#i would usually draw over the eds and give them long hair and dresses. one time i drew eddy giving birth

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

sometimes i thank god that i was generally unaware of the concept of uploading things to the internet until i was twelve years old because i was drawing some weird shit with my nintendo dsi (blue) that if it ever saw the light of day i would walk into the ocean

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Crutches- Prompt Fill

cw broken bones, food, internalized ableism, dizziness, headaches

Card by the wonderful @celosiaa! I am still accepting bingo prompts! Please send me more because the starred ones are back written already! Send me a prompt and a character and let me know if you want a drawing or writing!

Navigating the London underground on crutches had been trying to say the least.  But, Jon has gotten very good at navigating it with his cane, so out of sheer spite, he managed it without incident. 

He is still clumsy on them, and by the time he reaches the university, he is more than out of breath, having to stop and use his inhaler before he can reach his classroom.  (He will not be sharing that information with Martin, no way.  He is Fine, and that would only cause worry, and Martin has enough to worry about being an EMT).  

Of course the annoying thing is that he broke his Good leg.  

Of course he manages to break his one more functional leg.  What a very Jonathan Sims thing to do.  

He sighs.  He does not want to explain this to his students.  (And he certainly doesn’t want to explain this to Tim and Sasha, but of course they are coming over for dinner.  Actually… he’s grateful that they don’t already know.  Somehow he actually managed to calm Martin down and talk him out of calling them.  Jon leaned hard into the look I’m fine!  It’s a clean break!  It hardly hurts!  It’s fine!  I’ve had much worse, please don’t fuss!  I’m still conscious and everything! Thing.)

Frankly, it’s embarrassing.  

He misses the days where he would just… heal.  

He might still.  Well, he certainly would the old fashion way, but his recovery might be faster than normal.  Physical injuries are still a little aided by his connection to the Eye, however weakened that connection might be.  Doesn’t do Shit for illnesses, but as much as his EDS causes him to bruise, the bruises don’t stick around for too long.  

Just have to wait and see.  

His students stare.  

Jon shivers.  

He tries not to think about the Institute.  He tries not to think about the prickle on the back of his neck… the feeling of eyes on him when there was no one around.  Don’t be daft, Jonathan, you can see the students right there.  You can see their eyes.  You are just their odd professor who looks even more haggard and beat up than usual.  

He Feels much more haggard than usual.  And he’s shaking from the albuterol.  

“Professor, what happened?” One of his students ask as he maneuvers the podium so he can drop his bag.  

He curses at the lack of chair in the lecture hall.  He’s asked for one.  Repeatedly.  And he’s dragged his office chair in with him before, but… he doesn’t exactly have the hands to do it.  

He has to balance on one leg to dig is computer out so he can connect it to the projector.  

“I’m fine,” he answers automatically.  He was.  He is.  Just tripped like the idiot he is, and broke his good leg.  His bad leg had been throbbing since he got on the tube.  

He ignores it.  

His students eye him with clear suspicion.  Which… Jon would have worried about if… they weren’t perfectly justified.  

They had seen him faint many times, pop his hip back in place, watched him dislocate and relocate his arm, and there was the time he had the concussion, and the time he had a migraine and had fainted when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and the time when he had come to class feverish.  

These students have called Martin so many times by now.  

He deserves those cautions glances.  These kids (not really kids, but sue him, they look like kids in his eyes) are ready to call him on his bullshit.  

“I fell the other day.  I’ll be fine.  Just a broken tibia.  I’ll be fine in couple months.  Let’s get on with the lesson.”

One kid raises their hand, and Jon calls on them.  “Yes?”

“Professor Blackwood-Sims, isn’t that your good leg?”

Damn these overly observant students.  If only they payed that much attention to his lectures.  (No, that’s not fair, they are all good students.  The ones who struggle, have good reason to, and Jon has managed to get them to all come talk to him and tell him what they need to do better).  

Jon smiles tightly.  “Well… it was.  Okay, on with the lecture.”

His leg hurts.  The not broken one.  The broken one… well that hurts a little too, but not nearly as much as the one full of holes.  (They are both full of holes, but one was wormed much more thoroughly and hasn’t been the same since.)

Balancing on one leg proves difficult as he’s hit by dizziness.  He’s been standing too long.  Too long on his bad leg, and the tension and pain have given him a headache bad enough that he’s had one of his students turn off the lights.  He can’t face the light of the projector, so he gives the lecture angling away from it.  

One of his students offers to run the PowerPoint so he can sit in one of the desks as he teaches, but he turns her down.  There are only a few minutes left.  He can make it.  Then he can get home and take some painkillers and shower before Tim and Sasha come to dinner.  

He knows he can cancel, but he doesn’t want to.  He’s more dreading having explain what happened.  

He reaches the flat quickly enough.  He should have time to shower and cook.  He hopes.  

He swallows some painkillers dry (just a few so he can still take more before bed and not worry Martin by pushing the recommended doses too far) and works his way out of his work clothes while sitting on the bed.  It isn’t fun.  

He swallows his pride and uses the shower seat.  He hates it.  He hates that he needs it, yes, but honestly it’s more an issue with the textured plastic under his naked skin.  It feels… wrong.  Both because it reminds him of the circus, and because it’s just a bad texture.  It also feels gross… as in unclean.  He cleans it vigorously often, but it still doesn’t feel clean to him.  

Between the headache, and the dizziness from the hot water and several nights of poor sleep (from nightmares and trying to sleep with a cast on which gave him More nightmares), and the pain in both his legs, Jon fights back the darkness around the edges of his vision.  

He will Not pass out now.  

No.  

Will not happen.  No thank you.  No.  

He fights to keep upright and conscious.  And, surprisingly, wins that battle.  He sits on the bed again while dressing, and while braiding his hair. 

It takes him a long time.  There is a lot of hair to work with, and his scalp hurts with the intensity of his headache.  He also dallies, the more time this takes, the longer he can sit.  He should consider dragging a chair in front of the counter and a chair in front of the stove.  That could make cooking less painful.  

Well, in some ways.  

The unnatural angles are hell on his wrists when chopping.  

Lesser of two evils, however, he supposes.  

Shit.  He isn’t going to have time to finish dinner by the time Tim and Sasha arrive.  

And Martin isn’t going to be home for another hour.  He knows, he knows (not Knows, though), that they won’t mind.  Tim might even Help him cook, but… he doesn’t like being a bother.  He wants… well frankly he wants to erase the years of hurt with food (Christ, Martin has worn off on him.  Not that he minds.  He loves Martin).  

The sauce is almost done, but he hasn’t even started the pasta by the time Tim’s voice drifts through the door.  Sing-song and loud.  No knocking (thankfully).  

Jon hates that he needs the crutches to get to the door.  He hates that his vision is swimming by then too.  The painkillers took the edge off the pain, but can’t do much about the other stresses on Jon’s mortal frame.  

“Be there in a moment, or you can just let yourself in,” Jon calls back.  He has to pause and lean on the wall.  This is all very irritating.  

Apparently, Tim had already been halfway through unlocking the door, because he’s in before Jon can even finish the sentence.  

“Jesus, Jon, what did you do this time?”  Sasha exclaims, quickly, but gracefully pulling off her coat, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.  It’s less a question than a statement.  

“Hello Sasha, Tim.  Dinner isn’t quite ready, but it’s not too far away.  In the meantime there’s wine.  Martin will be here soon, but his shift isn’t over yet.”  His eyes are closed.  Head tilted back against the wall.  The room finally stops spinning around him.  

“What did you even do?”  Tim this time.  

Jon… doesn’t meet his eyes.  He knows he is blushing, but there isn’t much to be done about that.  He mumbles.  He doesn’t know why.  He knows it won’t work.  Shoving out the words too fast to be understood.  

“What was that Jonny?”  That is a cackle.  Tim is cackling.  Tim, is very irritating… but he does love him, even when he’s teasing.  

“Tripped over my cane.”  Jon says as quickly and quietly as possible.  

“Only you, buddy.  Only You, could do something like that.  Now PLEASE SIT DOWN BEFORE YOU FALL OVER.  I can finish making dinner!”  Tim herds him to a chair.  In the kitchen, because Jon knows that Tim knows Jon won’t actually relax on the couch or the bed if he’s told to.  

“Okay, Jon, what’s left to do… No buts!  This smells amazing and I can’t fuck up pasta, probably.  At least I assume you planned pasta, because there is a box on the counter.”  Sasha says this brandishing aforementioned pasta.  

Sasha makes him tea.  Tim makes the pasta.  (Tim is absolutely the chief between the two of them.)  

“When did you last have painkillers?”  Tim asks.  

“Not too long ago.  Really I’m fine.”

Tim hmmms.  

Jon finds himself nodding off at the table by the time Martin comes home.  

He knows he’s being talked about.  

“Hey, sweetheart.  Hey?”

Jon sleepily raises his head from the table.  “Sorry, I went to work.”  

“Love, I thought you were going to Zoom in today.”  Martin doesn’t sound Angry.  But he doesn’t sound happy about this.  In Jon’s defense, he did say he would see how he felt, and he felt fine in the morning.  

Jon whines, he hates disappointing Martin.  

“We can talk about that tomorrow.”  Martin presses a kiss to his forehead.  

“Hey!  No sleeping until we eat!”  Tim.  Mock serious.  Although he will be very serious if Jon tries to skive off to sleep without some food.  

“Dinner, then I vote we cuddle Jon until he gets some rest!”  Sasha this time.  

Just like old times.  

He knows he will be teased for How he broke his leg.  He knows he and Martin will have a serious chat about him pushing himself.  

But for now there is food, and cheer, and his loved ones.  

[abused-sides]

Way to Please

Read part one first, read on Ao3 

Trigger warnings: Emotional abuse, gaslighting, being called selfish, ableism, familial abuse, panic attacks, touch-starved Logan, food mention 

A/N: This is a commission! Another thanks to @darkle-elkrad​!! :D More info at the end 

Disclaimer: J. is NOT Janus, he’s an unsympathetic OC.

Read on Ao3

Logan pushed the knob on his fidget cube in slow circles. It was a simple toy, all black, and usually hidden in his pocket. He currently had it pressed between his thigh and the car door. His stomach was knotted and he stared out the window almost obsessively, counting every mile they got closer to his new school. 

“You messing with that toy again?” 

Logan looked at J. He shoved it in his pocket. “Sorry.” 

“‘S fine. People are gonna make fun of you for being a baby, though.” 

Logan’s face heated up. “I told you I won’t use it in front of other people.” 

They pulled into the college’s parking lot. Logan’s small life was packed up neatly in the backseat. J. turned the car off and sighed. 

“You sure you don’t need help moving in?” J. gave him a look. “You know how you can get.” 

Logan nodded once. “I know. But I can control that. I can move in myself, don’t worry.” 

hesitated, then sighed again. “Alright. Get out, then. Call me tonight.” 

“Yeah. Love you.” 

“Mhm.” 

Logan stacked up his three boxes and started towards his dorm. Luckily, J. had taken a few weeks off his own education and brought Logan down for a tour last week, so he knew exactly where he was going. He managed all the way to his room and fumbled for the key card in his wallet. 

He nearly dropped his boxes, and his heart leapt into his throat. He caught them just fine, but the panic remained, fizzling slowly like water down a stopped drain. His fingers itched for his cube. He ignored it, and got the door open just before the anxiety peaked. 

One half of the room was already claimed, half unpacked suitcases sprawled over the bed and wardrobe, so Logan dumped his stuff on the second bed. He immediately righted the boxes and tossed some fallen items back inside. He glanced over his shoulder. 

He was alone. 

He shoved his hand in his pocket and found the side with the buttons, mashing them down before flipping it to switch. He click-click-clacked it a few times as the tension slipped from his chest. 

He took a second to look around the room. His roommate’s life was coated in black and purple. Band tees stuck out of the half clothes drawer, notebook upon notebook littering his bed. He had a purple and black plaid quilt tossed over a gray weighted blanket. An expensive laptop sat freely on the desk. 

“...oh, come on, you are such an asshole.” The door opened and closed, and a boy with purple hair came inside, holding a phone to his ear with his arms full of sodas and candy. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck you, too. Sure. Later. Love you.” 

Logan blinked. 

The boy dumped his food on his bed and shoved his phone in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, hi.” 

Logan nodded. “Was that a… girlfriend?” 

“Nah, my brother.” He turned back to line his drinks on the shared desk. “I’m Virgil.” 

“Logan.” He hesitated, then turned to his own bed, pulling out neatly rolled up clothes. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I already picked my side.” Virgil grabbed another armful of clothes and went over to the wardrobe, punching down the fabric until he could layer more inside. 

Logan couldn’t help but say, “You could fit more if you folded them.” 

Virgil snorted. “There’s three other drawers. I’ll be fine.” 

“Right.” His face flushed. “Sorry.” 

Logan hung his clothes in the closet. They unpacked silently. Logan occasionally tapped his pocket, just to make sure his cube was still there. 

Virgil sat at the edge of his bed and held out his hand. “Let me see your class schedule?” 

Logan startled, then fumbled for his backpack. “Right— Uh, sorry, one second.” 

He found it while Virgil watched with raised eyebrows. He handed it over. Virgil hummed, gray eyes trailing over the paper. He really was striking. He was loud in a way Logan never wanted to be, but Virgil didn’t seem upset by it. It was all clearly a choice, from the way he dressed to how he styled his hair. He lounged on his bed, taking up all the space without taking his combat boots off first, chewing on his nails— likely while the nail polish was chipped. 

Nail polish. His middle fingers were painted black, the rest a strong purple. How did he have the confidence to wear nail polish? If Logan tried that, J. would make fun of him until he cried. 

“We have some Gen-Eds together,” Virgil mused. “And an art class. How long have you been drawing?” 

Logan swallowed and sat on his bed. It was clear Virgil wasn’t handing the schedule back any time soon. “Not long. I just picked it up last year, actually. It sounded, I don’t know, relaxing.” 

Virgil grinned and glanced at him. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” 

“It’s… hard. Harder than I expected.” 

“Can I see?” 

Logan hesitated. He reached for the box with his sketchbook, but Virgil held his hand up. 

“It’s okay. No need to look so panicked.” He chuckled. “I’ll just look later. I was going to go look around campus, make sure I know where all my classes are. Wanna come with? We can check the Gen-Eds.” 

Logan really didn’t want to— he knew where his classes were, and he planned on finding good spots for his stuff —but he nodded and stood. He glanced at Virgil’s bed, where he laid on top of all of his stuff. A few things crumpled and crunched as he rolled onto his feet. 

“Cool.” He grabbed a Monster off the desk and popped it open. “Let’s go.” 

Virgil wasn’t actually as loud as he looked. He had the confidence down, and he teased Logan quite a bit, but he was very… calm. Logan would never admit it out loud, but he was jealous. He could never be that sure of himself. 

After finding their Gen-Eds, they agreed to stick together to find their other classes as well. Logan admitted to having already visited his— Virgil laughed —so they set off to find Virgil’s. 

Once they got to the last class on the list, Virgil stopped. “Shit,” he whispered. “Oh, shit.” 

Logan frowned. “What is it?” 

The wind blew through Virgil’s bangs, revealing wide, anxiety-filled eyes. The courtyard was mostly empty, the occasional student passing by a couple dozen feet away. 

“They put me in the wrong class.” Virgil pushed his hair back and drew in a shaky breath. “We agreed I’d be in the morning class, I— I can’t make this one, I don’t know— fuck.” 

“Hey.” Logan took a small step closer. “Hey, it’s okay. We can just go talk to someone, right?” 

Virgil shook his head quickly. His breathing was speeding up. “No, are you kidding? They’re probably so busy, this is stupid. I just— fuck, I’ll have to make it work.” 

“Virgil, no.” Logan laughed weakly. “No, come on, we can fix this. Breathe, right?” 

“‘Breathe—’ Right, fuck, I’m not… I’m not breathing.” 

Logan held his hands out, and Virgil scrambled to take them. Logan held them tight. “Uh, just follow my breathing.” 

Logan helped him right himself, a few tears slipping out from Virgil’s eyes, but he mostly got himself back together pretty fast. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Virgil gave Logan their schedules and pushed his sweaty palms down his pants. He wiped his face. “Sorry, that was… stupid.” He fiddled with the zipper on his hoodie. 

“No, it wasn’t. I… uh, here.” Logan hesitated, then found his fidget cube and pressed it into Virgil’s hand. 

Virgil looked at it in surprise. His fingers naturally found the side with the buttons, click-click-clicking. “Oh. Thanks. I had one of these last year but I lost it.” 

Logan blinked. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ll give it back though, don’t worry.” 

“Let’s go talk to the registrar. We can tell them your schedule is conflicting.” 

Virgil stared at the cube. He flicked the dial a few times, listening to the light crank as it snapped back. “Are you sure?” He mumbled. 

Logan forced a smile against his nerves. “Of course. Better to do it now then wait until it’s worse.” 

“That’s true. Okay.” He laughed weakly and straightened his shirt out. “Right, you’re right. Sorry about this.” 

“It’s fine,” Logan promised. 

Logan walked with him down to the registrar's office and it ended up being an easy fix. Virgil walked out while rolling his eyes. 

“I can’t believe that gave me a panic attack. Shit, I’ve had panic attacks over some dumb things, but… wow.” 

Logan laughed. “It’s a… big day. Don’t worry about it. I, uh… I had a couple today, too.” 

“Well, panic attacks make me hungry. Do you want to go grab something to eat?” 

Logan nodded. “Sure.” 

They stopped outside their dorm building. Virgil texted for a moment, then said, “I have a car we can borrow. Come on.” 

They found a silver truck in the Junior’s parking lot. Virgil pulled the keys out of his pocket. “It’s my brother’s,” he said. “I’ve got a spare key.” 

“Your brother sounds cool.” Logan climbed into the passenger side. 

It was a very tall truck. His face heated up as he struggled a little to get inside. 

“He’s an asshole,” Virgil laughed. “What do you want to eat?” 

“Uh—” Logan’s mind blanked. “Um… I don’t— I don’t know, what do you want?” 

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Um… Okay, well, I know a Chinese place close by that’s good. We can grab one to bring back?” 

Logan nodded and relaxed into his seat. “Yeah. That’s good.” 

Virgil pulled out of the parking lot. They took their food to go, Logan managing to find a kosher option fairly easily, and ate while flipping through Netflix. They found a show they’d both been wanting to watch and got stuck on it easily. They ended up watching the entire first season, only stopping to break open Virgil’s collection of snacks.  

Logan went to bed that night, later than he ever had, feeling better than he ever had. 

xxx 

“Hey, I’m going to see my brother. Want to come?” 

Logan looked up from his homework in surprise. “Um… sure?” 

Virgil had been acting weird lately. He invited him to go somewhere or do something every day. If Logan showed the slightest bit of hesitation, he backed off, but there he was again the next day. If Logan did hesitate, Virgil wouldn’t let him go back on it. Logan didn’t understand it. 

He’d also started acting more nervous around Logan. Less sure of himself. Logan worried he did something. But if he did, there’s no way Virgil would want him to meet his brother, would he? 

He settled his homework neatly back inside his binder and checked a few things off his planner before grabbing his phone and wallet. He followed Virgil outside, where the streetlights glowed warmly against the dark sky, and across the courtyard. The Junior dorm buildings looked identical to the Freshmen’s, only a bit bigger. Inside, their lobby was much more taken care of, and looked more like a gameroom than anything. Groups of students sat with decks of cards, at vending machines, at pool tables. Instead of heading up to the dorms, Virgil led Logan to a small group of kids settled in bean bag chairs. 

A boy with striking similarities to Virgil— all angles and bones, the same gray eyes —sat with another boy, covered in freckles, settled in his lap. 

“Hey, Jan. Hey, Patton.” Virgil placed a light hand on Logan’s shoulder. The touch burned through his shirt, and Logan nearly sucked in a breath. “This is Logan, he’s my roommate.” 

“Wow, you’re getting along with your roommate?” Janus asked in surprise. “I guess I owe Patton ten bucks.” 

“You do not!” Patton rolled his eyes with a smile. “We did not make a bet, Virgil. He’s doing his thing.” 

“I know,” Virgil laughed. 

He pulled the last free bean bag chair towards them and yanked Logan down with him. Their sides pressed together, the bag molding them against each other, Logan couldn’t breathe. He managed to settle himself on the edge of the chair. His side was cold as ice, his heart racing. Virgil gave him a weird look before shoving it off and looking back to Janus. 

Logan thought briefly when the last time he had a hug was. Surely not that long ago, right? Parents hugged their children all the time. But he couldn’t quite recall. If he’d been hugged recently, would he still have the strong urge to reach out and feel Virgil’s hair? To take his hand and trace Virgil’s fingers? To feel Virgil’s palm against his face? 

Logan’s face flushed. Stop acting creepy. 

“What are we playing?” Virgil asked. 

Virgil helped him through the card game. It became obvious towards the third round that Janus was cheating, mostly because Patton scolded him loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Wait, he’s been cheating?” Virgil threw his cards down dramatically. “You bitch!” 

Janus laughed as Virgil kicked the cards at him. Logan tensed. 

“Stop fighting!” Patton sighed, but he was smiling. Why was he smiling? He batted his eyelashes at Janus. “Baby, buy me a snack?” 

Janus picked Patton up, stood, then tossed Patton into the bean bag chair. He squealed. 

“Don’t use that voice on me.” Janus leaned down and kissed him softly. “Totally unfair.” 

“Oh, is it?” 

They mumbled together for a moment between kisses. Logan was certain his face had never been so red. Virgil picked up a card and flung it at them. 

“Gross! I don’t want to see my brother make out with anyone!” 

Janus snorted as he pulled away and found his wallet. “That’s just because you’ve never made out with anyone.” 

Virgil’s ears turned red. “That’s not true! Gah!” 

Janus left to the vending machine, and Patton relaxed into the chair with a wide grin. “So Logan, what are you studying?” 

“Physics,” he mumbled. “Are you two okay?” 

Virgil looked at him in surprise. “Me and Janus?” 

Logan nodded. 

“Uh, yeah? Why?” 

“You guys were fighting?” 

Patton giggled while Virgil raised an eyebrow. “We weren’t fighting, we were joking. You don’t have brothers?” 

“No, I have one. He’s two years older than me.” 

“Alright… what’s his name? Maybe Janus knows him.” 

“He doesn’t go to this school.” Logan found his fidget cube in his pocket and rolled his thumb around the metal ball. “He’s at a college in our hometown.” 

“You moved away for college?” Patton asked in surprise. 

“What’s going on?” Janus dropped into Patton’s lap and pressed several packets of gummies into his palm with a kiss to his cheek. 

“Logan went to college out of state to get away from his brother,” Virgil said. 

Logan’s eyes widened. “That’s not true!” 

Virgil bumped their shoulders together. 

“If Virgil tried going to college out of state without a good reason, I’d kill him.” Janus pulled Patton closer. “Seriously. I’d be worried out of my mind.” 

“You don’t…” Logan hated to confirm Virgil’s suspicion, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “you don’t need, like, a break?” 

Everyone stared at him. 

“No,” Janus said flatly. “No, I actually love my brother.” 

“Gross,” Virgil mumbled, but his ears were red again. 

“I love my brother,” Logan insisted. 

“Oh, we don’t doubt that.” 

“I just— I don’t know. You guys were fighting yesterday morning, too.” 

Virgil stared at him in confusion, until it clicked. He laughed. “You mean when I was on the phone? Lo, he called me a coffee gremlin so I told him to fuck off. It wasn’t a fight. We were just messing with each other.” 

