proposal is Thomas's stuffed bear Benjamin.

It's wonderfully simple, if a little silly. Whenever one of them has forgotten themselves and phase through a door or wall they should not have, Thomas hands them the bear. It's a wordless gesture that says, "I see you, I'm not mad at you, this is just a reminder." Surprisingly, everyone is supportive of the idea.

Maybe a little too supportive. They are so eager to not overstep into Thomas's life that they frequently overcompensate. As Benjamin becomes an accepted part of Thomas expressing his need for space, Thomas picks up on how much the others are reluctant to voice their need for space. Or their wants in general.

"You guys can come to me if you need anything," Thomas had told them during their heart-to-heart the other day. "If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know."

They said sure.

They didn't lie. They're just afraid.

The most Thomas has gotten out of them is Logan and Roman expressing interest in aiding Thomas with meal prep. It's okay now and then, but Thomas makes it clear that it's not necessary and that he absolutely should still be responsible in making his own meals occasionally or order takeout. Logan sketches out a weekly schedule to assist in everyone's expectations, and Roman lists all of the recipes he would like to try.

It's not that fair though. It's for Thomas. The others can't exactly eat.

Or....can they?

"I know you guys don't need to, but have you tried eating?" Thomas asks them. They're sitting at the dining table, a notebook between them.

"Many a time," Roman says. "Every time you eat cookies, Patton tries to steal some. And don't get me started on when you bring donuts home. Logan-"

Logan butts in, "Ahem, Thomas doesn't need that many details, thank you Roman," He fidgets with the pen in his hands, tapping it against the wired spirals of the notebook.

Roman jerks his head in Logan's direction while giving Thomas a look that screams Logan would very much like to try a donut.

Thomas holds back a grin. "But what about lately? Since you guys can touch things better now."

Logan shares a glance with Roman. "There's no need. We don't feel hunger. However..."

"Is it possible?" Roman ties into his thoughts.

"To what end? Do we have a working digestive tract? Could the food be converted to energy? Or would it phase through us at a certain point?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Thomas gets up to scrounge around his kitchen. He thinks he should really go grocery shopping soon; he's running low on quick snacks. He settles for some pretzel sticks and returns to the table.

"Who wants to go first?" he asks.

Logan gestures to the bag for Roman, showing he would rather observe. Roman plucks the pretzel bag from Thomas's hands and stares at the packaging curiously. Cautiously, he removes the clamp sealing it closed and pulls out a stick.

"Can you smell it?" Logan asks.

Roman's face pinches in minor disgust. "Why would I smell it? I'm supposed to taste it, Sub-astute Teacher."

"Smell is entwined with the ability to taste. Without it, perception of flavors would be extremely limited."

"Oh, well," Roman says and gives the stick a whiff. Then he gives it a bigger whiff.

"Anything?"

"I guess? It's different. I don't think pretzel sticks have a strong smell anyway, do they?"

"Go ahead and try it."

Roman nibbles the stick. They observe his jaw movements and listen to the muffled crunching of his teeth. He chews mechanically, much longer than anyone would need to. His brows raise just about to his hairline as he swallows.

"It's salty!" he announces excitedly. "I hate it! I can taste it! And I hate it!"

Roman tosses the rest of the stick in his mouth and plunders into the bag for more. Thomas and Logan watch incredulously as he polishes off the whole bag. Roman never stops telling them about how horrible they taste. He finishes the bag and smacks his mouth.

"Ugh, it's so dry!"

Thomas wordlessly retrieves Roman a cup of juice. Roman gleefully downs the glass in one go.

"That's so much better! What is this? It's so sweet!"

"Apple juice?"

"I love apple juice! Logan! I love apple juice!"

"Yes, I have gathered."

"I must tell all of my friends about this!"

That evening, they gather round the kitchen with everyone to taste test everything in Thomas's fridge and cabinets. If Thomas needed to go grocery shopping before, he certainly needs to after this. They have no limits to their stomach capacities. Patton eats a giant stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and claims he feels no fuller for the effort. Virgil scarfs down an entire tub of rocky road ice cream with such feral intensity that he's left abashed after.

"It was okay, I guess," Virgil says too nonchalantly.

"Who let this raccoon in here?" Janus comments, to which Virgil hisses.

"If we can eat things now, does that mean we'll need to shit?" Remus questions. He's found the pickle jar and is sharing with Logan. They seem to enjoy salty/sour flavors more. "Because then Virgil's gonna have the shits later."

"That was an intolerable amount of lactose," Logan agrees.

Roman whines in protest through a mouth full of pizza, "Must you speak of such crass things while we're eating?"

"It's not like we're real humans," Virgil says, but looks doubtfully at the empty ice cream container while holding his tummy.

Janus has discovered the beauty of wine and has been sipping religiously at a glass. "Real enough to eat."

"Are you feeling the effects of the alcohol?" Logan pauses to wonder.

"I don't think so, but I'm nothing if not determined."

"Spitters are quitters," Remus says, finding some kind of relevance with that train of thought to the current context. When Virgil smirks and says something about professionals gargling, Roman screeches like a banshee. Thomas thinks that is the point of Virgil's interference. He shares a fist bump with Remus.

"Anyway, back to our shit talking," Remus says peppily. Roman's face turns an impressive shade of red.

Janus snickers into his glass, "Oh I am here for shit talking. Who are we shit talking about?"

"Your mom!"

"How very original, Remus."

"Is it okay if I eat the rest of this peanut butter?" Patton asks Thomas. There's not much left in the jar anyway.

Thomas smiles. "Go for it, buddy."

Patton does a happy little shuffle dance and goes to town. The others go back to questioning if they will need to start using the bathroom now. Thomas asks what Patton thinks, since they're standing by each other and he hasn't been talking much.

Patton nods slowly, sagely. "Everybody poops."

As much as Roman is hilariously uncomfortable with the topic, everyone does share a curiosity to the limits of their corporealness. For the rest of the evening, they keep checking in with each other. "Need to poop yet?" "No, you?" "Nah, need to pee?" "Nah, but how would we know?" "It'd be instinctive." "You're instinctive." "Remus, please desist."

Thomas can confidentially say that he's never been a part of a more bizarre conversational topic.

For those at home wondering, none of them ever felt the urge to go. They are left to surmise that the food and drinks they ingest are entirely utilized with no leftover waste. Furthermore, alcohol has no affect, much to Janus's dismay. It doesn't stop him from trying.

Beyond food, Thomas tries to encourage the others to ask him for things they want. Something as simple as watching a movie is a challenge. If they sit down together to pick a movie, it always comes back to what does Thomas want to watch. And even when Thomas isn't watching TV or doing anything with his electronics, they will jump up from them as if electrocuted and ask him if he'd like the TV or computer.

Patton's the worst about it. Thomas nearly felt bad about telling him, "No, I'm good, you can keep watching whatever." It's like he can't believe he isn't monopolizing Thomas's belongings. So they get into "nice-offs" where they're trying to be courteous to each other. "No, you can." "No, you, I insist!" That sort of thing. There's an edge of panic to Patton when he does this.

If only this were as easy as handing him a stuffed bear.

After a few times, Thomas can't stand to see him this way and finally grabs the offered tv remote out of his hands. The brief relief that washes over Patton is replaced by confusion when Thomas sets the remote on the coffee table. Then confusion transforms into astonishment as Thomas grabs one of his hands in both of his.

"Patton, you're okay," Thomas tells him. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself. I don't always need the tv, and whenever I do want it, I promise I'll let you know."

Patton stares so hard at their joined hands that Thomas wonders if he can hear him. They haven't held hands since that day Patton cried. Haven't touched either. Thomas suspects...no, he knows it's a sore subject. He knows with Patton, and most of the others, maybe all of them? They've lacked human touch for so long that they don't know what to do with themselves whenever they receive it. They must crave it. Hell, Janus was brought to tears because Thomas touched his face.

It's another process though, another adjustment. It's a lot of responsibility placed on Thomas for these people he's just starting to know. He likes them, he does. He's caught off guard sometimes by how much he enjoys their company, the sparks they bring to his life as he learns more about them. It's not a bad thing by any means.

Thomas holds Patton's hand and hopes this is a good step. He caresses the top of Patton's hand with a thumb, and Patton's eyes flick, watching the movement.

"You're the priority though," Patton says softly, at a loss.

Thomas's heart breaks for them.

He leads Patton by the hand back to the couch. They sit together and Thomas gently nudges the remote into Patton's hand that he isn't holding.

"Sometimes, maybe. But right now? It's your time. What do you want to watch?"

With a subdued joy that Thomas hopes one day will have all the strength of a hurricane, Patton clicks through the apps and turns on 'Steven Universe'. Thomas sticks with him to watch. He's already seen it, but he'll watch it again any day. Plus, he doesn't want to take his hand away when Patton clutches so tightly.

They progress in paces of patience. Soon, Thomas will need to jump fully back into work now that he's recovered from his sickness. He's texted his team and he'll be meeting with them tomorrow.

The big question is, will his new roommates be able to interact with them?

"We should engage in preliminary testing," Logan suggests.

Roman cheers, "I concur! Why wait for tomorrow what you could do today?"

"Famous last words," Virgil quips.

"Then what do you suggest, Negative Nancy?"

"Why even try? If you never try, then you can never fail. If you never fail, then you won't be disappointed."

"Technically, he's not wrong," Logan admits.

"You're agreeing with him?!"

"I didn't say that. I am no defeatist. I don't fear failure. Indeed, I feel no sense of fear whatsoever."

"God I wish that were me," Thomas bemoans his introverted existence.

"How about I streak naked down the street?" Remus suggests. "That'll get some looks!"

Logan is not the only one who doesn't possess a sense of fear, apparently.

There's enough interest amongst the group to go forward with the testing today. Patton thanks Remus for his contribution but tries to let him down gently and say maybe another time. Roman supplies fanciful ideas of vigilante fighting. Even if bad guys can't see them, they can pretend Thomas has telekinesis powers and make him look cool by floating things at the enemy. Patton also thanks Roman for his contributions but tries to let him down gently as well.

"How about shopping?" Janus says. "I'm always a hoe for a shopping spree. Especially when it's someone else's money that's being spent."

"Thomas isn't some cash cow," Virgil reminds him with narrowed eyes.

"No, don't be silly, he's a cash man."

Before they can get into it, Thomas chimes in, "Sure, I can spare a bit. Where would you guys like to go?"

Predictably, Remus says a sex shop. For the first time, Thomas can kinda see how long-term exposure might render the others a little dismissive towards him. But it is a valid option! Thomas is a grown man, with grown man needs. He's just...not gonna be going to an adult store with people he just became friends with. That's like, level fifty in terms of friendship.

"How about a grocery store?" Logan says. "It would be a practical way to spend your money."

"That's his way of saying he wants more Crofters jam," Virgil translates. Logan doesn't spare him a glance and simply mutters, "Falsehood."

Thomas feels in a teasing mood, so he asks Virgil, "And what about you?"

"Me?" Virgil lifts a singular eyebrow. It's a thinner brow than Thomas's, as if he shapes them. Thomas can imagine him easily with an eyebrow piercing. It'd go great with his aesthetic.

Why is he thinking so much about Virgil's eyebrows?

Thomas inwardly shakes himself and plasters a smirk on his face. "Yeah, you. Do you want some more ice cream?"

Virgil gives a mixture of a scoff and a cough. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Spend your money however you want, Sanders."

"And that's Virgil's way of saying yes, he would love more ice cream," Janus translates.

Patton raises a hand. "Can we get more peanut butter?"

"And pickles?" Remus asks.

"Oh, how about pizza!" Roman says.

"Sure, anything you guys want," Thomas smiles, unable to hold himself back from wanting to indulge them.

Thomas hops in his car and drives to his local Walmart. Logan rides shotgun while Roman, Remus, and Patton squish together in the backseat. It's a twelve-minute ride that the three backseat passengers insist must be enjoyed with all the enthusiasm of an eight-hour road trip. They play car games to pass the time, and Thomas plays the radio for background noise. Logan points out a traffic light in disrepair before Thomas notices and reminds him to treat the intersection as a four-way stop.

They reach Walmart and it's not as dreadfully busy as it could be, but it's still Walmart. Thomas exits the car and trudges up to the store like a man going to war.

It takes him a bit to realize that the others have suddenly gone missing. Surrounded by strangers after spending over a week at home is a bit of a slap to the senses. Thomas is more troubled with securing a shopping cart and avoiding bumping into anyone. He surveys the store and debates where to start before heading towards the very back of the grocery section, intending to work his way up.

By the time he's grabbing a pack of butter, Thomas notices the immediate quiet. There's a chill that's not coming from the cooler beside him. He cranes his neck around to look over the buzzing masses. People pass this way and that. A lady with five kids getting milk. An old man perusing the discount baked goods rack. A couple heading towards the deli counter. More and more inconsequential bodies flit across his vision. And in the middle of the aisle, as if the rest of the world falls away and his eyes are drawn to him, there stands Virgil.

