#hes taller than tom. to the distress of all

[shivroy]

1) how tall is hibs 2) is he single

1) 6'6'' 2) unquestionably yes

[blissfulparker]

Driving First class→T.H

Parings: mechanic!tom x reader

Summary: A bitter fight with your now ex has you taking your car instead of a train for a business trip. Although out of your pettiness and anger, your car breaks down and you are left in the middle of nowhere but luckily Tom sees your distress and the man who works on the car is your best rescue. But he works on you other ways both Physically and emotionally

Warnings: Dom!tom, sub!reader, degrading(only slightly), sex on top of a car, squirting, oral, unprotected sex (this is fictional please use protection!), orgasm denial, power struggle, Tom being scared of women for two seconds

Word count: 5.5k

A/n: yeah so idk why I got so horny all the sudden and wrote this. Tbh...I like this version of tom, whatever this is I kinda like it. Let me know what you guys think, if you want to see more or less but I present to you: the first full fic I’ve written in months!(also I know barely anything about cars so I’m sorry if it’s cringy😭)

“Fuck! Shit! Dammit! Fuck! Fuck!” You scream. Hitting your hands against the steering wheel. Such a stupid idea with a stupid end result how could you not expect it?

Taking a car instead of a plane or a train across the country to avoid your ex on a business trip. Thinking you were being more bold and brave, proving you never needed him in the first place when now you sit stranded out in the middle of nowhere with a smoking engine and only hours until sunset and you’re sweating your ass off in a suit. A suit, who the hell wears a suit on a road trip?

Your Phone only having one bar and giving you 20%, you’re doomed. Doomed to be stranded out here and either killed by a maniac or killed by a bear. If London even had bears you would be killed by one. Wanting to cry and scream and maybe a train seat next to your ex who cheated was a better option than crying in your grandpa’s old Chevy that you thought was a better idea than the Tesla or the BMW. Anything would’ve been a better idea than this one but for once you couldn’t let go of the fiery side to you and just got in a car with your middle finger to your ex thinking you were so much better than a first class seat with expensive champagne.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You say to yourself. Your hands run over your face. As dramatic as you can be you think you feel the end coming. The smoke from the engine never dies down and the sun is getting hotter and hotter. No more bubble gum pop plays from the radio but instead the sound of birds chirping and your paranoia of a bear eating you eats at your ears. You think maybe you should’ve sent that drunk ‘I miss you’ text to your ex back two nights ago when you were drunk to maybe just feel his dick once more and get on a stupid train with him but now you are—

“Miss?” A knock at your window causes you to jump. Screaming as you are met with the face of a man and grabbing your pepper spray from the keys and pointing. Even though the window was rolled up you still point and he backs up with his hands up.

“What the fuck!” You scream as you lower the pepper spray. You don’t know when, don’t know how, but now pulled in front of you was a black SUV that was in much better shape than your car. A man who wore a tight white shirt and had sweet chocolate brown curls stood with a scared look on his face.

“I-I’m sorry! I-I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve seen your smoke some while back and...and you were slumped over your steering wheel and needed to make sure I didn’t need to call police.” He explained very rushed. You place your hand over your heart, calming yourself as you reached to roll down your window so you can properly talk to him. A harmless boy who was probably on his way home.

“I’m fine.” You almost groan as you put your pepper spray back down. Running your hands over your face once again. Tom takes in how nice you look, black suit and neatly painted nails, you looked expensive so what was such an expensive girl like you doing in such a dirty old car like this?

“You got smoke coming from your car, you don’t look fine miss.” He looks at the cloud that still comes from your car. He has a worried look. You hate that you make the assumption of him being a man so he will know how to fix it but at the same time he was an Angel sent from Heaven,

“The engine blew out...at least I think…” you trail off. Honestly you didn’t know anymore, The last time you worked with a car was when you were 15 and before your grandpa died. The only person who truly taught you about cars now seemed to be reincarnated into the Greek god in front of you.

“Mind if I take a look?” He asked and you nodded as you popped the hood.

Stepping out of your car you join the boy in the front. Taller than him in the heels you wore having him look up at you as if you were the Angel sent down in the moment.

He doesn’t hesitate to dig his fingers into your car. Feeling the overheated engine and you watched as his eyes went in shock and his sigh. You were fucked. Utterly fucked and no, it wasn’t by some hot guy on a plane like you wished in the moment.

“She’s busted.” He looked at you. You almost want to roll your eyes and go ‘thanks’ as if you already didn’t know that. “I might be able to fix her up, gotta take her back to the shop and see what I can do but other than that she’s no good for a ride.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked up at you again.

“You mean it’s like broken broken down?” You start to panic even more. Ruining the BMW was far more worth it than the ‘57 Chevy you drove. No one made a car like this anymore and you adored it. Every chip of paint, every dent, each faded seat you loved as your own.

“I can see what I can do.” He shrugged. He starts to walk to his car, opening the trunk to hook your busted vehicle up to his and drag it back to where he just came from. As he starts to hook up your car you only just stare, watching as he does his work. He rubs his now oily hands on his pant leg before he looks up at you.

“You wanna hop in the front?” He asked and you started walking to your car and he let out a laugh. “No I meant my car, Angel.”

The random man that pulls over on the side of the road, has you pointing your pepper spray one moment ago now has you acting like a idiot as he was so pretty and a gift sent just for you.

“Right,” you walk around to the passengers seat. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat as you sat and waited in silence. Waiting for him to come around and when he does he doesn’t say anything but just starts up the car.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” You looked over to him who has a goofy grin on his face.

“No sweetheart.” He shakes his head and you sigh in relief. As if he would even tell you that he was going to kill you. “You’re not going to kill me are you? With that spray you’ve got?” He teased and you shook your head.

“No, and sorry, I was just panicked and you are—“ you started but he lets a low laugh that you find so attractive.

“No I get it, you’re fine.” He stared back at the road. You were so use to the city, the tall building and the blinding lights you never really got to see the beauty of London outside of it. The gorgeous countryside you never knew existed actually did. But the countryside only lasted for so long before you were in a town filled with some of the cutest shops and was like a small city. So cute and so tiny.

“You wear heels on a road trip?” He broke the silence again and this time you’re looking at the four inch shoes.

“I-well-“ you looked and sounded like a proper idiot. You worked for one of London’s best businesses and now you were stumbling over your words, “well...yes? I’m on a business trip.” You admit and he looks back at the busted vehicle.

“I don’t know what business you work for but them sending you in a—“ he starts and you shake your head.

“No, no, that is mine. I thought—I didn’t want to go on a train and—it’s just complicated. A complicated stupid mess.” You tell him and he tilts his head as if he was agreeing.

“Well, I’ll see how well I can get you out of the complicated stupid mess.” He flashed a smile before he turned into what looked like a garage. A large garage that was filled with cars of all types, from new to old there were cars that had looked like they had been worked on for days as Tom pulled his car up and turned it off.

“We have some water in the front if you need some and there's a bathroom in the back. Make yourself a home, I'll get started.” and so for once, instead of just staring at him as if he was a piece of art hanging in the louvre, you search for the bathroom and the water he was talking about.

Leaving him to pop back open your hood, you walk into the bathroom and run cold water over your face. Feeling yourself relax at the feeling of finally getting the heat from the sun out of your face. Facing yourself in the mirror, you stare long and hard at yourself. The dimly lit bathroom, the achy feeling in your feet from being so stupid and wearing heels, the fact you broke down in god know what part of london but now you are in a mechanic shop and you are letting some random person fix up your beloved car.

“Should’ve just gotten on the train.” you groan as you take a paper towel and dry your face. Reaching for the door and walking back out to the garage where tom was now in a white tank top that was stained black all over, he had a towel over his shoulder as he worked at your car. You try to swallow the lump in your throat as you are completely mesmerized by the man in front of you.

Should've gotten on the train. Should've gotten on the train. Should've gotten on the train.

“Fuck!” Tom almost hits his head on the hood of the car as he sees you. You think he had curly hair at the start, now he had hair that kind of stuck to his forehead from the heat and sweat of your car. His hands are covered in black oils and he wipes them on the towel. “You scared me.” he lets out a breath as if he held it in and you take a seat at the stool next to the table filled with tools as he walks over to it.

“Sorry,” you say as you look at the car and try not to make it obvious you want to fuck him right now. A complete stranger that picked you up, you want to fuck. What if he did want to kill you? What if he had a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or a family of kids? What if-

“You hear me?” he was closer to you than ever and you felt your whole body go weak.

“I'm so sorry,” you shake your head. “What did you say?’

He lets out that stupid pretty laugh of his again as he puts tools back in the tool box. Cleaning up the mess he just made he repeats himself.

“I said, your car is so old that they don't make the part I need to fix her up anymore. Luckily I know a guy who has the part but it will take a few days to come in. the engine is completely busted and i think if i go a year up in model I can put it in just right. But for now she needs to cool off. She’s not gonna be able to drive for a while.” he gives you almost a pout and you slouch your shoulders.

“So I'm screwed?” your brows raised and he gave you a pressed lipped look.

“Im sorry angel, I got a spare room at my place or there is a bed and breakfast up the road I can drop you off at but for now there is nothing I can do.” he says and you sigh. Maybe you want to cry, scream, throw something but Tom notices it all at once as he watches your head drop.

Tom grew up around boys. His whole life was wrestling with his brothers and working on cars. He never dealt with girls crying. Even when he had girlfriends they typically left when they were crying but now he has a crying girl right under his roof after he worked on her car. It did take everything in him to not ask why she used the old thing but he knew a lot more was happening than just a beat down old car.

“I'm sorry. I should thank you, not cry.” you sniffled as you looked up at him who was on his knees crouched down for you. Face to face, he had a concerned look.

“I have a feeling that car isn't why you’re crying.” he didn't know how to play therapist and mechanic but tonight he would.

“I was so stupid not to just get on the train. God, I would have already been there by now and all because I didnt want to sit next to my stupid cheating ex who I thought I was so much better than if I just got in this old thing and drove there myself.” you wipe your eyes and he hands you a tissue but you shake your head.

“He sounds like a shit guy.” He spoke and you nodded.