Heat steadily climbed up Logan’s neck. He closed his hand around his cube until it hurt. He wanted to curl in on himself, escape the conversation, and never see any of them again. 

“What the hell does your brother call you?” Janus asked. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Logan said weakly. “We’re just— we’re not as close as you, I guess.” 

“Logan, it’s okay,” Patton said softly, face pinched with worry. “You can talk about it. No one’s here to judge you, we’re not trying to force you to be grateful for your family or anything.” 

Janus squeezed Patton’s shoulder. “Yeah, we know about shitty families, if that’s what this is.”

“And that’s the vibe I’m getting,” Virgil added. “The shit Janus calls me doesn’t bother me. I tell him if he says something fucked up. What does your brother do?” 

“I— I don’t know, I don’t know.” Logan pushed his sweaty palms against his jeans. “He just… gets mad sometimes. You know?”

“No,” Virgil said flatly. “What does he do when he’s mad?” 

“He just… gets mad.” Logan’s voice trembled. He didn’t know how to get out of this. He made a big deal out of it, something that so clearly wasn’t a big deal, and now he was just stuck. “I guess he, I don’t know, he calls me selfish sometimes.” 

“Like when?” Patton asked. He’d leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, brows knitted. 

Logan stuttered through a few stories off the top of his head. He’d tried to tell them in a casual way, insist that it wasn’t a big deal and he was fine, but everyone was so… concerned. Virgil’s fists clenched around his hoodie, Janus’ eyes narrowed. Logan ducked his head. He was shaking. 

He scrambled to his feet. “I’m sorry, I think I— I think I need to go.” 

“Logan,” Virgil sighed. “We can stop talking about it, but come on. You can’t like the way he treats you.” 

“Does it matter?” 

Everyone paused. Logan pressed a hand to his forehead. 

“No,” Janus’ voice dripped with sarcasm, “of course not. People can just do whatever they want to you with no consequences.” He waved his hand. “Who cares, right?” 

Logan froze up. His muscles were pulled taut, eyes squeezed shut, his body wilting like a dead flower. 

“Janus,” Patton scolded. 

He sighed. “Sorry. Look, of course it matters. Come on, sit down. Everything is fine.” 

Logan didn’t believe that. But he sat anyway. He answered their questions. He explained everything as honestly as he could. 

Part of him wanted to defend J., to insist that it really wasn’t that bad and J. loved him. But Logan wasn’t sure if J. did love him. He’d heard how Virgil talked about Janus, and there wasn’t a doubt in Logan’s mind that J. would never talk about him that way. He’d seen how Janus looked at Virgil, sometimes angry but usually in a protective way. It wasn’t like anything Logan had seen from J. 

Hearing them throw around the words ‘abusive,’ ‘manipulative,’ and even ‘gaslighting,’ was hard. Logan jammed the joystick on his fidget cube around so much he almost broke it, bouncing his leg up and down, eventually having to get up and pace. He kept waiting for the snapping, for everyone to tell him how annoying he was being and that he needed to sit and be quiet. They didn’t. 

It was almost uncomfortable. 

The conversation eventually moved— Logan was simultaneously relieved and disappointed —but everyone looked at him different after that. Before Virgil and Logan went back to their room, Patton offered a hug. Logan hesitated, and was about to step into Patton’s arms, when Virgil grabbed his shoulder— just long enough to make him pause. 

“You don’t have to say yes,” he said flatly. 

Patton’s eyes widened. “Oh, gosh! Right! Of course not. Sorry, Logan.”

Logan cleared his throat. “It’s okay.” 

On the walk back, Virgil said, “We’re going to have to work on that.” 

Logan shoved his hands in his pockets. With Fall kicking in full force, it was freezing outside at night, their breath coming out as fog. 

“Work on what?” He mumbled. His body was heavy, eyes lidded. 

“Your whole people pleaser bullshit. You don’t have to say yes to everything. It’s okay to not want to do something.” 

Logan swallowed. He shrugged. 

Virgil stepped in front of Logan and crossed his arms. “We need to set some boundaries, or else I can’t be friends with you. I’m not going to hurt you because you won’t communicate. I won’t be like J.” Virgil stared for a moment, eyes swiping over Logan’s face. His eyes softened. “I won’t be mad. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.” 

“I don’t…” Logan’s heart thumped in his ears. He pressed his thumb against the buttons of his cube. “I don’t really… I don’t know how to handle being touched.” 

Virgil’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? I mean, okay. So don’t touch you, then?” 

“Maybe, just… I don’t know, not that often?” Logan bounced on the balls of his feet. The cold had wormed its way into his bones, and he felt like if he didn’t move he’d either go crazy or freeze to death. 

“Come on, let’s get inside.” Virgil nodded towards the door. 

They didn’t talk until they were settled into their beds and the lights were off. 

“Thanks for telling me,” Virgil said. “I’ll talk to the others, too. You can always reach out if you want.” 

Logan’s eyes watered. He was grateful for the dark. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, Lo.” 

“Goodnight, Virgil.” 

xxx 

Virgil and Logan laid on their stomachs, on the floor. Notebooks and textbooks were spread out in front of them, covered in highlighter and pen. 

It was a few months after Logan had confessed about J., and a few things were becoming apparent. 1) Virgil was not giving up on him. Neither were Janus or Patton. 

2) J. probably, almost definitely, did not love Logan. 

Every day it was becoming more and more clear. 

Logan had never been treated the way Virgil and his friends treated him. Sometimes they argued, sometimes Logan was so frustrated and confused he wanted to cry, but they never made him feel like he wasn’t important. Every fight was important. And for the first time, he was able to move on from them. Even when things weren’t quite resolved, even when there was still more to talk about— that didn’t stop Virgil from inviting him out to dinner, from joining him to study, for putting on a bad horror movie. 

“Alright,” Virgil sighed, pushing the textbook away and burying his face in his arms. His voice came out muffled, “if I look at American History anymore I’m going to die. What next?”

“Uh…” Logan cleared his throat and looked at their stack of remaining textbooks. 

Semester finals were coming up in the next month and Logan was severely behind in Calculus. 

“I don’t— I don’t know, what do you want to do next?” 

Virgil picked his head up sluggishly. He blinked at Logan for a second, hair mussed, wrinkles under his eyes. He grabbed their stack of textbooks and dragged it closer. 

He hummed as he looked through it, then pulled the Calculus and Economics textbooks. He shoved the others away. “Which one?” 

“Um…”

“Come on, I’m good with either. Which one?” 

Logan hesitated, then pushed away the Economics book. 

“Cool.” Virgil flipped the textbook open. “Come on, I want to get this done.” 

Logan flushed. He scrambled to find his notebook and flashcards, struggling to focus. A sturdy feeling of control settled over Logan’s bones, something he didn’t think he’d ever felt before. 

xxx 

“Almost ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah, just let me—” 

Logan yanked the blanket down his bed, then pushed aside his pillow. He relaxed and snatched his fidget cube, shoving it in his pocket. 

“Okay.” He straightened up. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” 

They left their dorm and headed downstairs. They’d planned to meet Janus and Patton in the parking lot so they could all go to this arcade nearby. Janus had jokingly (jokingly?) called it a double date. 

“Yeah, there’s this zombie game you’d really like,” Virgil rambled as they stepped outside. He immediately tensed against the cold and stepped closer to Logan. Logan shuffled against him, their shared body heat negligible. 

The parking lot appeared ahead and Logan stopped. 

“Lo?” Virgil frowned. “What’s up?” 

got out of his car and grinned as his eyes landed on Logan. He waved. 

“Um…” Shit. “I— I don’t know, uh—” 

“Logan!” 

Virgil looked over his shoulder as J. headed towards them. His face darkened. “Is that J.?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Hey!” J. stopped in front of them and grinned. “Surprise. Come on, let’s go grab dinner. Who’s this?” 

“Virgil.” Logan stepped closer. “My roommate, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah. Well anyway, let’s go.”

“Actually,” Virgil said in annoyance, “we had plans. Maybe you can call ahead next time.” 

quirked an eyebrow. Logan’s blood ran cold as J.’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll have to reschedule. He’s my little brother, I’m sure you can find someone else to drag along.” 

Virgil scoffed and glanced back at Logan, then stopped. “You’re not really considering this, are you?” 

Logan looked between them, helpless. He was terrified of upsetting either of them, but there was no way to please both of them. 

“I— I don’t know. J., we had plans,” he said quietly. 

“You can reschedule.” J. grabbed Logan’s arm and pulled him closer. “I haven’t seen you in forever, don’t be selfish.” 

“You don’t have to do what he wants,” Virgil insisted. His eyes were on J., face scrunched in a glower. 

“What’s up with you?” J. asked in frustration. “You’re acting like it’s a crime to take my little brother to dinner. Just lay off, will you?” 

He stormed away, dragging Logan behind him. Virgil huffed. His footsteps echoed away. 

Please don’t be mad. 

Logan forced himself through dinner. The entire night crawled by, full of passive aggressive comments and insults Logan had forgotten how much he hated. He didn’t understand why J. came all the way down here just to ridicule him. Couldn’t he do that over text like he usually did? Didn’t he catch on to why Logan stopped answering? 

After J. drove him back to campus, way after nightfall, he grabbed Logan’s arm before he could escape. “We need to talk.” 

Logan shoved his hand in his pocket. He flicked the switch, over and over, click-click-click— 

“Will you stop playing with that fuckin’ toy? I’m being serious.”

“It calms me down,” Logan mumbled, pulling his hand out. “Sorry.” 

“I don’t like Virgil,” he said flatly. “I don’t like how he treats you and honestly he’s fucking rude. You’ve been pulling away. Mom and Dad haven’t heard from you in months. I haven’t heard from you in longer. That’s not fair to us just because you have this new friend.” 

Logan stared. What the hell was he supposed to say? I like how Virgil treats me a whole fuckton more than you do. He couldn’t say that. Even if he wanted to, which he wasn’t sure he did. 

“I’ll talk to him about it,” he lied. 

“Talk to—” J. barked a laugh, “no, ask for a new roommate. I don’t want you talking to him at all anymore, okay?” 

Logan swallowed. “He’s my best friend.” 

“That’s a problem. He’s not good for you.” 

He pulled on the door handle a few times. “Can I go? I get it, I’m sorry.” 

“You clearly don’t get it. If you did—”

Logan pulled on the handle a few more times as J. droned on. His body was lighter, his head foggy. He could see himself tugging, tugging, could watch J. getting angrier and barely made out his mouth forming the words ‘stop with the fucking door.’ 

Then he was outside. 

peeled out of the parking lot, tired squeaking over the pavement, and Logan hurried to his dorm. 

Virgil paused the T.V. as Logan got inside. He panted, chest heaving. Did he run? He didn’t remember. 

“Logan?” Virgil stood. “Hey, what’s going on? What’d he do? Did he say something?” He hurried over. 

Logan stumbled through the story. Virgil’s glare deepened with each word, and every time Logan tried to make it better, Virgil just got angrier. 

“Stop apologizing,” he snapped. “Come here, you need to sit down.” 

He held out his hand, and Logan hesitated, before taking it. As Virgil led him to the bed, Logan focused on the texture— soft and cold. The pad of Virgil’s thumb was pressed against Logan’s palm. He craved more and he wanted to rip his hand away. 

Virgil sat Logan down, then took his back back and knelt down. “Where’s your cube?”

Logan shook his head. 

Virgil glared. “Did he take it?” 

“No! I just— I don’t need it.” 

“You clearly do. Come on, have I ever made fun of you for that?” 

Logan hesitated, then fumbled to get it out. Click-click-click. Click-clack-click-click. 

“Come on, follow my breathing. It’s okay. We’re going to figure this out. You don’t need him. It’s alright.”

Virgil slowly got Logan back in his body. His breathing became his again, and he was reminded of where he was. He gripped the covers, rubbing his fingers over the plush. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed. He still panted a little, his head light. 

“Sit here. I’m gonna grab some water.” 

Virgil came back and sat next to him. He handed Logan the water, who gulped it down. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Virgil took the glass back, their fingers brushing, and set it on the desk. 

“I don’t think you should talk to him anymore.” 

Logan flinched. 

“I know. I know it’s confusing. It’s your decision. If you want to stay in contact with him for a little longer, I’m not going to hold that against you.”

Logan looked up in surprise. “What? But you want—”

“It’s not my life. I think he’s an asshole and I don’t think he deserves you, but I’m not going to make choices for you. Not these.” 

Logan’s eyes watered. He looked away. 

Virgil sighed. “You don’t have to do that. I won’t make fun of you.” 

He buried his face in his hands as his body shook. 

Virgil cleared his throat. “Usually when Patton cries, he wants hugs, I don’t… um… what do you need?” 

“What?” Logan’s voice cracked, and Virgil repeated himself. “A blanket?” 

Virgil reached around and pulled the blanket around Logan’s shoulders. He whispered “One second,” and rushed over to his bed. He dragged his weighted blanket over and settled that around Logan’s shoulders, too. 

Logan got his tears out while Virgil refilled his water. He took it with clammy hands, wiping his nose. “Thank you,” he mumbled. 

“You should get some sleep.” 

Logan nodded. He started to take off the weighted blanket, but Virgil held his hand up. “It’s alright. Keep it tonight.” 

Logan hesitated. “Are you sure?” 

“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” 

He swallowed. “Thank you. I— thank you.” 

Virgil smiled awkwardly. “Get some sleep.” 

Logan settled into bed as Virgil turned the lights off. He brought the weighted blanket up to his nose, eyelids fluttering closed. It smelled like Virgil. It was warm. 

Logan was safe. 

xxx 

Over the rest of the school year, Logan slowly worked at cutting off his parents and J. Virgil helped him, even through the hiccups. There was a moment Logan thought he could fix things, that he and J. could reconcile— then J. gaslit him and Logan almost switched colleges. Virgil made it clear what J. was doing, and Logan hadn’t spoken to J. since. 

The two eventually agreed to get an apartment together after college. Logan got a part time job to keep his mind busy, and he barely had any free time between that and the studying, but he spent most of it with Virgil. 

“And how satisfied were you with your roommate this year?” The registrar asked as Logan sat in the oversized armchair. 

“Um, he was good. I liked my roommate.” 

“Would you like to continue rooming with him next year?” 

She barely finished speaking before Logan blurted out a ‘yes.’ She laughed and noted it down. Logan met Virgil outside afterwards, and they headed towards the Junior parking lot. 

“You said yes to rooming next year, right?” Virgil asked. 

Logan nodded. “Yeah. You?” 

“Nah, didn’t feel like it.” He smiled. “‘Course I did. You can’t get rid of me.” 

Logan laughed. “What do you want to eat?” 

“I think I’m gonna force Janus to buy me a pizza.” 

He wrinkled his nose. 

Virgil snorted. “What, you don’t want pizza?” 

“That pizzeria you like is disgusting.” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Come on, we eat there too much. Can’t we get something else?” 

Virgil pretended to think about it for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You can pick this time. I’ll tell Janus and Patton to deal with it.” 

Logan grinned. They made it to the parking lot and piled into Janus’ truck. Logan told them what they were eating for dinner, and as Janus headed that way, Virgil nudged Logan with his elbow. 

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured. 

Patton had turned the radio on. Pop music blared through the speakers, but Logan could hear perfectly with Virgil’s mouth close to his ear. Not enough to touch. Just close. 

Logan flushed. “For what?” 

“You’ve come a long way this year.” 

“But I still—”

“Shh. Not focusing on that right now. I’m proud of you.”

Logan’s stomach filled with butterflies. Virgil pulled away with a grin, then yelled something at Janus, who flicked him off. 

Logan settled back with a smile. 

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Here’s my commission info! You can do a whole fic like this if you’d like but there’s also super cheap ficlets and drabbles, so if you like this, maybe consider throwing me a few bucks :D 

[ivyglow]

More than friends | Carter Hart

A/n: Sooo, I was supposed to be done with this piece before our win last night, but my laptop keeps stopping, and the new one only arrives this week, in the meantime I’m stuck with this one and taking longer than ever to write the requests. Anyway, thank you for the patience, and if you want to support my writing, you can always like, reblog and share my posts with a friend you think might like it.

Shout out to Tori for the amazing job proofreading this piece. You’re the best, @guentzgoal​

PS. The songs mentioned in this chapter are Hozier (work song) and Ed Sheeran (friends). 

Requested: Yes

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mention of Friday’s mess aka 5-0 against the Canadiens. 

Summary: You’re the media management to the Philadelphia Flyers, and during the bubble time, you get closer to Carter being the person he runs to after the terrible game that day. You two finally realize something more developed between the friendship.

When everything started to crumble down, he wished for you. He’d imagined that you were probably in your room cuddled up with a bunch of blankets listening to your Hozier-favorites playlist while sipping cold tea. Carter occasionally even wished for everything to be a nightmare, that he was just sleeping on your couch while you watched one of your favorite horror movies, any different situation would be better than the current disaster happening. 

He couldn’t help but blame himself for every little thing. 

He was the one that let the puck reach the net four times, he thought. 

Somehow his head made him sure of this thought when he was pulled off the ice to the bench. He was angry, afflict, and all he wanted was for the team to score at least once or twice, so the loss wouldn’t be as awful as it was feeling at the time. 

But as you would sometimes say to him, “das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” and even more than to hear your strange sayings, Carter liked to internalize them, because usually, they were great instructions for life. And to think that “life is no pony farm” was useful in times like this, it reminded him that it doesn’t matter how much he wished or worked, sometimes, it wasn’t meant to be. However, it didn’t erase your feelings, and that’s why he was fuming when he closed the door and went to the locker room. 

He tried to look unbothered enough to the media on the aftergame conversation, but on the inside, Carter was drowning in stress and guilt. During the drive back to the hotel, he thought about texting you to let you know he was crashing in your room that night, but he got carried away reading what people were thinking about his performance in the game. 

Most of them hated it.

And so did he.

Carter was thinking about how poorly he played when he knocked at your door, and you probably thought the same, but Carter wanted, no, he needed to see you and hear you, and he was sure you wouldn’t let him down. Your presence always did wonders for him and his self-esteem. He would probably hear “das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” for the hundredth time, talk about how shitty he was feeling and let you caress his hair, and only this itself would make his day a little better. 

When the door opened to show you wearing a bathrobe, Carter lost his air for a couple of seconds. The mop of curls wet sitting on the top of your head, the dark skin, long lashes, full lips...everything about you was perfect to him, and he cheesily thought that maybe in another lifetime you were his queen and he would bow and adore you like you were the most perfect thing to walk the earth. 

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth, no grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her” Hozier was softly playing inside your room.  

Carter thought about what to say, but nothing seemed to be enough, nothing made justice to how he was feeling on the inside, but he knew by the look in your eyes that you understood everything, every little detail, every bruise, and every deep and shaky breath. 

You took the bag from his shoulders and dropped it on the side of the door, before grabbing his hand and bringing his body closer. You watched the whole game while working on some management reports, as part of the media management team. You wished you were there. Nevertheless, just like the hockey team, everyone had a specific task, and yours today was writing and studying some more essential ideas discussed previously. You were not expecting Carter to show up at your door so soon. You knew he would eventually come around, and Carter said himself that he preferred to be close to you whenever he felt bad because you knew exactly when to ramble about yourself to take his mind off whatever was bothering him and when to listen to him and give advice. 

As soon as his scent hit your nose, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the hug. He was warm, and his hair was still wet from the shower, the fabric of his suit brought some kind of comfort when it came in contact with your skin and all you wanted to do was hold him until all his anguish was over. 

“You’re okay, we’re okay,” you whispered, peppering kisses along the exposed skin of his neck and jaw, the available surfaces when you crushed against him. 

You felt Carter nod his head, before finally putting a small space between the two of you.

“I’m sorry I forgot to text you to ask if I could just show up and…”

“Hey, it’s fine, we’re friends, no need to stress over this. And yes, you can crash here tonight as long as nobody notices, you know,” you traced his nose and the crease in his eyebrows.

And as much as you noticed every little detail of him, you were not able to see the way his face twitched when you said “friends” because as much as he loved your friendship, he got himself wishing for more in times like these. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to your forehead.

You disappeared to take off the moisturizer from your hair, and Carter took the time to make himself comfortable by taking his jacket off along with his shoes, letting the blankets on the couch engulf his body. 

“Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” you whispered when you came back. Now dressed in your pajamas and with your hair slightly damp, you lay beside your favorite goaltender on the couch. He dropped his head to your shoulders and made himself small, so you could take care of him the way he liked. And so with your favorite playlist playing and your fingers massaging gently at his scalp Carter fell asleep. 

He woke up with your voice distant, and a playlist still going, although it was not the Hozier one anymore. The room was darker than when he lay there, the only source of light coming from the open windows and one lamp, he noticed that you had lit a candle on the coffee table and that there was also a cup of water sitting there. 

Carter felt cared for and loved. He loved how your little details always made him feel better.

“I called room service, they’re getting our dinner here soon…” you appeared in the room again with your cellphone in your hands. “What’s up?” you asked, laying beside Carter one more time. 

The distance was little, and he thought about the way your friendship worked. It felt like more than friendship, and Carter took his time thinking about how he never sleeps with his friends like he sleeps with you. The way his friends cared about him but never the way you did. How he wanted to kiss you goodbye every time you parted ways and how he wished to just lay with you for as long as possible, just taking your scent in, enjoying your company, and your very specific playlists. 

“Hartsy?” you called again, confused with how he just zoned out. “Is everything okay? What are you thinking about?” 

He shifts on the couch, and now your faces are even closer. “Nothing...I was...this is a good song, never heard it.” 

You chuckled before directing your attention to the lyrics playing as background noise. Your heart did a little double-take, and you couldn’t help but turn your eyes to the face in front of yours.

“Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don't treat me like you do. Well, I know that there's a limit to everything, but my friends won't love me like you. No, my friends won't love me like you.” 

You shivered when his thumb found your chin bringing your face even closer. It slipped through your face drawing little dots connecting every far end. You enjoyed the feeling, and though his hands were calloused, the pad of his fingertips felt soft and comfortable against your skin.

“Are we friends, or are we more?” his voice was so low you were sure if you weren’t staring at his lips, you would not understand. 

And when his thumb found your lips opening slightly, you closed your eyes, too overwhelmed with the new sensations to bother with an answer. You wanted him to crash the space between your lips and finally dive in, you wanted him to be more than friends, and you wanted to comfort him after everything. 

You wanted Carter and Carter only. 

You wanted to be more than friends.

Carter tested the waters by dipping his face and caressing your nose with his. He liked the way your faces seemed to fit in place, and he was determined to kiss you when the bell rang loudly in your room. 

“I have a saying for this,” you breathed out, wanting to laugh about the situation. “Aller Anfang ist schwer.” 

“And what does that mean?” 

“I’ll let you know later,” you fooled before getting up and going to answer the door.

Your legs were like jelly, and your mind was working at a fast pace, but still, you tried to keep composure.

Eating dinner after that interaction shouldn’t be easy, but it was for you and Carter, so he handled it so well it made you even more sure about how much you liked him. It wasn’t a real talkative dinner, but considering that hours prior, Carter was like a sad puppy, to see him smiling shyly at you was a victory. 

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked when you finished. 

“You already did,” you tried to mess with him, and Carter rolled his eyes before getting on the couch again. “Of course you can, Hartsy.” 

And so the rest of the night was just you and Carter randomly talking and listening to your playlist. He didn’t ask his question again, and neither did you, but you knew he was thinking about it when you went to bed. Especially laying there side by side. 

You were used with his naked chest and with his sleep pants, but it felt different that night, and the question keeps replaying in your head. So this time, you were the one to voice it. 