He stands alone, the brightness of his purple patches standing out amongst the crowd. Calmly, he watches people pass by him. No one looks his way, not even once. A teenager passes right through him on her way to catch up with her parents. Virgil's lips twitch up and he turns to meet Thomas's gaze.

Thomas is held captive in the moment. Virgil looks at him, and there's no guessing what's on his mind. Thomas knows. He knows it in his heart.

Virgil shrugs helplessly. They gave it a shot. This changes nothing. He'll tell himself he doesn't want to be perceived anyway while ignoring that little piece inside that pleads otherwise. That piece that's been waiting for so long for someone to just look and notice and not act like he isn't there, like he doesn't exist.

It's a lonely thing to watch the world go by and be told that you can't partake.

As much as it hurts, it's okay, because Thomas at least sees him for who he is. It's enough.

Yet again, Thomas thinks they deserve so much more.

***

The ride back to his apartment is significantly less noisy. Thomas catches glimpses of Virgil and Janus in the rearview mirror sitting in the backseat, neither talking, both looking out their respective windows. They disappear once Thomas parks the car, and Patton and Logan join him while he empties the trunk of its groceries. They're also far too quiet for comfort as they help carry bags inside.

The next day rolls by, Thomas meets with his team, and Roman lingers in the background, an unseen guest. Thomas can see his wistful smile as he watches Thomas interact with his friends. There's longing there to be included. When no one's looking, Thomas offers him a wave. It's enough of an acknowledgement that Roman perks up and swings his feet a bit where he sits on a table.

The meeting goes well. They've brainstormed some future video ideas and have a shooting schedule mapped out. Best of all, no one looks at Thomas like he's a walking hazard. They seem to be relieved that he's recovered and well rested and more responsive than he's been in a long time. Thomas returns home afterwards, and life goes on.

There's not much in the way of testing discussed after that, for a while at least. The previous lack of success is disheartening, and really though, what else is there to test? They are real people to Thomas only.

And Thomas would be a liar if he doesn't admit that he occasionally speculates if this makes him clinically insane. As real as they are to him, no one else can see or interact with them. Doesn't that check the boxes on a lot of psych evaluation tests?

If it's a form of insanity, it's a relatively mild one in terms of negative impact. It could be a lot worse. He's sure Logan could grant him some neat facts to put it all in perspective. That would involve telling Logan about his concerns revolving whether they are real or not. He doesn't want him to think he's invalidating his existence.

Isn't he though? By just questioning this, isn't there a part of his mind that still can't wrap around this? What more can he do to prove to himself that they truly exist?

Without conversing to the others about it, Thomas discreetly slips out his phone and snaps a picture of Remus. He's just sitting on the living room floor, swaying back and forth absent-mindedly. You can see the corner of the entertainment center in the picture. It's not a remarkable picture by any means and doesn't have the best lighting, but Remus brings a sense of peculiarity with his dark prince outfit.

The picture is taken with none the wiser. Thomas purses his lips and stares at his phone screen. He taps his fingers on the back of the case.

Remus's figure never fades. It's definitely a picture of him. Now what does he do with it?

He can send it to someone. Just to see if they can see an image of the others. If not in person, maybe they can be viewed through technological means? But who should he send it to? Not his brothers. Or his parents. Hmm, he can't think of a friend he can send it to without garnering a series of questions for an explanation. Well, he can possibly play it off. But what if he can't?

He scrolls through his contact list before spying his godson's name. Gavin sends him random stuff all the time. Thomas can just tell him it's a meme trend or something.

Trying not to overthink it, Thomas sends the pic along with a question, What do you see in this picture?

A few very nail-biting minutes later, Gavin responds. Is that ur house?

That isn't...the worst response.

Yeah lol

Ur tv cord? Idk is something I'm missing?

Yeah, the invisible man. You can't see him?

Nah, he invisible.

Darn, I told him to turn off that setting before I took the pic. Maybe next time.

Gavin sends back a laughing emoji.

That settles that. If Gavin could see Remus, he would have said something about his outfit or ask who he is or why he's at Thomas's apartment. The kid asks a lot of questions, and to be fair, Remus is very questionable in general.

Thomas doesn't let the others know of his discovery. What they don't know can't hurt them, right?

It turns out to be truer than Thomas can imagine. Curiosity killed the cat. Ignorance is bliss. Be careful what you wish for.

While no one has spoken of the discoveries from the Walmart outing, it doesn't mean it hasn't been on their minds. In fact, Logan in particular has taken notes to record the aspects of their existence. He approaches Thomas and shows him some of his theories and hypothesis.

"I would like to attempt a new test, if you would be so inclined," Logan says, and while he holds his posture well, Thomas senses an underlying nervousness to him.

Thomas doesn't want to deny him this, not when they've struggled with learning how to reach out to him.

"What do you have in mind?" Thomas asks.

They relocate to the backyard. Everyone else joins them. They probably would have anyway, but Logan specifically requests that everyone convene together.

"Are we finally running into oncoming traffic?" Remus asks excitedly, bouncing on his heels.

"Not today, Remus. I have devised an experiment to test the boundaries of our physical attachment to Thomas. Prior to Thomas's illness, we could not stray beyond roughly eighty feet from Thomas. When arriving to this distance, we experience a tethering sensation, as if we cannot walk any further. With the increase to our corporeal prowess, I suggest we ascertain whether this distance remains or if it has increased."

"So you just want us to go for a walk?" Patton asks.

"Oh, why didn't you just say that, Isaac Nerdton?" Roman scoffs.

Logan adjusts his glasses. "Because I wanted all parties to know precisely what– okay, fine. We are going for a walk. But!" He claps his hands to accentuate his point. "This will be regulated so that we can account for all variables. I suggest we test one subject at a time to calculate if there are any differences between distance amongst us."

Thomas raises his hand and waits for Logan to call on him. "So what do I do?"

"You just stand there."

"Cool, I can do that. I'm good at standing."

"Who's gonna go first?" Virgil asks. He shifts his gaze between everyone to see if someone will volunteer.

Patton shrugs. "I could, I guess?"

"What would this prove anyway?" Janus comments, snide in the way he checks his nails through his glove. It would be a funny image if he didn't sound genuinely dismissive of the whole affair. "This won't change anything. Even if we miraculously can wander off to new horizons, Thomas is still the only person who can see us."

"We could break into people's houses and steal their stuff," Remus says.

"Let's not take other people's things," Patton says. "We wouldn't want people to come steal from Thomas, would we? It's not right."

"Morality only matters to those who have a place in society. Last I checked, we don't."

Patton deflates and looks at Janus with a pained expression. "I think it still matters how you treat people..."

"Good for you," Janus says, sickly sweet.

Virgil steps between the two of them. "Okay, what crawled in your ass and died?"

"Cynicism? Disillusionment? A reality check? Take your pick."

Virgil growls and looks at Logan. "You know what? I'll go."

"Wait, wait, let's not start things off angry," Thomas urges. Virgil has begun walking, so Thomas skitters up behind him, grasping on to his jacket. Virgil halts but doesn't turn around.

"This is merely for educational purposes. I did not expect this to warrant a strong emotional reaction."

Roman claps a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Not your fault, Specs. Someone must have pissed in Janus's cheerios this morning."

Janus crosses his arms and puts on an unaffected tone, "Do whatever you wish. Don't let me stop you."

Thomas shares a look with Logan. "I'd like to go through with the test because it's important to Logan. Whether what we discover is any different than what you guys are used to, it doesn't matter. What matters is that it's important to Logan to find out."

There's a brief softening of the eyes behind Logan's glasses. He shuffles quickly with his notebook and pen and then unceremoniously dumps them into Roman's arms.

Roman sputters, "What–?"

"I'll do it," Logan announces. "After all, this is my hypothesis. I will take the initiative and be the first to go."

Logan gestures for Thomas to step aside to the "starting point". Thomas lets go of Virgil hesitantly, but Virgil doesn't protest or turn to look. Thomas shuffles over to the side in the grass and holds still while Logan stands beside him.

"I will count my steps as I go along to measure the distance. Once I reach a point I can no longer move forward, I'll return."

"Okay, easy peasy," Thomas says with false cheer.

Janus doesn't debate any more. Patton offers no assurances. Remus doesn't interrupt. Roman holds the notebook stiffly. And Virgil's head only moves as Logan walks by him. He watches as Logan treks across the grass behind the apartment complex.

Logan keeps his head bowed, watching his steps with careful attentiveness. He crosses the road and carries on through more grass. He rapidly approaches the tree line that begins there on the other side.

"Anyone wanna make bets?" Remus asks. The suggestion falls on deaf ears, but Patton does come over to stand beside him and hold his hand. It must not be a frequent occurrence because Remus glances down at him in surprise but doesn't discourage it.

For Thomas's part, his eyes are glued to Logan's back. His form is getting smaller, more distant.

"That's more than eighty feet," Virgil murmurs, loud in the quiet. His hand scratches at his neck, and when that doesn't seem to do anything for him, he shakes out his hands. Then he shakes out his hands again.

Roman turns to gauge Virgil. He frowns at what he sees, though Thomas can't see Virgil's face from this angle. "You good, Virge?"

"I don't like this," Virgil admits. His foot begins tapping a mad dance into the ground.

"I don't either," Patton drones, morose. Perhaps he's sensitive from Janus's remarks.

Logan treads into the woods. They can see his black polo and blue jeans through the spindly tree trunks. At first, he's there, but quickly he's swallowed into the vegetation.

Virgil runs his fingers through his hair and blows out a stream of air. "What if he gets lost?"

Roman laughs, "Get lost? He's going in a straight line, Virge."

"What if something happens to him? What if– what if– I don't like this."

"I thought you were on board with this."

Virgil doesn't answer. He starts pacing back and forth, and Thomas can see his expression now in his peripheral. His brows are knotted, eyes too wide. His pacing becomes erratic.

"Hey, hey, don't do that. You're just gonna work yourself up," Roman calls to him, coming over to stop him. Virgil tries to walk around him, but Roman blocks his path.

"Why didn't one of us go with him? We should have gone with him!"

"Virgil, please, it'll be alright. Pat, may I have an emergency dose of positivity over here?"

"I don't like this," Patton repeats, and his tone is even more dejected. He holds onto Remus's arm with both hands. He leans into him, shaking at the arm insistently. "I don't like this."

"...Patton?" Remus hums in confusion. He looks around to the others to see if they're witnessing how close to crying Patton seems, but Thomas's eyes can't leave the tree line where Logan vanished.

"We have to go get him. Please, we have to–"

"Stormcloud, please," Roman soothes, and Virgil clings to the front of his tunic like a drowning man. His breaths are coming shorter and shorter, his words jumbling amongst the gasps. Roman stands there, dumbfounded. "Uh, Remus?"

"Kinda busy with Pat," Remus says, watching as Patton unravels. Tears cascade down his face and the first whimper of a sob comes out. "Okay, what the fuck is going on?"

"He's gonna die, he's gonna die-" Virgil rants over and over and he launches into a full-blown panic attack. "Janus, Janus, help!"

"Please!" Patton wails and falls to his knees. Remus barely manages to catch him and guide him down safely.

Thomas's feet move without intention. He takes one heavy step, then another, movements sluggish and wooden.

Janus is there suddenly, hand at his elbow to stop his forward momentum. Thomas is barely conscious of the peering eyes, one human and one snake. Janus glances between a hysterical Virgil and a sobbing Patton and turns to Thomas.

"Thomas, can you hear me?" he asks.

Thomas can, but it's like he's under water. He tries to step forward again, but Janus won't let him. Thomas feels the resistance as if steel cables are latching onto him with grappling hooks. Serrated edges sink into his flesh. No, no, it's not from outside. It's inside. There's a pull inside him, and it tugs.

"Janus!" Virgil begs.

"Please!" Patton cries.

"What the hell is wrong with them?!"

"I don't know! It's not like this has ever happened before!"

"Janus, what is Thomas doing?"

The words drift over Thomas, like seafoam floating by in a vast sea. There are more important matters to attend, like how he can't see Logan. If Logan is gone, then that means–

"Thomas, listen to me," someone says, and there are hands cupping his face. Thomas can't feel them, yet he knows they're there. "You have to shut this down. You have to stop this. Now."

But Logan is gone. He's gone, and Thomas is left bereft without him. The earth beneath his feet tremors, and the sky splits open in a downpour. The sun will fall and set the world ablaze. And Thomas feels the ache building up in his chest with mind-numbing certainty.

"Thomas!" the voice yells at him, hands shaking him. Thomas looks up into a face that he knows. He knows that face. He knows, he knows, he knows. How could he not? That's why it's so familiar. Why couldn't he see it before?

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispers.

His chest splinters in agony. Fear bleeds out abundant. Grief ravages his heart.