“He is, but he was the only one that gave a shit about me and now I'm here like an idiot. Well, not an idiot...no, yeah. An idiot. You're really nice and sweet though so thank you.” you try and give him a smile and he stands up.

“Get up.” he groans a bit as he stretches his legs. “C’mon sweets, get up. I’m not going to let you cry over a guy who treated you like shit. You drink?” he asked and you nodded. “I have some beer in the fridge, you already had a shit day let's not cry about it.”

You don't know if you wanted to throw the wrench at him or if you needed him to say that. Either way he sets an ice cold beer in front of you and pops open the top for you.

Probably making more money than everyone in this town, you never thought you would plop down on a nearly broken bar stool in the middle of a car mechanic shop and drink away your feelings with a random man you just met today. You didnt even know his name, nor did he know yours but he listened to everything you had to say about your ex boyfriend who was probably fucking some model right now while you for once felt like you didnt have to play pretend nice in front of someone. How you don't know what god above sent this man in front of you but he did and he listened to each of your problems, nodding and not saying anything back as he just listened to everything.

“I used to work on cars too.” you look over at the cars and he raises his brows.you had finally stopped crying so much, realizing what was happening and where you were but you felt like a weight was taken off your shoulders when you told him everything. Not even your best friend could make you feel like that.

“Penthouse princess used to work on cars?” he teased and you only nudged his shoulder.

“Wow, penthouse princess?” you repeat back to him with a playful smile and he nods.

“Never got your name and you live in a penthouse and act like a princess.” he takes a sip of his beer and you finally extend your hand to meet his.

“(y/n).” you shook his dirty one but wow were his hands thick. You could feel each callous and feel each crooked finger. Your mind went to dirty places and you think maybe he caught on as he watched your legs cross over themselves as you shook his hand.

“Tom.” his thumb swiped over yours as he shook your hand. The feeling made you swallow hard and him smirk just a bit for himself. Before you could get too comfy you walked over to a truck that already had its hood popped open. You stumble a bit in your heels and the uneven ground and Tom is quick to follow you to make sure you don't hurt yourself.

“That's the engine.” you point. And he nods, his hand is on his hips as he watches you point and explain. “That's the brake pad, that's where you put in the oil…” you trail on and Tom nods as you get everything correct.

“Very good, darling.” he nods impressed and you look over at him with a smirk.

“What? No penthouse princess?” you're close to him. You didn't realize how close he was to you before you turned around and are almost chest to chest with him.

“Mmh, you have a preference?” he teased and you look down at your feet. You're still taller than him, but you think even without the heels on you would be either taller or the same height as him. You were always told that you were the one in control, always the one in demand which seemed to be a complaint by your ex.

“Mmh,” you lean in close enough to where your chest is gently pressed against his. “I'm not sure yet.” you let your hand go to the strap of his tank top, its dirty with oil before you let your hands go down and touch the muscle. Feeling just how strong he was, he was pretty tanned too. He was both toned and tanned as he watched your hands trail down to the bottom of his shirt.

His hands rested on your waist. Holding you tight in place and maybe in the moment he was the shorter on but he was always in control. Always.

“You seem so indecisive, do you want to drive or get on a train? Get back with a man or stay away? You don't even know where you want to sleep at night but you still act like you're so in control.” he almost mocks, giving you the same pout you had throughout the entire night and it shocked you.

“I know what I want.” you nearly snarl back and he clicks his tongue.

“Yeah?” he almost whispers as he leans in for your ear. “Prove it.”

You don't know when or how but his lips quickly land on yours. In a rough fight for dominance he has his hands wrapped around your thighs and has you picked up and laid down on one of the cars with a hood down. You don't realize it's your car with his hood down until you brace yourself on the hood. Stripping of your suit jacket and fiddling with your pants button but tom is already on it. He's down on his knees, undoing the straps of your shoes as he lets his hands go up and undo the buttons of your pants. Having you nearly completely naked in front of him, that's not exactly what he was going for as he picks you up from the hood as has you on your knees in front of him.

“Was so cute, you thought you were going to get exactly what you wanted.” his hand was dirty as it stroked your face but landed a grip on your chin. Pulling you in close, your head in between his thighs looking up at him with pleading eyes. You almost whimper, you were on your knees for a man you didn't know and you were almost whimpering.

“Dont act stupid.” he nearly spit at you as he leaned back. Your hands are going to unzip his pants but he stops you. Forcing you to rest your hands on his thighs as he pulls himself out of his pants. You swallowed hard as he was bigger than you had expected--far bigger than your ex as you felt like your mouth was watering as he used his thumb to stroke over the tip.

“Stick your tongue out.” he told you. You gladly stuck your tongue out with your mouth wide and ready to take him. He had one grip on your jaw and the other guiding his cock into your mouth. You start to suck but that's not what he wanted. He held your jaw in place as he thrusted up into you.

“Thats a good girl,” he hissed as he used your mouth as if it was his own personal toy. You reached to stroke what couldnt fit in your mouth and he let out an airy laugh. “What a little whore you are.” he shook his head. “So desperate, is this not enough for you? Sucking on my cock not enough for you?” he taunted you and you only moan—or at least try to moan and he laughs.

“What was that darling? I can't seem to hear you?” he teased and you only whined more with your mouth around him. You play a game with yourself where you think you can make him cum like this. Making him cum this early would mean that you always were more incharge from the start. But you barely know him, you don't know how long he can last.

“Get up.” he pulls your head off of him. His cock still hard as it fell onto his stomach and you were drooling with his precum. Your eyes don't even look up at him you look at the redness of his cock, how you want more of it and maybe you were the whore like he said.

“Look at me,” he pulled you up, now face to face with him. His hand that was free slips in between thighs, teasing as he gets closer and closer to your core and he clicks his tongue again. “Such a dirty girl, don't even want to look at me, say thank you, you just look at my cock wanting more. You want more?” he strokes your cheek and you nod. “What was that? A moment ago I thought I was talking to one of the richest girls in London but now I feel like I'm talking to just some whore--” he starts to talk but your lips are already on his. You straddle his hips. Extremely unsturdy but he quickly picks you up and flips you over. As much as he'd loved to see what you look like on top of him. Tits bouncing for him and trying to hold on, here was not the best place. He would get a better view later, he just knew it.

For now he flips you over on your stomach. You're pressed up against the car as he wraps his hand around your waist and uses his fingers for a bit.

“So fucking tight.” he slides in slowly at first. Making you gasp and him hiss. “That other boy fuck you like this?” he asked but you were too busy trying to feel more of him. His hand comes down to your ass and in shock you yelp. “I asked you a question, don't say you don't know manners either.'' He was close to your ear and you shook your head no.

“No!” you nearly cry out as he pushes into you. Completely filling you up. You feel tears perk at the corner of your eyes for how desperately you needed him. You even push back on him and he lets out a soft laugh. “H-he's never fucked me like this, god tom please move!” you cry out. His hands come to your waist and he clicks his tongue again.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he teased as he pulled himself fully out and pushed himself fully back in. you cry out, not caring who heard you, you cried out as he fucked into you like you two were the last people on earth.

“Fuck youre so tight.” he threw his head back as he held on to your hips. You felt yourself give up under him. There was no use in you trying to take control anymore when he did this to you. Had you dumbed down just for his dick.

“I need to cum tom.” you cry out. You try and open your eyes to look back at him who has created a rhythm for your body. His head is thrown back and he shakes his head.

“No.” was all he said and you nearly cry more. “Not yet.” was all he said as he went faster.

“Please, please, please.” you begged between a mixture of moans and cries. Reaching back to hold his hands but he quickly moved them to wrap around your waist and touch your clit. Using his thumb to rub gentle circles you nearly

“So cute when you whine like that.” he chuckled. You felt him twitch, knowing he was close too, you clenched your walls around him. You could barely hear his gasp but you have your cheek pushed up against the hood of your car that got you here in the first place.

“Fuck,” he struglld to moan out. “C-Cum for me.” he sped up and your whole body went numb. You swear you pass out for a moment as all you hear are his moans and the sudden feeling of him stopping.

Both heavy breathing you slowly move yourself to get up, at least turn yourself around so you can face a clearly stunned tom. His mouth open just a bit and his eyes are wide.

“Y-you squirted.” he tells you and suddenly you go from feeling like the sexiest person alive to feeling your body heat up in full embarrassment.

“I-i'm so sorry i-i didn't know-” you start to stammer as you reach for your shirt to clean him up but he shakes his head still trying to catch his breath.

“No, It was hot.” he says as his shock turns into a small smirk, cocky that he was able to do that. “Fuck, have you ever done that before?” he asked.

Your cheeks heated up, even though he couldn't see the clear embarrassment you nodded. One time, years ago when you were by yourself. You hadn't touched yourself in over a month and it was just the highest setting of your vibe and the hottest porn star you could find that had done it to you. Never ever had an actual man been able to make you do that. Hell, you were lucky if your ex even made you cum.

“O-Once, once but I was by myself.” you swallowed hard, you could already see the smirk on his face as he knew he was so much better than anyone you had ever had. He didn't even know your ex partners but if he could get you to do that the first time he fucked you then even you knew you didn't need anyone else.

He uses his clean shirt to clean you up. Helping you slip back on your underwear and making sure that you could still walk--you barely could. He helps you into his car. Letting you cool down a bit before he drove out of the garage, driving down the road and it was only about a minute until you arrived at the cutest house you had ever seen.

He lifted you out and brought you inside, passing you clothes that were far better to sleep in than a suit and your completely ruined underwear, you found yourself getting comfy under his bedsheets.

“So im guessing im not going to the bed and breakfast for the night?” you nuzzled into the sheets that smelt of ocean spray and cedarwood. This man was some sort of god, you swore on it.

“Hmm, no. unless you still want to.” he slides under the sheets himself. His hands dont touch you but you gladly lean in and wrap your arms around him. He at first stills, stiffens his whole body before he relaxes for you. He didn't even know what he was thinking. First he helps the pretty girl he worried was dead on the side of the road and now he has her in his bed after having one of the best orgasms of his life.