“Are we friends?” you turned to him. 

Carter sat in front of you, grabbing your hands. His fingers were cold against your palm, and you shivered one more time that day. 

“We’ve been ‘friends’ like this for more than a year, and even though I don’t know the turning point I know we are more than that and have been for a long time now,” his voice was firm like he was sure about what he was saying as he thought about it before. Your eyes dropped to your intertwined fingers, and you took a long breath before Carter started talking again. “Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don’t treat me like you do...everything my friends do to me feels different when it comes to you.” 

It was the blink of an eye before your lips were connected, and you tried containing the growing smile between your lips. Carter’s lips were soft against yours, he felt like a summer day, one you waited a whole year for, and when it finally happened, it felt surreal. It wasn’t weird kissing him. It wasn’t odd sleep laying on top of him that night because it felt natural, it wasn’t anything new for the two of you. You were friends at the start, sure, but at some point, it turned into more, and you both handled it like it was only a friendship. You were happy to finally realize it had been more between each word, each interaction, each cheek kiss, and hug.  

Sleep came easy that night, for you and him. 

And even though his severe loss earlier, Carter felt valid.

You were there, you were his number one fan winning or losing, and he was happy he got to have a stable relationship with you. 

“Do you have a saying for that?” he asked jokingly.

“Unfortunately, no,” you held his face close, lips centimeters away. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to spend time with sayings when I can spend time kissing you,” you confessed.

He chuckles, “Suddenly, life feels like a pony farm.” 

You can find more of my work here

[jingabitch]

His Holy Waters

SUMMARY: You need to be punished to atone for your sins.

PAIRING: priest!seokjin x reader

RATING: E

WARNINGS: smut | whipping | paddling | watersports | blasphemy lmao | seriously this is messed up | jin calls her a slut | degradation? | unprotected sex

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: dedicated to @kpopyandere​ as payment for services rendered. unbeta-ed because i was too embarrassed to send this to any of my betas lmaooo.

“Father.” Your voice was breathy as you knelt, your head bowed. “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“My child.” The priest’s voice was calm as he rested his hand on the top of your head, his thumb pressing into your forehead. “What ails you?”

“Father,” you said, looking up at him. Tears of distress pooled in your eyes. “I keep having… indecent thoughts.”

Father Seokjin hummed thoughtfully. “That is a sin indeed, my child. Your soul needs to be cleansed.”

Your eyes closed in relief, causing the tears to spill over your cheeks. “Thank you, Father,” you gushed.

The hand on your head travelled down your face, tilting your chin up. His thumb now pressed into your lips, pushing them into your teeth so hard you worried they’d bleed. Silly, really – by the time Seokjin was done with you, that would be the least of your worries.

“I commend your bravery in coming to me, my child. I will help you overcome your sin,” he said, and you were captivated by the benevolent, calm expression on his face, so incongruent with the way his fingers gripped your face hard.

Truth be told, you knew the drill by now. Father Seokjin belonged to an ancient, secret sect that still believed in the old practices like flagellation. And maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed it a little too much, came to church to confess your sins every week like a good girl.

Father Seokjin knew; he could sense a kindred spirit. You enjoyed the blows that rained down on your body as much as he enjoyed giving them, loved when he was rough with you in the name of cleansing your soul. You were sinful, dirty, perverted – but so was he. In a different life, perhaps, where he hadn’t taken a sacred vow, you could belong to each other, but in this one, all you had were stolen, fleeting moments.

“Thank you, Father,” you breathed, your eyes wide as you stared up at him adoringly. Your Father, your savior.

He smiled back down at you, then pushed your face away from him with a flick of his wrist so your head turned against your will. “You don’t deserve to look at me,” he bit out, the strict, harsh tone causing flames to lick at your insides.

“Yes, Father.” Your voice trembled as you righted yourself, looking down at your lap where your hands were fisting in your skirt. You were dressed, as always, impeccably, in one of your favourite dresses today. None of it mattered to Seokjin, though. The expensive clothes and accessories you loved so much were just another sin in his eyes, and if you were being honest, you persisted in bringing your Hermès bags with you to church because you knew it upset him.

“Strip.” His voice brooked no disobedience, and you followed his instructions almost instinctively, reaching for the zipper on the back of your dress. Seokjin watched you impassively, not making any move to help you. That was normal – you draped your dress over the edge of the pew, listening and hoping that he’d have some sort of reaction to the lingerie you were wearing. You knew the sheer red lace set looked good on you, but if he thought so too, he didn’t give anything away.

Finally, you took off the undergarments as well, pouting a little at his stoicism. When you were completely undressed, you returned to his feet and knelt with your head bowed, your hands resting on your thighs, palms up. “I am ready, Father,” you said quietly.

Instead of answering you, he stepped away, to the nondescript cabinet he kept by the altar. All his equipment was there – the paddles, whips, canes. You wondered if his other followers enjoyed this treatment as much as you did. Honestly, you wouldn’t know, but it did seem that you were the one who came the most regularly.

Humming thoughtfully to himself, Seokjin perused the tools at his disposal before selecting a paddle and a whip. When he returned to you, however, he looked at the whip again before dropping it carelessly on the ground. No, he wouldn’t be needing that tonight.

Instead, he stood over you, the shadow from the altar candles behind him casting a shadow that fell over your body. Hesitantly, you looked up at him, not sure whether you were allowed to, and bit your lip at the way he towered over you.

“Undo my belt.” The simple instruction sent a shiver down your spine, and you were sure you were dripping on the floor. With trembling fingers, you reached up to his belt buckle, looking up at him again for validation. A single quirked brow let you know that he wasn’t impressed with your pace, and you swallowed hard as you undid the buckle, the sound of the leather sliding past the loops and the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet of the room.

When you pulled the belt free from the loops, it lay across your palms, looking so innocuous. You held it up to him, unable to tear your gaze away from his cold expression. There must be something wrong with you, you thought, that his judgmental look made you so hot.

Seokjin picked the belt off your hands, holding it near the buckle with his left hand as he ran his right along the leather. Stepping around you and out of your field of vision, you heard and felt him stop behind you, making the hair on the back of your neck rise.

“Look up at the Lord and repent,” Seokjin snapped at you, his voice low and raspy in the instant before he drew his arm back to hit you with the belt. The cracking sound of leather meeting flesh was almost deafening in your ears, and the pain that exploded across the welt that almost immediately raised across your back made you whimper. Still, you didn’t bow your head or close your eyes, your fingers digging into your bare thighs as you focused on repenting for your sins.

Blow after blow rained down on your bare skin, forcing whimpers and moans from your lips as your nails dug into your thighs. Tears filled your eyes but you didn’t move to wipe them away, even as your view of the altar blurred.

Eventually, he stopped – he didn’t want to, loving the way you shuddered and tensed, and the beautiful way the welts rose up across your skin, red and pink, a maze across your back. But any more and you would bleed, he could tell. The thought of drawing blood excited him like nothing else, but the last time he’d done that you hadn’t come back for three weeks while your wounds healed.

“Get up.” His dispassionate tone belied his arousal, and if you turned around, he knew you would be able to tell. His rapid breathing wasn’t just from the physical exertion, and despite having tucked himself into his waistband earlier to hide his inevitable erection, you were familiar enough with him now that you’d be able to read him.

You knew, of course, that he was turned on just as well as he did, but the pretense was part of the game you played.

As you bent over the pew, using your elbows to brace yourself, he feigned obliviousness to the arousal slicking your pussy, sticking to the unwritten script you both knew by heart.

“You know, you wouldn’t need to come so often if you weren’t such a little slut,” Seokjin told you disapprovingly. You dropped your head, pressing your face against your left arm, as you clenched involuntarily. You loved it when he called you a slut, adored the way the word rolled off his tongue with such disdain, like you were dirty, debased, sinful. The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you either.

“I’m sorry, Father,” you gasped against your arm. You had barely finished when he brought the paddle down on your ass, and the end of your sentence turned into a garbled cry.

“You have sinned against our Lord,” he hissed as he hit you again. As the wood made contact with your already inflamed skin, you jolted forward.

“Yes,” you said, blinking back the tears, although whether it was in agreement with what he’d said or a cry of exultation, neither of you knew.

As he continued striking you with the paddle, he continued explaining to you all the ways in which you were a filthy sinner, a disgrace to the Lord, and fuck, did you love it.

When he finally dropped the paddle, your ass was a bright, glowing shade of pink, matching the crisscrossed welts on your back perfectly. To Seokjin, this was the most beautiful he’d ever seen you – your perfect, smooth skin marked up by him.

You’d been punished enough for your sins, he declared, and you returned to your original kneeling position as he stood over you.

“My child,” he said in a soothing tone, signifying a change in the mood from earlier, “I will now cleanse your soul with the holy waters of mankind.”

Blinking up at him, you nodded eagerly. This was always your favourite part, where the warm liquid against your skin refreshed your spirit and washed away your sins. He smiled benevolently down at you, his arms hanging, relaxed, by his side.

You knew the drill – your fingers worked dexterously to undo his trousers, sliding the zipper down with a little shiver of anticipation. Seokjin was hard, as he usually was, and you bit your lip as you drew his erection out.

Seokjin smirked down at you. He knew what you were thinking; you were here because of your lustful nature, after all, and he had a nice cock – long, thick, flushed pink and with a pretty network of veins running down it. He’d give you a treat later, probably, but for right now, there was something else you needed.

“Please, Father,” you begged in that cute, broken voice, so desperate for him to cleanse your soul in the way that only he could. You were almost panting with desire, your mouth open and relaxed. Seokjin reached for his cock, stroking it just once as he schooled his expression so that he retained the serene look he always wore during service.

“Shh,” he cooed at you, his other hand resting on the top of your head, tilting it so that you faced upwards. With a beatific sigh, he relaxed his pelvic muscles and began pissing on you, admiring the way it ran in rivulets down your face and over your bare skin. He could see the impact it had on you, your body relaxing like the urine streaming down your body was leaching away all the stress and pain of your life.

It was almost enough to fool him into thinking that this was why he did it – purely to provide redemption for your soul.

You’d texted him earlier today to let him know that you were coming over, so he’d prepared well for tonight, and there was a lot, forming a puddle where you were kneeling. Halfway through, you tilted your head and opened your mouth a little more, and he aimed into your mouth, filling it up.

With the last bit he had in him, he pressed the tip of his cock to your forehead, drawing a cross right in the middle with the warm liquid. You shivered as you felt it, your eyes falling shut as you moaned. “Please…” you gasped helplessly.

“What is it, my child?”

Instead of answering him, you wrapped your hand around his and tugged slightly, pulling his erection down so you could wrap your lips around the tip of it. You suckled greedily, tasting the last few drops clinging to him and relishing the feel of his cock in your mouth, so warm and hard and full.

The hand on top of your head slipped down past your temple, his thumb pressing into your cheek as his fingers cradled your jaw. “You’re such a good girl,” he sighed, and you released his dick with a little pop to smile up at him.

“Do you feel better, my child?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Thank you, Father, for cleansing my soul,” you said, looking up at him with that worshipful gaze, and he felt his cock jump. You saw it, of course, and barely managed to bite back your smirk. He was so predictable sometimes.

Inevitably, you ended up on your hands and knees, still facing the altar, of course, as he pounded into you from behind. This was something he liked to claim was your ‘reward’ for being devout, but you both knew that it was as much a treat for him as it was for you. It was evident in the way he gripped your hips hard as he slammed into you, making the still-tender flesh of your bottom sting with pain that somehow enhanced the entire experience, in the breathless pants and grunts he couldn’t help but make as he fucked you.

“F—Father,” you pleaded, barely able to force the words out. “More, please.” You were so close, you just needed that little bit more to bring you over the edge.

“More?” His voice was similarly strained, the feel of your hot, slick pussy wrapped around him like a glove almost too much for him. Still, he had a role to play. “Greed is a sin, my child.”

“Please, please,” you mewled helplessly, unable to form more articulate sentences as he was fucking your brains out.

He huffed out a halfhearted laugh. “You’ll need to come back to absolve yourself of your new sins, child,” came the halfhearted admonishment. You both knew you’d be back next week anyway.

“Yes, Father,” you agreed eagerly, and obligingly, he reached around to press his fingers onto your clit, rubbing at it just so, his ability to discern exactly what you needed borne out of familiarity with your body.

“Cum on my cock then, you slut,” he hissed, and the dirtiness of his words, juxtaposed against the sight of the altar looming in front of you and how reserved and composed he’d been all evening did it for you. With a garbled moan, you came, clenching down on him repeatedly as you closed your eyes as the pleasure wracked your whole body.

Seokjin swore as he felt you tightening around him, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chased his own orgasm. “Fuck,” he groaned as it finally crashed over him, and he hunched over your body as his hips worked in half-aborted thrusts to milk out the last of his cum. When it was over, he lifted himself off you and collapsed on the ground next to you, uncaring of the mess he’d lain down in.

“I’m going to hell,” he sighed, looking up at you.

Your lips quirked into a half-smile. “See you there, then.”

[frankendeers]

Kylux and the Queer Literary Tradition

So, I have seen a lot of people talk about Kylux in terms of queer fetishisation or even labelling it a “crack ship”.

The discourse has somehow made Kylux out to be this straight-girl fantasy where two men are simply shipped because they are white and handsome. Such an unfavourable interpretation completely takes away from many Kyluxers being queer and/or poc themselves as well as shaming straight people for seeing queer potential where it’s not canonically stated to be. Since the comic came out, there has been much elation because it finally “confirms” some of the things that appeal to Kyluxers, therefore justifying the ship. I don’t think, however, that Kylux has ever been anything but rather conventional in its queer subtext. Kylux falls in line with a long tradition of homoerotic aggression between two men. I will try to put this into words as eloquently as I can.

First, let’s talk about how Kylo Ren/Ben Solo and Armitage Hux are queer coded on their own before moving on to their relationship.

Armitage Hux is almost comically queer coded. The act of feminising a villain to subtly convey to the audience that he is gay and therefore “morally reprehensible” has been a practice since the Hays code era (in some respects even before that -as the Victorian Age marks the beginning of our modern understanding of gender and subsequently, its subversion). He is seen to be physically weak, petty, moving and snarling and “bitching” in a way society would stereotypically ascribe to women.

His British Accent, at least from an American point of view, already marks his sexuality as ambiguous. This is not helped by the fact that he speaks in an abnormally posh way, alienating himself from the common people.Hereby, the movies draw a well-established line between decadence/queer and pragmatic/heteronormative.

In the “Aftermath” trilogy Brendol Hux states his son to be “weak willed” and “thin as a slip of paper and just as useless”, robbing him of his masculinity – no matter how ridiculous of an endeavour this is when talking about a four-year old boy. Hux is very early on criticised for not fitting into a socially expected form of manhood. This is especially evident when one compares him to his resistance rival, Poe Dameron. Now, Dameron has his own set of queer coding, but he is shown to be what is commonly viewed as “acceptably queer”. He is masculine, trained and proactive. When he ridicules Hux at the beginning of The Last Jedi, there is this juxtaposition of the helpless, feminine villain and the dashing, superior male hero. Hux is supposed to be judged as vain and arrogant while Poe takes risks and although reckless, is somehow to be admired. Further, Hux is constantly abused. He is thrown into walls letting out high pitched screams, runs away in the face of danger (as seen in the recent comic) and is pushed around by his own subordinates. His strength lies in being cunning and calculated, not stereotypically masculine virtues.

Hux’s destructive powers, his monstrosity so to speak, also follow a long-standing tradition of queer villainization. Harry Benshoff’s The Monster and The Homosexual articulates this as follows:

“[...] repressed by society, these socio-political and psychosexual Others are displaced (as in a nightmare) onto monstrous signifiers, in which form they return to wreak havoc […]” (Benshoff 65).

And what other, than a socio-political Other, is Armitage Hux - the Starkiller?

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo, too, is touched by the mark of queerness. It is no coincidence that despite his raw power and muscular physique, Kylo Ren has not been adopted by hegemonic masculinity in the same way Han Solo has, for example. When the logical is traditionally seen as masculine, the realms of pure and unfiltered emotionality is feminine. And Kylo Ren is unrestrained in his vulnerability, his tears, his pain – People make fun of the dramatic ways he gives words to his feelings precisely because it is regarded as weak, as whiny, as “womanly”. His long curly hair, full lips and dress-like costume only strengthens this impression. Kylo Ren is an amalgam of masculine aggression and feminine expressiveness. Some of his outbursts even remind of the pseudo-illness of hysteria. The gendered lines are blurred and unclear in Kylo Ren, diffusing any efforts to appease the binary. Benshoff describes this as a form of queer existence which does not only constitute itself in opposition to what is considered normal but “ultimately opposed the binary definitions and prescriptions of a patriarchal heterosexism” (Benshoff 63).

Both are not easily categorised. They are patched up by multiple, gendered signifyers. Kylo Ren’s masculine body in contrast to his femininized fashion. Hux’s slender body with his stiff and masculinised military get-up. Hux’s toxic tendency to avoid showing his emotions while also being shown as weak, womanly, cowardly. Kylo Ren is an excellent warrior, yet simultaneously being prone to emotional outbursts. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen’s famous work Monster Theory (Seven Theses) elaborates upon this further, while acknowledging that queer figures are most commonly depicted as the monstrous Other:

“The refusal to participate in the classificatory “order of things” is true of monsters generally: they are disturbing hybrids whose externally incoherent bodies resist attempts to include them in any systematic structuration.” (Cohen 6).

Nonetheless, many queer people feel empowered by these figures. Lee Edelman theorises in his polemic No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive about the nature of queerness as a force of cultural resistance. According to Edelman, the queer must always refuse societal expectations of a perpetual future and embrace the death drive instead. In this sense, queerness stands in direct opposition to futurity as it negates any meaning in sexual reproduction and marriage (cp. Edelman 13). When Hux destroys planets, when Kylo Ren proposes to burn it all down “The Empire, your Parents, the Resistance, the Sith, the Jedi”, they are not merely killing the past. They are also negating the worth of categories that make up future and present alike. They are resisting the heteronormative values of production.

Now that we have the puzzle pieces that illustrate how Hux and Kylo are queer figures in on themselves, it might be interesting to examine how they work together.

In her text “Epistemology of the Closet”, Eve Sedgwick talks about a common gothic trope where two men are caught in a feud full of mutual hatred. In this case, both men are mirror images of one another, making them especially vulnerable to the other’s advances: "[…] a male hero is in a close, usually murderous relation to another male figure, in some respects his 'double', to whom he seems to be mentally transparent."

Kylo and Hux are very clearly mirrors of one another. Aside from the gendered oppositions I have already illustrated, they are each other’s double in every sense of the word. Born on opposite ends of an age-old war. Both caught in complicated relationship with their fathers whom both have killed out of opposite motivations (loving them too much vs. hating them with a passion). They represent the opposite ends in the binaries for logic vs. spirituality, restraint vs. wildness, control vs. sensuality, technology vs. nature etc.

This shot from The Last Jedi shows both of them mirroring each other visually, henceforth strengthening this impression.

They are "mentally transparent" to each other, because they are different sides of the same coin which Snoke tossed around to his whims. Even their aggression takes on erotic forms. It is hard to deny the homoerotic implications in choking another men to make him submit, forcing him onto his knees. The breaching of personal spaces and looming over each other, the obsessive need to prove one’s own worth to the male other with which one is engaged in a homosocial bond:

“The projective mutual accusation of two mirror-image men, drawn together in a bond that renders desire indistinguishable from prédation, is the typifying gesture of paranoid knowledge.” (Sedgwick 100).

And through all of this, I have not even talked about the collaborative potential between the two of them. Their instinct to protect one another despite insiting the opposite. How both of them could overcome their trauma by engaging with the other, who suffered so similarly under family obligation and Snoke’s abuse.

Works Cited:

Benshoff, Harry: “The Monster and the Homosexual.” In: Harry Benshoff (ed. and introd.)/Sean Griffin (ed. and introd.): Queer Cinema, the Film Reader. New York: Routledge 2004. Pp. 63-74.

Cohen, Jeffrey Jerome. "Monster Culture (Seven Theses)." Jeffrey Jerome (ed. and preface) Cohen: Monster Theory: Reading Culture (1996): 3-25.

Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. ,2004. Print.

Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky-Sedgwick. Epistemology Of the Closet. Berkeley, Calif. :University of California Press, 2008.

[flipomatic]

Shortcuts Chapter 6

Author Note: Catch me being that person who says updates will be slower, then updates on the same schedule as usual…

First Chapter Previous Chapter

____________________________________________

It was a mild Sunday morning, the perfect weather to be outdoors. The sun was shining and there were currently no disasters plaguing the Boiling Isles.

Emira was with Ed at the market, which was extra busy on Sundays. They weren’t shopping with the rest of the witches though. That wouldn’t be fun at all.

Instead, the twins could be found up on top of one of the market stalls. It was one of the sturdier ones, one that they were sure would hold their weight before climbing on top of it. They were lying on their stomachs so that the many witches who walked past wouldn’t spot them, heads close to the front edge of the stand.

Ed had a jar in his hands, full of a gooey green goo. He unscrewed the lid and held it out carefully towards Emira. She was wearing rubber gloves, which were necessary for handling the goop. She reached inside and used three fingers to scoop out a small blob of the goo, careful not to let it slip from her grasp. Ed had made it himself, so she didn’t want to waste a drop.

Emira rolled it between her fingers for a moment, making sure it was a good size and sticking together. Then she nodded at Ed and turned her eyes down, looking for the next target.

It had to be someone who stopped, to maximize the effect. Emira waited until, yes right there, a teenage boy stopped to look at the goods for sale in the stall. Emira glanced at Ed, who nodded with a smirk.

She reached over the edge with her gloved hand, fist closed to hold the goo. It didn’t have to be directly over the victim’s head, but closer would have stronger effects. Emira used her other hand to signal to Ed, counting up to three on her fingers to time the drop.

On three, she released the goo. Right as it started to fall, Ed draw a small spell circle. The goo glowed as it fell, the magic reaching towards the victim. By the time it hit the ground, the effect had taken place.

The victim, who had brown hair at the start, was now sporting a bright ocean blue color. He didn’t seem to notice, as he continued browsing without alarm before moving on from the stall.

After he walked away, the twins broke out laughing in unison. The effect of the spell would only last an hour, but that didn’t make it any less hilarious.

When she finally stopped laughing, Emira sat up and looked out again over the moving crowds. The market was always so busy on Sunday mornings, which made it perfect for the twins to have some fun.

“Oh, isn’t that the corridor girl?” Ed sat up as well, drawing Emira to look in the direction of his pointed finger.

He was right, Viney was on the other side of the market, buying something from a different stall. She was too far away to see in detail, but even from this distance Emira could tell who she was. There was no mistaking that hook shaped earring.

“Yeah, that’s her.” Emira replied, squinting to try and see her clearer.

“I know you’ve been hanging out with her, since you never shut up about it…” Ed muttered the last part under his breath. “Can we use the secret passages yet?” Ed asked eagerly.

Emira hadn’t thought about the passages for a while. In fact, they didn’t even cross her mind when she tried to study with Viney earlier that week. “Not yet.” She replied, shifting Ed’s face from a smirk to a frown.

“Could you hurry it up? At this rate we’ll graduate before we get to use them.” Ed said pointedly.

Emira rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah yeah, I know.”

Ed nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer, then leaned forward again to look down over the edge of the stall.

Though her brother had gone back to looking for slime targets, Emira was still watching Viney in the distance. She had bought something and then continued moving through the market, stopping every once in a while to look goods.