Thomas falls to the ground screaming.

[idontknowreallywhy]

A particularly lovely chord progression somehow ended up with me driving a wedge between Earth and Sky and I promised I’d try to fix it.

Super long car journey today presented an opportunity but events got away from me and I accidentally made it worse. Oops… um… I’m sorry? Apologies to @ajpendragon @alexthefly @astranite @janetm74 @sofasurf and anyone else who asked for a fix and will remain disappointed for now…

Piano Angst - the aftermath

It had been nearly a week and Scott felt like he was missing a limb.

Virgil was definitely avoiding him.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen each other - they’d worked together perfectly normally on several rescues. They’d both joined in the usual banter over mealtimes. There had even been a family film night - albeit, instead of joining Scott on their usual couch, Virgil had squeezed in with the Tinies and spent the evening competing with Gordon as to who could wind up Alan the most about his movie choice.

But they’d not been alone in the same room. At least, not for more than the few seconds it took for Virgil to make some excuse and leave it.

He’d even apparently conscripted Gordon into constantly keeping him company whilst he did maintenance on Two. Despite all Scott’s loitering around the hangar, the Fish never seemed to get the hint to make himself scarce. Except that one time when Scott had hinted at the availability of leftover pizza in the kitchen but then Virgil had raced off hot on Gordon’s heels. Which would not have been of any note whatsoever if it hadn’t been for that momentary flash of panic Scott was sure had crossed Virgil’s face as Gordon jumped to his feet.

It wasn’t just the lost chance to really TALK to his brother either. There was a physical distance too which was almost more painful. It turned out that Virgil’s elbow nudges at dinner, his arm across Scott’s shoulders as they walked across the lounge, his habit of stretching out and throwing his feet over big brother’s legs when they had a moment to chill together on the couch… these felt as natural and as essential to Scott as eating or drinking and he missed it more than he could have explained. It made his jaw hurt.

He had figured he just had to give Virgil time and be available when he was ready. So he’d made a conscious effort to *not* be working whenever they had downtime, hovering in the communal areas and looking un-busy. He rushed through the paperwork later, once everyone was in bed and then stayed up for hours each night studying the last couple of month’s worth of mission logs and recordings, desperately trying to work out what had triggered… whatever it was… the other day.

He’d been lying, Scott was certain of that. Ironically that certainty had made him very uncertain of everything else - Virgil never lied to him. He was awful at it. Honesty usually shone out of his big puppy-like brown eyes. When he was withholding something they were clouded with guilt.

But to invoke their mother’s memory as a cover-up?

It must have been serious.

His research efforts turned up nothing at all out of the ordinary other than it had actually been a pretty successful run of rescues, a bit of a reprieve from the average. He couldn’t find any aspect of the scenarios they’d faced that seemed like it might have particularly upset his brother.

It had to have something to do with him. Virgil was acting perfectly normally with everyone else. He re-listened to every interaction they’d had over the comm. Had he been too brusque in directing the rescues recently? Was his tone wrong? He didn’t think he sounded any different although after a while his own voice really began to grate on him. Virgil’s responses seemed normal and he didn’t appear to react to anything in a negative way. Perhaps his brother was maybe a little quieter on the comm than usual… should he have noticed that sooner?

Or had he embarrassed him by making it clear he’d noticed him getting carried away that afternoon? But Virgil had never seemed to be worried about Scott witnessing his piano binges before - most of the worst more-recovery-than-rescue missions had been thrashed out on the piano over the years… No. The only way to find out was to ask him directly.

He hovered at the door of the hangar, took a couple of breaths to slow his galloping heart rate and pushed it ajar. He could hear Gordon talking at a mile a minute about something to do with aquaculture and Virgil was leaning up against a pod module with a politely interested look on his face. His eyes flicked briefly over to his eldest brother but didn’t linger, instead focussing firmly back on little brother with renewed focus.

Scott felt rather like he’d taken a grapple to the chest and backed out, closing the door softly behind him. He ignored the elevator and elected for the long slow trudge up the stairwell. By the time he made it to the lounge his vision was blurry and he had reached the limit of what he could bear. He found a sheet of notepaper from the desk drawer and scribbled a note. He folded it precisely in half, opened it again and checked it, then refolded it, running a shaking thumb along the edge. He tucked it underneath the door to his brother’s bedroom on the way to his own.

Virgil, I’ve upset you and I can’t for the life of me work out when or how it was in order to apologise properly - but please know I am so sorry.

I’ll be on my balcony the rest of the evening if you want to talk.

I miss you. S x

[gumnut-logic]

It hadn’t been his best plan, he had to admit it. But the idea sprung up and he had been at his wits end with a head full of…stuff…and he needed a distraction.

He was pretty sure he could explain a motorised spinning clothesline. After all, wasn’t that what the washing machine did anyway? A few basic laws of applied physics couldn’t do anything but help get clothing dry in the tropics.

Could it?

Of course, he was bullshitting himself and every human in a hundred kilometre radius and he knew it in some dark, deep corner of his soul, but yesterday had been hell and he needed to DO SOMETHING.

Scott had banned him from the hangars due to injury.

Injury, sminjury, so he had a sprained wrist. He could still do stuff.

Even if it hurt to play the piano and the thought of holding a brush up wasn’t pleasant.

Now you’re just a hypocrite.

Oh, shut up!

So, Virgil Tracy grabbed his toolkit and a few important bits and pieces from his workshop…he went in the back way so he didn’t go through the hangars, so there, Scott! And, carrying them in his good hand lest he be arrested on the way back up, snuck…okay, he was sneaking, but that was because a certain brother was a worry wart!...out onto the lawn and crouched down by the clothesline.

What followed was several lovely hours of tinkering away and experimenting and playing, yes, playing, and he had a good time which was much better than sitting on his ass in his bedroom pouting.

He had to admit that by the time he had the solar panel assembled and the motor suspended at the right place, his wrist was hurting a bit more than it should be and the medic in the back of his head was having conniptions, but the mental health value of the exercise certainly outweighed anything else.

That was until standing back and admiring his work, he realised he had an audience.

Of two.

Aw, crap.

“Whatcha doin’, Virg?”

“Mind your business.”

“Ooooh, touchy. Need some coffee?”

Gordon was standing with his arms crossed beside Alan. While Alan had some actual interest in his eyes, Gordon was channelling a combination of sprung older brother and mischief.

“What do you want, Gordon?”

“I see you have motorised the clothesline.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“How fast does it go?”

Virgil eyed his brother. The smirk was practically acidic and started eating Virgil’s eyeballs. This was going to hurt, wasn’t it.

“Fast enough.”

“Round and round? Like a turbo charged merry-go-round, possibly?”

“Gordon…”

But Alan reacted to that. “Woah, that sounds like fun.”

Virgil rubbed his face and was punished for using the wrong hand. Maybe he could claim short term breakdown of his logic centres? An addiction to tinkering?

Why the hell did he need a motorised clothesline at all? They had a dryer for that exact reason.

Did sprained wrists reduce mental capacity? Or was it just that he had known this would happen and he needed it as much as his little brothers did?

Yesterday had been hell.

Screw the excuses, they now had a motorised clothesline and all that implied.

Part of him was aghast at what he had done, the other part was too busy grinning as both Gordon and Alan hurried past and examined his creation.

Everything was loud in his head, but at least he wasn’t sad anymore.

Of course, that was the point where Gordon found the On switch and with a whirring sound and a pair of squawks, launched both himself and Alan into a high speed orbit of the metal and concrete axis of the contraption.

In other words, they started the merry-go-round and clung to the metal bars of the clothesline while it swung them around at a speed high enough for physics to lift them almost horizontal.

It was at this point Virgil realised the complete lack of safety mechanisms.

It was also the point where Scott ambled out onto the patio and exclaimed in horror.

Scott really did know how to meet just the right pitch to communicate terror where his brothers were concerned.

Ever wanting to protect Scott and his brothers from absolutely everything, Virgil jumped into kill the power on the spinning contraption.

The switch was beneath the clothesline and he had to dart in under the pair of screaming brothers - either joy or terror – neither younger brother was as clear as Scott in communication – as they spun around and around.

Killing the motor was easy, but seeing the expression on Scott’s face as he came running towards them, only had Virgil panicking enough to leap up and try to catch his brothers and slow them down faster – fix the problem at speed.

He was a Tracy and Tracys love speed.

Unfortunately, that expression on his brother’s face was enough to short circuit Virgil’s brain regarding his own safety – wasn’t the first time, likely wouldn’t be the last – he had a sprained wrist for exactly that reason, after all, and it was a major component of why he had to DO SOMETHING this morning or go out of his mind.

So, without thinking of the logical consequences, Virgil stepped into the path of his spinning brothers, intending on using heavy-lifting muscles to catch them and slow them down.

Instead, he got kicked in the head twice and went down for the count in a lovely wave of darkness.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil, what the hell were you thinking?”

It was a tired Scott voice. One that spoke of insane brothers driving him around the bend and into his grave.

Virgil opened his eyes expecting to see a terrible two lined up for discipline. But the room – Virgil’s room – was empty except for one older brother rubbing his eyes.

It was very bright and Virgil’s head complained.

“Virg? You with me?”

A grunt was all he managed.

“When I said ‘no working’ did I really have to include the clothesline?”

Virgil scrunched up his face. “You didn’t say anything about it specifically.”

Scott’s sigh of exasperation was enough. “Brains has declared it a breakthrough by the way. Apparently, you got more power out of those solar cells versus however fast you got that thing to go than should have been theoretically possible.”

“Oh?”

“He says it was a logical step on from the project the two of you were working on in the HANGARS.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Was Scott gritting his teeth? “You even have John excited due to some physics rule you broke in the process. He has Eos analysing our CLOTHESLINE.”

Virgil winced. “Please don’t yell.”

“I don’t possibly see how I can’t yell. You are the responsible one. Did you break something yesterday that you have failed to declare or have you always been this way?”

Virgil glared at his brother and tried to ignore how much frowning hurt his eyebrows. “You know the answer to that.”

It was Scott’s turn to grunt. “Don’t do it again. Gordon and Alan do not need encouragement. They have enough stuff to kill themselves with already.”

Virgil had to grunt at that as well.

“Sorry.”

Another disgruntled murmur was all Scott said after that.

But he did stay with Virgil and kept and eye on him and as time proved that there was no lasting damage from being kicked in the head by two brothers swinging from a clothesline, the holoprojector may have been switched on, Scott may have joined him on the bed and there may even have been some popcorn acquired.

At one point there was an enquiry from the door, but apparently Scott had locked it and Eos was the one who answered…for some reason in an English accent that said ‘Bugger off and leave them alone!”

Virgil just hoped it hadn’t been Grandma outside the door.

But for the moment, his mind was settled, his headache fading and he was quite happy sitting beside the brother he had sprained his wrist for by pulling him out of the air the previous day, and watching trash TV they could both poke fun at.

After all, who needed to tinker when he had all that?

-o-o-o-

[justbianca08]

Another situation i thought of while coffee crashing and listening to music in my comically oversized headphones

Patton, barely entering Virgil’s room: Hey, kiddo. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your headphones for a second? I’ll give them back if you need them while I’m using them.

Virgil: Awh, overstimulated again? Its fine you can have them. Do you need a hug too?

Patton: …yes please

Virgil: Awesome, let me put the playlist designed to calm me down.

And then Patton fell asleep with the headphones on while Virgil was hugging him tightly.

[silverstarfics]

hello what's this?

Yesterday's Promise - Chapter 124 - Silverstar1 - Thunderbirds [Archive of Our Own]

also for anyone who skips my author's notes (I do not blame you, they are unhinged): there's going to be a new chapter on Wednesday 27th. The reasons for this are as follows:

I had to split this chapter in half because having 30k+ to read would be insane even by my standards

For those of us who celebrate Christmas, it gives us something to break up that weird week between Boxing Day and NYE when time doesn't exist. For anyone who doesn't celebrate, hey, you get an extra chapter just as a little treat!

I wanted to upload the final chapter on NYE still. It just seems satisfying. Last chapter on the last day of the year - it makes my brain happy, y'know?

[asksanderssides]

Virgil is it okay if I have a hug?

Virgil: Sure, uh... I guess... I don't really hug people that much.

Patton: Aww, Virge, do you want more hugs?

Virgil: Nah, I'm good.

Roman: So, are you going to let anon go any time soon?

Virgil: ...

[frozenhi-chews]

I'm screaming-

[edutainer2022]

Many thanks to @janetm74 for her deeply moving and insightful story Grief: The Compass, and for putting up with my ramblings about the symbolism of Grandpa's compass and its meaning to Scott, as well as to Scott and Virgil going forward (especially after the revelations of Recharge). I had this little dream-like sequence in mind since the very early days of my return to TAG fandom as a intro to a larger story. Scott Tracy is, of course, very much not okay. It might not be obvious from the start, but it's true. He needs to find his way.