“No,” you hum against his chest. “If you don't mind.” but it wasn't a question. This time you take control over the situation and fall quickly asleep in his arms. He only lays there, waiting for you to find yourself fully asleep.

Fuck that stupid train, fuck your stupid ex, and fuck him.

-

Dark roast and sizzling eggs fill your nose. You wake up with puffy eyes, from crying last night embarrassingly in Tom's arms you look down and see you're only in a random stained tee and your underwear. In a way,you thought you hit your head hard enough on the steering wheel that all of this was a dream but it was real. You lay in a grey sheeted bed and hear the sound of music come from the kitchen.

Ideally, if you got on the train, you would have woken up in a hotel with a view of the city and probably eat half of a bagel and drink rich coffee from the breakfast bar before being off to your first conference of the day. But you were instead naked in the bed of a man who was helping you fix your car.

You stumble out of the bed, your legs wobbly, feeling as if you did a hardcore work out you nearly wince. What the man did was something you swore was only in porn. You don't know what kind of magic fucked him over while he works on cars but his fingers were skilled.

“Woah, woah,” Tom came over to you. Plaid boxers and no shirt, you think you died and went to heaven. Your car exploded and you died and went to heaven and if this is what it was then you were perfectly okay with that. “You okay?”

You nod, sitting at the island and only watching him. You knew you had to say a word soon but you didn't know what to say.

“Not so sure how you liked your eggs so I made them scrambled because that's personally how I like them but I can make them any other way you like-” he starts to go off and you only nod.

“No, I like scrambled.” When was the last time you had a breakfast like this? You grew up with servants and your parents are always gone. You never had a breakfast as simple as this.

He gave you a smile, you walked over to the coffee machine and poured coffee into the mug that was already out.

“Not sure if you were a coffee or tea type of person, if you-” before you could listen to his ramble again you shook your head.

“I like coffee. Coffee for the morning and tea typically in the evening.” you tell him and he gives a smile and a sweet nod.

“Me too.” was all he said before he remembered what was happening. “Hey, when do you have to be at that business trip? Or whatever it was?” you nearly spit out the coffee as he brings it up. You knew everything that was happening but honestly you were holding on to the concept you died and went to heaven but you had a conference in probably an hour and who the hell knows where you are.

“You know what,” your heart suddenly calms down. The panic subsides as you take another sip of that coffee. “Fuck them. They have waited for others before and they can wait for me. Fuck the trip, fuck the car and fuck my ex.” you felt good saying it. Tom slid you a plate of eggs and toast and you smiled.

“The car is still better than the train?” He remembers how all of this is about you and your ex fighting and you not wanting to sit on the train next to him.

With a smile, with everything that had happened within the past 24 hours, you pick up the plate and turn to tom.

“I don't think I should've taken the train.”

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Tagged for mechanic!tom: @londonspidey

[siswritesyanderes]

Will you write a second part for the Tom Riddle with mother issues one shot? I was kind of curious on how it will end up . Btw, I like your writing. <3

Thank you so much!

Part 1 is here.

Okay, round 2! This one’s a bit more graphic than the previous, so let me know if you’d rather I reel it in or if you like it this way.

(N S F W) (TW: non-con) (TW: pseudo-incest) (not actual incest)

The amount of leeway Tom allowed you for protestations on the first night did not last.

When he returned the next day, there was no dinner waiting for him, and you immediately raised your wand and told him to stay away from you.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if you’d just performed poorly on a graded assignment. As soon as he reached for his wand, you tried to speak the word to disarm him, but the locket suddenly tightened around your neck, cutting off your air at the last second, and Tom’s cruciatus curse hit you square.

Pain lanced through you. You hit the kitchen floor, too tense to writhe, your eyes tightly shut, your scream filling the air.

It was only for a few seconds.

You knew that, because the locket had ensured that you were unable to take a breath before the curse, and yet your scream hadn’t run out of fuel by the time Tom let up. Panting, you opened your eyes and found that he was sitting on the floor, now. Cross-legged and straight-backed, over your sprawled form. He set his palm on your cheek and wiped at your lips with his thumb. You were embarrassed to find that they were wet; the saliva hadn’t stayed in your mouth, while you were screaming.

“I don’t like hurting you, Mother,” he said. “If you could learn to be more loving, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Your wand was still in your hand, albeit loose in your grip. You managed to point it at him, and your mouth sluggishly formed part of a spell: “Expel-”

“Crucio.”

You screamed anew, and you felt your voice give out as incomprehensible pain filled you. Once again, it didn’t last longer than a few seconds. The first thing you felt, when the agony abated, was the cool tile under your face; you had rolled over at some point, as if some instinctive part of you had thought you were on fire and hoped to put it out. You couldn’t see Tom, but you felt it when his hand descended on your head. You winced, but he only stroked at your hair. Soothing.

“We didn’t enjoy this, did we?” he asked. “We don’t want to keep doing this.”

You could feel your wand still in your hand, but no part of your mind could form a compelling argument in favor of using it. The fact that he hadn’t taken it from you, given so many opportunities to, had been the initial writing on the wall.

“Now, I want to be a good son. But you have to be a good mother, first. Are you going to be good?” He gingerly flipped you onto your back, again. He moved your hair out of your face with his wand hand. “Will you be good for me?”

You managed to nod.

(Unnecessary suffering was for Gryffindors. You weren’t subjecting yourself to more of that kind of pain just to prove a point that Tom would never accept anyway. If defying him would ever be the right choice, it clearly wasn’t now.)

Tom smiled pridefully and kissed you- a long, lingering press of his lips against yours, just on the surface, not mining your mouth like he had last night. When he pulled back, he asked, “Who are you, then?”

Keeping him satisfied gave you some measure of control over your fate. You were smart enough to keep him at bay, if your head would just stop spinning. “I’m your mother,” you answered him. Hoarse from screaming.

Tom eased forward and sank his weight onto you, his body spread over yours so that his head was tucked under your chin and his legs and feet extended past yours, on the floor; he was taller than you. Feeling him on top of you again, and feeling the way both of his legs had slotted between yours (implicitly preventing them from closing), caused a dull panic to spread inside you- dull, because what was there to do about it?

“Mother,” he sighed contentedly, and he smiled against your collarbone for a second. Then the second passed, and the smile fell away. “I didn’t like it when you tutored the other students, at school. Why didn’t you just tutor me?”

Oh, Merlin. So it wasn’t enough to play nice now; he also wanted you to retroactively explain away past infractions. And judging by the petty plaintiveness of his tone, you would be on the hook for those infractions until you gave an explanation that he deemed adequate.

“Well, you were already brilliant, Tom. You didn’t really need a tutor, did you?”

Though his enjoyment of the compliment was palpable, it didn’t seem to quell his dissatisfaction. “All the more reason; they were wasting your time.” His fingernails sank into your arms, not giving the impression of a deliberate punishment, but rather as if he was distressed that his grip on you wasn’t strong enough.

So flattery wasn’t enough. “I was just trying to teach you to share,” you said innocently. “All children should learn to share their things.”

His reaction to this was the inverse; he seemed not to enjoy it, but it satisfied him. He relaxed. Retracted his claws. “I don’t like to share,” he said. “Mother is only for me.”

So he liked to be flattered, but he preferred to be convinced. Not a good sign, that he wouldn’t just let you owl it in with mere praise; he wanted credible mothering behavior.

Awkwardly, you reached up and rested your hand on his head. He moaned and nipped at your neck, and it made you utterly sick, but his affection was still better than his torture.

“You shouldn’t be so tense, Mother,” he murmured. “Not if you love me.”

Relaxing your body, at this point, was like physically lifting a heavy weight, but you did it.

His teeth kept gently chewing at the skin of your neck; he kissed and he sucked, and you were wondering whether it was better to just do nothing or if you should suggest that you would make dinner and see if that got him off of you. Then his hand went to your right breast, and he started kneading at it through your clothes.

“Please don’t,” you breathed.

His hand went under your shirt. He took your breast in his hand and gripped it tightly. “Why not?” he asked, in a manner that could only be described as a dignified whine. “Don’t you love me?”

“Yes, I…I love you.”

“And don’t I deserve all of you? Don’t you want to give me all of you?”

You could feel his hardness through his trousers, pressed right against the natural seam between your thigh and…and…He was deliberately grinding it against you, now: subtle, minute movements that caused your dull panic to abruptly sharpen. Even through both of your clothes, his rubbing against that part of you was like an electric shock. His hand was still molding at your breast.

“Doesn’t Mummy love me?” he whispered, almost deliriously. “Don’t you want me?”

“Y-yes,” you lied, sick and wet and fighting the ever-climbing wave of terror.

“I love you so, so much. I want every part of you. And you want every part of me, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched; his technique was not as clumsy and desperate as it had been last night. Not by half. His every move seemed perfectly calculated to make you incomprehensible. “Yes, but…we haven’t had dinner,” you managed to get out. “Y-you’re a growing boy. You need to eat, so you can…grow big and strong.”

“Mmmm.” Again, he seemed displeased but satisfied by your explanation. You were annoying him in the approved way. The way a mother annoys a son. “You didn’t have dinner ready when I got home, so I get to decide what I want to eat. That’s the rule.”

“Alright,” you answered, indifferent. He could eat at the most expensive restaurant in the land with your Galleons, if that would get him off of you.

Before you could get too relieved, you heard “Immobulus,” and a blue light washed over you. The Freezing Charm was different from a Full Body-Bind; Petrificus Totalus would have made you stiff as a board, but under Immobulus, you merely lost the ability to move. More accurately, you lost the capacity for voluntary movement, which was why you could still breathe and your heart could still beat.

Tom sat up and began systematically undressing you, and for lack of anything else to focus on, you became preoccupied with the tantalizing feeling of your wand still in your hand. He didn’t take it from you, even once you were fully nude on the kitchen floor. In fact, he took care not to let it fall out of your grip as he moved both of your hands to rest on either side of your head.

He spread your legs and lowered his face to-

Oh!

“Oh!”