Emira wondered what she had come there to buy, if she had found what she was looking for.

“Hey, get over here!” Ed interrupted her thoughts, one of his hands now gloved and already outstretched over the edge. He must’ve needed Emira to cast the spell.

“I’m here.” Emira said as she leaned forward, ready to contribute. He dropped the goo and she cast the spell, successfully re-coloring another target.

“They never seem to look up.” Ed chortled.

Emira couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “They will if we stay in the same spot for too long.” She again backed away from the edge. “It’s time to move, we should say hi to Viney too.” Since she was here, they might as well.

“Do we have to?” Ed grumbled in protest.

Emira nodded. Ed hadn’t met her yet; it was about time. “Yes, let’s go.” She crawled towards the back of the stall, lowering herself over it to reach the ground. Ed groaned, but followed.

After a moment they had their feet on the ground. Emira brushed off her clothes to remove any dirt from lying on the stall.

“C’mon.” Emira gestured for Ed to follow her, then walked around the side of the stall to reach the main walkway of the market. She turned left, with Ed trailing close behind, and moved slowly past the other stalls. This was the direction she saw Viney in, so she was probably still close.

After a minute, she spotted her. Viney was admiring some flowers at a stand, scrutinizing them closely. She was dressed in casual clothes, similar in style to how she modified her school uniform. She wore her hair in the usual style, with the same headband and distinct earring. Emira quickly glanced away before Viney could notice her; she didn’t want to be caught staring.

Ed hadn’t seemed to notice her, as he was entranced by a food stand selling a variety of deep fried snacks. Emira tugged on his sleeve to get his attention, again moving in the direction where Viney was. Viney was carrying her purchase from earlier, something in a medium sized brown bag. Now she was smelling the flowers, smiling at them.

Emira almost felt bad about interrupting her. “Hey Viney!” She called out to her and waved as she approached.

Viney looked startled for a moment, but her stance relaxed when she looked over. “Hey.” She replied at a regular volume. “How’s it going?” She asked politely. Wow, it almost seemed like they were proper acquaintances now.

“Doing good, we’re just out shopping.” Emira gestured to Ed, who was standing behind her. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.” She commented, hoping that Viney hadn’t spotted the twins on top of the stall.

Viney let out a laugh. “Not much else to do on a Sunday morning. It’s better than being at home anyway.” Her tone changed mid-way, sounding wistful near the end, and Emira wondered what exactly she meant by that.

“It’s nice to get out of the house.” Emira agreed, keeping her statement more neutral instead of asking questions. “By the way, have you met my brother?” She gestured over her shoulder.

“I don’t think so.” Viney shook her head, looking up at Ed.

“This is Edric.” Emira reached back to tug on his arm again, bringing him forward. He was giving a fake smile and standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, nice to finally meet you. My sister talks so much about you.” Was what he chose to say. Wait, what had he just said?

Viney’s cheeks flushed a cute shade of pink. “I-is that so?” She asked, a small smile on her lips. Emira could feel her own face turning a similar shade.

Ed’s eyes glinted as he leaned in. “Oh yes, you should hear wha-”

“Enough.” Emira cut him off, both verbally and with an arm in front of his body. “Sorry about that, he has no manners.” She glared at Ed, and he backed away with a smirk.

Viney didn’t seem bothered. “It’s alright.” She was still smiling, the color having faded from her cheeks.

“Do you have any siblings?” Emira asked, redirecting the topic and nudging Ed to move farther away so that he couldn’t interfere with the conversation.

“No,” Viney shook her head. “It’s just me and Puddles. I’ll have to introduce you sometime.”

Emira smiled, genuinely. “I’d like that.”

“We’ll do it somewhere less crowded.” Viney lifted one hand to gesture to the many witches around them.

“For sure.” Emira nodded. She could see to her side that Ed had moved too far away and was starting to wander back towards the fried food. “Ed’s getting away, so I better go. See you at school!”

“Bye.” Viney waved as Emira turned to leave.

Emira made sure to walk at a normal pace towards Ed, poking him hard on the arm when she reached him.

“Ow…” He complained, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

“Edric, you know exactly what it was for.” Emira spat back, continuing to walk past him.

Ed chuckled lowly as he followed. “You’ll thank me someday.”

Emira rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond.

As punishment, Ed didn’t get to have any deep fried snacks.

Next Chapter

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 39

This is a series. Start here, continued from here. 

This is a sequel to Honor Bound. 

AO3

Cw: blink-and-you’ll miss it consensual sex mention, home invasion, thoughts and discussion of death, gendered slurs (aimed at someone of the opposite gender as the one slurs usually indicate), blood mention, death threats, mention of suicide, gore mention (imagined), gun in the mouth, dismemberment mention, hanging mention

Gavin was alone in the house, alone with his thoughts.

He’d been alone more often than not the past few days. He knew the family was planning on going south soon, and they needed to prepare. They went into town on a daily basis now to meet with people who had recent updates on the syndicate movements, to gather food and supplies, to set up a home for Edrissa once they left. From everything Gavin could gather, Edrissa would be living with a young couple who had escaped the syndicates several years ago. One had been a “companion,” one had been a “pet.” They would know exactly the kind of care Edrissa would need. She’d be safe, for perhaps the first time in her life.

Gavin assumed the rest of the team would head south when they were ready. He’d heard Tori talk about possibly starting a safehouse up here, but he doubted she would follow through. Not that he didn’t think she could do it; he’d just seen how Tori was with Vera. How they touched each other whenever they could. How they would position themselves protectively in front of the other when one of them suddenly couldn’t breathe. How they shared a bed. How sometimes at night Gavin could hear the noises they made in bed together.

It all made him burn with longing.

I’m never going to find anything like that, he thought to himself fiercely. There’s no one who could ever feel that way for me, not after what I’ve done. No one I would want in return, anyway.

He tried to return his attention to the line he’d been reading for the past 20 minutes. It was a book Gray had brought him from town, something about recovery from trauma. The others need this more than I do. I haven’t been traumatized. At least, not by anyone but Vera. He sighed.

The front door opened. That’s weird. I didn’t expect anyone back for hours. “My room,” he called.

He’d gotten into the habit of announcing himself when there was a possibility of someone happening across them when they were by themselves. He figured it made them feel safer, knowing where he was. And it didn’t hurt so much when they walked in knowing he was there, and didn’t jump and look at him like he was something under their shoe.

It was really only Ellis who did that anymore, and even then it wasn’t as often.

Someone came into the house so quietly Gavin thought they might have been doing it on purpose. Why would they be sneaking around? They know I know someone’s home. He looked up at his doorway, his head slightly tilted, trying to listen. It sounded like at least two people were home, but they weren’t talking to each other.

The hair on the back of Gavin’s neck stood up.

“Guys?” he called, putting the book down on his bedspread. “Gray? Isaac, is that you?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood. Whoever it was, they were in the hall now. Coming towards his room. His heart felt like it was stuck in his throat. “Sam?” He walked slowly to the door.

He looked through the doorway and into the hall. His eyes went wide as his gaze fell on a dark figure, tall, massive. Someone he didn’t recognize. He fell a step back into his room.

Hands closed on his shirt and dragged him from his room, slammed him against the wall in the hallway. Gavin cried out as his head cracked hard against the wall.

“No no no no…” he pleaded. A heavy hand clamped over his mouth as the man dragged him into the living room. Gavin screamed against his hand as the man wrenched one arm behind his back. He looked around, terrified, at another man, dressed in black just like the first. A gun was holstered at his hip. He looked down at Gavin with pure hate in his eyes.

The man holding Gavin threw him to his knees and he hit the ground hard. He groaned and tried to scramble to his feet, his shoulder throbbing. “No,” he sobbed. “Please no, no…”

A slap rocked his head to the side and he fell to the floor, his head spinning. He tasted blood and realized he’d bit his tongue.

“Shut up, you syndicate fucker,” the taller one, the one who had grabbed Gavin, snarled.

“No no no please, I didn’t… no, please…” Gavin sobbed. He tried to crawl away from the men, tried to get to the couch, just to put a few feet between him and them. A hand grasped his hair and yanked him backwards, back to his knees. He cried out, his hands coming up to pull against the hand in his hair.

“Let’s just fucking do it and get it over with,” the shorter one growled. “I’m fucking tired of this piece of shit breathing.”

“No,” the taller said from above Gavin’s head. “I finally fucking have the chance to get a little bit of justice for Steph. No fucking way I’m giving up on that.”

“I…” Gavin gasped. “I never knew a Steph…”

“Shut up,” the taller one roared. He yanked Gavin’s head back viciously, so Gavin was forced to look up at him. “Shut the fuck up, you syndicate prick, your fucking father slaughtered her for fun. And you used to do the same fucking thing. Sounds like Stormbeck senior is fucking worm food right now. I don’t mind you standing in for him, you little bitch.”

“Please,” Gavin sobbed. “Please, no.”

The man released his hair. “Put your hands behind your back, Stormbeck.”

“No.” Gavin pitched forward on his hands and knees again, trying desperately to escape the two men. The shorter one aimed a kick at Gavin’s stomach that pitched him onto his side. Gavin shuddered and wheezed.

The taller man yanked Gavin up to his knees and pulled one arm behind his back again. He forced Gavin’s arm up higher, until his hand was nearly pressed against his opposite shoulder. Gavin screamed.

“Put your other hand behind your back or I break this one off,” the man growled in his ear.

Gavin wailed as the man jerked his arm back harder. “Okay okay okay!” he yelled. “Please…” He put his other hand behind his back. He sobbed in relief as the man stopped wrenching his shoulder. He whimpered as the man held both his wrists in one hand and slid a zip tie restraint over his hands. The man pulled it tight around Gavin’s wrists and stood up again, walking around to Gavin’s front. Gavin twisted his wrists against the restraint, his heart pumping despair through his body. They’re going to kill me. The family won’t even know what happened.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin moaned. “I’m… I’m fucking sorry my dad did that to Steph, I’m sorry I—” He gasped as his head snapped to the side with another blow. His left ear rang.

“You don’t get to say her name,” the tall man snarled, suddenly kneeling in Gavin’s face. “You don’t get to fucking say her name, you syndicate bitch. You thought you could spend your whole life torturing people, hurting people, and it wouldn’t come back on you? You thought you could ruin lives and it would never come back on you?”

Gavin sobbed, tears streaming down his face. “No,” he whined. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The man stood and snorted at his partner. “He’s sorry,” he said with a snarl.

The shorter man’s lip curled. “The idea of playing with him for a bit is sounding better and better. Schiester said they wouldn’t be back for hours.”

“I fucking told you,” the taller one said, and drew his gun from its holster.

“No!” Gavin screamed, shaking his head, scrambling backwards on his knees. “No, please!”

“We should zip tie those feet, too,” the smaller one mused. The taller man laughed and stepped back around Gavin.

Gavin lurched forward, trying desperately to get to his feet before these men could restrain him further. The taller man’s hand closed on Gavin’s hair and pulled him back down hard onto his knees. The man pressed his knee against the top of Gavin’s calf, right where it meets the knee, and leaned. Gavin froze and cried out in agony. The man made quick work of tightening the zip tie around Gavin’s ankles.

Gavin knelt on the floor as the other man got to his feet, shivering, sobbing. Tears dripped down his face and onto the floor. They have hours to torture me before they kill me.

“So,” the taller man said, drawing his gun again, “How do you want to die, syndicate bitch?”

“P-please,” Gavin whispered, his throat too constricted with fear to make a sound. “Please, no…”

The taller man held the gun to Gavin’s forehead. Gavin cried out and pulled away from the gun. The man’s hand shot out and grabbed his hair, dragging him forward until the gun was pressed against Gavin’s head. “You wanna die like this?”

“N-no,” Gavin moaned. They’re going to have to clean my brains off the walls. “No, don’t… don’t do this…”

The man laughed and tapped the gun against Gavin’s head. “Hm.” He moved the gun to press against Gavin’s cheek. “How about this?”

Gavin trembled against the man’s iron grip on his hair. “Please just… t-take me outside. Please. Don’t make them see this, please… Don’t make them see this in their own home…” The last thing they need to see is more death. “Don’t get my b-blood all over the…” Gavin rocked forward, gagging hard at the thought of his blood running in rivulets across the floor in the hallway, soaking into the carpet in the living room and the pad underneath, ruining it forever. Thinking of the family finding his body, cold, empty, the room so full of the stench of blood it would never come out.

The taller man grinned. “What do you wanna bet I can make this look like you did this to yourself? What do you wanna bet I can make this look like your suicide?”

Gavin yanked hard against the zip tie around his wrists. They might stage this like a suicide, maybe even put the gun in his limp hand after they’d killed him, but his family would see the red around his wrists and know. They have to know I wouldn’t kill myself. He didn’t know why that was so important, but they had to know. They had to know that he…

Tears pricked his eyes and he swallowed. They had to know he wouldn’t leave them, that he still wanted to live. That he wanted to be with them, as miserable as it was. I love them. I love them all so fucking much, why did it take me so fucking long to say it, I love them…

Gavin yanked harder. He felt the skin around his wrists break open and bleed.

The taller man pulled the gun away from Gavin’s cheek and smiled wickedly.

“Open your mouth, syndicate bitch.”

Gavin sobbed and tried to twist away from the hand in his hair. The man only tightened his grip and forced Gavin’s head forward. “Open your mouth,” the man growled at him. “Do it. Now. Or I blow your fucking head off right now.”

Gavin clenched his jaw shut and pressed his lips together. He shook his head against the man’s grip, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes fixed on the gun hovering inches away from his face.

The man snapped Gavin’s head back, shoving the barrel of the gun against Gavin’s forehead. “You really wanna die right this second? Let us play with you, you little bitch. Stormbeck fucker. The longer you let us play with you, the better chance they’ll come and save you, right? Your stupid fucking traitor family. You want that, right? Open your fucking mouth.”

They’re not going to save me. They’re going to find my body, and forget about me. Why would they risk themselves to save me? Even if they caught you, they’d just stand back and watch me die. He blinked tears out of his eyes and did his best to stare the man down.

The man ground the barrel of the gun into Gavin’s cheek, and he winced. The man’s finger was on the trigger. The safety was off. “Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”

Gavin shuddered at the thought of the bullet in the chamber, inches from his face. All the man had to do was pull the trigger, and the bullet would tear through Gavin’s skull at 2500 feet per second. It would obliterate his brain, tear up everything that had ever made Gavin Gavin. He wouldn’t just be dead, he’d be destroyed. All in less than a second. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see the gun.

He whimpered and opened his mouth.

The gun pushed past his lips, pressing down over his tongue, shoving all the way to the back of his throat. Gavin’s eyes flew open and he gagged.

“That’s what I fucking thought, Stormbeck bitch,” the man growled. “That’s what I fucking thought. Fucking coward. Fucking piece of shit.”

Gavin sobbed, the steel-oil-gunpowder taste on his tongue making him sick. The man grabbed the back of Gavin’s head and forced the gun harder into his mouth. Gavin’s eyes streamed as he gagged again, his spasming throat twisting a sob as it forced its way out. He shuddered and heaved forward. He couldn’t beg with the gun in his mouth. Couldn’t plead. He could only cry, and choke.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you like this,” the man rasped in his ear. Gavin cried out and shied away. The man’s grip tightened on his hair. “I’m gonna pull this trigger and kill you. How many people have you killed, little bitch? How many people have you killed? Now, I’m gonna bring that shit right to you. You’re finally gonna know what it feels like to die.”

I bet it hurts, Gavin sobbed in his mind. He tried to form the word “please” around the gun. He gagged again as his tongue pressed up against the barrel.

“Maybe I shouldn’t kill you just yet though, yeah? What if I just fucking cut you apart, piece by piece? That way when your fucking family comes home, they have to go on a little Stormbeck treasure hunt. Maybe your hand between the couch cushions, your ear in the shower…” The man chuckled. “Your dick hanging on the front door.” He snapped the gun up against Gavin’s teeth. “Maybe I should put your head on a spike outside.”

Gavin squeezed his eyes shut. Please, please no. Please just kill me. I know I deserve the torture but please no…

“Maybe I shouldn’t kill you here at all,” the man mused, his gaze moving over Gavin’s face, over his eyes. “Maybe I should just drag you to the square and hang you, properly. Maybe we could do it slowly.”

“Maybe we should just send him piece by piece to his darling mother,” the shorter man sneered. “I’m stuck on the dismembering idea.”

Gavin wailed around the gun in his mouth, tugging hard against the zip tie around his wrists, pulling against the hand fisted in his hair.

“Or maybe,” the taller man said softly, and eased the gun a centimeter out of Gavin’s mouth, “We just take you back to the town hall. Chain you up in the basement. Keep you there for a month or three. Your family would never fucking know where to find you. Maybe we should just keep you like the fucking bitch you are, see exactly how you like it.”

Gavin shook his head slightly. The man forced his head back and pushed the gun all the way into his mouth.

“Naw,” the man said, his finger tightening on the trigger. “I think I’m just gonna do this here.”

Gavin closed his eyes.

The front door opened.

Gavin’s eyes flew open, and he moaned in despair as Isaac walked through the door.

Isaac’s eyes went wide and his hand jumped to his waistband. To the gun Gavin knew wasn’t there, because Isaac never carried his gun inside. Isaac fell a step back, his eyes fixed on Gavin. Not looking away.

“Sam!” Isaac shouted. “Gun! Now!”

The shorter man snapped his own gun up to point squarely at Isaac’s chest. “Back the fuck off,” he grunted. “Back off right now. Turn around and go.”

Gavin whined and pulled against the hand in his hair, trying to plead with Isaac and hating himself for it.

Isaac slowly raised his hands to waist level, but no higher. He hadn’t looked away from Gavin since he’d opened the door, but now he raised his gaze to the gun in the shorter man’s hand. “I want you to think about what you’re about to do,” he said gently. “If you kill me, you permanently damage the north. My family will never work with you again. They’ll stop bringing your families to you. They’ll stop bringing you skilled laborers. They’ll stop risking their lives to harbor your spies, move your equipment. You kill me, and you cripple your operations up here. You kill me, and you’re fucked. Do you understand that?”

“But this bitch—” started the man with the gun in Gavin’s mouth—

Ellis burst through the door behind Isaac. Gavin flinched as the door slammed against the wall and nearly closed again. Ellis’s jaw dropped, their gaze darting between Gavin, the man holding him with the gun in his mouth, and the man pointing the gun at Isaac’s chest.

“What the… fuck…”

Isaac pushed Ellis behind him. “Ellis, get back,” he said urgently. “Get back. Tell everyone to stay back.”

Sam walked in just behind them, holding Isaac’s gun out. “Isaac, what—” Their eyes went wide at the sight of the men. Their hand began to shake and they nearly dropped the gun. Isaac’s hand shot out and snatched it away from Sam, then aimed at the shorter man.

“Sam, get back,” Isaac said, his voice taking on a hint of desperation. “Please…”

“Isaac, what…? Gavin…?” Sam stood frozen in place.                                        

Isaac pushed Sam behind him with one hand while the other kept the gun pointed squarely at the men. “Ellis,” he said calmly, “Is the other car here yet?”

Ellis shot a glance out the front window. “They’re just pulling up.”

Isaac swallowed. “Go tell them to stay outside. Please. Go tell them—”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ellis snarled at the men, completely ignoring Isaac. Gavin looked up at them in shock. Ellis took a step towards the men. “What the fuck?”

“Stay back,” the shorter one growled. “Stay back, or we blow his fucking head off.”

“No, fuck you,” Ellis snapped. “Fuck you very much.”

“Ellis,” Isaac said through his teeth. “No. Tell the others—”

The door pushed open again, and the rest of the family appeared in the doorway. Vera jumped and dragged Tori away from the door, and dashed off to the car to grab her own weapon. Gray pushed Edrissa behind them and started to guide her back to the car. Finn lunged forward, their hands reaching for Ellis.

“Answer my fucking question,” Ellis snarled, and Gavin shrank back. “What the… what the fuck?”

“What the fuck do you care what happens to this Stormbeck prick?” the smaller man demanded.

The taller man pushed the gun hard into Gavin’s mouth. Gavin felt his upper lip catch between the gun and his teeth. He whimpered and tried to pull away, eyes streaming.

The shorter man’s hand tightened around the gun pointed at Isaac. His hand was shaking. “What the fuck do you care about him? He’s a…” His eyes filled with tears. “He’s a monster.”

Ellis’s eyes blazed with fury. “Yeah, motherfucker, but he’s our monster.” They lunged forward and bowled over the smaller man in a full-body tackle. The gun went off as Ellis slammed the man’s hand into the ground, shrieking like a wildcat. Sam leapt into the fray, landing squarely on the man’s crotch with all their weight. The man groaned and doubled over.

Vera burst through the door again, her gun held tightly in her hand. Her eyes went wide at the screaming, clawing fright that was Ellis, screeching and biting, and Sam, wrestling the gun out of the man’s grasp.

The man still holding Gavin looked between Isaac and Vera, his eyes darting quickly, his hand tightening in Gavin’s hair. Gavin could feel him trembling. He waited for the gun to go off, to tear through his mouth, punch through his brainstem so there would be no hope of survival. Gavin whimpered.

“Think very carefully about what you decide to do next,” Isaac said, raising his voice over the sound of Ellis screaming. “If you kill him, it’s gonna take you a few seconds to bring your gun around to aim at us. I have a very fast reaction time. Kinda twitchy. Must be the trauma.” His eyes flicked down at Gavin and for a moment, Gavin could swear Isaac smiled. He whimpered as the man pushed the gun down hard against his tongue.

“Hey,” Isaac barked, and the man jumped. “If you’re cool with dying over this, fine. Just know that if you shoot him, you’re dying in this house today.” Isaac raised his chin at the other man, now groaning and sobbing, holding his crotch as Ellis and Sam kicked him over and over. “We’ll even let that one go, for good measure. Take the gun out of his mouth. Right now.”

“No,” the man growled. He yanked Gavin’s head back until Gavin was staring at the ceiling. Tears ran from his eyes and into his hair. “This fucker destroyed everything I love—”

“What is actually him, or someone else in the syndicates that this poor idiot is standing in for?” Isaac said calmly. “Because I understand if it was him. If it was, we can work something out. Some kind of justice.” Gavin’s eyes went wide and he looked at Isaac, just as the man looked down at him. Isaac shook his head slightly from side to side: I won’t let him do that. Gavin sobbed.

“Or,” Isaac continued, “you kill the one useful syndicate member alive in this world just because you wanted to stick your gun in something. And then you leave this house in a body bag. Up to you.”

The man stared down at Gavin, hate twisting his face into something terrifying. His hand shook around the gun. He forced Gavin’s head back further, until Gavin started to bend backwards. He whimpered and gagged against the gun.

“Come on, man,” Isaac said, pitching his voice low. “Up to you. Put down the gun. Let him go.”

The man trembled, and for a moment Gavin was sure the man would kill him. He braced for the shot, tried to think of something good in his last moments. He shuddered, looked past the hand holding the gun in his mouth.

All Gavin could see was Isaac.

The man hunched his shoulders and bowed his head. He forced down a sob. “Fine,” he growled, and pulled the gun from Gavin’s mouth.

Gavin pitched forward with a sob, his jaw aching. Isaac moved in quickly and twisted the gun out the man’s hand. Vera jumped in to roll the other man onto his stomach and lean on his back.

“You have something to restrain yourself with?” Isaac asked the man, his voice intense.

“What the fuck, you said—”

“I’m not gonna kill you, you idiot,” Isaac spat through his teeth. “I’m gonna restrain you and drive you back into town. Then I’m gonna have a long fucking conversation with your mayor about exactly what the word “hospitality” means. Got it? Do you have any extra restraints?”