TRUE NORTH

The wind was ruffling early blossoms in the trees and his hair, as he jogged eagerly across the front yard to the farmhouse. Soft spring grass was tickling his bare feet. Mom was inside, he knew. He was so excited to see her.

The quiet hallway was filled with a soothing scent of cinamon and ripe late summer apples. Mom was probably in the kitchen, baking an apple pie. His favorite. He followed the wiffs of delicious smells, but the kitchen was empty. Each utensil in its place, exactly as Mom liked it. He needed to find Mom. The sense of urgency increased, as he passed the sunlit kitchen to the backdoor, out onto the porch and across the backyard. He shivered once, then twice, as a gust of vicious wind threw a handful of fallen leaves into his face. Golden and red, just like Mom's hair. Mom wasn't out back either and he was anxious now. On instinct, he followed the well-worn path to the meadow, stretching behind their old farmhouse in Kansas. Rough edges of pebbles dug into his feet so they were probably bleeding, but he kept going. He needed to find Mom!

His frantic paces came to a halt at the very edge of the meadow, though. As far as eye could see was cast in a swathe of pristine white. Snow. He knew deep down in his soul Mom was across that expanse of white. But he had no clue which way to go. Where to start. He stood at a loss, shivering, at the very edge of ice, licking his bare toes, the freezing numbness creeping up from the ground to his heart.

Then he remembered! Grandpa's old compass that Virgil made a point to give him for the duration of a rescue, would show the way. Ever since their heart to heart in the Arctic, Virgil would  give him the compass before each mission so he would find his way home safely. Just like that day. He was home now, but Mom wasn't there. He dug into a pocket, and, sure enough, his fingers curled around a solid cool weight of the antique gadget. Grandpa's compass would show him the way to Mom! But something odd was happening. As soon as he opened the lid, the arrow went haywire, turning in place, never resting on any one point. Despair and exhaustion nearly choked him and his knees were ready to give. He couldn't get to Mom no matter how much he longed to! No matter how much he missed her!

He was about ready to step into the unforgiving snow and take his chances, when heavy hands landed on his shoulders, pinning him in place.

"It's not yet time, Bluejay!"

The husky whisper was close to his ear. Dad!

"It's too soon, kiddo! You have to let me go first. You can then follow in my footsteps, but not just yet! Not for a long, long time. How about we go home now, son, eh?"

He wanted to protest. Mom was there, all alone, across the field of snow. He could find her, even if the stupid compass was not helping! He needed to be with Mom! But the voice failed him, caught up on a blinding pain in his chest. Strong arms were already steering him back to face the farmhouse again.

Even from afar, he could see all his brothers standing on the back porch, watching him. Allie seemed so scared, baby blue eyes wide and full of tears, clutching the railing. Gordon was standing apart, hunched over, his face dark and lost - he appeared so small and so young. John was ghostly pale, his eyes a green sea of pain. Scott could swear his ginger brother was swaying with each gust of wind. But it was Virgil who made him gasp. Standing one step down the porch stairs, his best friend was glaring daggers at him - the always soft face contorted with fury and anguish, kind brown eyes brimming with liquid fire. What made Virgil so angry? Had he done something stupid? He hadn't lost Grandpa's Compass! Right! The Compass! He looked down at his hand, still clutching the brass shell, and the arrow had miraculously settled, pointing due North. At the center of the porch of their home. At Virgil.

He felt an insistent nudge to start moving, as the voice by his ear spoke again, soft, but urgent.

"Let's go home now, Bluejay! Just like that, one step at a time! Your brothers are waiting."

He tried once more to twist and catch the sight of Dad, but thought better of it as a sharp pain pierced through his torso again. He still needed to make it home and give Virgil back the compass, so Virgil wouldn't be so angry with him. So Virgil wouldn't go looking for him all the way by the desolate cold white meadow. He also needed to find out what made John so upset, and he certainly needed to hug the Tinies. He sneaked a peek at the compass again - it was pointing firmly Home.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

i love your virgil smut so much, dominant and size kink 😫😫 wondering if you could write the one that is similar for jude too please ❤

I know this one took me forever to upload but I had to make sure it was perfect for you guys. After 3 rewrites, I present to you...

After Hours

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — the one where you are his only desire.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 10.5k.

Warnings! FLUFF! He's down badddd, NSFW! SMUT (18+), size kink, protected vaginal sex (stay safe), oral sex (f receiving), hot sex, multiple orgasms, dom!Jude, sub!reader.

The Penthouse was alive with energy. Trent's birthday had drawn out the kind of crowd that made it impossible to move without brushing shoulders with someone.

Laughter spills over the booming bass of the music, blending with the distinct smell of alcohol and food wafting throughout the house. A mix of conversations buzz in every corner of the house—loud, overlapping, and relentless.

Jude leans against the far wall of the living room, eyes half-lidded as he sips from a drink he barely cares for. He wasn’t really a fan of these gatherings; too many people, too much noise. But Trent was a friend, and bailing wasn't an option.

At least not yet.

He was giving the party until midnight before making his excuses and heading out. It's 11:57. Almost there.

His gaze flickers to the clock mounted over the TV, then around the room at the partygoers. He spots Trent across the room, laughing and hugging a group of people, and smiles. He's happy his friend is having a good time.

He checks his watch again, making a silent vow to himself to stay put for at least two more minutes. He exhales quietly, thinking of how easy it would be to slip out unnoticed. He's already halfway to deciding on an exit strategy when something—someone—catches his attention.

There you are.

Standing on your tiptoes, trying—and failing—to grab something from the top shelf in the kitchen. Your brows furrow in concentration, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you stretch as far as your short frame would allow, but it's no use.

The cup remains tantalizingly out of reach, and it looks like you'd been at it for a while, silently battling the shelf like it was some kind of cruel joke.

Amused, Jude can't help the smirk tugging at his lips. The scene is oddly endearing.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on your curvy figure before he sets his drink down, the thought of leaving slipping from his mind. His legs move before he can stop himself, carrying him across the room with an easy stride. It takes him a second to cross the living room, dodging a couple of people on his way before finally reaching the kitchen.

Jude pauses just behind you, his height towering over your small frame. You don't notice him at first, too focused on your mission to retrieve the elusive cup.

A grin plays at the corner of his mouth as he reaches up with ease, his long arm grabbing the cup that had been giving you such a hard time.

You finally notice him, head snapping around, eyes widening as you take in his presence. You're flushed, whether from the exertion or embarrassment, Jude isn't sure, but the sight made something warm bubble up in his chest.

“Need a hand?” His voice is low, teasing, his smirk not fading.

You blink at him, brows furrowing slightly before a small, sheepish smile pulls at your lips. "That obvious, huh?" you mutter, voice soft but laced with a hint of humor. Your cheeks are a little pink, but you don't seem angry, just mildly exasperated.

Jude raises an eyebrow, his smirk still firmly in place. “I don’t know, you were getting pretty close. Maybe another few inches and you would've nailed it.”

You roll your eyes at him, embarrassment fading into something lighter. “Oh, shut up. Are you going to give me the cup, or are you just here to gloat?”

He chuckles, lowering the cup to your level. “Maybe a bit of both.”

You snatch it from his hand with a dramatic sigh, but the small smile you wear tells him you aren’t really upset. “Thanks... I guess,” you say, tone playfully begrudging. You set the cup down and turn to him, raising your eyes to his face.

There's a pause between you both as you take him in. He can see it, the way your gaze drags down his chest, over his arms, and back up again. His body responds to the attention, a spark of attraction lighting up inside him as he watches you study him.

He likes that. The way you look at him like that. He wants to see it again.

“So...” he says, interrupting your stare. “What's the occasion?” His eyes flick to the cup on the counter. “Late night tea party for one? I didn't know those were a thing.” He's not sure why he says it, maybe just to keep the light banter going. It feels like he should say something.

He watches you raise an eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curling into an amused smile. “I needed a drink. Thought it was better than bothering the bartender.” You shrug, picking up the cup and sauntering over to the fridge. He follows you with his eyes, taking in the sway of your hips, his heart rate picking up a little as he thinks of how much fun he could have with your curvy little body.

“I can make one for you if you want,” Jude offers, his voice still teasing, but there’s a new edge to it, something more playful, maybe even flirtatious. He leans against the kitchen counter, eyes following your movements as you reach into the fridge, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

You glance back over your shoulder at him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "You? Make a drink?" you ask, amusement dripping from your tone.

He chuckles softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been known to make a decent one or two. What are you in the mood for?”

You pause at the fridge, considering his offer for a moment before shutting the door without grabbing anything. Turning to face him, you lean back against the counter, mirroring his stance. “Surprise me.”

Jude grins, pushing off the counter as he steps closer, now standing directly in front of you. The space between you narrows, not quite enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough for the tension to feel palpable. He reaches up to grab a couple of bottles from the liquor cabinet above the sink, and you watch him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“So, do you always rescue people from their beverage-related dilemmas?” you ask, your tone light and teasing, though you can’t help but admire the ease with which he moves. There’s something effortless about him.

Jude smirks, eyes flicking to yours as he pours the first drink. “Only when they look as helpless as you did.”

You gasp, feigning offense, and lightly swat his arm. “I wasn’t helpless! I was just… strategically challenged.”

He laughs, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, it drowns out the rest of the party’s noise. “Right. My mistake,” he says, handing you the drink with a smirk that makes it clear he’s not sorry at all.

You take the glass from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment, and you feel the electric tingle of the contact. It’s subtle but undeniable, and you wonder if he felt it too.

“Thanks,” you say, bringing the glass to your lips. You take a sip, the cool liquid soothing as it slides down your throat. You meet his gaze over the rim of the cup, noting the way his eyes seem to darken slightly as they lock onto yours.

“No problem,” he replies, voice quieter now, almost intimate despite the noise surrounding you. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for a brief second, it feels like the rest of the party has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you standing there, locked in this moment.

The drink is strong, but surprisingly good. You raise your eyebrows, impressed despite yourself.

“Well?” he asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter with a smug expression. “Do I pass?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you that one. It’s decent.”

"Decent, huh?" Jude’s grin widens, a flicker of something playful lighting up his face. "I'll take that as high praise."

You shake your head, laughing softly as the tension between you both begins to shift into something easier, more comfortable. “I didn’t mean that as praise,” you tease, taking another sip from your drink.

He chuckles at the light jab, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Of course not.” Jude glances at his watch, raising his brows slightly as he notices how late it is.

He hadn’t planned to stay for long, but he was having too much fun chatting with you to leave right now. It wasn’t like him to enjoy a conversation so much, especially at a party like this. There was something about you that drew him in, made him want to stay and learn more about you.

“Are you leaving?” you ask, seeming to notice his attention on his watch.

He raises his gaze to meet yours, blinking. He shrugs, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “Was just about to leave, actually.”

Your smile falters slightly, just for a second. “Already? But the party’s just getting started.”

“Not really my scene,” Jude admits, glancing back toward the crowded living room.

You nod, gaze flicking back to the drink in your hand as you swirl it absentmindedly. “Well, glad you did. Otherwise, I’d probably still be standing here, struggling for that cup like a fool.”

His eyes glimmer with amusement. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, come on. You were laughing at me.”

“Not laughing,” he corrects, a teasing edge to his voice. “Just…observing.”

His gaze flicks to yours, lips twitching with a grin. You arch an eyebrow at the response, but the playful teasing has you smiling again.

“So,” Jude says, suddenly changing the topic. “How do you know Trent?”

“He’s my sister's boyfriend” you reply, “You?”

“Wait! You're Y/N?” He blinks at you, realization dawning as he takes in the information. “Right. I should’ve made the connection earlier.” He laughs softly at himself, shaking his head.

You look exactly like your sister, with people sometimes mistaking you for twins. Your height was the only way for people to distinguish you sometimes. With her being 5'5 and you being 5'2.

You smile at his confusion, seeming amused by his reaction. “Yeah, that’s me. How do you know her?”

“Trent brought her to my New Year's party.”

“Oh, yeah...” You frown at him, as though remembering something. “You’re Jude, right? I think my sister has mentioned you a few times.”

He smirks at the memory, feeling something warm in his chest at the mention of your sister talking to you about him. “That’s me.”

A small silence falls between you both, the tension growing less easy now, but not quite uncomfortable. He thinks of something to say, but before he can open his mouth, you beat him to it.

“Do you want to step outside with me for a minute?” you ask, already setting your drink down on the counter.

He blinks, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. He was about to ask you to grab another drink with him when you mentioned going outside.

“Sure,” he replies finally, picking his drink up from the counter. “Lead the way.” He follows you through the crowded house, almost losing you a couple of times as you seem to disappear into the crowd. Damn, you're short.

The balcony is quieter than the inside, a couple smoking in the corner, but otherwise, it's fairly empty. The sounds of the party are muted now, a muffled background noise. The cold air feels like a welcome relief after the heat of the crowded living room.