Another thing about Immobulus was, by preventing voluntary movement, it made it impossible to control involuntary movement. Keeping in your reflexive vocal responses to Tom’s ministrations would have required you to have control over yourself, which you did not. You could not keep the noises inside you, or moderate the volume, and it only made the situation more pitiful and mortifying: lying on your own kitchen floor, naked, wand in hand, helpless as a would-be Dark Lord fresh out of Hogwarts ran his tongue mercilessly and expertly between your folds, and plunged it within you (wringing blinding amounts of sensation out of every motion), and you couldn’t even restrain the whimpers and shrieks and moans and sounds for which you had no name- sounds which certainly had never escaped you before in your life.

He did not stop or even pause to speak until after you had come in his mouth. Even after that, he continued lapping at you relentlessly for another few minutes. When he did raise his face again, licking his lips lewdly, you were a clammy, whimpering mess.

He watched you for a while, and you hated that you were all shiny and short of breath, but you couldn’t control your breathing any more than you could control any of it. There was no way of disguising his effect on your body.

After he had apparently had his fill of looking, Tom stood and wandered the kitchen. He was doing something (You could hear as much.), but you couldn’t move your eyes to see what.

Another minute passed.

Then, he scooped you up into his arms- still making sure your wand stayed in your hand, the smug git -and set you down across the kitchen table at which the pair of you had shared tea just yesterday. Your head fell back, and you saw what he had been doing as he wandered the room: he had been opening all the windows.

Tom dragged you so that your rear end was at the edge of the table, spread your legs and bent your knees so that each foot was almost flat against the table’s surface, and then arranged your head so that you could see him. He was still fully dressed, but he had opened his trousers and pulled them down a few centimeters, freeing his organ. He set his wand down somewhere on the table- a carelessness that came with power -and placed both of his hands on your thighs.

“I enjoyed my dinner, Mother,” he said conversationally. His voice was only slightly breathy, to betray either his earlier exertion or his present excitement. “Thank you for making it so warm and tasty for me.”

He punctuated his coy mockery by rubbing his full length along your slit, and you had to let out a loud moan, and your heartbeat raced as a new level of humiliation filled you. Was this why he had opened the windows? So others would hear?

“You should get a reward for taking such good care of me, don’t you think?” He hooked his hands around the backs of your thighs, then, to pull you closer; your pulse stuttered, at his sudden tug, fearing that he would spear you with his member right then, but he did not. “I even thought about what you said about sharing. I liked hearing how much you…enjoyed” (Another surface thrust, another helpless moan- this one embarrassingly high.) “giving me my dinner, and I want to be a good boy and share those nice sounds with everyone.”

He gave no further warning before he lanced your entrance, and as he proceeded to thrust, to withdraw and advance, you were in equal parts humiliated by your own keening, yearning wails and his revolting exclamations: “Oh, oh, you take me so well, Mother! Mummy wants me so much! Mother, I’m going to come inside you! I’m going to fill you right up with all of my babies; you want them so much!”

Your orgasm was likely audible in at least a two-house radius. Your eyes were leaking rivulets of tears, and your hair was everywhere, and your lips were wet with spit again, and still it was at least another full minute before Tom came, himself.

Every breath you took was a whimper. You managed to turn your eyes away from Tom (the effects of the spell finally wearing off), and you started when you saw a face at the window: some mustached neighbor standing outside, watching.

Tom followed your gaze, picked up his wand, and made a lazy, matter-of-fact slashing motion. You saw a red line grow across the man’s throat before he fell out of view with a sound like a bag of rocks dropping to the ground.

“I said they could listen, not look,” Tom said, as if that was the part he had to justify. He finally pulled out of you, and he fastened up his trousers. “Haven’t I been a good son today?”

It was clear that you were expected to answer him again, despite being spent. Your vision blurred with more tears. “Mm-hm,” was the best you could do, but it was apparently sufficient.

Tom left the kitchen, wet a rag, and came back to gently clean the sweat from your face. By the time he returned, you had managed to close your legs; you were curled up like a shrimp, with your arms covering your breasts. His touch was much too loving, as he ran the rag over your cheeks. “Did you like sharing?”

You shook your head stiffly.

“Then that’s something we have in common,” he said brightly. “How about this: I won’t share anymore, if you don’t. Does that sound good?”

You nodded, just as stiffly.

He lowered his mouth to yours and gave a more invasive kiss than before. “I know that you’re tired,” he said generously. “I’ll draw you a bath, and I’ll make you some tea.” He dropped a peck on the tip of your nose. “You can prove how much you love me tomorrow.”

...

(Okay! I hope this came out good. Let me know what you thought.)

[ageofevermore]

falling with grace | i

Summary → lilah’s a newly single mom, tom is her charming english co-star 

Words → 1.6k

Warnings → mentions of divorce, hints to anxiety and anxious behaviors, fluff 

Notes → this has been in my drafts since early 2019. i stumbled across it, so i fixed it up for a cute tom slowburn !! big big big thank you to @hollands-taste​ + @theamazingtomholland​ for hyping me up ahead of time, and for @killingbxys​ listening to me rant for hours on end !! 

add yourself to my taglist

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The sun is unruly in it’s entry, wild in the background. Blonde wisps of hair blow into her face routinely and a little hand comes up to rub sleep from her eyes. The sky is a canvas of wild pastels, the morning just barely upon New York.

Lilah smiles gently as she rubs a delicate pattern into her daughter's warm skin, hoping to keep the toddler asleep for at least another hour or so. Her eyes catch sight of a crew member off in the distance. They’re preparing for a busy few weeks, though things are never anything but organized on warner brothers sound stages as they produce marvel magic.

Lilah breathed out a gentle sigh of relief when she felt her daughter's weight drop, and the telltale steady breaths dance across her neck. She shifted her bag up higher onto her shoulder, escaping the early morning sunrise into her trailer. As always, Lilah leaves the door open, anticipating the arrival of her co-star. The sun brightened her trailer as it rose fully, the sky a brilliant bright blue that teasingly reminded her of what is not yet the past. 

"Hey." Zendaya greets in a whisper, "You've got Gray today?"

The toddler is sprawled out in a pack-in-play, wisps of blonde hair unruly with sleep. Zendaya frowns, watching closely as the façade Lilah built crumbles. The older blonde buries her head in her hands, heaving a heavy and heartbroken sign.  

"William’s plane got delayed. He doesn't know when he'll be up to get her." Lilah ranted, lifting her head only to glance over at her sleeping toddler. This entire situation wasn’t fair to her. 

The stress of a divorce, motherhood, and a movie had been weighing Lilah down for months, and the perfect life she constructed for herself and her daughter seemed to be falling apart. Even then, Lilah tried to make the best of her less-than-ideal situation. 

"I'm always here if you need me, Li," Zendaya reminded with a small smile of encouragement, grabbing onto Lilah’s hands and giving them both a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to do this alone."

Lilah returned the smile, letting silence speak for her. She was never good with dependency and communication, but with Zendaya as her support system, she didn’t have to be. The two actresses went over their sides, wordlessly supporting one another.  

"Good Morning.” Tom peeked his head into the trailer, a warm smile on his face. Lilah couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

Lilah couldn’t help but notice that the English actor was dressed in grey sweatpants, white strings hanging untied, and a white tank top that perfectly showcased his defined biceps. A blush traveled up Lilah’s neck, and she forced her eyes away from Tom before he could notice that she was staring. 

"Hey. How's Tessa?" Zendaya asked, looking up from her sides to greet Tom. He took a seat on the couch opposite the two girls, a luminescent grin brightening his features as he caught sight of the princess sporting toddler sprawled out in the pack-n-play. 

Tom’s throat went dry while he racked his memory for who Tessa was. He’d been lost in a thought, one that involved himself and Lilah hours away from New York. He scolded himself for running away with the thought, pulling his gaze from Grace and instead refocusing on Zendaya with a boyish blush he hopes she won’t notice.

"She’s healing, keeps running into the walls though." He let out a small, nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck. Lilah and Zendaya both quirk an eyebrow at him, but before they can ask, a head pops into the trailer and calls both women to makeup.

Lilah bites her lip, watching her daughter’s back rise and fall with the gentle motion of sleep. “Do you want me to stay with her?” Tom asks softly, picking up on the uncertainty in Lilah’s posture. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Tom. I’ll just take her with me.” Lilah advances towards the pack-n-play somewhat possessively, distress in her eyes as she looks startled by Tom's offer. 

Tom smiles at the young mother, absolutely amazed by her strength, yet wishing she would let him in. “Don’t worry about it, Lies.” 

“Are you sure?” She falters, eyes falling upon Grace with guilt. She feels bad leaving her daughter in somebody else’s care, especially now, while she’s in the middle of a divorce. “I don’t want you to feel like you half to--” 

“I don’t.” Tom shakes his head, a soft promise in the words he’s spoken. “Let me help you, yeah?” 

Lilah, though reluctantly, nods her head in agreement. 

— ☆ —

Lilah smiled softly at Zendaya, finding the taller girl already set up in the hair and makeup trailer. Her mind was still heavy on Tom and Grace, but she tried to refocus her energy on the day of work ahead of her. 

“You know, Tom is really good with her.” Zendaya mimed, looking over at Lilah with a gentle smile as to not seem like she was intending to overstepping. Nobody really knew where the boundaries were with Lilah, especially now. “I’m pretty sure they had a tea party last week.” 

Lilah grinned. Her daughter was fascinated with the little british mannerisms Tom and Harry carried, and both brothers were more than willing to play-up their accents. It was no great surprise that they had taken it a step further and had a tea party with her toddler. Lilah's heart swelled at the thought, her cheeks turning crimson. Worries of William had fallen behind her for the time being, and a gentle happiness returned to her heart. 

Zendaya smiled, seeing the soft switch in Lilah. They’d been friends for years, even prior to their entry in the MCU, but things with William had really taken a toll on Lilah; even before she had filed for divorce. Zendaya was glad to see that happiness hadn’t completely abandoned her. 

"It's lively in here today." Jake smiled when he came in, his entrance just barely heard over Lilah and Zendaya. 

For the first time in days, Lilah smiled fully and authentically; dimples carving into her cheeks that had begun to ache from laughing so hard. She felt tetherless, for the first time in weeks like absolutely nothing was holding her down.