“Y-yeah,” the man stuttered. “Zip ties, left pocket.”

“Perfect.” Isaac stuffed his hand in the man’s pocket, still holding him at gunpoint. “Hands behind your back. Now.”

“But—”

“I will make this very fucking simple if you don’t do what I fucking say,” Isaac hissed. “Hands. Behind. Your back. Now.”

Gavin swallowed hard as the man obeyed Isaac. Isaac tightened the zip tie around the man’s wrists, his eyes fixed on Gavin. Moving over him. Checking for injuries. Gavin felt his skin burn under Isaac’s gaze.

Isaac turned his gaze back to the man and dug his hand into his pocket again, pulling out another zip tie. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Vera. He looked up to see Finn still standing in the doorway, their mouth slightly open, a look of amazement on their face. Staring at Ellis where they now stood, towering over the shorter man on the floor. Vera tightened the zip tie around the man’s wrists as he groaned.

“Finn,” Isaac said, and snapped Finn out of their reverie. “Can you handle this one? Get him to the car?”

“You bet.” Finn grinned, stepping forward to pat the man down before jerking him to his feet with a hand clamped down on his collar. “You fucked with the wrong family, moron. We’ve got people who are fucking feral.” They smirked in his face and shoved him through the front door. The second man came next, supported between Vera and Ellis, who were not being gentle. Sam panted on the floor, their skin red and shiny with sweat, a wide grin spread across their face.

Isaac quickly knelt beside Gavin and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. He grabbed the knife in his pocket and reached for Gavin’s wrists. The zip tie snapped under the knife.

“Isaac,” Gavin sobbed, and threw his arms around Isaac’s neck.

Isaac froze for a moment. Took a breath. His arms wound around Gavin’s waist.

“Isaac, thank you,” Gavin gasped, his breaths coming too fast. “Isaac, they… he was… fuck, I’m so sorry…”

Isaac squeezed Gavin gently. “Why are you sorry? They…” Isaac pulled away, his eyes moving once again over Gavin’s body. His gaze returned to Gavin’s face, to the red mark that probably spread across his cheek. “They… they tortured you, right?”

“N-no,” Gavin mumbled. “It was nothing. It wasn’t a big deal. They only—”

“Gavin…” Isaac said gently. Gavin’s heart lurched uncomfortably. “They tortured you. It’s okay. You’re allowed to say it.” He leaned down and cut the zip tie binding Gavin’s ankles.

Gavin let out a twisted sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. He pressed his hands to his face. “Why…” He shuddered, and his chest ached as he heaved a real sob. “Why did you save me? He could’ve just… fucking… killed me, and it would’ve been over…”

“I didn’t want to get blood on the carpet,” came Isaac’s reply.

Gavin’s head shot up and he met Isaac’s gaze. Isaac was smiling gently. “Kidding. Because… fuck, Gavin, it’s fucking weird but you’re with us now. No one fucks with you but us. No one murders you but us.”

Gavin flinched.

Isaac’s face fell. “Okay, that was maybe in bad taste.” He stood and held a hand out for Gavin. Gavin took it and painfully got to his feet. His hand felt cold when Isaac let go. “I want you to stay here with Finn while we handle this mess.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the cars. “Maybe we’ll leave Vera here, too. Just to be safe.” He took a step towards the door. “Does that sound okay? Will you be okay until we all get back? Gray and Edrissa will be here, too.”

“I-Isaac…” Gavin’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. Isaac just saved me. I don’t know if Vera would be willing to do the same. “Vera, um… she…” He wrapped his arms around his stomach and winced. “Could you… I mean, could you… please…?”

Isaac stared at Gavin. “Could I… what?”

“Um.” Gavin swallowed. “Could you be the one to, um, stay?” His cheeks burned with humiliation.

Isaac chewed his lip as he regarded Gavin. After a moment he said, “Sure. I can stay. Just let me check with Vera and Gray and send in Finn, okay?” He touched Gavin’s shoulder for a moment before he seemed to think better of it, and then pulled his hand away. “Will you be okay for just a second?”

“Yeah,” Gavin breathed, swaying where he stood. “I’ll be, I’ll be fine.” He watched Isaac as he turned and jogged out the door.

Continued here

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[ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey]

hey!!

basically i wrote a fanfic with Ethan X Mc the other day can completely forgot to post it so i’m doing it now! please let me know what you think,i’m sorry if it’s extremely bad i haven’t written in AGES. aLsO uMm GeTs A bit..kInKy LMAO

Enjoy..i hope <3

It was a cold night in Boston,It wasn’t snowing, but by the temperature it sure could have been. Doctors,that were usually complaining about the excessively massive heater in the hospital,we’re now extremely grateful for the machine. You were filling out the last couple of patients files before heading hope after an extremely long and tiring day. Earlier that morning, the diagnosis team were dealing with a 12 year old girl with a spinal problem which had been an issue for her ever since her younger ages. The problem had a strong effect on her walk, and her general way of life. The girl was signed for a spinal surgery a couple of years back, although doctors thought she would be at risk and wouldn’t make it through as she was too young. This lead a massive pressure on the Team at Edenbrook as it was their decision whether to go through with the surgery or notes it could risk many complications.Ethan had also been dealing with the sudden appearance of his mother.Recently having many heated convocations with Alan on the subject as they both have extremely different viewpoints on the whole situation.

You started to pack up your belongings from your ‘so called’ office.The room was tiny, but it was a good place to go to whenever necessary.Necessary meaning ‘a break from the rest of the hospital’.It was pretty bland place, although it had an outstanding view of Boston behind the hospital, even if it was just from a tiny square window on the far right.

After packing up your files, you make your way over to Ethans office to say goodnight. It’s something you have always done over the two years of knowing him.Was it an excuse just to see him? Most probably. Although,it was a nice way to end the day and catch up it on the current patient the team where diagnosing.

After a two minute walk,you reach his door and do a quick three-beat knock.

“Come in,Rookie”

You slowly creek open the door, peeking your eyes through the door before any other part of your body makes an entrance.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by X-ray scans of the 12 year olds spine. He looked up only briefly when talking to you, although it was almost when his eyes met yours, his lips curled into a half-assed smile showing he was clearly happy to see you.

“You have a chippy knock”

He let out a weary sigh, taking off his glasses as you step into his office, shutting the door behind you which let out a satisfying lock ‘click’.

You can’t help but notice how many different scans he had spread out on his desk, each scan looked completely different from each other. Some where from the top of her spine, others from the bottom. It was definitely something the team has never come across before, yet it was super fascinating.

“How’s that..going?”

Ethan let out a hearty chuckle while pinching the bridge of his nose where a dent from his glasses had formed.The type of laugh that warmed your heart no matter who did it.He was clearly tired, god knows the last time he had probably got a good nights sleep.

“It’s….productive”

You slowly start making your way over to Ethan still listening to him talk about the scans and the potential surgery planned for the young girl.As you walk, your coat catches the shelf on the wall ,knock over a pen pot.

“Oh shit, my bad.”

You quickly drop down to the floor and start picking up the pens.Ethan gets up from his seat and kneels down to help you pick up the last few that were scattered on the ground.As you finish, you can’t help but notice he’s staring at you. His eyes had grew much softer since when you last looked at him, he had a certain awe about him.His eyes met yours for a long moment, a long, heated moment.He has this look he gives, his lips are sealed shut in a thin line, but his eyes speak for themselves. You start to move forward towards him, so much closer that your bodies are partially touching.

He leaned in, his eyes growing heavy, his voice dropping to a low murmur that brushed ever so slightly against your lips.

“What are you doing..”

A lazy smirk crosses Ethans face, He cups your face with one of his hands the other bringing your thigh over his leg so your faces were centimetres apart. his lips grew closer to your face, his eyes gleaming in the yellow office light.As your lips meet, both of his hands were now resting either side of your jaw.He takes his time, sweetly, slowly, biting gently on your lower lip until your mouth parts.You let out a soft groan..

“Mmmm…I missed you today”

Ethan brushes his thumb against your lips, they tingle as they absorb the roughness of his skin.As his thumb drops down to your chin,he lifts it so that your eyes meet for a long, intense gaze.His voice was long, deep, showing his need for you.

“I missed you too…”

He trails searing kisses down your neck and you tangle your hands in his soft hair.His fingers trace circles down the curves of your body, his mouth finding yours again, you gasp when his hand slides between your thighs, teasing you.

“Oh..my..god..Eth-“

You are cut off by his other hand sliding up to the zip of your dress, slowly peeling the fabric off of you.His kisses growing slower and deeper to your newly exposed skin.He lets out a soft grown against your skin as you slide your hands over his shirt, slowly popping open the buttons, exposing his chest.As the shirt reached his shoulders, he tugged it back over his arms in one quick motion, leaving his top half fully exposed.His skin looked almost tanned in the office light, shadows forming over his abs, leaving him breathtaking. You run your fingers over the metal of his belt, slowly un-buckerling the leather wrapped around him while he undoes his trousers and peels them off. After a minute he was left fully exposed over you, you lean in to kiss him but just as he speaks, his tone was soft.

“Rookie..you should know that..being here with you now..now that i have got you..I..I..feel..”

He hesitates, choosing his next words carefully..

“You know I wouldn’t normally take risks..especially ones as big as these..”

“But you take risks all the time..”

“Im a doctor Rookie..so are you, we take medical risks for our patients..but this..in matters between you and me..as people..I’m done playing it safe and you should know that overall..I’m extremely grateful for you..here…with me. And overall..”

He gives you a heated look before leaning down onto you. His lips brush over yours as he says..

“I want you, you have no idea how badly I want you..”

“Ethankiss me, right now.”

Without any hesitation Ethan leans down and his lips find yours,His free hand grips the side of your thigh pulling you closer to him.You reach down to guide him closer to you..feeling him..he lets out a load groan that echos around the office..

“Fuck…”

You run your hand down his chest, pressing your fingers ever so slightly down the dent in his muscles.You can feel him shiver over you.You lower your hands so that they are gripping his hips.

“Is..this okay?’

A rueful smile spreads across Ethans lips as he leans in tracing kisses over your jawline, speaking into your skin.

“It’s more than okay..”

Slowly but surely you press against him, your bodies slowly finding a slow rhythm together.Your skin on his skin.Then slowly..wordlessly..

“Rook-“

He never finishes his thought as the rhythm increases..your draw him closer..deeper..he hunches forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck as the pace quickens.You clutch him tighter as you move faster.

“Ethan!”

You press your teeth against his skin, your cry muffled against him as you almost scream with pleasure.He lets out a deep moan into your hair until you fall over the edge together…

Later..you find yourself wrapped around Ethan..laying on the floor.He doesn’t see your eyes flutter open, still thinking you are asleep. You let out a soft sigh as you lean closer over to him, leaning your arm over his chest, feeling the rhythm of each breath he takes.Ethan slowly moves his head around so he’s able to press a soft kiss the side of your head.He lets the kiss linger for a long minute, feeling the comfort of his lips against yours as you nearly drift off to sleep. As you too, you hear Ethans voice muffled into your hair.It was a  a soft, emotional, whisper which made your heart ache..

“Thank you..thank you so much..I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

He lets out a soft sigh as he begins speaking again.

“In fact..I don’t know what I did to deserve you.But all I know its that I’m not going to question my luck.Because you? With me? In this very moment? I am the luckiest man in the world, god forbid I’m never going to be grateful, not only for us..but for you.”

#openheartchoices #playchoices #choicesgame #choices #ethanxmc

[ari-auguste]

⌠ LUKA SABBAT, 22, MALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, AREN 'ARI' AUGUSTE ! according to their records, they’re a SECOND year, specializing in DRIVER'S ED and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (oversized knitted sweaters & flannels, chipped nails too short from biting them too much, colorful themed bandaids even when he doesn't need them). when it’s the (taurus)’s birthday on 4/30/1998, they always request their SHAMROCK SHAKE from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

pinboard xxx

@gallagherintro​

about

he’s from georgia, the land of peaches, and yes. they’re his favorite fruit.

ari’s life was kind of a normal one. he had an older brother who was his best friend, a mother who loved him and a father who spoiled them every single day.

(tw death, gun violence) on ari’s twelfth birthday, his parents took him to the zoo, his favorite place on earth, and he remembers that day as both the best and the worst of his life. on their way back home, their car and a few others got caught in between gangs’ trouble, and with a round of bullets, everyone in ari’s car was killed except for him, thanks to his brother who used his body to cover him, thus saving him from harm. he was found by the police still underneath his brother’s lifeless body and immediately put in the foster system.

a part of ari’s brain simply blocked what happened. he knew the facts, and as trauma specialists treated him upon his arrival to the station, they realized that ari’s way to assimilate what had happened was seemingly too mature. they waited because they knew there was a lion inside him, ready to pounce and duel, but he never did. instead, ari retreated, became a shy, yet charming young man, with pretty distinctive interests. he threw himself fully into art, music, and books, everything that could keep him busy.

he never had his heart set on being actually adopted. he knew he was too old for that, and he didn’t stand a chance against other younger, cuter, less traumatized kids, but he was never actually bitter about that. instead, he enjoyed the change from foster family to foster family, and even came to love his foster siblings hard and fast, like he would with blood relatives.

despite it all, ari seemed to be a happy guy. he never skipped a therapy session, and even though school wasn’t his strongest skill, he went by, and soon enough, he turned eighteen, thus freeing himself from the system. but he had nothing.

it became apparent then that survival was ari’s strength. he was witty enough to get money (in mainly legal ways, although there were a few stolen pennys and twenties, maybe a wallet or two out of drunks in the streets). he played music in the streets, sold his art on special markets, he got by. it was when he got tired of georgia and wanted to try a bigger city like new york, that he committed his first big crime, his first big mistake, and yet his biggest blessing.

ari stole a car. it was a relatively easy task for him, which surprised him at first, and then simply just drove away. the adrenaline of the moment settling in his stomach, turning into pride as he got further from his hometown. two days later, there was a police alert on him and the car he was driving, so he stopped in the next station and got on a different model and drove away, until he crossed the entire country all the way to LA. this was the greatest adventure of his life, and even though he knew the cops were on his heels, he didn’t stop. if he was going to go down, he would go down fighting, the adrenaline in his body spoke. 

it was a few weeks later when he was finally chased down somewhere in LA. some neighbor had said something and it seemed to be all over for him, but he did what he knew best and took said neighbor’s car and attempted to drive away, if only for one more taste at the adrenaline. it was all over the news, the chase that lasted hours. he managed to dodge the police in ways nobody had ever seen before. it was better than any movie, and the sense of pride he felt as he listened to the narration of his own chase on the radio as he sped up through the highway was something he never felt before. the high he chased all his life. but it could only last so long before he fucked up the brakes of the car and ended up crashing against a dumpster in the middle of nowhere. he lost consciousness in the car, and next thing he knew, he was in jail.

his life was over, it seemed. it had been a good run, but he hadn’t been smart enough. he couldn’t afford a lawyer, he was guilty of charges. there was no way out. except one day a strange man showed up, someone he never saw before, but knew too much about his life, his reasons and his need to be free, and exchanged his freedom, for his admission  and loyalty to gallagher.

miscelaneous

he’s got too many tattoos all over his body. all of them with some sort of meaning nobody knows. it’s passages from his life in art designed by himself.

he likes to draw people, but he appeals to the essence of people. what they look like to him in his head, not exactly portraits, but something more abstract.

there’s always a pencil on him. stuck in his hair, behind his ear, in his pocket– anywhere, really.

he’s always drumming on tables, his knees always bouncing. he’s rarely ever quiet, he’s always humming a song as well.

he loves comic books? he dreams to make his very own graphic novel, and he’s very passionate about those.

he disassociates a lot, but has an odd capacity of attention. his brain just catches little details even when it seems he’s not listening.

he’s charismatic, although shy, but that’s where his main charm lies.

he laughs like goofy.

if he has the option, he will not wear any shoes. he hates them. but he loves funky socks. they’re the best present someone can actually give to him.

very detail oriented. he will remember what you dressed, what you smelled like, what your hair looked like, and very specific words people said. he quotes them a lot.

he loves making lists??? idk. he wanted me to add that. idk why it’s relevant. he likes order.

he loves ducks. he has a rubber duck collection in his dorm (sorry roommates). 

wanted connections

people he met in LA people he met in atlanta someone with a crush on him (he wouldn’t even imagine) people he’s had/has a crush on (he’s timid when it comes to relationships, he’ll just simp) stoner buddies art hoes comic book nerds  exes  that one ex who was his first everything on his first year friends someone who can’t stand his chill and pseudo self acceptance rants someone who takes advantage of him anything your heart desires and ur mind can imagine

[sandershospitalau]

The Nurse’s Rally

Chapter 1

Archive Of Our Own

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It was the perfect day for a protest. Not by Virgil's standards, of course. He would have preferred a cloudy day, dark enough to shade the large crowd gathering just outside Sanders Hospital. Instead, he got a blistering sunny day that made the colors bleed and blend into his eyes. And everyone would have to see the horrific t-shirts Roman had designed to support the Rally.

All the nurses going with Virgil on their parade through Miami wore the t-shirt. At least it was purple, to match the color of the nurse’s scrubs. But the design made Virgil want to burn the shirt. Roman, with a bit of technical know-how from Logan, created a thin, gangly cartoon nurse giving the world a thumbs-up beside the phrase ‘Funding for Florida’s Nurses’. Virgil knew it was a cartoon version of himself, even though it lacked some of his distinctive features, like his dyed hair and the permanent bags under his eyes. But the nurse, dressed in classic blue scrubs, looked exactly like Virgil if he gave up on being an individual. He couldn’t even hide the shirt with his hoodie, since Thomas and Joan insisted that Virgil look semi-professional.

So there he stood at the edge of the street near the front of Sanders Hospital in a caricature t-shirt and clean jeans, chewing his lower lip as he checked over the march route on his phone. He’d spent ages on the route alone, making sure to stop at every hospital in town where nurses agreed to protest. And then there was the part of making sure they could walk there and not get run over while not seeming like they were giving into the man by getting approval for everything. Was it even a protest if a corporation was backing it? Did a hospital count as a corporation? Virgil was this close to losing his mind.

“He’s coming with us!” a familiar voice cheered. Patton emerged from the crowd dragging his husband Logan behind him. Both sported the Nurse’s Rally t-shirt. Patton still tied his cardigan over the shirt to add that distinctive Patton flair. Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he saw Logan in a t-shirt. Even after a near-death experience with a rare South American disease, he strolled out of the hospital in a polo and tie.

“I finally convinced him to join the march,” Patton declared, hopping beside Virgil.

“I believe the term ‘kidnapped’ would be more fitting,” Logan huffed.

“Okay, but Logan, why did you approve on this design?” Virgil snapped, pointing at the nurse on his shirt. “Why did you let Roman get away with this?”

“I wasn’t involved in the design process,” Logan explained. “I merely assisted Roman in understanding how to use graphic design software. I had no input on what the shirt would look like.”

“I think it’s cute,” Patton giggled. “It’s teenage Virgil!”

“Patton, please don’t say that,” Virgil shuddered. “Oh, too late, the memories are here. So much cringe, ah!”

“Drinks on the house, big boys!” Remy popped up beside the three men with a full cup holder. “Don’t tell the Critic.”

“Aw, thank you, Remy!” Patton chirped, taking one of the drinks. Virgil and Logan took theirs too. Remy kissed his fingers and gave them a peace sign as he walked away.

“Punch Roman in the gut for me when you see him!” Virgil shouted.

“Will do, boo!” Remy called. Virgil put his phone away and glanced up and down the street. A few of the early-bird reporters were already circling, snatching random staff for interviews on the rally and taking into their camera. Virgil spotted Terrence from VIN3 chatting with one of Virgil’s nurses, casual enough that it took a second glance to realize Terrence was interviewing them.

“Okay, we’re heading out in a couple of minutes,” Virgil huffed. “Where is our banner? If Roman wants us to carry a banner, he needs to get it to me now or I’m not holding it.” Sure enough, Thomas hurried through the crowd with Emile at his side and a banner tucked and folded under his arm. Emile was one of the few people not wearing the t-shirt, instead going for his usual tan cardigan and blue tie. He kept a megaphone at his side.

“We had to fix a few things,” Thomas explained. He unfolded the banner and gave one end to Patton. Virgil held his breath as he waited for whatever horrors Roman and his creative underlings invented to be revealed. The banner was a colorful red that needed four people to hold it. Symbols from every major hospital and clinic participating in the walk lined the banner, from the Sanders Hospital rainbow caduceus to the blue flower of St. Gemma’s. The phrase ‘Funding for Florida’s Nurses’ sat in the middle of the circle of symbols.

“Good job, Princey,” Virgil muttered as he held the middle of the banner up. “Alright, Thomas, we’re ready to go.”

“Give the signal, Emile!” Thomas declared.

“Avengers, assemble!” Emile laughed, holding up the megaphone. The megaphone groaned and squealed, drawing everyone’s attention. Virgil, Logan, Patton, and Thomas made their way down the street as the crowd followed behind them, and the Nurse’s Rally truly began.

Ironically, protesting the government required a bit of cooperation with the government. Police officers helped clear a path through Miami, redirecting traffic as the march looped around to collect new members from local hospitals. Some joined up midway through while others crafted a couple signs. More reporters lurked along the sidewalks, carefully following the march’s progress. Virgil just prayed the group wouldn’t get laughed off the steps of City Hall for protesting something as seemingly useless as a cut to statewide nursing education. If other hospitals in the city hadn’t supported the rally, it would have died before it launched. Virgil had a whole lineup of speakers discussing the importance of educated nurses, even adding in speeches on other major flaws of the medical system of America. And Virgil was the first speaker. He tried not to think about that.

One of the best parts of the whole rally was actually Patton’s idea. Virgil wasn’t sure if Patton realized it was his idea, since it had been randomly suggested during a lunch break. A few of the signs, specially designed so they wouldn’t be read as weapons by the police, read ‘Help Fund Nursing Education’. The volunteers held out buckets to the crowd, passing them around and collecting whatever cash people could give. If the rally collected enough cash, the Miami medical community could make a huge donation to the major medical colleges in the state!

“We’re at our first stop!” Patton cheered as the protesters neared the main entrance to Baptist Children’s Hospital. Virgil’s heart soared when he saw the nurses and doctors gathered outside, all drawing their attention to the large crowd. It was working. Pediatric doctors and nurses who knew Patton from the local social circle of pediatrics said hi and exchanged a few professional words before mingling into the crowd. Virgil glanced back to see Roman, Nate, and Remy walking not too far from the front, with Roman being the only one in a rally shirt. Roman met Virgil’s eyes. Virgil tugged at his shirt and raised an eyebrow. Roman simply did that stupid pose of his with his arms overhead like he was royalty. Virgil smirked, rolling his eyes.

Everything Virgil had been working on ran through the back of his mind like a checklist as he continued down the planned route. As long as he was the one keeping everything on track, the others could enjoy themselves. Patton, popular as always, joined up with his pediatrics friends and began cooking up a junk pile of nursing puns. With the powers of other child-at-heart doctors, he was an unstoppable pun machine. Logan was prepared for death. Thomas and Emile strolled side by side, already talking about the next big project at Sanders (something involving Ben, the psychiatric department’s emotional support dog). The crowd behind him continued to grow with doctors and nurses. He was so wrapped up in the growing size, imagining the rally collapsing into a riot with City Hall on fire, Virgil only realized where his next stop was when he saw the oh so familiar statue of Saint Gemma, the patron saint of students and pharmacists.