“Nice out here,” he says as you sit down at a lounge, nodding to the empty spot next to you as he lowers himself onto it.

You smile, settling into your seat as you pull your jacket a little tighter against the chill. "Yeah, it's nice to get some air. Gets a bit suffocating in there."

Jude nods, glancing back toward the house where the sounds of the party still hum faintly through the walls. He’s relieved to be out here, away from the chaos, but more than that, he's glad you're here too. Conversation feels... easy with you, even though you've only known each other for a few minutes.

"So, you do this often?" he asks, leaning back in the seat, watching the way you absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair between your fingers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "What, escape to the balcony?"

"No, I meant..." He gestures vaguely with his drink, smirking a little. "Come to these kinds of parties."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Not really. Trent's parties are... something, but my sister drags me along sometimes. I think she feels bad leaving me home alone." You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance in your tone, just affection.

Jude studies you for a moment, noticing the way your expression softens when you talk about your sister. There's a warmth in your eyes that he hadn't seen earlier, and it makes him curious, wishing you would look at him like that.

"Seems like she cares about you," he says, tone a little softer now.

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, she does. It's kind of nice, even if I act like it's annoying sometimes."

Jude nods, thinking about his own brother for a moment before turning the conversation back to you. "So, what do you do when you're not at parties you don't really want to be at?"

You snort softly, bringing your knees up to rest your feet on the edge of the lounge. "Oh, you know, just saving the world, one cup at a time."

He chuckles at your sarcasm, but there's a twinkle of genuine amusement in his eyes as he leans forward slightly. "Seriously though."

"Okay, okay," you relent, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I'm a med student, so I guess you could say I'm learning how to save lives."

Jude's eyebrows lift, impressed. "Wow, that's... intense."

You shrug, though there's a flicker of pride in your expression. "It is, but I love it. Always wanted to be a doctor."

"That's cool," he replies, leaning back again. "I bet you're great at it."

You glance at him, something in his tone catching your attention. He sounded sincere, not like the typical empty flattery you sometimes got. It makes you smile.

A comfortable silence settles between you both as you sip your drinks, the night air crisp but not too cold.

Jude watches you for a moment, noting the way the moonlight casts a soft glow on your face, making your eyes seem brighter in the darkness. There’s something calming about being out here with you, something grounding. It’s not what he expected when he first spotted you struggling with that cup, but now that you’re here, he’s not in any rush to leave.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low but warm, “this isn’t a bad way to spend the night after all.”

You glance over at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I guess it’s not.” You pause, meeting his gaze. “I’m glad you didn’t bail at midnight.”

Jude grins, feeling that familiar warmth bloom in his chest again. "Me too." He leans forward, resting his arm on the back of the lounge chair. "I mean, it would have been a bummer to leave right when I'm just getting to know a woman this beautiful." He smiles softly, his eyes sparkling in the faint light.

You flush, dropping your gaze to your drink as you fidget with the glass. “Um... thanks, I guess.” Your cheeks are hot, but you can't help the flutter in your chest at his words.

Jude notices your blush though, and it brings a smirk to his lips. He enjoys the way you fumble with your drink, clearly nervous at the compliment. He leans back again, sipping his drink quietly for a moment before looking over at you.

"You’re cute," he says, voice dropping down into something softer, lower, more intimate. “Especially when you're embarrassed.”

The flush deepens as you look away, your eyes skipping to the floor. "I'm not embarrassed," you say, but the fact that you're avoiding looking at him says otherwise.

"Sure you’re not," he replies with a chuckle, leaning forward again.

You fidget in your seat, eyes still down. Your cheeks burn, and you’re glad for the dim lighting out here that hopefully hides it. "Stop it," you mutter, but there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

Jude laughs softly, reaching out and sliding his hand into yours. His hand is warm, calloused, bigger than yours, and his fingers wrap easily around yours. "Can't help it," he says, squeezing your hand lightly. "You're too cute."

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry as your eyes dart to his hand in yours. He's holding it loosely, not gripping it tightly, but it's enough to feel possessive somehow, enough to make your heart race and your cheeks flush with heat. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you like this, let alone with such intention.

Your gaze snaps to Jude's, eyes wide and slightly nervous. His eyes are darker now, pupils dilated, his mouth curved in a low, satisfied smile. His thumb presses into the center of your palm, the pressure soft, light, sending goosebumps down your arm.

You swallow again, trying to form words, but coming up with nothing. The air between you feels heavy suddenly, thick with heat and tension, your heart pounding in your ears. You glance back at the house, wondering if anyone can see, if anyone notices, but the windows are empty, the party still going strong inside.

Jude chuckles, low and soft. "You good?" he asks, voice dropping into something lower, husky.

You swallow hard again. Your eyes dart back to his, finding his still locked on yours, his gaze intense.

"Yeah, I'm good," you finally manage to get out, though your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

Jude's smile widens, and he shifts closer, your thighs now touching. "Good." His hand tightens a little around yours, squeezing lightly. "Good," he repeats, his voice dipping into something even softer, more intimate before placing his now empty glass on a nearby table along with yours.

His eyes are still locked on yours, and the way he's watching you, it feels like he's looking right through the layers you’ve carefully built up. It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable. In a way that feels… thrilling.

You bite your lip, the warmth of his hand grounding you even as your pulse races. There’s a tension now, something thick in the air that wasn’t there before. It crackles between you, electric, and you don’t know whether to pull away or lean into it.

"Jude…" you start, but your voice trails off. You’re not sure what you’re trying to say. You can’t even think straight.

He tilts his head, watching you carefully. "Yeah?"

You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, though your stomach twists in nervous anticipation. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your chest, like you’re standing at the edge of something new, something you can’t quite name. "What are we doing here?"

He smirks, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a slow, deliberate motion. "Just talking," he says, but the way he says it, the way his eyes darken, suggests that there’s a lot more simmering beneath the surface.

You laugh softly, a little breathless. "Is that what this is?"

His grin widens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He just watches you, studying the way you shift nervously in your seat, the way your lip trembles slightly as you bite it. Finally, he leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "What do you want it to be?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a long moment, you don’t say anything. You can feel the weight of the question hanging between you, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place. Something that makes your skin tingle, makes your heart beat faster.

"Jude..." you start again, but again, your voice dies off.

His grin softens. "Yeah?" His hand squeezes yours lightly, his fingers brushing over your wrist as his eyes dart to your mouth.

You feel your cheeks heat all over again, and there's a sudden ache between your legs that you can’t ignore. You fidget, trying not to think about it, trying to focus on the conversation instead. “This is a little... intense, isn't it?"

He chuckles softly, leaning in even closer, his lips just inches from yours now. "It doesn't have to be." His voice drops to a whisper as he looks at you. "I promise. Whatever you want."

For a moment, you don’t speak. You just look at him.

The dim light casts gentle shadows across his face—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a slightly crooked smile that adds a touch of roguish charm to his otherwise serene expression. His lips are full, inviting. And his eyes. Oh, how beautiful they are. There’s a way he looks at you that makes you feel like the only person in the world. You want to stare into them forever.

He's beautiful.

Slowly, you reach out with your free hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck to pull him closer. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your mouth. Smell the subtle scent of his cologne—a hint of something warm and musky, with a touch of something fresh—mingling with the crisp night air.

Jude lets out a low exhale as he leans in the last few inches to meet you, pressing his lips softly against yours. They're warm and firm, gentle as they slide against yours, teasing a little with each movement. He doesn't rush it, just lets the kiss play out slowly as his hand squeezes around yours, pulling you closer.

You sigh against his mouth as he slides his tongue over your lower lip, a low noise of pleasure slipping from your throat. He groans softly at the sound, his hand shifting from yours to wrap around your side and pull you into his lap, your legs falling to either side of him on the lounge chair. You go willingly, letting him slide his arms around you, feeling him against you now.

Jude breaks the kiss after a moment, leaning back to look at you. "You taste good," he murmurs, his voice rougher now, deeper, his words sending heat flooding through you.

You flush, your cheeks warming again as your eyes drop to his mouth. "You too," you reply, barely above a whisper.

He hums softly, his fingers trailing along your side to brush against your waist. Your breath hitches at the light touch, and his hand moves again, his palm sliding down over your hips. "So fucking soft," he mutters, a smile playing on his lips. "I want to feel every inch of you."

A shiver runs through you at his words, desire burning inside of you at the promise in his voice. "Do it," you whisper, leaning in again to brush your mouth over his.

He groans, his hand pulling your crotch down to meet his. Jude's arms tighten around you, and you feel the hard length of him pressing against your core. You gasp against his mouth at the feel, your hips twitching slightly as he pushes you tighter against him. You both moan softly, your fingers tightening around the back of his head as you grind against him.

Jude pulls back with a chuckle, looking at you through his lashes. "Fuck, baby. You're going to kill me." He leans in again, pressing his mouth to yours as his hands slide underneath your skirt to cup your ass. He kneads your flesh gently, his hands rough against your skin as he squeezes. "Fuck. I knew you'd feel this good." He groans low in his throat, his tongue sliding over your lips once more.

You whimper into his mouth, heat burning in your lower belly as you rock against him. You're wet already, his touches, his words lighting you on fire. His hand shifts, one still cupping your ass as

the other slides between you to press against your clit through your panties.

A choked moan escapes you as you grind into his hand, your hips twisting against him. "Please," you breathe, breaking away from his kiss to lean against his shoulder. "Jude. Please." Your nails dig into his back at the pressure of his fingers through your underwear, his thumb sliding over your clit with each movement of your hips.

Jude lets out a harsh breath, his mouth running along your neck as his hands tighten around you. "God, baby," he groans. "I can't. There's too many people." He nips at your throat, his teeth sliding gently over your skin. "I don't want to share you. Not for one fucking second."

You cry out softly at his words, your hips bucking against his hand. "But I want you," you murmur, rolling your hips into his touch, your teeth sinking into his shoulder.

Jude's hands pull away from you, one cupping your jaw as you lean back against his arm, panting. "Look at me," he rasps, his eyes dark as they meet yours. "There's no way we're going to be able to do this right here." He trails his hand over your breasts, cupping them gently as he murmurs. "I need you too fucking bad, and there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to get you out of your pants before someone realizes what the fuck is going on."

He groans, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. "Come back to my place," he whispers against your mouth, his hand slipping over your hip once more. "Let me take care of you."

You flush at his words, his touch sending fire shooting through you. Your hand wraps around his arm, fingers digging into his skin. "Okay," you agree, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes slipping closed.

"Jesus," Jude breathes out, pulling you against his chest as he leans his mouth against your forehead. "If I take you home like this," he says, his voice low in your ear, "I'm not going to let you leave my bed for the rest of the night."

You bite your lip, swallowing back a whimper. "That sounds good," you breathe out, heat flooding your body at his words.

Jude’s breath shudders against your forehead. The night air feels colder now, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your veins. You can’t help but shiver slightly, but it’s not from the cold.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low and urgent as he starts to stand, lifting you with him. His grip on you is firm but gentle, as if afraid you might disappear if he holds too tightly. You smile a little at the thought, letting him guide you back inside.

As you walk, his hand slides to your lower back, his arm still wrapped around you. Your smile deepens, and your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you notice the way he’s staring down at you. “What?” you ask, a giggle bubbling up in your throat.

He smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he replies voice barely heard over the music. “I just like looking at you.”

You blush, biting your lip as you turn your gaze. A few of his friends glance at you, their gazes flicking to Jude’s hand wrapped around you before they turn back to their conversation.

He guides you through the crowd, his hand never leaving the small of your back, making sure you’re close to him. He stops by a group of friends, his mouth moving as he talks to them, but you don’t hear his words. You’re too busy looking up at him, taking in the hard planes of his face, the way his eyes flicker between you and his friends.

You don’t notice when he pulls out his phone, a smile on his lips as he types something out quickly. He slips it into his pocket, turning to wrap his arm back around you. His eyes flicker over your face, a grin playing on his lips as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “My driver is here,” he says softly. “Want to go?”

You nod quickly, heat burning inside of you. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you through the crowd again as you make your way to the door.

Jude holds your hand as he opens the door, stepping back to let you exit first. You do, walking out of Trent's penthouse and into the cool night air. The Porsche is parked at the curb, its doors already open as you step out. A driver stands next to it, his hands clasped in front of him as he waits.

You get in first, feeling like royalty as you slide into the smooth leather seats. The door closes behind you, and Jude slides in beside you. You catch a glimpse of his smile as he slides his arm around you, pulling your legs over his lap as he leans against you.

The car glides smoothly from the curb, heading down the highway toward the city. You lean back against the seat, feeling Jude's hand slide up your leg, his fingertips ghosting under the hem of your skirt. You turn to face him, grinning as you play with the collar of his shirt.