The makeup artists finished up on her shortly after Jake came in. She smiled thickly at both of her co-stars, standing up from the makeup chair with a gentle groan, wincing at the way her thighs had stuck to the seat. 

“Alright. See you later.” She waved, laughing softly when Jake insisted on kissing her head before she left to find Tom. 

— ☆ —

When Lilah walked into her trailer, she smiled seeing Tom asleep on the couch. His shoes had been kicked off, and it looked like he had tried to throw a blanket over himself before he fell asleep. She couldn’t blame him, it was only slightly past eight in the morning.  

She had picked up her costume on the way back to her trailer, and without making too much noise, she slipped past Tom and Grace to change. On her way to the bathroom, she fixed the blanket over Tom’s naked shoulders, grinning at the way he subconsciously curled into the soft cotton. 

Acting was an escape for Lilah. She’d started when she was only young, through musicals and local commercial auditions, and somehow, she’d gotten her chance. 

"Oh, hey." Tom yawns, sitting up on the couch, dropping the blanket into his lap. Lilah smiled amusedly at him, offering a shy smile and a wave. 

She sits down opposite Tom, picking up the sides that had been half-heartedly highlighted the previous night. “Thanks for watching her.” She diverts her attention to the lines she knows three times over, avoiding Tom’s heavy stare on her. “It’s just, she was meant to be with William, and things came up for him. Everything was so last minute, and I couldn’t find anyone--”

“It’s no problem, Li. If you need someone for tomorrow, I’m free.” Tom disregarded Lilah’s babbling, reaching forward to squeeze her knee. He hated when she got like this; so inwardly shy and ashamed of her life.

 He wished she had at least a small understanding of how admirable and strong she truly is. She doesn’t see herself the way he sees her, though, and it tears him apart inside. 

This was Lilah. His sweet best friend that was losing herself in a divorce. She’s really just a kid, but she’s got her own child to worry about before herself, and Tom worries. He wonders when the last time somebody looked out for her was. Tom wanted to help her in any way that he could, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. He knew what this could look like. Like, he was trying to make a move while she was at her lowest, but that’s not the reality of his intentions at all. 

"That would be really helpful." Lilah shyly admits, tempted to throw her arms around Tom and let herself melt into his chest, but she barely restrains herself, settling for squeezing at his hand that still rests on her thigh. "Are you sure that's how you want to spend your day off? What about Harry?"

Lilah hates burdening others with Grace, especially her friends. She’s suffered enough scrutiny from the media, not even to begin on her own amplified concerns and anxieties towards parenting.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure. She's an angel, Li." Tom smiled, nodding towards Grace who is still sound asleep in the pack-n-play. He searches Lilah’s eyes, finding gentle flicks of yellow twisted into green. 

Lilah’s eyes are his new favorite color.

"Thank you. For everything." Lilah reaches forward, hugging Tom and relishing in the way his arms wrap tightly around her middle. Tom doesn’t make any objections to Lilah’s affection, wishing he could hold her like this every day. 

He doesn’t know what he feels for Lilah, but he knows she belongs in his arms, and he never wants to let her go. 

taglist (urls with a strike through won’t let my tag) →

@deionswannabegirl @killingbxys @mauvesdior @mischiefandi @dmonchld @waddlenut @tanakaslastbraincell @hollandsxheart @quacksonhehe @tothemoonandbackx3000 @stiles-o-dylan24 @tikapollak @tomthetease @spookybooisa @geminiparkers @teen–marvel @rogersparkerbarnes @sarcasticallywitty15 @anapocalypseinmymind @stillmanicc @sonnydoesrandomshit @buckybarnesbiiitch @itsbieberxholland @lmaotshollandd @spideyspeaches @stillmanicc @mymilliefrommarketing @jess-holland23 @sararora11 @sambucky8 @cosmiccaptian @spideysensesl @lillucyandthejets @strawberrytom @thollandstuff @lharrietg @hollandswife @brisildadauti @themaddies-obx @hmw696

[veryhappyunbirthdaytoyoutoy-blog]

The Dragon's Call - Arthur's POV, part 1

Howdy.

To preface this a bit, when I was rewatching the unicorn episode (you know the episode), I noticed a subtle change in the way Arthur reacted to praise from his father over the course of the episode. At the beginning of the episode, when Arthur first kills the unicorn, he lights up with the brightest smile when his father shows how pleased he is with the clap on his shoulder. The boy is so damn happy. But by the end of the episode, when Uther expresses pride at Arthur's restoring of Camelot's crops, Arthur isn't happy by the clap on his arm at all (which can be a result from both their disagreements AND from Arthur's realization that what he had done was wrong). Instead, Arthur runs to the forest with Merlin and buries the unicorn horn. So, after watching it, I wanted to rewrite everything that happens in the next episode from Arthur's point of view to show the change in his beliefs after the "unicorn incident." So! Without further ado, here is s1 ep12, The Dragon's Call, from Arthur's pov, part 1.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arthur watched his knights rush into the forge, praying silently that they wouldn't find anything compromising on the blacksmith. He may not have been particularly close with Guinevere, but he knew both Merlin and Morgana were quite fond of her, and that the arresting of her father would bring their combined wrath upon his shoulders.

Which was never pleasant.

Their rage aside, Arthur found himself reluctant to investigate Tom. The blacksmith had always been extremely tenderhearted and was the best blacksmith in all of Camelot… Arthur admired the man.

Which made the gold glowing damningly in the torchlight so much worse.

And as he ordered Tom's arrest, watched him struggle against the guards putting him in chains, watched him be dragged up to the castle and down to the dungeons, Arthur allowed himself a small sigh.

This was not going to go well. ~~~~

Arthur was there whenever his father broke the news to Morgana... who was unsurprisingly angry. He watched her plead with his father, secretly agreeing with her reasoning, though he did his best to keep his expression neutral.

He was reluctant to admit it, but she had always been braver than him in these sort of things.

Even so, he did his best to speak on the blacksmith's behalf when Morgana gave him a pleading look. He was ignored, of course, and was told to find the other's that had helped the sorcerer on the way. And as his father left the room, Arthur felt a frustration with begin to grow deep within his chest.

He snuffed it the best he could and schooled his features. Then he took his leave. ~~~~

When Merlin was late in waking Arthur up the following morning, Arthur had complained only out of necessity, sensing his manservant's subdued manner. It was clear that he had the news of Tom's fate, and was distressed on behalf of his friend.

Arthur, on the other hand, had begrudgingly followed his father's order's the previous evening, seeking out all those that had offered the sorcerer shelter and other aid along his journey. When manservant and prince watched the condemned walk through the gates, Arthur steeled himself for Merlin's reaction, offering all the excuses Arthur's father had given him, but finding himself unable to fully disagree with the taller man's words.

Still, Arthur snapped in defense of his father, which he instantly regretted when Merlin's expression shifted into something unreadable.