The nurses of St. Gemma’s Hospital crowded around the old statue. Those not wearing the purple rally shirts wore their black scrubs instead. Virgil spotted a few old coworkers mixed into the group; fellow nurses from the psychiatric department, those who had only just started when Virgil left, the few nurses that seemed close to tolerating Virgil back then. Virgil, Logan, Patton, and Thomas paused for a few moments to allow the staff to blend into the march.

“Never thought I’d see you in a position like this,” one nurse scoffed as she passed Virgil. “Good for you.”

“I don’t see a lot of doctors joining us,” Thomas sighed, squinting to see the crowd better. “Spot any old friends, Virge?”

“Oh, yeah!” Patton chirped. “Gosh, you’ve worked at Sanders for so long, I nearly forgot you came from here!” Mixed into the swarm of purple shirts and black scrubs, Virgil spotted a black bowler hat lingering just above the tallest heads, held up by a pale hand with dirty fingernails. A yellow gloved hand snatched the hat back. The crowd cleared just enough for Virgil to spot Dr. D and Remus. Dr. D wore his usual off-work attire, with his yellow gloves and bowler hat. He’d zipped up his black jacket and fluffed out the hood slightly, revealing a golden shirt with a high collar. His dark gray trousers had a streak of yellow running down the sides. Remus wore his green leather jacket and lime scarf over the rally shirt. He'd graffiti-ed the cartoon nurse with crude imagery. Dr. D fixed his hat back on his head while Remus giggled. The crowd formed back around the two men and Virgil lost sight of them.

“Don’t see anyone worth talking to,” Virgil huffed. “Come on, we only have a couple more stops.” The banner continued on. The march crawled down the streets, aided by the police setting up blockades against the traffic that could potentially run the protesters over. Virgil’s hands grew stiff holding up the banner. What if he tripped on it cause he couldn’t hold it up? He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t spot Dr. D anywhere.

“Virgil, are you prepared for your opening speech?” Logan asked, his voice jarring Virgil enough to stop him from tripping over his own feet.

“I memorized it,” Virgil admitted. “Hopefully.” Right, one of the few things still up in the air about the rally. With any luck, Virgil wouldn’t have a heart attack giving his speech.

“While you’re doing your speech, I need to make sure the other speakers arrived safely,” Thomas added. “Gosh, I know I have a list of our speakers…” He scrambled for his phone while trying not to drop the banner. “After you, we have Dr. Tahan from Mercy Hospital, followed by Nurse MacNamara…” As Thomas listed off the speakers he and Virgil recruited, the anxious nurse looked back again. He could see Dr. D. He walked in the middle of the crowd, glancing at Virgil occasionally as he examined those marching around him. Virgil wished he could pull his hood over his head as the group took a corner towards one of the smaller clinics signed up for the march.

The next time Virgil looked back, Dr. D was closer.

He was close enough that Virgil could just make out the scars trailing down the left side of his face. He still looked around with the same calm attitude, but Virgil knew he was coming for him. What would he say if he got close to Thomas and the others? It was time for some crisis aversion.

“Hey, Emile, can you take my place?” Virgil asked, looking around Logan and Thomas to the friendly therapist. “My hands are sore.”

“Sure!” Emile said, slipping through the crowd. Virgil and Emile swapped the banner with one fluid move. Virgil stumbled to not bump into anyone as he walked behind Emile. He stared at his feet as he carefully slowed his pace. The crowd strolled past him, more bodies collecting in front of him. He walked slow enough to fall back through the march. Shiny black shoes slipped into rhythm beside his purple sneakers.

“What do you want, D?” Virgil huffed, meeting Dr. D’s stare.

“Why would I want anything?” Dr. D asked.

“Anxiety!” a grating voice cheered behind him. Remus latched onto Virgil’s neck in a shoulder hug, practically swinging on him. “I’ve missed you!” Virgil had to shove the janitor off. Remus held out his phone like he was going to take a selfie. “See, loyal viewers, Virgil Lawson has returned!”

“You’re still doing that talk show?” Virgil groaned. “Seriously, who even watches that? No, no!” Virgil shook out his hands like he was trying to push away the distraction. “I want to know why you’re here, D!”

“This is a good cause,” Dr. D explained. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t support it. Education is vital for good nurses.”

“I don’t want you ruining things,” Virgil growled. “I’ve spent ages planning this.”

“Virgil, why in the world would I want to ruin your rally?” Dr. D huffed, fiddling with his gloves. “It only makes things worse for me. I don’t want incompetent nurses assisting on my surgeries.”

“You already force out anyone you don’t like from surgeries, that’s nothing for you,” Virgil noted. “Maybe you replaced that with adding random doctors to your rosters so you can, I dunno, get free skin cream. Who knows what else you’ve done to get what you want since I quit?”

“You’ve certainly been up to a lot since then!” Remus chirped. “Finally lose the V card, Virgin?”

“I don’t put up with your nonsense anymore, Remus,” Virgil snapped. “I don’t film your show anymore and I don’t talk to you.”

“You’re talking to him right now,” Dr. D said.

“Go bug someone else!” Virgil huffed. Remus frowned, but scurried back through the march.

“You’ve gotten a bit of a reputation from what I’ve heard,” Dr. D chuckled. “Rubbing brass with your hospital president? Organizing this rally? Very impressive. I couldn’t imagine the old you doing any of this.”

“I’ve heard plenty about you too,” Virgil growled. “You’re still cutting corners. You defy DNR orders, you’ve avoided telling patients about surgical risks multiple times, you’ve outright denied people surgery! You’re still as bad as you were when I left, maybe even worse. Frankly, I’m shocked you haven’t been fired or arrested!”

“I didn’t think you were one to listen to gossip,” Dr. D muttered, lips pursing together. “Glass houses, Virgil.” Virgil glanced up at his friends. They chatted amongst each other without a care, smiling. Dr. D’s eyes glimmered, and he glanced up at the front. Dr. D smiled. “I can only assume you haven’t been mentioned in any of these rumors.”

“And we’re gonna keep it that way,” Virgil hissed. The march took another corner, and Miami City Hall stood in front of them. The city hall was stationed on a circular piece of land overlooking the ocean, with long docks lining behind it. A circular driveway wrapped up to the front steps, leaving a circle of nature in the center. The U.S flag flew over the city, its shadow falling onto the stark white building. Virgil stomped forward, leaving Dr. D in the dust. He joined back up with his friends at the front as the march turned up the volume. Officers stood on the grass, watching over the crowd as they swarmed over the driveway, squirming for a little bit of room. The reporters watching from the sidelines grew to their biggest size yet, all trying to get good shots of the crowd. Drones flew above to get aerial views. Emile, Thomas, Patton, and Logan turned around and held the banner over their heads, marking the end of the long walk.

As Logan and Thomas folded up the banner, Emile handed Virgil the megaphone.

“Ready as you’ll ever be?” Emile asked in that special tone that confirmed he made a cartoon reference Virgil didn’t get.

“Well,” Virgil huffed, eyes darting between the front steps of City Hall and the giant crowd. “Surprisingly enough, I’m feeling anxious about it. Talking in front of hundreds of people does that to folks.”

“Take a minute to calm yourself,” Emile suggested. “I’m sure the crowd can wait.” Virgil took deep breaths, juggling the megaphone between his hands. Without his hoodie to hide them, he put his empty hand in his back pocket. There was something else in there. He thought his pocket was empty. Virgil pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper. He unfolded it.

Virgil,

Honesty has never been my strongest suit. I found my words are more truthful when they’re written down. I wish you luck on your rally. I truly hope all goes well. I agree, the cuts to statewide nursing education are idiotic.

I think Remus misses you. It’s tough to tell, but when you’ve been around him long enough, you can notice when he’s feeling down. He hasn’t fully accepted that leaving was your decision. I have. We all have to live with it.

To whatever comes next,

Dr. Janus Dee.

Virgil looked through the crowd for Dr. D’s bowler hat. He couldn’t see the mysterious doctor anywhere. His thumb brushed over D’s name. Virgil crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket. He made sure the megaphone was on and took to the steps of City Hall.

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@watchoutforthefanfics @moonlight22oa @mediocrity-at-best

[litcratura]

WITHIN KINGDOMS COLLIDE—chapter one

Author note : this probably wont happen a lot but this is the first chapter already. This will contain more information on the characters! I hope you will enjoy this

Trigger warnings: talk of death, strong language, cursing, and coughing

Wordscount: 2598 words

@drxmaqceen

She slept for what felt like hours, yet she was awoken by the gentle touch of one of the maids. “My lady, I have brought you bread and some meat.” The woman said sweetly. She looked around 24. Allison sat up to indeed see a silver platter with bread and meat. It looked incredibly tender and Allison felt her mouth water almost immediately. There was a small glass on the plate. Filled with the finest sea salt. “Thank you, you can leave now” Allison spoke kindly . she ate the bread, tearing of pieces and dipping it into the salt. As well as the tender meat. That ripped off just by her fork.she ate for a moment in silence. Still not truly comprehending that she was now in the land of kind Laoghaire.

She then heard a knock and looked up. “yes?” She asked as the door opened. Arya opened the door. She had changed her white gown for a ed one. It made her look beautiful and fierce. And they were her father; the true king his colours. “I made you a dress. A while ago; I knew you were coming. I hope they fit. I heard that you preferred simple gowns.” She held up a beautiful light blue gown. There was a corset with it too. Floral and beautiful. There were green and blue embroideries. “It Is really beautiful Arya” she got up and touched the soft fabric of the dress. “I can help you into it after you’ve had a bath” Arya suggested. Allison gave a nod as she unclothed herself. Her back carried flowers. Most of them were closed and pink. Others were open and carried all the colours of the rainbow. They were a mark of her fertility. A mark most people didn’t even know existed cause she hid them magically. The bath was nice and warm. Taking care of this eternal cold she felt inside. She scrubbed her body. Taking care of the dirt that was sticking to her skin. She washed her red curls that always popped out more when her hair was wet.

As she got back into her main chambers Arya helped brushing her hair. Taking care her clothes were on and all in place. The corset Arya had made her didn’t push against her skin as hard as the other corsets had. The corset laid beautifully on her chest and despite her curves now being visible they were covered regardless. “I love it” Allison said—looking into the mirror. Her hair as orange as it was fell into a beautiful curls on her shoulders. Yet the back had been pinned and clipped with a butterfly clip. So it was half up and half down. Her eyes were like gold which fit with the embroidery in the corset as well. “Thank you, Arya” Allison said and hugged the princess.”now we must go downstairs. The king wants to meet you and so does Lady Thorne” Arya took Allison her arms.

There were so many stairs and steps that she felt like she would never get used to them. Though this dress wasn’t half as heavy as the ones she wore at home had been; this castle was a lot bigger than her own home had once been. It was a lot darker despite there being so many windows. It seemed as if the king did not enjoy light inside his castle and there for kept all the windows closed. The ones that were open had beautiful stained glass with the colours green and bronze. As well as some blue. “The queen used to be from the north” Arya explained. Ophelia Thorne as well had been a beautiful woman. Strong. She had had a sister and had only come to the castle to assist with healing. A job her mother Agnes had already taken. But the king fell in love with her. More than he had once loved his almost wife. Who nobody knew the name of. After she and the king had married they had had the twin brothers Tristan and Calum. And she had passed away when the twins were eight. Of an unknown illness. Allison had never known the woman had been from her home. “So that explains the blue” Allison muttered as Arya nodded. The great hall was lit with just candles. It had a long wooden table in the middle of it. With places to seat 18 people. The king sat at its head.

Sebastian Laoghaire wasn’t necessarily unattractive. He was a bald man with deep blue eyes. His arms muscular. He sat straight and with stature. He was a charismatic man; Allison had to give him that. “Lady Chevron. You grew up beautifully” the king stood up. Standing he had to be almost two metres tall. He bowed for the girl and she returned the bow. “It’s a shame I already married off my boys” the man said in an almost believable way. Yet she knew he wouldn’t even think of her as high in status. He got closer to the girl and kissed her on the cheek. “You will be a healer correct?” “Yes your grace” remind him of his status; she had been told many times. He didn’t like people doubting his being of a king. “Too bad you weren’t going to be a whore.. you would’ve done better” Sebastian said harshly. Allison took a goblet of wine and smelled it before drinking the wine fast. “It was a pleasure to meet you Allison. Now go” the king demanded. And so she left.

“Where are his sons?” Allison asked Arya as Arya whisked her away to Agnes her office. “There is going to be a war soon. They are training on fields for three weeks. Your brother is there as well” “Riley? But he never said goodbye” this seemed to hit the girl hard in her chest. Her brother promised to protect her; and now he wasn’t even here. “Its just a training. Besides your father has the best soldiers after all, he will return before you know it Allison. And he will be back this evening already. The three weeks are done” that’s why there had been a rush. Allison held her skirts walking up another of stairs. “Why is there going to be a war? And with who?” Allison never could help these questions. They often escaped her mouth before she could even stop them. “There is a man in a city close by and…Sebastian is sure he will start a war. So they’ll fight before the others can attack” she explained as best as she could. Which made Allison shake her head in an almost annoyance.

The office of the healer smelled of herbs and spices. An older woman; her hair was turning gray. She had a few wrinkles yet as soon as the door opened fully she looked up. “Is that Allison Chevron?” She asked. Putting down her herbs as she wiped her hands clean on the apron she wore. “Agnes” Allison smiled. It had been years since Allison had seen Agnes but she felt like a grandmother to her. Agnes hugged the girl as she smiled. “You will be a fine healer. I can see that in your eyes.’ Agnes said and then doubled over coughing. Yet held up her hand. “Just old age dearest. I am fine” she reassured the girl. Whose eyes were big with worry almost immediately. “Now how would you treat a common cold” “Eucalyptus, mint, honey. Put it into a tea. Maybe a spell for fast healing but that’s only if the cold is severe. And some lavender for rest.”Agnes nodded and handed her an apron before looking up at Arya. “Do you want to help, dearest?” Arya shook her head. “I have to get back to sowing. And I might go on a walk, but thank you Agnes” Arya assured her as Agnes just gave her a sweet nod.

Allison boiled the water and made her first potion; one against the common cold. Like her mother had taught her she wrote it down in her leather notebook. With small drawings of each herb. And of what container to best keep it in. This went into a small round bottle. Sealed with yarn. It was good for about two weeks. She made seven jars and put them in her own little chest. It was a wooden one that had her name carved into it. Agnes had helped her. Telling her how long each herb should boil before it would properly work. She kept small notes of this before the afternoon was done. First returning to her own chambers when Arya walked into her room again. “Are you excited tor the feast?” Feast? She hadn’t heard of a feast. The confusion must have been readable on her face because Arya let out a small chuckle. “Because the princes are returning there will be a feast. And because I know you don’t like maids I thought we would get dolled up together” Arya said kindly. Allison nodded and just looked at Arya. “Are you excited to see your husband again?” Allison asked her curiously. Arya immediately nodded. Smiling from ear to ear. “I always miss him when he goes away again to train. But the full moon fell between the training so he had to go. He had to take care that nothing would go wrong” “so it is true? The king—“ “Don’t finish that sentence, but yes, it is true” Allison her eyes widened at those words. She couldn’t believe a father would actually do that to his own children. “But tonight they will return. And there will be music. Maybe you will find someone to dance with” Arya suggested. Allison let out a small laugh. “My lady I will not dance with anyone; I’ll bash their toes” Arya sighed annoyed and undid Allison her corset. “I brought you a new dress. Its darker blue with gold. Much more fitting for dinner” “What will you be wearing?” “A dark green dress. My husband loves the colour on me and I usually wear it when he returns” she said as she showed the two dresses.

Allison had never changed as much in a day as she had done now. She usually wore one dress and it usually was less luxurious than what she was wearing now. The nights here were colder too so the silk was a bit more thick. The corset revealed her breasts just a bit more but not as much as the other ladies their breasts were revealed. Her hair was now completely down yet she had a small diadem in her hair. Not a crown but it was beautiful. It had blue flowers made of glass and silver, “you look like royalty. Just like you are. You have a beautiful bodyAllison; no shame to show it off sometimes” Arya told her seriously. Her green dress was even more define. The dress was green with bronze and silver embroidery. It revealed her breasts but not in a way that would make her look like a hooker allison thought. She actually truly looked like a princess. “Your husband won’t be able to take his eyes or hands off of you” Arya chuckled and went “that’s entirely the point Allison.”

They waited outside together. The night was clear and the stars glittered in the sky like small diamonds. Or glitters. For a moment Allison was reminded of home. The way the scars glittered there too. A small shiver went down her spine when she heard the kings footsteps behind her. These big and heavy footsteps. she didn’t hate the king but she wasn’t fond of him either. He looked around and then stood before them. Waiting for his puppets. Allison watched as at least hundreds of men marched their way forward. Some on horses; some just walking. The princes sat in the front. Tristan Laoghaire was a tall man; he used to be a lot more slender but ever since he trained his muscles were quite big. He had long ink black hair and his eyes were focused on return home. His horse too was black. He had a scar on his eyebrow. And besides him his brother rode. He had a white horse. He was a bit smaller than tristan yet was just as masculine. He rode faster yet had to keep himself in. His hair was a kind of brown that looked a bit red in the light of fire. Some said he looked a lot like his mother had once looked. And then they all halted before the king. Riley was walking. He had dirt all over his arms yet he seemed quite immune with himself. The king and Tristan exchanged words and everyone was ordered back inside.

Inside it smelled define. Like warm meats and good vegetables. Like foods that carried spices with them. There were more fires burning inside. Allison turned to Arya “what did Tristan tell Sebastian?” “That they’d all bathe before joining the feast” she explained as she pointed to a chair. “Your brother will be on your left and Calum on your right. Next to the king.” She said as Allison nodded. Yet everyone remained standing until the army got to the table. And everyone clapped for their warriors. Even if it had just been training; they would be their protectors. Their guiders. Tristan got to his wife and kissed her as Calum got to his chair and turned to Allison. “It has been a long time, Allison” Calum said and kissed her hand. Tristan then looked to the table and clapped his hands. “Sit and eat” there were more tables to seat all soldiers. Yet on the main table the important people were seated. Allison didn’t count herself as important. She was after all just going to be a healer. “We found someone on the training field. A white wolf” Riley told Allison. “A female and up until she saw you she was wailing and howling, wasn’t she Calum? Riley asked. Calum nodded as he ate some of the chicken. “You could’ve told me about the training earlier you know” Allison argued her brother who laughed a bit. “You were barely ready yesterday, besides I trained at home all the time” Allison couldn’t argue her brother on this as she put some mashed potatoes on her plate.

After the feast people danced and laughed. Most soldiers drank as if they hadn’t been able to in months. Tristan and Arya disappeared after 20 minutes to do whatever they went off to do. And Allison stood in the corner; holding her goblet. Eventually she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her hand bawling already yet she then heard “you want to see the wolf?” Riley asked her. The nod she gave was fast. The wolf was a family symbol but not just that; it was her favourite animal.

They walked to Riley his chamber. His room had his weapons stacked onto the wall, and the wolf sat in the middle of the room. As soon as she saw Allison she walked over to her. Allison kneeled and pet the wolf her fur. “She seems a lot calmer with you, she almost bit me and she bit Calum in his hand” “Did Calum take care of it?” Allison asked. Still petting the wolf. “Soldiers don’t take care of things unless forced to. And otherwise they’ll accept a lost limb” Riley said seriously. “Her name shall be Lyall.”Allison interrupted. “And she is mine”

[presidentrhodes]

Title: Executive Privilege Rating: Explicit / Smut / PWP, as in do not read this if you’re under 18.  Pairing: James Rhodes/Tony Stark Summary: Tony needs to see President Rhodes. It’s a matter of national security.  @van-dyne wanted President Rhodes and Tony having sex at the Oval Office. @robertdowneyjjr promised me a good URL in return if I wrote some and she very helpfully beta-ed this so that it isn’t complete garbage. 

There is no plot and I refuse to apologise for that lol. 

Tony’s been on the American intelligence community’s radar since he hacked the Pentagon’s internal systems on a dare at 15, forcing them to finally implement a Stark Industries software upgrade. Pleased with his efforts, his father, Howard, bought him a nice vacation in Lyon. 

When Stark Industries won the contract to become Uncle Sam’s official weapons’ supplier, under Tony’s leadership, the CIA installed a backdoor on his computer—the incompetent underhandedness reeked of a young, fresh-out-of-college analyst who thought they struck gold by bugging Tony Stark. He let J.A.R.V.I.S humour them for almost a year before the intelligence community’s best and brightest figured out all of the information they had been gleaning from his systems were false. 

“You know, Honeybear,” Tony said, a little breathless from the constant, unforgiving assault on his senses. “This isn’t how I imagined reacquainting myself with your buddies at the CIA.” His voice cracked and whatever else he planned to say dissolve into a lewd moan. 

Bent double over a polished mahogany desk, its hard edges digging into his pliant hips, Tony’s hands searched for purchase, something to grab hold of and anchor himself against the wanton, breathtaking pleasure lighting up his nerve endings, his face pressed flat on the empty tabletop. His 900-dollar designer shirt was bunched up over his chest, his sweat-drenched skin flushed red, and the branded dress pants pooled in a heap around his ankles; Tony’s usually immaculate hair fell into total disarray as taut muscles spasmed with every hard grind—he looked wrecked, a sharp contrast to the sense of order permeating the empty, oval room. 

***

Like most things in life, Tony didn’t mean to fly out to D.C. on a whim and intrude upon the White House and insist to the administration staff that he needed to see President Rhodes, even if the latter was in the middle of an important diplomatic briefing ahead of a state visit to Australia. “It’s a matter of national security,” Tony explained to the Harvard-educated, stuffy Chief of Staff, whose irritable expression told him everything he needed to know about how Rhodey’s entourage felt about him. No doubt, his best friend must’ve sat through a dozen security briefings with the CIA and the Secret Service, each one of them urging him to reconsider his friendship with an eccentric billionaire and part-time superhero. 

To state his case more emphatically, Tony flashed a salacious smile that forced Mr Chief of Staff to exit the waiting room. Within ten minutes, he was ushered into the Oval Office, where Rhodey waited for him with a closed-off, annoyed look. “We’ll resume the meeting at 4, sir,” Mr Chief said, shutting the door behind Tony. 

Before Tony opened his mouth, Rhodey held up a hand; the predatory hunger in his eyes did most of the talking. “Strip,” came the curt, firm order. 

A small, logical part of Tony tried to object because even he knew the dangers of them both getting caught with their pants down by the beefy, expressionless secret service guys standing outside. But the rest of him, teeming with untamed, unfulfilled chaotic energy, had a mind of its own. He untucked his shirt and undid his buckle when Rhodey beckoned him closer until Tony stood directly in front of his best friend, who leaned back in a large leather chair. 

“Kneel,” Rhodey said, unusually reticent, but his eyes and the tent in his pants betrayed his arousal. “Well, don’t just wait for an invitation. Go on, do what you came here to do.” 

Tony tried to protest, but Rhodey cut him off. 

“Don’t even try to deny it. I’m lucky Mr Millman’s professors at Tufts drilled into him the art of discretion, otherwise, we’d have quite the scandal on hand.” 

Huh. So, Mr Chief of Staff wasn’t an uptight Ivy, but, still, the dirty looks were obnoxious, Tony reflected. 