His eyes flick to your hand, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as you tease the fabric. "What are you thinking?" Jude murmurs, his voice thick with that same low, gravelly tone that sends shivers down your spine.

You shrug, feigning innocence. "Just wondering if you always wear shirts this nice," you tease, brushing your fingertips against the fabric again, trailing lightly along the edge of his collar.

Jude chuckles, low and deep, leaning his head back against the seat as his fingers slide further up your thigh, sending a wave of heat crashing through you.

Your breath catches, and you can't help the way your body reacts to his touch. The closeness, the heat, the tension—all of it coils tight inside of you like a spring wound too tight, waiting to snap. You glance down, watching his hand inch further beneath the fabric of your skirt, teasing but never fully satisfying.

The city lights outside blur as the car speeds down the highway, a soft hum filling the silence between you. The world seems distant, fading away as you lose yourself in the moment, in him. Jude’s hand pauses, resting just at the top of your thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth lazily over your skin. It’s torture, slow and deliberate, making your body crave more.

"You have no idea what you’re in for, baby," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You grin, the anticipation coiling tighter in your belly as you press your mouth to his jaw, kissing along the sharp line there, tasting the faint hint of cologne on his skin. Jude’s hand shifts, sliding up to rest on your lower back, his fingers splayed wide as he presses you closer against him. His breath is ragged, his pulse quick under your lips, and you know he’s as affected by this as you are.

The car slows to a stop, and you glance out the window to see the entrance to a sleek high-rise building, all glass and steel, gleaming under the night sky. Jude doesn’t waste a second. He slides out of the car, his hand still gripping yours as he helps you out, pulling you close as he leads you toward the entrance.

The moment you step inside the building, the atmosphere shifts—quiet, intimate. The lobby is dimly lit, modern, and elegant, with polished floors and soft lighting. You barely register any of it, too focused on the way Jude’s fingers are laced with yours, the heat of his hand grounding you in the moment.

An elevator door opens, and Jude pulls you inside, pressing you up against the mirrored wall the second the doors close. His mouth is on yours in an instant, the kiss hot and urgent, all of the restraint from earlier gone in a flash. You gasp against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair as you kiss him back just as fiercely, your body arching into his.

His hands are everywhere—on your waist, sliding up your back, gripping your hips. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, making you weak at the knees. "I’ve been waiting all night for this," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and full of need.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your breaths coming fast, your heart pounding in your chest. "So have me," you whisper, your voice breathless, your fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Jude's eyes darken, his grip on you tightening as the elevator dings softly, signaling that you've reached his floor. He doesn't say another word. Instead, he grabs your hand again, pulling you down the hall toward his apartment, his pace quick and purposeful. Your pulse quickens with every step, the anticipation thrumming through your veins.

The door to his apartment swings open, and before you can even take in your surroundings, Jude pulls you inside, his hands already sliding under your jacket, pushing it off your shoulders as he backs you up against the nearest wall.

His mouth crashes down on yours again, the kiss rough and demanding, full of the same need that's been building inside you all night.

You arch against him, your arms looping around his neck as you pull him closer, kissing him back with just as much passion. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist tight as he presses you harder into the wall, his hips grinding against yours.

You can feel the hard length of him through his jeans, his cock straining against the fabric, sending a jolt of arousal through you. A whimper slips from your lips, and Jude growls low in his throat, his teeth grazing your jaw, your throat, making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"Fuck," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking sexy." His hands shift, sliding up under your skirt to grip your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh as he lifts you up, his hard cock pressing right where you need it most.

You cry out, your head falling back against the wall, your breath catching as he grinds his cock against your pussy through the fabric of his jeans, the friction making your body clench tight with anticipation. His mouth is relentless, licking, sucking, and biting its way down your neck, sending waves of heat through you.

"Jude," you gasp, his name slipping from your lips on a moan.

He makes a rough sound, deep in his throat, and lifts you higher against him, his hands rough on your skin, his grip bruising. "Your ass is perfect," he mutters, his mouth traveling back to yours as he presses your hips harder into the wall, the thrusts of his cock against you almost enough to send you over the edge.

You're panting, gasping, your body trembling as the tension winds tighter and tighter inside you. Jude's hands are everywhere, groping and teasing as he devours your mouth, his tongue thrusting in and out in a rhythm that matches the thrusts of his hips.

The pleasure is almost too much, the anticipation threatening to boil over at any second. But then Jude suddenly stops, pulling back just a bit to look at you. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with lust as his chest heaves with heavy breaths.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asks, his voice still low and rough, but his eyes locked intently on yours.

You nod, breathless. "more than anything" you answer honestly.

He nods once, then presses your body flat against the wall again. "Good," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again. It's hard and fast, almost brutal. Then, before you even know what's happening, he lifts you away from the wall and carries you away.

Jude’s grip is steady, firm as he carries you effortlessly through the spacious apartment. You barely notice the surroundings, too consumed by the fire between you, by the way his touch sets your skin ablaze. His lips find yours again, devouring, urgent, as he moves with purpose down the hallway.

You don't care where he's taking you as long as he keeps going. The feel of his hard cock against you is addictive. You arch your hips, pressing closer against him as he walks.

The next thing you know, your back hits the soft surface of his bed, and you land with a bounce, your skirt riding up your thighs. Jude stops at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking you from head to toe as he begins to pull off his shirt. The fabric ripples down his torso, revealing a chiseled chest and abs, taut muscles flexing beneath his skin.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding harder in your chest, anticipation burning through you like fire.

He’s bigger than you in every way. His hands are twice the size of yours, his biceps thicker than your thighs. He’s not a huge man, not overly muscled, but there’s a raw power in his body that’s undeniable. And you’re so tiny compared to him — so small that your head only comes up to his shoulder.

It’s not something he usually thinks about, but in the moment, it becomes a living thing. The size difference between the two of you is so apparent, so obvious, it’s hard to ignore. And for some reason, it makes Jude’s cock even harder.

Your eyes are locked on him, dark and dilated, as if you want nothing more than his hands on you. He steps closer, reaching for the fly of his pants. Your gaze tracks his every movement, your breathing quickening as he unbuttons his jeans.

You wet your lips, sitting up to lean forward on the bed. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed with heat as Jude’s pants fall to his feet, revealing his boxers, the shape of his cock straining thickly against the fabric.

You lick your lips again, your eyes drifting up to his as he kicks his pants away, standing at the foot of his bed in only his boxers. The room seems to grow hotter.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," he promises, his voice low, husky, making you whimper with need.

The way he says it makes you want to agree, to give him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You bite your lip, your pulse throbbing in your ears as he steps closer to you, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck.

He hauls you close, your thighs parting automatically as his knees hit the mattress and he comes down on top of you. His mouth finds yours, his lips coaxing yours open as he slides his tongue into your mouth. His kiss is hot and wet and everything you want in this moment.

He kisses you deep and slow, his weight pressing you down into his mattress. You moan into the kiss, your tongue moving against his as you roll your hips against him. He groans into the kiss, his cock twitching against you where you're grinding against it.

His hand slides down your body, his palm smoothing up to cup your breast. You squeak as he grabs it and squeezes. He smiles against your mouth, thrusting his hips against you as you mewl and squirm beneath him.

"Fuck," he grunts, kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your throat. He nips at your skin, sucking a mark on the skin above your collarbone.

You whine, clutching at his shoulders and he bites harder, making you gasp. The sound turns him on, his hips jutting against you like he can't stop himself.

He pulls back to look at you, a smile twisting his lips. You're flushed pink, your pupils blown wide, lips plump from kissing him.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his expression tender as he looks at you, his hands moving over you in a slow caress. He tugs your skirt down your hips, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your lingerie. His hands come back up to you, running down the sides of your thighs, his thumbs brushing the waistband of your panties.

You moan as he touches you, your back arching. You're desperate for more. He laughs, his touch teasing, light as he rubs his thumbs along the edges.

"Please," you whimper, reaching for his shoulders. His hands slide up, his thumbs hooking into the straps of your bra and tugging it down your arms. He pulls it off, his gaze falling on the curves of your naked breasts. He groans as he takes you in, his eyes hot as they look at you.

He drops his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, making you cry out. His hand finds your other breast, kneading it in his palm, squeezing. You gasp, your hips jolting up at the feel of his mouth on you.

He sucks harder, his teeth raking over your sensitive flesh. You moan, your nails digging into his back as he draws on your breast.

A shiver runs through your body as his hand falls to the waistband of your underwear. He tugs them down your legs and you raise your hips automatically, letting him pull them all the way off.

You're naked now, exposed and trembling with need as he looks down at you, sprawled out on his bed. Fuck.

You look so hot. So tiny and small compared to him, it’s impossible not to feel that urge to use you, to bend you to his will. It’s been there since the balcony, his desire to own you, to take care of you, but right now, it’s almost overwhelming.

"Spread your legs," he murmurs as he runs a finger up the inside of your thigh. You part your knees automatically for him and his hand moves straight up to your pussy. He presses his palm flat against your mound, his fingers slipping through your folds to feel your heat.

"Fuck," he groans, "look at you." You can't help but look. Your body is so much smaller than his, his hands spanning half the length of your thigh.

You gasp at the touch, your head falling back against the bed as he teases your clit. His fingers slide between your folds, rubbing, parting you open to find the entrance to your cunt. He circles it, his finger dipping inside, and you gasp.

You try to roll your hips and he moves his hand, using his palm to press you still.

"Let me play with you," he murmurs. You whimper, your body shivering with the touch. His mouth comes down over your breast again as he thrusts his finger into you with a squelch. "Shit, baby you're so wet." You moan at the stretch of his finger inside you, arching up against him. His teeth graze your nipple, his lips sucking it in his mouth.

You whine at the feel of him sucking on your nipple while his finger is inside you. The dual sensations make you gasp for breath as he thrusts into you, deep, making you clench around him.

His mouth moves to your other breast and he slides a second finger inside you as he sucks on your skin. You cry out, your back bowing as he uses his hand to hold you in place.

He finger fucks you, working your body with his touch as he nips at the curve of your breast, his teeth scraping your skin. He's careful not to hurt you, but you want him to go further.

He seems to realize that as he kisses his way back up your body. He holds his weight off you on one arm, his other hand still buried between your thighs as he works your cunt with his fingers.

You gasp as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking over your g-spot as he kisses your lips. You feel the build of your orgasm in the tightening of your belly, in the way your toes curl and your thighs clench. He rubs you faster, his mouth eating at yours as he drives you higher and higher.

The orgasm hits you like a wave, rolling through your body and leaving you trembling in his hold. You cry out against his mouth as he rides you through it, his fingers working your pussy until it's spent.

He kisses your lips softly as he pulls his hand from you, his cock still hard against your leg. He shifts his hips to the side, sliding between your legs as you lay there, flushed and panting.

His hands move to his boxers, tugging them down his hips as you watch. Your eyes grow wide at the sight of his cock, thick and long and hot. He's so big. Unlike anyone you've had before. You have no idea how he’s going to fit.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jude’s mouth moving over your stomach, kissing his way down your body. His kisses are slow, sweet and you let him, relaxing against the bed with a moan.

His lips move over your hipbones, his tongue licking the skin and you can't help the giggle that escapes. He pauses to look up at you, his eyebrow arched in amusement.

"You ticklish?" he asks. You nod and he chuckles as he moves closer. His mouth drops to your mound and you gasp as his lips place a gentle kiss on it.

"Jude," you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair.

He moans, his lips moving over your pussy. He kisses your folds as he pushes them apart with his fingers and you arch under the touch. Your thighs part, falling open to let him have his way and he takes it, kissing along your slit, his tongue flicking out to tease you. You shiver at the feel of it on your clit and he repeats it, circling your little nub in a teasing caress.

He growls against you as he licks you open. Your cunt is wet and pink and fucking perfect. His tongue is long and rough against your sensitive skin and you gasp, clutching at the bedding as he goes to town. He sucks on you, his tongue pushing inside, licking your taste on his lips as he drinks you in.

His hands come down on either side of your thighs, pressing them open as his mouth finds your clit and sucks. Your body jolts at the feel of his lips, his tongue flicking at you in a quick caress that has you gasping in shock.

You whimper, your toes curling as he eats at you. You've never felt anything like this before. It's incredible, the way his mouth feels on you, his tongue stroking you in long swipes.

"Jude, fuck," you gasp and his growl vibrates against your clit as he works you towards another orgasm.

It doesn't take long. You're so sensitive, so worked up already. His tongue flicks over your clit in quick circles and you burst in a rush, your whole body trembling with the force of it. Your thighs clamp down around his head as he holds you steady, his tongue still stroking your clit through it.

You’re sensitive to the point of pain by the time he eases off, licking slowly as he lets you come down from the orgasm. You whine, your legs still clamped around his head and he gently works you open, his hands soft on your thighs.

His face is wet with your taste as he comes up over you, kissing you deep and filthy, making you taste yourself on his lips.