The frustration came back stronger as he watched his manservant walk away, and the prince began making plans to rescue Tom.

~~~~

Plans that were swiftly ruined by Tom's escape. Arthur was SURE Morgana had something to do with this; she had a bleeding heart, something that Arthur usually admired in her. But for her rashness, Tom was dead, and even now his daughter's cries rung in castle square. And as he watched Merlin wipe away silent tears when Gwen's cries reached their ears, Arthur found himself wishing harshly that Morgana had done nothing and remained uninvolved.

Until he learned that his father had imprisoned Morgana in the dungeons.

Which is where Arthur's calm truly began to break.

Merlin had been the one to break the news, and Arthur dismissed him to take care of the distressed maid before he could see Arthur punch the nearest wall.

His father had officially taken things too far, first with the kill order against Tom and then with Morgana's imprisonment... Arthur was seeing red.

Which would do nothing to help anyone.

So Arthur tamped down his emotions and got to business.

Arthur spent the remainder of the morning making sure Guinevere's job was secure and that the house was put under her name in the kingdom census. The look of relief amidst her grief-- and the thankful glance from Merlin -- was all the reward he could ask for.

Even so, he knew it still wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur did his best to keep the words steady, but he felt his eyes begin to burn.

But where his strength faltered, Guinevere stood tall. "Thank you sire."

Arthur nodded and walked out of Gaius's chamber with renewed purpose.

He had work to do. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright, there was part one!! It was longer than I thought, and I some how feel that I just started a fairly large project... nevertheless!! I hope at least some people enjoy this, but whether you do or not, let me know!! Until next time.

[spellbound-banshee]

The Afterparty - Tom Holland

Summary: You’re one of Harrison’s best friends from his childhood, and you finally decide to go to one of his small parties. There, you meet his friends...

Warnings: literally just fluff haha

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

You were one of Harrison’s best friends, the mystery girl that he always talked about but rarely had over. Being another actress, you were always moving around, trying to find jobs and get a steady job. You’d known Harrison since middle school, but you had to move away once you got to high school, never giving you the opportunity to meet his current best friend, Tom. But that would change tonight.

For the first time in a while, you actually accepted an invite to hang out with Harrison - it was never because you didn’t want to, it was just because you were always so busy. And it felt nice to keep in contact with him, even after all these years and many years apart.

H: hey, what time you heading over? Y/N: leaving now, darling H: seeya in a bit x

You smiled brightly and placed your phone down, brushing the last bundle of knots from your hair as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. Harrison didn’t tell you if it was an actual party or just a hang out with a couple of people, but either way you wanted to make an impression. When you arrived to a quaint house - apparently Tom’s - you could feel the nervous excitement bubbling in your veins. You’d seen Harrison in pictures of course, and you obviously knew who Tom was, but it felt like 50 years since you’d seen Harrison in person, and meeting new people made you especially nervous. Especially if that new person was Tom fucking Holland.

“(Y/n)!” Harrison’s surprised voice greeted you as he opened the door, taking a moment to take in your appearance.

“Haz!” You replied, wrapping him in a big hug, one he quickly and gladly returned, swaying you back and forth slightly. “So good to see you finally!” You beamed, pulling away and also taking in his appearance - taller than you remember, and much more... model-y looking.

“You too, missed you.” He smiled down at your smiling face, “you look absolutely beautiful, just as stunning as I remember.” You beamed at that, nodding your head and accepting such a gracious compliment.

“You don’t look so shabby yourself.” You smiled, and he shoved you to the side, rolling his eyes but wrapping his arm around you to urge you inside. 

“Come in, come in. Welcome to Tom’s place.” The uneven weight shifted onto you made you giggle hysterically as he practically dragged you inside - it felt like home, just like old times. Your smile widened as you remembered the fond memories you had with your best friend, but it stopped for a moment when you saw who was inside.

Wow, he’s even better looking in person.

Though you tried to stay cool, you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw Tom on his couch, who immediately stood up once he made eye contact with you. “Oh! Hey, (Y/n), right?” He began to walk over and Harrison dropped his arm from your shoulder, shoving you playfully with his pointer finger. You shot him a playful glare and rubbed your arm, pushing him away with a bigger amount of force.

“Yeah, hi! Tom, right?” You replied, taking his hand which he stuck out to shake, and despite the professional gesture it felt strangely informal. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much and obviously... seen so much.” You gestured towards the TV as if it was playing one of his movies, which would actually be comforting in the moment.

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his hand. “Yeah I’ve heard a lot about you to.” He nodded his head, quickly spinning around and outstretching his arms. “Uh... this is my brother Harry.” Harry looked up and shot out a peace sign, giving you a bright smile but comfortably glued to his spot in the couch.

“Hey.” You nodded back to him, smiling at the hand gesture. “Your place is so nice.” You said, looking around as if it was a museum, taking in the sort of old-fashioned English aesthetic of the living room.

“Oh, thanks. Do you... want a tour?” He asked, pointing around his shoulder as if the rest of the house would be revealed. You took a second to look at Harrison, who was watching the two of you intently with a big, teasing grin on his face. He nodded his head (as if you needed his permission) and gestured for the both of you to go on, and you gladly accepted the offer.

-

As nighttime rolled around, a few more people had come over, a few mutual friends of all three boys staying at the house. Naturally, you felt a bit out of place, but you and Tom had really begun to hit it off, talking up a storm. He mostly felt bad and wanted to keep you company since you only really knew Harrison, but you were starting to grow on him. Not that he didn’t think you would, any friend of Harrison’s would surely be a friend of Tom’s.

He loved that you didn’t only want to talk about him and Spider-Man, of course you asked a few questions about it but he admired how you wanted to get to know him. Not Tom Holland, who nearly every girl found attractive and fantasized about, but just Tom, Harrison’s friend. You were also beautiful, god you really threw him for a loop. And you seemed like a powerful energy, you knew what you were talking about and weren’t easily intimidated, he loved it.

“Is anybody gonna dance or like...?” He heard your voice, snapping him out of his dream-state, realizing he was literally thinking about a girl he just met - and staring. He didn’t want to seem like a dick or freak you out, as if all you were to him was a pretty face. Of course, you were a pretty face, and he’d only known you for a couple of hours, but he felt if a strongly and he hoped you did too.

“I mean... there’s only a handful of people here so... I guess not.” He laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair, unable to make eye contact. Now he really felt like Peter Parker - speechless in front of the pretty, confident girl.

“Wanna dance?” You asked, putting your nearly finished beer on the counter and giving him a bright smile. You could tell he was about to protest, but you interrupted him before he got the chance. “Oh come on, Holland. Harrison tells me you’ve got moves! I’ve seen the lipsync battle.”

Tom audibly groaned at this, dragging a hand down his tired face. “No, don’t bring up the lipsync battle, please.” He practically begged, but you just smiled and shoved him playfully, nearly knocking his elbow off the counter.

“Come on! Fuck everybody else let’s just vibe!” How could he say no to someone so beautiful as you. He rolled his eyes, taking a large drink of his beer before sighing submissively, allowing you to drag him somewhere close to the speaker. “The song is kinda slow.” You shrugged, unable to find some sort of beat to dance to, and Tom felt his heart sort of skip a beat as your non-chalantness. “We’ll make the most of it.” You smiled, placing your hands on his shoulders, a silent ask for consent to wrap your arms around his neck.

Tom was frozen, but he felt his body nod, allowing your arms to find a home around the back his neck. Your other hand grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your waist, and though he flinched back a bit he tried not to put it anywhere you would find offensive or suggestive. You just shook your head and giggled at the sheer closeness and awkwardness of it, but you weren’t complaining, it felt nice to have someone in such close proximity.

“Relax, Tom. We don’t have to leave room for Jesus it’s okay.” Tom burst out laughing at your comment, and you instantly felt the atmosphere lighten as he brought his head back down to see you.

“Sorry, pretty girls make me nervous.” He teased with the same amused smile on his face, and you laughed at his compliment, tapping his shoulder twice.

“Charming.” You teased, and he just chuckled, finding a rhythm with the song that seemed too fast for an occasion like this but too slow to jump around to. Neither of you were complaining though, especially not Tom.

At some point both of you just closed your eyes, feeling the moment and not caring about anyone surrounding you. It was just you, him and the music shaking your bones with each subtle bass hit. Somehow, you both opened them at the same time, and made a strange sort of eye contact that knocked the wind out of both of your lungs. But you thought you were crazy, Tom Holland being attracted to a girl he just met, in your dreams - literally.

You pulled away flustered, and Tom quickly worried he’d done something wrong to ruin the moment. But you just shook your head and said, “I’m going to go get some more beer from the cooler, do you want anything?” Tom seemed surprised by your reaction to him, pulling away with a small blush on your cheeks, just like his probably had.

“Uh... no, no thanks. I’ll uh... I’ll be here.” He said, casually leaning against the fridge and running a hand through his hair. You nodded awkwardly and began to walk away, mentally face-palming as you opened the screen door to the porch. Harrison was out there and seemingly preoccupied with a girl, but he saw you come out, looking distressed and confused. He instantly thought the worst, and put his conversation on pause with an apology, walking over to you.

“Hey, (Y/n), you alright?” You saw your concerned friends face and quickly tried to ease his mind.

“Yeah Haz, I’m okay. I just...” You shook your head, reaching down into the cooler to grab yourself another beer. “I think I just made things awkward with Tom like... we were just dancing and I got... flustered.” Harrison just started laughing, letting it go on a big sigh that just oozed teasing. “What?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“Dude, you didn’t ruin anything. Tom’s literally been ogling at and about you since you walked through his front door.” You froze, really? You shouldn’t see him as a higher up, but Tom Holland... checked you out? Possibly more? “He’s been flustered this whole time, he’s definitely geeking out for you right now.” You blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and giving a nervous chuckle. “Aw, you’re blushing like a rose.”

“Shut up, dickhead.” You punched his shoulder, and he dramatically mouthed ‘ow’ and stepped away. “I think you’re lying.”

“And I think I know Tom way better than you. And he... definitely likes you.”

-

“Hey.” You greeted as you walked up to Tom again, who’d been on the couch nervously looking at his phone since you left.

His face lit up as you sat down with two beers in your hands, “hey,” he replied, turning his phone off and hiding it under his thigh.

“I got you a beer anyway, they were running low so I figured... might as well.”

“Oh sweet, thank you.” He smiled as you placed both beers on the table in front of the couch, no real intention of drinking them in the moment. It just seemed like a conversation starter. “Sorry about earlier if I made you... uncomfortable or anything it wasn’t my intention.”

“Oh, god no. You didn’t make me uncomfortable I just got... a little flustered is all.” You felt tension leave Tom’s body as he heard your words, nodding as they began to sink in. 

And you sat in comfortable silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, practically daring each other to rest your heads against them. “Hey uh... thanks for keeping me company this whole night. I’m sure there are other... more interesting people you could’ve interacted with tonight but... thank you.”