He smacked his lips and reached for Rhodey’s zippers. It’s been months since he went down on his best friend, his boyfriend, because the commute between the Avengers headquarters and the White House turned out to be too much of an inconvenience for a quick fuck. He relished running his tongue over Rhodey’s erection, tasting the saltiness around the slit before a pair of hands pushed his head down with gentle firmness. Tony felt the bulbous tip graze the back of his throat, salivating at the idea of tasting his lover after months of quick tugs in the shower or before bed. Taking Rhodey’s erection deeper, he swallowed around the length, earning a well-deserved sharp intake of breath and a keening sob. 

“Fuck, Tones…” 

That’s the plan, Mr President, Tony thought, giving in to the ravenous desire to taste every inch of Rhodey’s cock, from shaft to the tip. 

***

As far as rough fucks went, this had to be the hottest one, Tony thought. Mostly, because the idea of a bunch of burly men bursting in through the closed door, guns drawn, thinking the most powerful man in the country was in trouble, only to find him buried balls deep in Tony’s ass, made him tremble. 

"Not that I have any complaints here because, damn, honeybear, this dick is just as good as I remember from..." Tony's words dissolved into a long, drawn-out moan as the thick, large cock drilled into his ass, hard, relentless, and with an express purpose of reducing him into a sobbing, incoherent mess. He was halfway there, the forceful pounding and the constant assault on his prostate leaving his skin, feverish, and his paper-thin resolve, crumbling. His own erection rubbed and glided against the smooth, polished wood, the constant friction keeping him in a state of perpetual ecstasy. "Please, Rhodey. I need...need—"

Above him, Rhodey growled and leaned over Tony’s back, biting down on his shoulder, pulling a loud, agonized wail from him. “What? Use your words, Tones. If you can’t, then I’m going to stop fucking you right now and leave you like this and ask Secret Service to escort you out, you. Insufferable. Infuriating. Cocktease.” Rhodey punctuated each word with a thrust that pushed Tony further up the desk, making his toes curl, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

Tony let out a string of expletive-filled screams because, really, fuck the Secret Service outside, fuck the stuffy advisers Rhodey sent away to lunch early, and definitely fuck Mr Non-Harvard for daring to try and deny him face time with his Platypus. “Mr President, please. Please, sir, I need you. I need your cock, sir, been craving it for so long. Just, please, please give it to me, I’ll do anything you want, sir, anything, but please don’t stop. Fuck me harder, Mr President—oh god, yes, yes, like that, oh fuck…” Tony’s voice broke, so did his brain, leaving him a drooling, panting mess on the desk. 

One of Rhodey’s hands snaked around Tony’s hips, the other held his neck down in place; he set an almost inhuman pace, in the way he plunged into Tony’s tight, warm channel, withdrawing till only the tip remained buried before ramming in again and again and again—in his desperation to be fucked, Tony had insisted they make do with spit because the idea of waiting any longer in their search for lube sounded ludicrous to the inventor. 

The pain and discomfort had eventually given way to a bone-deep satisfaction of feeling Rhodey’s cock inside him, after months of longing for it; and, Tony wasn’t about to admit out loud that he had spent a good part of the journey from New York in his jet with three lubed fingers up his ass as he prepared to be ravished by his Platypus. 

Tony trembled. He felt Rhodey press his forehead into his back as the consuming, heart-pounding smack of skin-on-skin left him gasping for air. Drops of sweat fell on the wooden surface and Tony couldn’t tell if they were his, or Rhodey’s, but he noticed the tell-tale signs of his boyfriend’s fading composure—Rhodey’s moves turned frantic, delirious, as his dry, calloused fingers squeezed Tony’s cheeks.

“You’re getting more daring, baby,” Rhodey said, nipping at Tony’s earlobe. “Dropping in unexpectedly like that, being so damn mouthy with my staff, flirting with me at work. Is this what you’ve been hoping for? You wanted to get fucked in the Oval Office, darling?” His hand slipped down from Tony’s hips and gripped his leaking cock, drawing a debauched moan from Tony. “Well, answer me.” 

Tony whimpered and nodded. 

“Unbelievable,” Rhodey said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “What would people say? What would the team say when they find out how needy you become when I put my cock inside you?” Rhodey tightened his hold over Tony’s throbbing erection, the pre-come leaking onto his hand making the glide easier. “Go on, you know what to do. Get yourself off.” 

In his eagerness, Tony didn’t need to be told twice as his hips moved on their own, pushing into the tight hold of Rhodey’s hand and then pulling back to impale himself on the stiff cock buried in his ass. He set a quick, punishing rhythm, rocking back and forth until his muscles tensed up and pushed him over the edge. Tony came with a shout, coating the polished wood with his semen while some of it spilt on Rhodey’s hand. 

“Good boy,” Rhodey said, kissing his temple and held up his soiled hand up. Without being told, Tony licked his fingers clean and said in a gruff but satiated voice, “Thank you, Mr President. Thank you, sir.” 

“My turn.” Rhodey held Tony down and plunged into him, repeatedly, assailing his boyfriend’s oversensitive body, drawing soft whimpers. He lasted only a few moments longer, muttering into Tony’s ears just how good he felt under him, around him, until Rhodey stilled his hips, spilling inside Tony with a needy, drawn-out moan. “Fuck, baby. I love you,” he groaned, nuzzling into Tony’s neck. 

They stayed idle, boneless, leaning over the desk and not trusting their legs to keep them upright. With some reluctance, Rhodey pulled out and they cleaned up in silence—the small, self-satisfied smirk on Tony’s face morphed into a frown as he felt the dampness spread inside his pants. “Well, all of that’s gonna come out and make a mess. You owe me a new pair of boxers, Platypus.” 

Rhodey rolled his eyes, crashing his lips against Tony’s; he wrapped the other man into a firm embrace and said, “I missed you.” 

Tony’s grinned. “I missed you, too, Mr President. I love it when you give me good dick and show me my place, sir. I’ll let you get back to your presidential stuff.” He moved to leave when Rhodey caught his wrist. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Mr Stark? I didn’t dismiss you. No, you will not leave the premises, I have plans for you this evening.” 

Tony’s eyes darkened—well, fuck, it must be his birthday. 

“Ask for Brad outside. He’s hard to miss; think Rogers, but somehow beefier. He’ll escort you to my residence, where you’re going to wait until I’m done with my day. You will not touch yourself, you won’t relieve yourself, and you are going to prepare yourself for me. Do you understand?” 

Tony nodded and straightened up. With his chest puffed out, he said in a semi-serious tone, “Sir, it’s my patriotic duty to be of service to you.”

“Oh fuck off, Tones,” Rhodey said, biting back the peal of laughter that threatened to erupt as he watched Tony give a full salute and limp out of the room. The Secret Service was about to have a field day with the White House’s nuisance #1. 

[carelessgraces]

@arzhur​​ got:   23. in relief   ( fifty ways to kiss someone | accepting )

When Astoria told him of the assassination plot, she had been laughing — “It is hardly my first,” she teased, “and Trevisan assassins are dull.” ( Not even the first attempt on her life since her arrival at Camelot; the last had been laughable. Easy to spot, easy to dispatch. Now, it seems like a calculated risk, to make her arrogant and foolhardy, and a successful one at that. ) “If I take a room at an inn, it will draw them out, and they will be easy enough to pick off.” 

     Arthur had been skeptical, but he had agreed, on the condition that his guards join her. That he join her. “I do not take kindly to threats made against my allies,” he said, words slow and deliberate, voice just barely audible. He looked tired, expression drawn, dark circles under his eyes. “Nor against my friends. This will be the last threat made.” 

     She has never disobeyed a command from the King of Camelot before. Tonight, she does.

Astoria is not well-known enough in Camelot to be recognized, except by anyone waiting for her. She keeps her hair in a long braid, trades in her silks for something simpler; she tells the innkeeper that she and her husband are traveling to celebrate a birth in the family, that they shouldn’t be here for long. She pretends not to notice the way that the innkeeper’s daughter eyes her, shrewd and curious, and she winds her arm through Arthur’s and presses close to his side as they follow the innkeeper up the stairs.

     She spares him a sidelong glance only when they are alone, pretends that she doesn’t notice that the rough blue cloak suits him, complements the deeper blue of his eyes, pretends that she doesn’t see the sharp angles of his jaw as he looks through the room, or the graceful movements of his long, clever fingers as he combs through the room. There is a sword hidden for him, deposited by one of his men earlier that morning and slipped beneath the straw mattress; there are no weapons hidden for her. 

     When she points this out he hesitates, as if weighing his words. “There is no need to put yourself in further danger,” he says finally. “I — and my men — can handle this.” 

     His men, waiting in the rooms around them, having trickled in over the course of days. Half a dozen, distracted from guarding Camelot to guard her. She wants to insist that she isn’t worth the trouble, but the truth is that she is touched — less than a year, she has been in a Pendragon’s court, the sad and lingering end of Uther’s reign marking her first few months, and already she finds herself thinking of the people of Camelot with some envy. He is bold, but not rash; cunning, but not cruel. 

     In the tavern on the floor below, her own man is waiting, blending into shadows. Outside, her own spies are mingling, laughing, flirting, watching for any threat, any change. And here, in their room, pretending to be a peasant’s husband, is the King of Camelot, taking a seat on a stool beside the fireplace and waiting. 

     “I should tell you,” she says, almost casually, “that I am armed, all the same.”

     He watches with surprise, first, then amusement, as she withdraws a stiletto from her boot, another stitched and hidden in the rumpled layers of her skirt. 

     “You won’t need to use them,” Arthur says, his tone a mockery of a warning; he has come to know her well enough to know that she will be almost disappointed if he keeps her too safe. “When they get here, get to safety.”

     The order is delivered not with malice, or any ill intent; he seems concerned for her, and she pretends not to feel something tightening in her chest at his words, something warm, something soft. ( She has navigated too many courts for too many years to feel much in the way of softness, but there is a brightness to Arthur’s eyes, a sweetness to his laugh, that inspires it in her, that draws it out from the hollowed-out recesses of her youth. You are not broken just yet, the softness tells her, simply jaded, simply tired, and she thinks that perhaps this past year in Camelot — no, these past months with him, negotiating, laughing, occasionally advising, the walks through the grounds and the rare but ringing sound of his joy — has made her think she would like to be awake to tenderness, to beauty, again. ) 

     And so she doesn’t argue, but simply revels in the quiet thrill of being looked after, and she takes a seat on the trunk at the foot of the room’s bed. “How long do you imagine we will have to wait?” she asks, more to pass the time and make conversation than for any real answer.

     “A few hours. Did you see the daughter?”

     “Mm. A few hours, then.” She hesitates, then — “If I can take advantage of your kindness further — I would rather not see the girl punished for her part in this.  She is young. I doubt she understands fully what she does.” 

     Arthur drags his eyes from where they had come to rest on the floor near her feet, until his gaze meets her own, but he says nothing. 

     There is something terribly profound about it, the way he looks at her, and she lets her eyes flicker away from his. The grasping tightness in her chest seems to grow, to fill her and press against her ribs in protest.

     ( She has thought about this — of course she has. She is not a fool. He is beautiful, all his sharp angles and surprising sweetness, his quick humor and his profound devotion to the people of Camelot. But the arches of her feet tingle and her palms begin to itch and she shifts, hoping he won’t notice, curious what he’d do if he did. ) 

     “There’s only one bed,” she says after a beat, and she laughs, and she’s pleased when Arthur’s laugh meets her own. He stretches on his stool, the hem of his shirt riding just high enough to let her catch a glimpse of his side: there is a yellowing bruise across his ribs from training, and his movements are graceful, sinuous, utterly distracting. 

     “I doubt we’ll sleep much tonight,” he retorts, tone teasing, and she drives away the urge to cover that bruise with her hand until she knows it’s healed.

"You said this isn’t the first plot on your life?”

     “No. I don’t think this is even the fifth.”

     “Antivan politics are — ”

     “Dramatic? Absurd?”

     “I was going to say deadly.”

     “You’re not wrong. I was fourteen, the first time. Newly declared my grandfather’s heir.”

     “Not your mother?”

     “No — she never had the head for it, or the stomach. My aunt wanted to be a scholar, and she left home before anyone could stop her, cloistered herself in a university. My uncle, he wanted it, but he could never bring himself to make difficult decisions, no matter how necessary.”

     “That’s a lot of pressure, to put on anyone so young.”

     “Significantly less pressure than you were put under, Your Majesty.” 

     He lets out a chuckle, almost a hum, of acknowledgement.

     “But it gives you a unique perspective, I think — facing your mortality so young. We train our girls in defense in Antiva, though not often in combat, but after that I was unwilling to exist in a space so dangerous without knowing how to protect myself.”

     “Hence the knives?”

     “Oh, I usually have more, if I think there might be a threat. Grenades, too. I have a knack for explosions.”

     He laughs again, a little louder this time. She turns, shakes her hair out in front of her, so he can’t catch sight of the color in her cheeks, or the warmth in her eyes, at the sound.

The air is thick with the scent of copper, and her fingers are sticky with someone else’s blood. The clang of steel rings loudly, the sound echoing madly in the small room, and she hears even over that the sound of Arthur’s breathing, heavy with effort as he fights, and the hiss of breath when the flat of a sword comes crashing against his bruised side, no doubt leaving the imprint of his mail patterned against his skin. 

     Assassins. They expected assassins; the decoded missives had indicated two, maybe three. This is an ambush, the pretense of assassination a lure to draw the merchant princess of Seleny into the open, and the King of Camelot along with her. These are not shadows; they are mercenaries, and they are coming closer to Arthur. 

     Arthur, who is in danger because of her, Arthur, who grits his teeth against the pain of the blow to protect her, Arthur, by whose grace she remains in Camelot, Arthur, her companion-ally-perhaps even friend, and Astoria did not run when he told her to run, did not retreat to safety. There is a stiletto still in her hand; she lets out a cry and stumbles as the mercenary advances on her, and when he reaches down, grabs her by the hair to hoist her up and slit her throat, she aims carefully, drives her blade into his thigh.

     Her face contorts with fury, lips drawing back in a snarl, and she pulls the blade from his flesh and she ignores the searing pain in her shoulder where he hits her, his gauntlet-ed fist missing her face as he falls. 

     There are three of them left alive, three of them already dead — one of the corpses is Arthur’s handiwork and the other two are her own, but all of the remaining soldiers are striking at him. With a huff of effort she grabs the jug from beside the washbasin, the water already knocked aside, and she hurls it toward them; it crashes into the wall beside one of the mercenaries, and he looks up to meet her eyes, pulls away from Arthur with a roar and a blade aimed for her. Too late, she remembers that Arthur, at least, has his chainmail; she has a dress with a torn sleeve and blood staining the skirt. 

     From the corner of her eye she sees Arthur hit one of the remaining mercenaries with the pommel of his sword before slashing at the other, his graceful movement clipping him under the arm and opening a wound in the gap of his metal plate. He seems in pain, but not much worse for wear. 

     Astoria moves the stiletto from her dominant hand, her shoulder aching from the blow, and she waits, and she waits, and she aims just so and she drives the knife into his throat. 

     Across the room, Arthur makes quick work of the remaining two mercenaries, and as soon as they’re down he crosses the floor in a few long strides. He leaves his sword leaning against the wall behind her and he reaches out, two fingers gently gripping her chin, to take stock of her injuries.

     “Are you badly — ?”

     “No, no, I’m fine — ”

     “ — but you’re covered in — ”

     “Most of this blood isn’t mine,” Astoria promises, and his eyes fall to her shoulder, and the blood on her hands. 

     “Will you be alright for a moment? The others...”

     “Go,” she insists, voice quiet, “I’m fine,” and he is gone one moment and back the next. She clears her throat, worry for the knights gripping her, and before she can ask he nods.

     “Alive,” he says, “but injured or unconscious.”

     “And you?” she asks, and she takes a step closer to him, worrying her lip between her teeth. “You were hit, your ribs, are they — ”

     “Painful,” he confirms, “but whole,” and she looks up at him with naked relief in her expression, eyes softening and the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

     She’s not sure who moves first, only that they close the distance between them. The warmth in her chest bubbles over, and without thinking, she pushes herself onto her toes to reach him, her bloodstained hand coming to curve gently against his neck, thumb brushing along the line of his jaw; he winds his arm around her waist, pulls her closer, closer, close enough that she barely has to move to press her lips to his. 

     The arm around her waist tightens; the kiss is slow, and chaste, until it isn’t, relief giving way to a hunger she hadn’t anticipated and which he meets in kind. He pulls her closer still, until she’s flush against his chest. His hands are warm against her, fingers starting to curl into the fabric of the dress to keep her steady. 

     It feels like seconds. It feels like an hour. He releases her and steps back, clearing his throat, his hand moving to cover the skin hers had touched and coming away bloody. For a long moment, they simply watch each other, careful, unsure, and he opens his mouth to speak when the door to the room swings open and one of his knights steps in. 

     She barely hears what is said. All she can see is the smear of blood against his jaw, her fingerprints visible on his skin.

[luffywhatelse]

Galeotto was the book

Relationship: Edward Elric x Winry Rockbell (or better said: kid!Ed x kid!Winry) Words: 1587 Genre: Fluff Summary: Winry always reads that fairy tale and Ed wants to know why she likes it so much... A/N: See the end of the work It was a cold winter afternoon. Colder than usual. Granny had told them not to leave the house because it suddenly started to rain. The result was that two eight-year-olds were literally bored, stuck inside the four walls of Rockbell house. Sitting on a couch and drinking chocolate, Winry was reading a book. The little girl’s enraptured gaze stopped on some words and a warm smile crossed her lips. She didn't even notice that someone was crouched next to the armchair, casting a curious gaze on those inked pages that were absorbing the girl's attention making her mysteriously lose interest in everything around her. It took a few minutes before Winry noticed the intrusive guest peeking through her daydreams without restraint. She closed the book in her hands, put away the chocolate and stared with disappointment at the disturber. "What is it?" Ed asked.

"Do you really have to ask?" "I’m doing nothing!" "Beside spying on me and disturbing me." "I wasn’t doing anything bad. I just wanted to know what you were reading, Gearhead." "If you wanted to know, you could have asked, Alchemy Freak." The boy smiled sassy and his hair fluttered up. It was not a full-blown grin but certainly a little smirk. Winry frowned, unable to figure out Ed's intention: when she was with him, she always happened not to understand. She wanted to understand everything, to translate gestures or usual attitudes, but she was blind in the presence of the most impudent boy she had ever known. And yet, just that shamelessness mixed with a natural charisma was able to arouse her curiosity to the point she wanted to observe him whenever she had the chance. "You’re blushing," he said, surprised. And her cheeks blushed more. "And keep blushing." "What do you want, Ed?" "You’re always reading this strange story," he said, evading the question. Winry, despite the blush and the strange bubble in which she felt she had been sucked, decided not to give him satisfaction and to prove she could stand up to him, whatever his intent. "There are no strange stories: stories are stories." "That one seemed to be a story for girls." How long has he been spying on her? "Can't I read love stories?" "There was a powerful and rich wizard, though. Not a charming guy." "You mean a prince charming." "I know what a stupid prince is, but there wasn’t any in your story. There was a wizard!" "What on earth do you want from me, Ed?" "There was a wizard," he went on, ignoring her question on purpose. Winry snorted, knowing her face was still red even if she didn't want to know why. Nor the idea of looking around and find Al, Granny, Den – or anyone else that she could use as a convincing and trivial pretext to slip out of the bubble in which Ed had trapped her – flashed into her head. "There was a wizard, it's true," now it was a matter of principle, "but the princess isn’t in love with him. The prince will arrive at the end. In fairy tales the prince always arrives at the end. " "Mh..." for a moment Ed seemed to calm down. But then he started again, "And why do you always read and reread that page instead of going ahead?" The girl gave up asking him “how do you know I always reread it” and exclaimed "Because I like it!!" "And why?" "Because it's one of my favorite parts, it's magical, I don't know, geez, I like it! Why should I explain it to you?" Despite what she had just said, she took the time to explain, "It’s an important part before the prince arrives and, if I were the princess-..." "Pfft!" he interrupted her. "HEY! What are you laughing at?" "You’re NOT a princess!" He really wanted to make her mad, "Damn Ed, mind your own business!" "You’re a fool!" "YOU are a fool! Stupid stupid fool!" "You like the wizard, too!" he leaned over the armchair to find himself a few inches from the girl's face. Winry had her answer ready but she just tightened her lips: that was not a question but a statement. "Honestly, what do you want, Ed?" she asked again. "The wizard is much cooler than the prince, even if he’s bad." "But he’s not bad at all!" For a moment, she allowed herself to look properly at his features, realizing that she knew every tiny little inch of him. "He just has a sad story. And in the end he helps the prince." "Nonsense!" he snapped, "The wizard would never help the prince!" Winry realized that she knew the deep amber tone of Ed's eyes perfectly, his pert nose, more pronounced than Al's. Even the shape of his small mouth and his hair covering his neck because he had stopped cutting them for a while. "Let's change this story!" he proposed. "Do you want to change this fairy tale?" "The prince conquers the princess but turns out to be a horrible mud monster," so saying, Ed grabbed a vase of flowerpot by the window, and poured the topsoil on the floor. "What are you doing?!? Granny will get mad!" "He was holding the princess in a castle enshrouded in mist,” he continued. "What are you talking about? Look, at the end they get married!" she tried to explain. "For your information, I'm giving the princess a brain!" "What makes you think the princess doesn't have a brain?" "Because if she chooses the prince, she's stupid!" Winry, dumbfounded, shook her head waving her blond hair. "Are you telling me you're here because you want to give a brain to a non-existent princess ?!" "Not really, no. I interrupted your boring and useless reading because I'm bored!” And saying this, he laid his hands on the floor and the topsoil began to take shape; now it had two legs, a bust, arms and a head. "It's a horrible troll, can't you see it?" Winry watched, as always stunned by Ed's ability. She certainly couldn't point to the fact that he was still a beginner. "You’re not going to get away with that, you disgusting creature! The wizard said and, with great skill, he cast a spell on the unfortunate ogre...” he went on with his story. "Wasn't he a troll?" commented Winry, always admiring Ed's language. That kid really read a lot. "Shut up, don't interrupt, that’s not important!" The little girl grinned satisfied that she had made him angry, at least a little. "... and, in a moment, the troll turned..." Ed put his hands on the floor again and again and light came from his palms, "... to stone!" The fake little creature made of wet soil had dried up until it hardened; it seemed to be made of gravel. "And the wizard threw him into the lake so that no one could ever see his ugly face again!" A small lake of water had formed around the little monster. "How did you do Ed ??" Winry asked marveled. "Tsk. It’s a small thing, I dehydrated it! A small alchemy demonstration," he got up and gave a small kick to what was now a stone figurine, making it end up in small pieces. "Now the princess is free!" "I'm free now!" the little girl exclaimed, getting up from the couch. She pirouetted in the living room, waving her pink dress like a princess. "Oh COME ON, WINRY! I told you you're not a princess!" Winry burst out laughing so heartily and he probably found her laugh so funny and contagious that he couldn't hold a grudge. So Edward laughed too, which gave Winry the opportunity to observe his radiant face, his indomitable hair, his big and bright eyes. The girl had no idea why the boy had piqued her curiosity for some time, yet she was well aware of what intrigued her: he had character, a strong personality like no one else; it was challenging and inspiring to spend time with him, challenging and impossible, a combination she hadn't been able to resist and to which she had no intention of giving up. It was when he saw her relaxing again against the backrest of the couch that he held out his hand to her, this time openly and defiantly grinning. Winry blushed, and the blush produced by laughter mixed with that of embarrassment. Her eyes widened in amazement and she felt a strange and pleasant tingling all over her body. It was one of the few times Winry didn't think so much about what to do. The moment she took Ed's hand, he quickly squeezed it firmly, pulling her to her feet and making her hit his breastbone. She lowered her eyes for a moment, perhaps thinking about turning back, getting away from him, but he wouldn't let her: his curious eyes were fixed on her. "Let's go play outside, come on, the sun came out!" Winry nodded. "Hey you! Where do you two think you're going?" Pinako stopped them. "Who made this mess on the floor?" Ed stopped but didn’t seem intimidated by Granny's rebuke. After all, that afternoon he got enough satisfaction at being proved right. Because he knew it well, smart girls always choose the wizard. * Notes: “Galeotto was the book” is a reference to Dante’s Divine Comedy - Inferno, Canto V. Dante and Virgilio descend into the second circle of Hell in which are those overcome by lust. Francesca da Rimini tells him how she and her lover, Paolo, read the tale of Lancelot and Guinevere. Moved by their reading, the two kiss. She condemns the text by drawing a parallel between the book and Gallehault (“Galeotto”), the knight in Arthurian legend who encourages Lancelot in his forbidden affair with Guinevere. So she makes the book and its author the culprit for her sin.