He's hard as hell against your thigh, his cock pressing into you and you roll your hips up in instinctive need. He groans, grinding his cock against you, rutting you like he needs it.

"I need you," you pant, kissing him, your hands running down his back. "Please, I need it."

His groan is thick and guttural. "Yeah, baby, need that big cock in that tight little pussy? Want me to fuck it? Hm?" He thrusts his hips against you to punctuate his words and you moan. You gasp, your eyes going wide at the way he talks, but fuck, you like it. It makes you hot, his dirty words making you need more.

You nod, your fingers sliding down to his ass, holding his hips tighter to your body. "Yes," you agree, "please, I want it."

"Fuck, you are so fucking hot," he whispers as he leans to the side to reach for a drawer in the bed, pulling out a condom. He tears it open and slides it over his cock, his hands slick with lube as he fists himself, working his shaft. Never taking his eyes off you. Fuck. This is going to be so good.

He drops on top of you, his weight heavy on you as he braces his elbows beside your head. his hands running up your thighs and hooking underneath your knees. He pushes them up towards your chest, opening you wide and you feel vulnerable in his hold, tiny and exposed as he lines his cock up with your cunt.

"You ready for me, baby? Gonna fill you up," he growls, his eyes dark and serious as he watches your reaction.

You can only moan, unable to talk as you feel his cock at the entrance to your body, hot and hard against you.

He stops, his eyes locked on yours as he checks on you. "You okay?" he whispers.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes flicker to his. There’s a tenderness in his gaze, cutting through the thick haze of lust that surrounds you both. The way his voice softens when he asks—it's a moment of clarity, and it grounds you.

You nod, feeling the pressure of him right there, so close to entering. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice breathy, lost in the pleasure he's giving you. "I'm okay."

Jude's lips curve into a small smile, one that only deepens the wetness between your legs. His hands squeeze your thighs gently, reassuring you. "Good. I'll take care of you," he promises, and then his eyes drop to where he's pressed against you.

You moan, your mouth dropping open as you feel him press into you.

"Ah," you gasp, looking up at him in shock. Your fingers curl into the sheets, your body not yet adjusted to his size. He's huge inside you, thick, your walls stretching to accommodate him. The burn of his penetration is almost painful and you clench around his cock instinctively.

His breath shudders, and you can hear the restraint in his groan as he fights to keep it slow. "Fuck, you’re so tight," he mutters, forehead resting against yours as your gummy walls squeeze his cock.

You can feel him everywhere. His breath hot on your neck, his hands firm on your legs, his cock stretching you in ways you’ve never felt before.

You're fucking ruined for life. Ruined for anyone else.

You gasp, your body taut and trembling, and he moans as he settles deep inside your body. His eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back as he gasps.

For a moment, neither of you move. His hips stay locked against yours, the both of you catching your breath. Jude’s hands caress your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there as if to ease you into this. His lips ghost over your cheek, whispering soft words you can barely make out, but you know they’re for you. Only for you.

And then he moves.

It’s a slow, gentle pull out, almost torturous in its pace, followed by a deep thrust back in. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your back arching as you take him.

"Fuck, you're tight, baby," he pants. "Oh shit, I knew you'd feel good." He drops his forehead to yours with a groan. "But this," he thrusts, his cock moving inside you in a slow, deep stroke, "this is better than I imagined." He looks down at you, watching you as he fucks you, your cunt clenching tight around him as he moves in you. His cock fills you full, so full, and you're hot and tight and wet as hell around him, and he fucking loves it. You can see it in his eyes.

"Jude," his name is a moan as he drives deep inside you, hitting you with a thrust that makes you gasp in shock.

"That feel good, baby?" he pants, his hands sliding down to grab at your ass, holding you still as he fucks into you. You clutch at him, your arms wrapping around him. He kisses you deep, his mouth dropping to yours as his cock thrusts into your cunt. "Love you around my cock," he grunts against your lips. "It's so fucking perfect." Your whimpers make him growl.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as he fucks you harder, faster, pounding into you. The bed creaks beneath you, the air heavy with the sounds of skin against skin, of gasps and moans. You’re lost in it, in him—completely undone by the way he makes you feel.

It’s like nothing else matters. Nothing. Right now, all that exists is Jude, his body moving against yours, his cock filling you over and over until you can’t think straight.

"Look at you," he pants, "taking it so well." You can feel his words vibrate in his chest, and it only drives you higher.

It’s too much. Too much sensation, too much pleasure, and you cry out, the sound high-pitched and desperate as you clench down around him. "Fuck, fuck, baby," he growls against your lips as he feels it. "That feels so fucking good. Look at me. Look at me when I make you cum." His fingers move down to rub your clit, your pussy clenching tighter around him and he groans, thrusting into you with a growl as he tips you over the edge.

"Jude, Jude," you pant his name like a prayer, your nails digging into his shoulders, holding him closer. "Oh shit!" You feel your pussy clench and ripple around him, milking his cock for everything.

Your eyes flutter, your head tipping back with a gasp as your body trembles through the orgasm. Your cunt pulses tight around his cock and he groans as he takes you through it. His thrusts become unsteady, deep and hard and fast as he pounds into your little cunt and you take it.

"Oh yeah," he murmurs against your neck. "There you go. Cum on my cock, baby. That's a good girl." His mouth moves to your shoulder, his teeth sinking into you as he grunts, his body shuddering with pleasure.

He’s close. You feel it in the way he holds himself against you, in the way his breaths become short and heavy against your skin. "Fuck, I'm going to cum, baby," he gasps.

You clench down on his cock with a moan, squeezing his length inside you, and his mouth drops to yours in a hot and filthy kiss.

He fucks into you with a grunt, his thrusts quick and hard as he seeks his release. His body moves against yours in rough jerks, his cock thick inside you, filling you. He growls as he fucks, his lips dropping to your neck.

"Baby," he gasps, "fuck," he moans again, his voice so deep it’s almost a whine. You feel him shudder against you, his whole body trembling as he thrusts into you.

"You want my cum?" he growls against your shoulder and you moan at the words, your body already clenching in response.

"Yes," you gasp. "In me, please." He thrusts deep inside you at your words, his groan loud in your ear.

"I’m gonna fill you so full of it," he pants, grinding deep inside you. "So full," he grunts, face buried in the crook of your neck "gonna fill you up and then it's going to drip out of your tight little pussy."

His lips are hot on your skin as he gasps your name, his body jerking into you. "Fuck," he breathes, his hips rolling against yours in a deep grind.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he rides out the pleasure, cumming again for the fourth time that night. He groans, his hips jerking against yours, thrusting his cock deep inside you as he empties into the condom. His fingers curl into you, holding your body close as he fills you, and it’s so good.

The way he feels inside you, the way his cock throbs and pulses as he cums. You can feel it, even through the condom, and it makes you gasp. He thrusts again, groaning as he keeps going, wanting to fuck you through it as much as you do.

And then it’s over.

His body shudders through the aftershocks and he goes still on top of you. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged pants as he holds you close, riding out the aftershocks together.

His face moves back to yours, his lips pressing a kiss against your forehead. "Well, shit," he mutters against you. "You're amazing."

You giggle, your hands running over his back. His weight is comforting on top of you as you come down, your breaths slowing. You let him stay for a moment, enjoying the weight and heat of his body before he pulls out and rolls to the side, stripping off the condom and tossing it into a bin by his bed.

You follow him to the side, turning and pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you let the afterglow wash through you. He smiles, turning to look at you and lifting his arm.

"Come here," he murmurs.

You roll onto your side, pressing against him as he curls his arm around you, pulling you close. He nuzzles into your hair, his fingers running through it as he pulls your body into his. Your leg lifts, your thighs opening around one of his as you curl into him, the softness of the bed and pillows enveloping you.

"Mmmhmm," he mutters, running his hands down your back. "God, I don't want to move. You feel so good."

You smile against him, kissing his chest. "Me neither. I'm comfortable right here."

He laughs, his chest vibrating with it. He rolls a little closer to the edge of the bed, reaching down and pulling up the blanket. He wraps it around you both, tucking it in so that it covers you completely and you're nestled into him, warm and comfortable.

"Better?" he asks.

"Mmm, perfect."

He hums, his arms coming around you again. He snuggles into you, nuzzling your cheek.

"You are perfect," he tells you, his voice gentle as he lets the afterglow take him over. His lips move against your shoulder, his hands rubbing your back and hips. "Thank you for tonight."

You smile, turning your head so you can kiss him. He moves with you, meeting you in it as his hand cups your cheek. His lips are soft and sweet, his tongue teasing yours as he kisses you back.

When you break it, you both smile and snuggle in, holding each other close.

"Mmmm," he says. "I'm gonna want to do that a lot more." His arm curls around your body, holding you close as you snuggle deeper. "Are you alright?"

"I'm great," you tell him. "That was amazing."

He grins, his body relaxing as he holds onto you. His voice drops into a soft mumble, the last of the afterglow pulling him over. "Good. I can't wait to do it again. Best sex of my life." His hand runs up your side, his finger brushing against your breast. "Can't wait for more of that. You're perfect, baby girl." His lips press against the side of your head and he holds you close. "So perfect for me."

His words send a spark of happiness through you and you smile, dropping your head onto his chest. He holds you closer, his fingers rubbing up your back, his hands resting on your lower back and ass.

Then you feel his body pulling away from yours. You mumble a protest, reaching for him, and you can feel him chuckle.

"Shh, baby, I'll be right back," he tells you softly. His lips press a kiss to your forehead and then he's rolling away from you, moving to the side of the bed. "Just need to run to the bathroom for a minute."

You hum, stretching and letting your eyes flutter open. He's pulling on his boxer briefs, moving out of the bedroom. You watch him go with a little sigh, your body still buzzing from the afterglow. You roll over onto your back, running a hand through your hair and smiling up at the ceiling.

God, he's perfect.

He comes back a few minutes later, a warm towel in his hands. You turn your head to look at him as he moves back onto the bed, a soft smile on his face. He runs the towel up your thigh, leaning down to kiss your hip.

"Spread your legs for me," he murmurs.

Your thighs drop open, letting him clean you with the warm towel. His mouth moves against your skin, his tongue licking at your hip as he holds the towel against you. The warmth feels good against your pussy and you let out a soft sigh, tilting your hips into his touch.

"Does that feel better?" he asks. You nod, his eyes lifting to yours.

"Yeah, that feels really good." Your voice comes out breathy and soft as he cleans you again. "Mmmm."

He smiles, his lips brushing against your stomach. His tongue flicks out to lick at your skin as he moves his mouth lower. You shudder a little, wanting to push your hips up, and his mouth lifts to yours.

He crawls over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His lips cover yours, kissing you slowly. His tongue slips between your lips, his teeth catching your lip as he moves his hips against you.

Your thighs lift up around his, holding him close between your legs. His cock is hard again, pressing against your stomach, and he groans as he feels it.

"Again?" he asks you.

You smile and nod, reaching up to kiss him again. He smiles too, his lips covering yours.

"Mmmm," you murmur against him. "Yes."

-Bianca🌻

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @virgil-wannabe since you asked for a PART 3 ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART1 , PART 2 , PART3 (you're here) , PART4

In "The Dragon's Call"

Arthur: (bulling a servant for the third time just so Merlin meets him again)

Merlin: (appearing out of nowhere) You, oppressor!

Arthur: (thinking) finally

Merlin: (thinking) Wait, that's not my line.

Arthur: (thinking and barely containing himself from crying, running to Merlin and hugging him and kissing him right there) He’s just as beautiful as the day I lost him 🥺🤧

Merlin: (thinking in panic) He isn’t saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything?! 😰😖

Merlin: Is that the way you treat your servants? You are a... a prat! and...and an ass!

Arthur:...

Merlin: (thinking) please say something, please say something, please say something.

Arthur: (coughs, just realising he's been staring for too long) You're right I was being mean. My apologies.

Merlin: ... wait what? 😧

In "The Poisoned Chalice"

Merlin: (ready to use a spell to make Arthur drop his cup)

Arthur: (dropping it on purpose) Oh, clumsy of me, I droped it.

Merlin: (to himself) What? But I didn't use the spell yet. (Looks at his hands) Or did I?... Ugh, whatever (picking up the cup) Hey, Gaius! What's that? (Pointing at the flower petal inside the cup)

Gaius: It's poison! Someone tried to poison the prince!

Arthur: (faking surprise) what? Really?

Merlin: (faking surprise too) I can't believe it!

In "Lancelot"

Merlin: He would make an excelent knight. He saved my life.

Arthur: (full panic mode) what?! When?! Are you okay?!

Merlin: (confused) ...yeah? The grif-I mean, the winged beast attacked me when-

Arthur: The griffin attacked you?! (Checks him) Why didn't you tell me?! Are you hurt?!