“More interesting?” He seemed shocked, looking down at you, “I think tonight I’ve discovered you’re more interesting than most of the people here. So, it was truly my pleasure. You’re so easy to talk to.” You smiled, blushing and putting your face in your hands, feeling like you were in middle school all over again. How could someone you just met already be giving you an entire zoo of butterflies in your stomach?

“I try.” You replied, shrugging your shoulders, and you felt a light pressure on your upper back, which was now exposed since you were leaning over.

“You don’t have to.” He smiled when you took your head out of your hands to look at him, and you swear he stared at you like you were the only woman in the world. Damn.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” The words just came out before you could stop them, and based on Tom’s surprised reaction, he wasn’t expecting them either. You were about to pull away and apologize, then go out to curse Harrison on his false predictions, but then...

“Mind? Hell, I’ve been working up the courage to ask you that all fuckin’ night.” Tom replied, rubbing the back of his neck and only liking you more due to the forwardness. You laughed happily, finally relaxing as you dopily shook your head, feeling a weight of awkward tension being lifted from your shoulders.

With a smile, you began to move closer to him and leaned in, putting a hand on his face to assure he was still there and he wasn’t going to pull away. When you stopped at his lips, he just smiled and closed the gap between you, his hand travelling to your lower back to also reassure himself you weren’t going anywhere.

When your lips touched, he felt the fireworks, that’s for sure. He didn’t think he could have a such strong connection with someone he’d met only a few hours, but he felt it. Tom felt it in his heart fluttering, in the way adrenaline coursed through his veins when you opened your mouth slightly, giving him silent permission. He gladly took it, and slipped his tongue into your mouth, the fading of mint gum and cheap beer entering his nervous system.

You felt the fireworks, everywhere. Once the kiss got more heated, you found yourself losing control of your instincts, every atom in your body pulling you towards him. Your hand travelled to his hair, scratching your nails up the nape of his neck, and although you couldn’t hear the probably glorious groan slip from his mouth, you could feel the vibrations on your lips. You weren’t sure if you were dreaming it, or if it was the music, you didn’t care, you had him in your grasp.

“Fuck.” He articulated as he pulled back a bit, but he didn’t want to lose the connection so he kept your foreheads pressed together. “Stay.” He practically pleaded, trying to catch your breath and suffocating on each other’s air.

All you could do was nod your head against his, leaving a kiss or two on his cheekbones and on his jawline, unable to resist the temptation. He just smiled at the way your lips seemed to tickle his skin, still holding you close as the world blurred around him. “Holy shit.” He heard you say, and with a mutual breathy chuckle you both pulled away.

Suddenly the confidence left the both of you, and you sat there in brief silence anxiously waiting for the other to say something, anything. “Do you maybe want to get a drink some time?” You smiled and returned the eye contact with him.

“I’ll have to think about it.” You teased, ruffling his hair a bit as a shocked expression filled his face. “Of course I will, idiot.” He just smiled, hand still on your back as he began to circle tiny patterns over your shirt. 

“Will you stay tonight?” You widened your eyes at the sudden question, but he quickly drew back, stuttering, trying to find his words. “Oh god I didn’t mean like- I don’t want you to get the wrong idea I just meant- I don’t know... where you’re staying and I-” He was cut off by your hysterical laughter, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. “You know if you keep up with the sarcasm you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Of course I’ll stay, and don’t worry, I won’t get the wrong idea.” He just nodded and put his arm around you, coaxing you to lean on his shoulder and you gladly took the opportunity. However, before you could, you heard a loud banging coming from the outside against the glass door.

You both whipped your heads around, only to see Harrison giving you both a thumbs up and cheering like an idiot. As you both looked back at each other to make eye contact, you both burst out laughing, shaking your heads. 

“Dickhead.” The two of you shared the same insult.

-

[farfromharry]

always (part seven) | harry holland series

summary: you and lily spend christmas day with the hollands and you couldn’t be happier

word count - 2.1k

a/n - merry christmas!!

It was officially only days before christmas and Lily was already almost 2 weeks old, which you couldn’t believe. You’d gotten help to make sure you had everything prepared present wise, but you and Lily were going to spend actual Christmas day with the Hollands.

A sudden distressed cry woke you from your sleep, pushing yourself out of your bed to tend to your babygirl. You moved around to the other side of your bed, your baby looking at you with teary eyes and a red face.

“Oh, there’s my little angel.” You gently lifted her from her crib, holding her against your chest and gently stroking her back. You bounced her gently, pressing kisses to her head to try and soothe her.

“You’re okay.” She continued to wail in your ear, your heart aching for your precious girl.

“You hungry darling?” You looked at her distressed face, taking a seat on your bed, lifting your shirt up to let her latch on.

You sighed, leaning your head back and glancing at the time on your phone screen. 4:23am.

“We’re gonna have to get you a better sleep schedule baby.” After she was done feeding, you carefully laid her back down in her crib, watching over her for a few minutes to make sure she was okay, before climbing back into bed yourself. You were out like a light the second your head hit your pillow, you were utterly exhausted.

The next morning you were woken again by loud babbles from Lily, checking the time and seeing it was almost 10am.

You sighed, pushing yourself out of bed and scooping the girl up in your arms. Harry would be coming over soon anyway. You changed Lily’s nappy and dressed her in a fluffy purple onesie, making your way into your living room to set her down in the kitchen, so you could make breakfast.

“Y/n?” You called back with a ‘hey’, letting Harry know where you were.

He entered the kitchen with a smile, moving over to the little baby to give her some affection.

“There's my favourite little girl.” She babbled, reaching up to try and touch his face. He carefully picked her up out of her high chair, pressing kisses to her cheeks and having a mini conversation with her. At least as best he could considering she didn’t understand anything he was saying.

“So, how’s it going being a mum?” Harry asked, entranced with the girl in his arms who was grabbing at his fingers.

“I adore her but,” You paused, seeing Harry look up in concern at the ‘but’. “I’m so stressed and sleep deprived.” Harry could see how tense you were, he’d noticed how tired you looked when he first came in, but he didn’t want to sound rude.

“I didn’t realise it’d be this hard by myself.” You complained.

“Let me look after her for a few hours,” He offered. “Go and catch up on some sleep.” You were hesitant, feeling bad to burden him with Lily, but also growing slightly protective over her.

“She’ll be okay, would i ever let you down?” You shook your head, thanking him.

“Be good for Harry.” You kissed her head, Harry pouting when he didn’t get a forehead kiss too.

“Anyone would think you’re the newborn.” He grinned, accepting your kiss with a smile.

“Have a good sleep.”

“Thank you,” A lightbulb went off in your head, realising he didn’t know what to do. You turned back around to tell him and he simply rolled his eyes. “If she cries, there’s a bottle in the fridge, just heat it up, nappies are in in her nursery and-“

“I’ll be fine, if I need any help I'll call my mum.” You nodded, taking a deep breath before heading to bed to catch up on lots of missed sleep.

“Looks like it’s just me and you now.” Harry spoke to the girl. The two had a fairly enjoyable time together, Harry in love with everything she did and the girl in awe of him. It was hours later that you were trudging into the living room looking much more refreshed. Harry was sitting on the couch, Lily against his chest while the curly haired man talked to her.

“How did it go?” You asked, taking a seat next to them and resting your head on Harry’s shoulder.

“She was a perfect angel, didn’t cry once.” He boasted. You grinned, stroking her chubby cheek.

“Thank you for helping me, my hero.” You kissed his cheek, watching Lily scrunch up his shirt in her tiny fist. It wasn’t long before your bub began to get uncomfortable, beginning to cry her small heart out.

“I think she’s finally ready for her nap.” You carefully lifted her off of Harry’s chest, taking her over to the bassinet you kept in your living room. You laid her down, hovering over her for a few minutes to make sure she knew you were there.

“Go to sleep hunny, I know you’re tired.” You watched her eyes flutter shut, content with the world around her.

“And then there were two.” You said, sitting down next to Harry again. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head.

“I mean, I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted after watching her.” You huffed.

“Don’t leave me yet.” You begged, staring at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Can I just nap here?” He asked, watching you think about it.

“I guess so.” You said, Harry scoffing at how unamused you sounded. You flashed him a cheeky grin, motioning for him to lay his head on your lap.

“Here.” You handed him a fluffy blanket that you usually kept on the back of your couch, throwing it over his body to keep him warm. You spent the next hour stroking through his curls, watching him sleep peacefully with the comfort of your warmth. With your other hand you just scrolled through your phone, not wanting to disturb Harry with the sounds of the tv.

He eventually started to shift, signalling to you that he was waking up. His hair was messy and he looked absolutely adorable, staring up at you with tired eyes.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. Nuzzling his face into your hoodie material.

“Always.”

———

3 days later and it was officially Christmas day, you were getting Lily’s stuff together to head over to the Hollands. You had already taken presents over a few days earlier, just so today you only had to bring yourself and your baby.

The drive over to the Holland household was quite pleasant. There was soft christmas music playing in the background, with the bubbly feeling of excitement in the pit of your stomach.

Getting out of the warmth of your car, you were hit with the freezing december weather, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Lily was quick to protest at the change in temperature with a small uncomfortable cry, her chubby cheeks turning a soft pink shade as the cold hit her.

Your cold knuckles knocked on the front door of the house, a shiver running through your body.

You wrapped Lily’s coat around her tighter, pulling her little hat down and doing everything you could to protect her from the blistering cold. The door to the Holland house opened a few minutes later to a smiley Harry. Welcoming you inside.

“There’s my favourite girl.” Harry said, taking Lily from your arms and cradling her close to his warmth. You scowled at him playfully.

“Me or her?” You asked, teasing your best friend. “Be careful with your answer.”

“You, obviously.” He stated, like it was a fact. When you nodded, seemingly satisfied, he leaned in close to Lily, his mouth close to her tiny ear.

“I lied, it’s definitely you.” He whispered to the girl, tickling her to make her giggle. You scoffed.

“I heard that, Holland.” He laughed, sending you a teasing wink.

You followed him into the living room, seeing the other Holland’s scattered around doing various things.

“We have visitors.” Harry announced, motioning to you. Sam was quick to practically snatch Lily, peppering her cheek with soft kisses.

“Merry christmas y/n!” Nikki said, pulling you into a tight hug. You said it back, thanking her for letting you crash their Christmas day.

“You’re always welcome.” Tom was next to pull you into a hug, ruffling your hair like an older brother would.

“Did I hear y/n?” Paddy asked, slipping into the living room to look for you.

“Hi, little man.” The nickname caused him to groan, it’d been something you’d called him for years, even after he passed you in height.

“I’m taller than you.” You rolled your eyes, pulling him into a hug.

“And I don’t care.” You simply stated. You watched Lily receive all the affection she could ever ask for, babbling incoherent things.

“Can we open presents now?” Paddy asked, motioning to the pile under the tree.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You whined, feeling bad that the teenager was unable to have a normal christmas morning.