[dlwritings]

Belonging | Tom Holland

masterlist found here

pairing - Tom x reader word count - 4,957 warnings - the longest thing I’ve ever written A/N - this is for @h-osterfield‘s 5K challenge! [prompt 11 - “You keep saying we’re friends, but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true”] Ya’ll should participate! You have until April 2 | Zoomed in pictures of people’s faces are my weakness

summary - Just because you were Zendaya’s assistant didn’t mean you felt like you fit in with her world. Your crush, Tom Holland, would never be with someone like you, not when he could be with someone from his world. Not when he could be with someone like Zendaya.

“Z, your interview starts in five minutes,” you said, knocking on the door to Zendaya’s temporary dressing room.

“Come on in, (Y/N)!” she called back. You immediately opened the door, closing it softly behind you. She was just getting her makeup finished and, as usual, she looked effortlessly amazing.

“You look great,” you told her.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Are Tom and Jacob ready?” You checked your phone and saw that Harrison had texted you.

“They’re already there,” you told her. “You’re running late.”

“If it doesn’t start for five minutes, I’m anything but late,” she joked back. You just laughed and rolled your eyes at her.

“You’ll get me fired if you’re not out there at least two minutes early.”

You had been Zendaya’s assistant since the start of Spider-Man: Homecoming. Now, over two years later, you were extremely close to her and the other castmates, and you worked closely with Harrison considering he was Tom’s assistant. Just then, your phone lit up with a Snapchat notification from Harrison. You opened it and found a picture of Tom waiting at the interview.

You giggled to yourself and, before you could reply to him, he sent you another one.

You wanted to laugh at the funny picture, but the words on it just made you frown. Right. Zendaya. He wasn’t actually bored without you. He was bored without Zendaya.

“What’s wrong?” Zendaya asked, snapping you out of your self-pitying thoughts. You looked up at her and locked your phone.

“Nothing,” you told her with a forced smile. “C’mon. The boys are getting impatient.”

“(Y/N),” Zendaya sighed. She waved her hair stylist off with a smile and waited until the two of you were alone before speaking again. “What happened?”

“Z seriously we have to-”

“I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what happened,” she said firmly. She folded her arms across her chest and stood from her chair, planting her feet on the ground. You groaned and clenched your fists at your sides.

“It’s nothing,” you said. “It’s just Harrison said that Tom was lonely without you and I’m trying to get you out there and you’re not going. So come on.” Before Zendaya could argue anymore, you walked out the door knowing she would follow you eventually. As expected, she was hot on your tail seconds later.

“I know you don’t expect me to believe that that’s all,” she said, slight annoyance in her voice. You looked at her before glancing down at your phone again. One minute until the interview was scheduled to start. Luckily it was just beyond the door in front of you.

“Go,” you said, giving her a slight shove. “I’m right behind you.” She pursed her lips before opening the door.

She turned to look at you and added, “This isn’t over.”

The interview started as soon as Zendaya was mic-ed and in her chair. Tom whispered something in her ear to which she laughed and gave him a slight shove. You felt a lump grow in your throat but you swallowed it down, finding your way over to Harrison. He was sitting on a couch behind the cameras so you sat beside him and laid your head on his shoulder. “Long day?” he asked quietly.

You scoffed, “You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he pressed. You didn’t say anything, hoping he would take the hint. He did, laying his hand on your knee and giving it a comforting squeeze. The interview dragged on and you couldn’t stop looking at Tom -the way his eyes lit up when he laughed and the way he licked his bottom lip when he was listening intently to a question. His beauty made your heart ache. He would never be yours. Not when he had access to someone like Zendaya.

As the interview started to wind down, the interviewer asked the question you were hoping wouldn’t come up. “I have to address the rumors,” she asked, her eyes looking between Tom and Zendaya. “You two play love interests on screen. Does that romance continue off-screen too?” Jacob laughed and Tom and Z just smiled at each other. Tom’s smile lingered even as he glanced at you and Harrison. Harrison just laughed and rolled his eyes.

“You can’t believe everything you read,” Zendaya told the girl. “Unless it comes from me or Tom, it’s probably not true.” The way Tom looked at Zendaya made tears well up in your eyes.

You had to excuse yourself, leaving Harrison with a mumbled, “I’ll be right back” as you hurried out of the room. You got to the nearest bathroom and gripped the sink, hanging your head and letting the tears fall freely. Even if they were just rumors, it was clear to you that Tom was pining after Zendaya the same way you were pining after him.

You continued sniffing, wiping under your eyes desperately to prevent your running mascara from staining your cheeks. Suddenly, there was a knock at the bathroom door. “Just a minute!” you called out, ignoring the crack in your voice. You took a deep breath, smiled weakly in the mirror, and opened the door. “Sorry, I-” You stopped talking when you realized it was Harrison on the other side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to lay a hand on your arm. You gave him a tight smile and nodded. Harrison sighed, “How long?”

“Hm?” you hummed.

“How long have you felt that way about Tom?”

Those words were all it took for you to start crying again. Harrison nudged you back into the bathroom and pulled you in for a hug, closing the door softly behind him. You buried your face in his chest and let out quiet sobs, upset and somewhat surprised that you were reacting so strongly to such a small thing. “It’s so stupid,” you muttered, shaking your head and pushing yourself away from Harrison. “It’s so, so stupid. I know it is. He looks at Zendaya like she put the stars in the sky and, I mean, of course he does! She’s gorgeous! I’m just, me.” You motioned angrily to yourself and Harrison shook his head immediately, holding your face in his hands.

“(Y/N) you’re amazing,” he said sincerely. “Tom doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“I hate feeling this way, Harrison,” you whispered. “It makes me sick.”

“Let me talk to him,” he offered. “I won’t tell him how you feel, I’ll just nudge him in your direction.”

“No, Harrison you can’t,” you said firmly. “Please, please, don’t. He cannot know, okay?”

“But-”

“Harrison, promise me you won’t tell him,” you said. “Promise me.”

“Okay,” he agreed with a nod. “Okay. I won’t. I promise.” You knew he was just trying to be a good friend, but you couldn’t even imagine the humiliation you’d face if Tom found out you liked him and he didn’t feel the same way. And of course he didn’t feel the same way. So why should Harrison mention it to him at all? Harrison’s phone went off and, when he checked, you both saw he had gotten a text from Tom.

Where’d you and (Y/N) run off to mate? it read. Me Jacob and Z wanna go grab some food.

You sighed, reading the text over Harrison’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” you said. You gave yourself one more onceover in the mirror, fixing your hair and practicing your smile, before turning to look at Harrison. He was giving you a sad, borderline pitiful smile. “No,” you said with a teasing tone, wagging your finger at him. “You’re not allowed to feel bad for me. Okay? It’s not allowed.” Harrison laughed lightly and held his hands up in defense.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The two of you left the bathroom and wandered towards the hallway where the dressing rooms were. Waiting there were Zendaya, Jacob, and Tom, all laughing about something and chatting with each other. “There you guys are,” Jacob said, being the first to glance in your direction. “Let’s go get food.”

Zendaya immediately started chatting with you about the interview. Apparently, once you left, the interviewer had them all play a game of Most Likely To which ended up going really well.

“Where’re we eating?” Tom asked, sticking his head in between you and Zendaya as if you were the only ones who could make the decision

“I’m good for whatever,” you shrugged. “M’ not too hungry.”

The five of you ended up going to some Chinese place, thankfully not drawing too much attention from fans. You only nibbled on some rice throughout the meal and drank a lot of water, ignoring Zendaya who kept shoving pieces of chicken in your face.

You stepped out of the Chinese place and into a crowd of fans. Somehow your location had gotten out and at least thirty screaming fans were trying to get to the boys and Zendaya. You did your best to trail after them without getting lost in the crowd, but you were getting pushed aside by every crazy girl who wanted to get so much as a glimpse of the hollywood heartthrobs.

“Get out of the way!” you heard someone shout to you. You tried to keep moving along, but you were suddenly pushed over to the ground. You fell to your side, your arm, shoulder, and head smacking against the pavement.

You woke up a few moments later in your hotel bed.

It was dark outside now and you blinked harshly, trying to get your eyes to focus to check the time on the clock. When you sat up, you immediately went to lay back down, the pounding in your head unbelievable. You turned on your side slowly to look at the clock: 9:00. You groaned and closed your eyes, covering your face with your hands. As if on cue, there was a knock at your door. You didn’t want to get up and answer it, so you rolled over and chose to ignore it. When the knocking was persistent, you sighed and stood up. Your body ached. You opened the door and saw Tom. “Hey,” you said, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion (and in a little bit of pain). “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to check on you,” he said softly. “Can I come in?” You nodded and stepped aside, letting Tom into the room and closing the door behind him. “Are you doing okay?” he asked as you plopped on the bed.

“Lousy,” you said immediately, motioning for him to sit beside you. “My body hurts and my ego is bruised.”

“Why is your ego bruised?” Tom almost laughed. You groaned and got under the covers, pulling them over your head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled. Tom laughed and yanked the covers away from your face.

“What’s going on?” he asked, a sudden frown on his face when he saw a few tears glistening in your eyes.

You sighed and covered your face with your hands, “Just feel so stupid!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Tom said, puzzled.

“I just don’t belong here,” you mumbled, turning on your side away from Tom.

“Don’t belong here?” Tom repeated. You didn’t move, just closed your eyes and hoped he would leave. “(Y/N), the group would be a lost cause without you.”

“You know that’s not true,” you told him.

“Plus, you’re one of my best friends,” Tom said, completely ignoring your slight interruption. “I would be a lost cause without you. And I think you’d be pretty lost without me, too.”

If only you knew.

“I’m not good enough to be friends with you,” you whispered. “I just don’t fit in with this world.” Tom was quiet, and you knew he knew you were right. Or at least you thought. Tom suddenly pulled you so you were sitting up in front of him. He brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Who told you you weren’t good enough?” he asked softly. You waved your hand dismissively and swallowed back some tears.

“This is stupid,” you told him.

“(Y/N),” he said firmly, “who told you you weren’t good enough?” You scoffed and threw your hands in the air.

“Everyone on the Internet, Tom,” you said. “Isn’t it obvious? Look at you! And look at your friends! They’re all rich and successful and so good with people, and I’m, I’m me!” You motioned to yourself in frustration. “I’m awkward and, like, the biggest loser in this friend group. And I’m not the only one who says that. A million of your fans will say it on every Instagram post of me with any of you, and the girl who pushed me just this afternoon clearly feels the same, and-”

“It doesn’t matter what any of them say,” Tom said quickly. “They’re not part of our friend group, are they? They’re just mad that you’re in the place they want to be. They’re just jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and laid down again, attempting to turn on your side until Tom stopped you. He got under the covers beside you and reached for the TV remote. “If you’re going to lay in bed and mope, then you’re going to do it with me by your side,” he said. He flicked the TV on and began flipping through channels until he found a trashy rom com on one of the cable channels. You couldn’t help but smile when Tom put his arm around you and pulled you close to his side. He kissed your temple and rested his head on top of yours. The two of you laid in bed together, watching movies after movies, until you eventually both fell asleep.

When you woke up, you were pretty surprised to find Tom still beside you. What surprised you even more were his arms wrapped around you, his face nuzzled against your neck. His hand rested on your stomach and your back was pressed to his front. You didn’t want to move. This was everything you had ever wanted. You never shared a bed with Tom before. You never had a situation where it would make sense (or be excusable) to do so. Now that you were experiencing it, you never wanted it to end. You slowly reached for your phone and saw that it was almost 8:00. If it was any other day, you would’ve been able to go right back to sleep. But it wasn’t any other day. It was the day of the Golden Globes. You knew Harrison would be searching for Tom soon the minute he realized he wasn’t in his room, and you had to help Zendaya get ready. So, like the responsible assistant you were, you locked your phone and turned to face Tom.

“Tom,” you cooed softly. He scrunched his nose and wrapped his arms around you tighter, one of his hands raising your shirt slightly, his thumb brushing across your bare skin. You laughed lightly and poked his nose. “Hey, you gotta get up.”

“M’ so comfy,” he mumbled. “You’re nice to sleep with.”

You were sure your body performed a miracle, because you certainly just died and came back to life again. “Tom, you got the Golden Globes today,” you told him. You couldn’t help but brush some of his hair away from his forehead. “You gotta get up.”

“Don’t need to get ready for hours,” he argued. “Now shut up so I can sleep again. You know you like laying with me.”

You have no idea.

You just rolled your eyes and pushed yourself out of bed. “I gotta take a shower,” you told him. “I’ll see you later.” You heard Tom groan as you walked into your hotel bathroom and shut the door behind you. You let out a heavy sigh and started the water for your shower, stripping off your clothes and hopping in as soon as the water was warm enough. You washed away any thoughts of Tom’s arms around your body or his breath tickling your skin. Those thoughts would only hold you back throughout the day.

When you got out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and walked back into your bedroom. You practically jumped out of your skin when you saw that Tom was still in your bed. “Tom!” you scolded. He didn’t move, and you quickly noticed he was snoring softly. You rolled your eyes and stormed over to the bed, deciding to be a bitch and squeeze your still wet hair over his face. Tom cursed and sat up, wiping the water off of his face.

“You dickhead,” he laughed, shaking out his hair and running his fingers through it.

“Get out of my room!” you laughed back, yanking the covers away from him. Tom grinned and leaned up on his elbows.

“But I’m so enjoying the sight of you in a towel,” he said cheekily. You just rolled your eyes and walked over to your suitcase, mostly to avoid him seeing you blush. You heard the bed creak as Tom laughed again and made his way to the door. “I’ll let Zendaya know you’re up,” he told you. You nodded and waved him goodbye as he left your room.

Zendaya.

You got dressed in jeans and a simple black peplum top and put on your make-up. Once you had your hair dried, you saw you had a text from Zendaya: Tom stopped by and told me you’re up. I’m ready when you are x

You texted her back and quickly slipped on your shoes before leaving your room and making your way to Zendaya’s. As soon as you knocked on the door, she opened it and dragged you into her room. “What-”

“That’s what you were upset about!” she said, cutting off your words immediately. “You like Tom! Oh my god!”

“Shut up!” you said quickly, taking a step towards her and covering her mouth. “Shut up, okay? Just shut up!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, pulling your hand away from her mouth.

“Because I knew you’d act like this!” you said. “And it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me, so I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it only for it to turn into nothing.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t like you?” Zendaya laughed. “Tom’s had a crush on you for ages.”

“Oh, shut up!” you said with a roll of your eyes. “We don’t have to talk about this. In fact, we shouldn’t talk about this. We need to go.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Zendaya Coleman, we are not talking about this!” you said sternly, putting your hands on your hips. “You have to be on the red carpet in-” You paused to look at your phone for the time. “-8 hours.”

“8 hours!” Zendaya repeated with a laugh. “So first we’re going to go get breakfast with the guys.”

“Z-”

“Shh,” she said, holding up her hand to you. “Let’s go. The boys are already in the lobby.” You groaned as Zendaya grabbed your hand and dragged you out of her hotel room. “So how long have you liked him?” she asked you as soon as you got into the elevator.

“We’re not talking about this,” you said again.

“We are,” she said. “By my calculations, Tom has liked you for about a year and a half. I’m assuming you’ve felt the same for just as long? Maybe a month or so longer?”

“Tom doesn’t like me!” you said harshly. Zendaya was taken aback at your tone and you felt a little guilty but kept talking anyway. “I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better, so quit it. Everyone on planet earth knows Tom’s liked you for ages.”

“You can’t seriously believe that,” she laughed. You were thankful the elevator door opened because your conversation ended as you gave Zendaya a petty smile.

“The boys are waiting.”

Zendaya had been texting on her phone throughout all of breakfast and, just as you guys were finishing up, she excused herself to take a phone call. “What’s she doing?” Tom asked before taking a sip of his coffee. You shrugged and picked at your fingernails. Tom groaned and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Today’s going to be a long day,” he mumbled. You nodded and rested your head on top of his, ignoring the looks Harrison was not-so-subtly giving you.

When Zendaya came back, she had a large and mischievous smile on her face. That was never a good look. “C’mon,” she said, holding her hand out to you. “We’ve got places to be.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one reminding you of your schedule?” you teased. “And you don’t have anything for, like, another hour.”

“I’ve got a surprise,” she answered plainly. “Now get your boyfriend off of you and let’s go.” Tom lifted his head and glared at Zendaya who just laughed and physically grabbed your hand, pulling you off the seat.

“We’re just friends, Zendaya,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Zendaya just laughed, “We’ll see you guys later!” You both bid adieu to the others and made your way outside where, apparently, Zendaya had called for a car to wait for you. She was bouncing in her seat and refused to tell you where you were headed. You hated not knowing. Soon enough, you pulled up to an expensive looking storefront, which made you turn to Zendaya with a confused expression.

“Your dress is waiting for you at the hotel,” you told her.

“We’re not getting me a dress,” she said with a smile. “We’re getting you a dress.”

And that was how Zendaya informed you that you would be joining her, Tom, Harrison, and Jacob at the Golden Globes. Despite the fact that you had declined Zendaya’s original offer months ago, she apparently went over your head and got you a seat anyway. You didn’t know whether you should be happy or upset.

You didn’t have time to think too much about it, because suddenly you were whisked inside the dress shop. The rest of the day flew by. Between getting your hair and make-up done and trying not to freak out every time you thought about walking the red carpet, you could barely catch your breath.

When it was time for you and the boys to head to the award show, you and Zendaya were all ready and made your way down to the lobby. You felt insanely foolish. The dress Zendaya had picked out for you was… gorgeous, but you knew you didn’t do it justice. When you got to the lobby, you saw that Tom, Harrison, and Jacob were all already there waiting for you before getting into their car. Harrison was the first to look up and his jaw instantly dropped. Jacob looked next before elbowing Tom to look as well. You hated the feeling of all their eyes on you. You were pretty surprised when Tom walked up to you, completely ignoring Zendaya. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he said.

You laughed lightly, “Yeah, neither did I.” Tom looked you up and down which just made you blush harder than you knew you already were.

“You look stunning,” he said simply.

“Ah, this old thing,” you joked. “Just pulled it out of my closet.”

When the five of you got to the red carpet, you took a deep breath before getting out of the car. You all approached the carpet at the same time, but Zendaya, Jacob, and Tom were getting much more attention than you and Harrison. Harrison, sensing how nervous you were, placed a hand on your back and stayed by your side. “I don’t know what to do,” you said softly, staring at all the reporters.

“C’mon,” he said, nodding his head forward. “We’ll just start walking and taking pictures, okay? We just make our way down the line. We’ll wait for the others if we get too far ahead.” You nodded and let Harrison take your hand, walking with you over to the photographers. You were surprised when they started calling your name along with Harrison’s. It suddenly made a smile spread across your face.

Maybe you did belong.

Harrison got called to another photographer and he held up a finger to you as he walked ahead of you to another group of cameras. You only felt lost for a moment before you felt another hand on your back. It was Tom. You simultaneously relaxed and freaked out again for a completely different reason. “You’re doing great,” he whispered in your ear. You smiled up at him and quickly heard photographers shouting at both of you.

“Are you two dating?”

“Is (Y/N) in a relationship with Harrison or Tom?”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“(Y/N), are you more than just Zendaya’s assistant?”

Tom just squeezed your hip gently and pulled you close to his side, encouraging you to pose for the cameras with him. When you looked up at him and saw his award winning smile already looking down at you, you swore you had never been more in love with him.

By the time the five of you got into the venue and sat at your table, Zendaya squeezed your hand gently. “You did great!” she said encouragingly.

“Thanks,” you said with a smile. “It was actually kind of fun.” Zendaya returned the smile and looked around to see if any of the others were listening.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” she said softly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Tom, earlier today, on the carpet,” she explained. “I was watching him talk to a reporter, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder at you down the carpet. He wouldn’t stop looking at you. Dude, it was like, it was like he didn’t even want to talk to her. Like he just wanted to talk to you.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, “You’re insane.”

“I’m telling you, (Y/N),” she said. “He likes you just as much as you like him.”

Naturally, this consumed most of your thoughts throughout the award show. Obviously you were loving the show, and your table was full of amazing people (the five of you, Zac Efron, John Krasinski, Emily Blunt, Blake Lively, Ryan Reynolds, and Chris Hemsworth and his wife Elsa), but the forefront of your mind was still on Tom. It didn’t help that he kept putting his hand on your thigh, squeezing it just to get your attention and make sure you were okay. Eventually, you had to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

As soon as you got there, you looked at yourself in the mirror, letting out a heavy breath and fixing your hair. This was fine. Everything was fine. Tom did not like you, and Zendaya was just being Zendaya. Tom was a naturally flirty, kind, and touchy person. This was nothing new. You were just overthinking it all because Zendaya had gotten in your head.

Just as you were about to leave the bathroom, the door opened and none other than Tom himself walked in. “Wrong bathroom,” you teased lightly. “And you’re missing the show.”

“You keep saying that we’re friends,” he said abruptly, locking the door of the bathroom, “but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true.” He walked up to you, causing you to back up until your butt hit the counter. “And I was pretty certain you wouldn’t talk to me about it until I used drastic measures.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you told him.

“Look me in the eyes and say that again,” Tom said firmly. You hadn’t even really realized you were staring at your feet until Tom’s words made you look up at him again. You opened your mouth and closed it again, not being able to force the words from your lips. “(Y/N) I like you, a lot,” he said with a small laugh.

“You don’t,” you said immediately. “I know you don’t.”

“Why the hell are you so confident about that?” he asked.

“Because you like Zendaya!” you argued. “I know you do!”

Tom rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Even though you were shocked, you couldn’t help but kiss him back. As soon as he realized you weren’t going to pull away, he smiled and slipped his tongue past your parted lips. You knotted your fingers in his hair, then suddenly pulled away. Tom looked at you in confusion, and you just giggled and wiped some smeared lipstick off his lips. “I’m gonna mess up your hair,” you whispered. Tom just laughed and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Do you believe me now that I don’t like Zendaya?” he asked. You just smiled and bit your lip softly. “It’s you I like, (Y/N). It’s always been you I like. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“S’okay,” you said with a shrug. You paused and crinkled your eyebrows a bit. “We should probably go back to the show.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said with a laugh.

“Hopefully none of the paparazzi saw you come in this bathroom,” you teased, reaching out to smooth his hair a bit.

The next morning, Instagram was blowing up with pictures of you and Tom leaving the women’s bathroom. You scrolled through them, a shit eating grin on your face. Only one picture actually made you stop and double tap. Its caption?

(Y/N) belongs with Tom.