Merlin: (still shocked but blushing due to Arthur's sudden attention and closeness) Ahm... you didn't ask? And Lancelot stopped the beast before it could hurt me, so you don't have to worry.

Arthur: (swallowing his guilt for not asking in his other timeline)... Right. From now on you tell when these things happen, do you understand?

Merlin: Yes, sire.

Arthur: Good. (Lets go of Merlin realizing he's being holding him for too long) Well, as thankful as I am to Lancelot for saving you, I can't knight him if he isn't a noble. That's the code.

Merlin: I know but-

Arthur: So I'll give him another job in the castle and when I'm king I'll gladly consider knighting him if he's still interested.

Merlin: (more than surprised) You will?

Arthur: (nods) Is that all?

Merlin: Yes... (smiles) thank you

Arthur: (smiles) Anytime, Merlin. (leaves)

Merlin: (looking Arthur leave with hearteyes) 😍... wait. How did he know what the beast was called?😨

In "Excalibur"

Merlin: (debating with himself if he should let Arthur fight the Black Knight this time around or let Uther do it again)

Arthur: (arriving) Merlin.

Merlin: (utterly surprised) You are here! 😱

Arthur: Of course I'm here. You thought I would withdraw? I'm not a coward, Merlin.

Merlin: No! I'm just... surprised Uther let you.

Arthur: He did try to drug me to stop me from coming. (Looks at Excalibur in Merlin's hands, recognizing it) Where did you get that?

Merlin: Oh... I just thought... you would need a new sword for this. So I asked Tom to make it for you.

Arthur: You got it made... for me?

Merlin: Yes. (Thinking) Please use it, please use it, please use it.

Arthur: (holding the sword) It's good. Thank you.

Merlin: (blushing, still not used to Arthur thanking everything he does) I'm just doing my job. There's no need to-

Arthur: There’s every need. (Touching his shoulder fondly and smiling) Thank you, Merlin. For thinking of me.

Merlin: (screaming inside)

[footballffbarbiex]

player: virgil van dijk (ft trent alexander arnold) type: kinda smutty. kinda fluffy. request: The reader being Trent’s sister maybe she a couple of years younger too, and he’s protective over her and she’s sneaking around with virg, and at every moment they are always making out or somthing.

_

"Where you going?" trent asks from where he lays on the couch.

you thought you'd tiptoed downstairs quiet enough but it seems his hearing is better than you thought. "out," you reply, already hugging your arms over your chest instinctively.

"no shit sherlock," he says, expression changing to a stern one as he pads out of the lounge and towards where you stand, phone slipping back into his pocket as he does so as it makes an audible sound for it locking too. "I asked where you were going. and don't -" he cuts you off as you open your mouth to give him a vague answer, "give me some crap about 'just going out'."

"you know I'm only a few years younger than you right? I don't need to explain myself. I'm not a kid anymore," you mutter then instantly regret it. you know Trent's intentions are good, but you also realise that he's constantly having to look out for his own image too. whatever you do, it reflects on him and the way he arches his eyebrows as he stares you down is something else. Trent's not dumb, despite what people may think, and you know he's onto you. it's almost like he can smell him on you.

"I know. I just...you're being careful right? I don't want to see you get hurt."

"trust me T, you'd be the first to know."

-

the feeling of guilt almost choked you as you walked away from the house and though you try to rationalise that you weren't actually lying to him, you couldn't deny that you were certainly hiding something from him. trent had never explicitly asked "are you dating one of my teammates?" and so you hadn't held anything back but it still felt as though you were lying to his face every time you snuck away.

would he understood if you told him? you didn't think so. there were almost 10 year between you both and if trent was worried about you dating someone who is your age, how would he react to who is hooking up with his lil sister? yeah. there was very much a reason the two of you weren't being open.

You're lost in thought, walking and talking while acting on autopilot. You're still not fully taking anything in until you hear the car beep and you snap out of your trance like state. there's no need to see the license plate or the driver to know who it is. opening the door, his aftershave immediately fills your nose and your core clenches at the thought of being near him.

cautiousness has you looking around instinctively before you climb in and take your spot next to him.

"you took your time." comes the deep voice from the drivers side. he waits until you've put on your seatbelt before he leans over for a kiss, one that you happily accept. the moment your lips touch, butterflies erupt within your belly and you feel the smile that's manipulating his mouth.

"and yet you wasted none," you comment when he allows you to pull away for a second. it's the fastest sentence you've spoken in a while before his large hand cups the back of your head, pulling your face and mouth back to his. there's the very tip of his tongue searching for yours to momentarily deepen the kiss and you feel a second pulse developing down south when you remember just how good he is with his tongue.

"how long do you have before he's messaging you?"

"you make it sound like I'm cheating on him." you chuckle to yourself as he grins. "but I'll give it a few hours."

"I'll make sure you get back before he leaves for training then. I do want you to stay over soon though." he tells you as he starts the car and pulls away from where he'd parked.

"how much do you want that?" you find yourself asking out loud rather than keeping it to yourself, though part of you is kicking yourself for putting it out there. but you've asked it now, so you keep your eyes ahead and don't turn to look at him, even though you can see him looking at you from the corner of your eyes.

"enough to want to give you space in my bathroom cabinet for your lil toothbrush and a drawer for your things in the bedroom."

"just a drawer?" you ask, facing him now as you give him a smile while hoping that he can't tell just how much your heart is pounding against your ribcage with such force, you can feel it in your eardrums.

"you'll get everything once I can drop you on your driveway myself without worry."

"you scared of my big brother?" the thought amuses you tremendously.

"pffft. not scared scared. I could still pick trent up and throw him over my shoulder." your gaze drops to where his hand sits on the bottom of the steering wheel, and the other lays in his lap. there's something strangely arousing at the casualness of it all. "but it would make things difficult for you. I don't want that." you can hear that he's talking. you've listened to the words and are momentarily touched by his concern for you, but it quickly fades away as you focus on his fingers. "are you ok, baby?" he asks but it sounds as though you're under water and his words are fuzzy to your ears.

"hmmm?" you half ass ask him.

he looks down, trying to see what's got your attention in such a way and gives a laugh that's as dirty as the thoughts running through his mind. "you're going to make this hard for me to leave you and go to training."

you shift your body in the seat, turning to face him as you lean forward a little. "might see what I can do then" you begin as you shimmy forward a little more, lips connecting with his neck before rubbing over his earlobe, "about getting an overnight bag. I might have to stay at my friend's tonight..."

"there's no maybe about it. you're staying tonight. start thinking of your excuses, have a nap while I'm gone because you're going to be tired tomorrow."

[gumnut-logic]

Virgil hugs came in many flavours.

So, okay, Scott was the eldest and technically speaking, he was the least likely to need any hugs from his younger brother. In fact, Scott took pride in branding his own big brother hugs because, let’s face it, he was the eldest and nobody wanted to knock him off that throne. Virgil had been quite adamant about it on several occasions.

So only Scott could give the eldest brother hugs and they were very useful for distressed younger brothers, sad younger brothers and even on those occasions where the hug turned into something that could more be considered strangling younger brothers.

Scott wielded his hugs just like any other tool in his arsenal. Expertly and precisely. But it had long been declared that Virgil gave the best brother hugs and if he was honest, Scott was quite happy not to compete.

What exactly made Virgil hugs better than any other Tracy hugs had yet to be determined. The fact that Virgil was the biggest brother probably helped. Not the tallest. Scott and John were still discussing that title. No, his sheer mass enabled the biggest, warmest, softest, cosiest hugs of them all. Virgil was just buff and meaty.

Scott groaned. Meaty. That was a Gordonism, a subject that required a whole other essay to discuss. His fish brother had a way with words that sometimes curdled the stomach.

But hugs, yes, Virgil with his well worn ever so soft flannel and big meaty…Scott groaned again…arms gave the best hugs.

But, as stated previously, they came in many flavours.

The most common was the fond hug. An arm would snake around the victim brother and literally drag him into Virgil’s embrace. You could be standing alongside him, politely minding your own business and for some reason the engineer would just reach out and grab. Occasionally the arm wouldn’t make it all the way around and Virgil would clamp onto a body part and yank. Arms, chunks of uniform or clothing, a random ribcage. There was the time Virgil had actually pulled Gordon out of the pool by one leg. Possibly in revenge. But after Scott had suffered a cardiac arrest, Gordon had somehow ended up sprawled on top of Virgil on the grass. It had cumulated in laughter and a pile of noogie to Gordon’s hair, grins all round.

Yes, his brother had a hug zone around him and if you stepped into it at the wrong time, you were toast.

One of Scott’s favourites was the ones that defied gravity. Those big arms were strong and, on occasion, a little over enthusiastic. Ribcages creaked, hoarse voices begged to breathe, and feet left the ground.

Yes, even Scott had been tackle hugged and picked up off the ground and spun around. It had been after a particularly long deployment in the Airforce. He had been out of contact with his family for a long time. The day he finally got home, Virgil had barrelled into him in the farmhouse hallway, grabbing and lifting both him and his bags off the floor in an excited embrace that spun them around almost twice.

Scott had dropped his bags in surprise and squawked. His uniform bunched up against the ribbons on his chest and the world went around.

“Virg, my god!”

Dropped to his feet once more, he found himself wrapped in a brother who seemed much bigger than he had been when he left.

And he was clinging.

“Virgil?”

His brother cleared his throat, face buried in Scott’s jacket. “Missed you.”

Scott had returned the embrace wholeheartedly.

No words were possible after that as the two youngest realised their biggest brother was home and all hell broke loose as they and the rest of the family congregated.

But the genuine love in Virgil’s eyes as he stepped back to let the ratbags in on the party had stayed with Scott for a very long time.

Of course, there were other hugs that were much less joyous. Ones where everything was dark and hurting and Virgil would pick it up like he had radar or something. Could be linked to his legendary medic-sense. After all, mental health was exactly that. Just another form of health.

There was the time Alan vanished. Up and completely disappeared. This is a somewhat challenging thing to do on a rather singular rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Scott had been on the verge of calling John for a location, but a hand had landed on Scott’s tense shoulder and squeezed gently. They had been standing out on the balcony. Virgil gestured quietly and, looking up, Scott saw the tiny figure of his littlest brother curled up on the cliff just below the roundhouse.

There had followed a mad rush up the peak to make sure Alan was safe, find out what was wrong…because something was definitely wrong…and fix it.

Turned out some asshole online had been bullying Scott’s little brother, ruining the game contest he had been so excited about three days earlier.

Scott saw red and deployed John. The culprit had been found and eliminated.

Very eliminated.

John particularly hated online predators.

But after that conversation, Scott had turned around to find Alan curled up in Virgil’s arms sobbing.

Jammed up against the wall of the roundhouse, Virgil himself had wet eyes and was combing his fingers through Alan’s hair. As Scott sat down beside them on the floor, Virgil pulled Alan in a little tighter. The engineer buried his face in his little brother’s hair and closed his eyes.

In those moments it was like his brother was bleeding something of himself into the person he was hugging. His expression almost willing comfort into Alan.

Of course, Alan eventually dove in for a Scott hug as well, the thirteen-year-old dragging both of his brothers into a comforting pile that was able to push away the nasty experience and eventually bring back their confident little brother. But it was Virgil who performed the hugging first aid while Scott hunted down the person responsible – whether it be via John or other means.

It seemed to be their roles in the family.

And it wasn’t limited to family.

Out in the field it was more caring hands and reassuring touches and words, but it was Virgil’s way of comforting the injured. If he had time, he would talk with the rescuees. Warm and kind words asking gentle questions about their lives, distracting them from the bleeding, the screaming and the horror.

And ultimately holding those they couldn’t save, giving parts of himself to make those last minutes a little less terrifying.

It was after those rescues, those moments, when Scott would have to hunt Virgil down. Sometimes he would find him at the piano pounding emotion into the keys. Other times locked in his studio.

They had a running tally of how many times Virgil had had to replace the lock on that door. Scott rarely took ‘no’ for an answer when he knew a brother was in distress.

But the worst times often led Scott on a hunt across the Island to a remote beach, cliff or other lonely landform. Thunderbird Five’s scanners had been used several times. Times where Virgil was determined to be alone to suffer by himself.

Sure, Scott could respect that…if that was what Virgil needed.

It wasn’t.

Because the hug machine that was his brother needed hugs in return.

Sure, he had methods to refuel other ways, but honestly, these were the times Scott felt a direct transfer of energy was warranted.

Those were the days he would hunt his brother down, grab him and hold him until the trembling stopped. He would sit with Virgil staring out across the ocean either just being quietly beside him, or answering the raging questions of injustice.

Those were days he would drag him back to the couch and they would fall asleep together in front of a movie neither of them was watching. A hand or an arm continually in contact.

Those were the days where touch was needed to give back what was so freely offered at all other times.

Scott’s hugs may be tactical but they were no less full of love.

And love his brother, he did.

Ever so much.

-o-o-o-