“You’re here now, so let’s get started!” Paddy announced. You stifled a laugh, nodding your head. You watched with a smile as the lads fussed Lily, helping her rip open the wrapping paper on her presents.

“Come here a second.” Harry said, tapping your shoulder. He took your hand and lead you away from his family.

“This is for Lily.” You playfully rolled your eyes at your best friend.

“It better not be another stuffed animal, she has too many already.” You joked. Harry shook his head with a small grin, telling you to just open it. Harry had pulled you over to a more quiet part of the living room to give you this, not wanting his brothers to see or hear.

“A blanket?” You asked, looking at him in confusion. A blush rose to his cheeks. He showed you the space where Lily’s name was engraved in, only confusing you further.

“I don’t get it- why did we have to open it separately?” You asked.

“I-i may have made it.” He stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You awed, finding it cute that he’d go through so much trouble for you.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not.” You argued. “I think it’s adorable.” You said, squeezing his cheek playfully.

“I didn’t really know what to get her so-“

“Harry, this is perfect, thank you.”

After all the presents came the part all the Holland boys were the most excited about; christmas dinner.

They practically ran to the dining room when Nikki announced it was ready, taking their seats at the table and digging into their plates like animals.

“You’re like savages.” Nikki muttered, receiving a laugh from you as you dug into your own food. Every now and then you’d alternate between eating and amusing Lily so she wouldn’t cry.

You pinched her cheek gently, wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“Such a messy baby.” You said. She just babbled, showing you her gummy smile that made your heart flutter.

“A bit like Harry.” Sam said, receiving a slap to the arm from his twin. You laughed at the two, leaving your angel to finish up the last bits of your meal.

After dessert Nikki turned down your offer to help clean up, forcing one of her boys to do it instead. Tom groaned, trailing to the kitchen with some dirty dishes in his hands, muttering complaints on the way.

“Nikki, that was amazing, thank you.” She smiled, kissing your head as she walked by. The table was disturbed when your little bub began to cry, you being able to recognise that she was crying for food.

“I think she’s hungry.” You pouted, lifting her up into your arms.

“Go feed her, we’ll sort this.” Sam said, motioning to the table that needed clearing.

“Are you sure?” You asked, feeling slightly bad.

“Unless Harry’s going to grow boobs and feed her, I'm pretty sure you’re the only one that can.” Harry slapped his twin upside the head, calling him an idiot. You just laughed, making your way up the stairs to feed your precious angel.

———

“I really enjoyed today, thank you.” Harry squeezed your shoulders gently.

“We’re all glad you were both here.” The two of you continued to get ready for bed, you also getting Lily into her onesie. The three of you would be sharing Harry’s bed in his childhood room for the night, having to make sure Lily stayed safe between you both.

You climbed under the covers, next to your already sleeping daughter. You had a smile gracing your face, one that Harry couldn’t help but completely adore.

“Goodnight Harry, merry christmas.” You whispered, laying your arm over Lily gently to make sure she’d be safe.

“Merry christmas y/n.”

always taglist - @hopelessly-harry @iwearheadphones @thevelvetseries @minejungwoo @siriuslyslyslytherin @givebuckyhisplumsnow @itstaskeen @icyhollands @starkweasley

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Here Today

Summary: Beaver spotted the man first as he & Jonesy strolled towards Derry’s kissing bridge, hand-in-hand. He was hunched over himself in a way that had to be might uncomfortable. Beaver stopped his loud laughter when Jonesy let go of his hand. For safety. 

They’d just bow their heads, walk past and maybe come back later to attend to their business if they saw fit. At least, that could have been the plan had Beaver not recognized the stranger. 

Fandoms: IT & Dreamcatcher 

Ships: Reddie, Jonesy/Beaver 

Word Count: 3,708

There was a man with bad posture sitting on the kissing bridge. 

A couple of things were wrong with him. Some were simply symptoms of a common cold (the cough, the stuffiness & the sneeze). But what was left (the breakdowns, the depression & sudden fondness for his hell-hole hometown) were signs of a problem much larger than that of a ‘sick-bug’.

The man with awful posture was re-entering a period of mourning. Like the time of the werewolf; the moon snuck up on Richie Tozier two nights ago and reduced him to a sad, hairy man. Slobbery too. But slobbery with tears.  

Each of his loser’s club pals had reached out to him that morning. Their texts were loving & perfect but awkward (through no fault of their own). Who knew what to say to their best friend who’d never officially come out of the closet on the anniversary of the man he never got to confess his full-love to’s death? Hallmark didn’t have the best cards for that. Some. But not a lot. 

Mike Hanlon had encouraged his Idea to come on down to Derry over the phone when he’d hesitantly pitched it. Once Richie told him about the carving, Mike told him to go on & head-out. Pay a sentimental visit instead of succumbing to his usual coping mechanism of crying & watching movies for straight men. ‘She’s Out of My League’ had been his original plan for the afternoon.

But sweet Mike was right, as he often was. So Richie negotiated a week off with his agent before the ‘real work’ in his schedule started. He came home...to the place where he’d grown-up...the place which housed some of his fondest and some of his most horrifying memories. It was that strange sort of balance that kept any feeling but numb at bay. 

{R + E}

It had still been there, of course. He hadn’t expected any Derry hooligans' to scratch it off or some shit. But it was still sort of surreal to be back again. He traced his fingers along the thick, cut-open lines just as he’d done down the tender ripped skin of Eddie’s wound two years ago. He shouldn’t have been as squeamish this time, considering it was only carved wood not the yanked-open & festering skewer hole of his loved one (Ha! He laughed like a disturbed & deeply depressed Fozzy Bear at that one!)

That had been a little over twenty minutes ago but Richie still hadn’t left. He sat now at the edge with his legs hung over the side. Not completely ready to go back to his lonely motel room. He thought about the Losers having to pull him off Eddie’s body down in the sewers which eerily lead him to his Halloween costume six or so years ago...Tom Petty’s get-up in the ‘Mary Janes Last Dance’ Video. 

He felt a sudden urge to vomit and cry at the same time. Because there was truly no way to avoid the pain. It would just have to hammer in his chest until it either passed or killed him. He couldn’t run from himself or his memories for very long. He felt a sick sensation of missing the time he’d first left Derry & was forced to forget everything and everyone. At least then...

No. He hated that he could even think about wanting that. He would just have to keep learning how to live without Eddie Kaspbrak. Shouldn’t be too damn difficult, huh?

: : : : : :

Beaver spotted the man first as he & Jonesy strolled towards Derry’s kissing bridge, hand-in-hand. He was hunched over himself in a way that had to be might uncomfortable. Beaver stopped his loud laughter when Jonesy let go of his hand. For safety. Derry was nowhere near as bad as it’d once been but you couldn’t be too careful when it came to displaying your sexuality in front of strangers, sadly. 

Though still, the boys held love for their home-town. After all, it was the setting of their found family and nothing was more important than the good ol’ SSDD gang. 

They’d just bow their heads, walk past and maybe come back later to attend to their business if they saw fit. 

At least, that could have been the plan had Beaver not recognized the stranger. “Jesus Christ-Bananas!” he yippee’d in that voice Jonesy usually adored but was slightly annoyed by in the moment. “That’s Richie fucking Tozier!”

“A very distressed looking Richie Tozier.” Jonesy corrected, hoping they were giving the man enough space & privacy that he couldn’t notice them yet. He nver understood his boyfriend’s obsession with the guy. To Jonesy, Richie Tozier seemed like any other straight white comedian. “We should probably leave him alone, Beav.” 

Beaver’s beautiful joy snapped into an accepted disappointment as he observed the man in front of them. Jonesy could see the ache to rush over was hard for him to hold back. It pained him just to see his boyfriend so deflated. Teased by such a great possible experience-

“I’ll be leaving soon, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

Came a sudden friendly & very Richie Tozier like voice. Beaver just about shouted as they jumped their eyes over to meet the stranger’s. He was tall and a little gangly with Buddy Holly glasses sliding down his nose. 

“Actually we were just trying to decide which one of us was going to rob you...” Beaver chuckled awkwardly & so unlike him. “We were gonna do a coin toss for it.” He added before slamming his hand against his forehead (quite forcefully too). “That was a joke, sorry...a dumb joke...” He mumbled. Jonesy couldn’t hold back his amused grin but resisted his urge to pull Beav closer. Instead, he walked forward to their conversation ahead, an eager yet embarrassed boyfriend following him. 

“You’re Richie Tozier!” Beaver repeated. 

“Beaver’s a bit starstruck.” Jonesy smirked. “He gets this same way whenever he sees a famous comedian just chilling in our hometown.” He chuckled and pretended not to notice Mr. Tozier’s red eyes. He got the feeling---actually it was more than that, he could very well tell the man was caught between a rock & a hard place with the little...trick he & the gang each possessed. 

“Hey, that’s ok with me.” He laughed & pushed his glasses up his nose. “Don’t see any paper...want me to sign a body part or something?” He joked and Jonesy knew exactly how Beaver would try and continue the joke so...

The taller friend slapped his palm over ‘Beavers’ mouth which made that squeaky old man laugh escape Richie. 

“Gary Jones. You cane call me Jonesy.” The young man held out his free hand to shake in a charming gesture which said ‘We do this bit all the time’. It hit Richie right in the grief bone again. 

“Joe Clarendon. But my friends call me Beaver.” And just like that, Beav’s confidence was back. 

Richie noticed the way Jonesy practically glowed when his friend spoke. “Richie Tozier.” He felt the need to introduce himself, like an idiot, even though they obviously knew his name. “But you can just call me ‘your hero’, I guess.” He laughed at his own lame joke which seemed to make the Beaver-guy light up again. 

He looked them up and down. They looked about twenty or twenty-one to Richie. Beaver was a short but made up for it in hair, which was long & hippie-like. He respected that. Most of his body up top was covered by a large Fonzie-Jacket & the bottom was all about the Doc Martens. Richie felt like he was looking at a bit of a modernized version of his younger self. 

Jonesy was going for a much calmer look of a light-blue flannel and sneakers. They looked like quite the pair. 

“What’s a guy like you doing in a town like this?” Beaver grinned, charm oozing so easily off him. One of the reasons Jonesy fell in love with him so quickly. 

Richie chuckled, swiping his thumb under his nose. “Thought I’d visit my old stomping grounds.” He shrugged. 

Jonesy shared a quick look with Beav as a feeling shot up his body. He got the idea through their...special talent that there was more to that story. And by the look of it, so did Beav. 

“There’s no way you grew up here. I would’ve known that!” Beaver smacked a hand to his chest. “Jesus-Christ-Bananas!” 

Richie quirked his brow at the Beav-ism & Jonesy briefly thought he might ignore it or roll his eyes like most strangers but instead...“Mary, Joseph & the whole fruit basket!” He shook his head. Beav looked like he might burst with respect and adoration. It was just about the cutest thing Jonesy had ever seen. “I can’t believe it myself sometimes.” 

The Beav takes a toothpick from his new wooden container (a gift from Mrs. Cavell) and pops it between his teeth. He thought-no-he knew that Rich Tozier was doin’ a voice. Not an outrageous one like he sometimes did on stage but one that said ‘I’m alright. Doing just fine. Nothing to see here’ and all at once Beav felt a little bad for bothering him again. 

“I ran around with a little gang of dorks.” He laughed, 100% sure he was about to dumb a lot of his tory onto these poor boys. Not all but some. “Lost one of them two years ago today...” He frowned and looked conflicted before adding “In the flood.” 

The boys started to nod but where Jonesy felt a pinch of something wrong in his mind, Beaver started having a full-on attack about it. Like in the old days. Days of Grenadeau and Josie. Jonesy felt his boyfriend shaking and looked to see him trying to repress it to the best of his ability before lurching forward with a grunt that sounded painful.

Richie ducked down like he might try to catch him if he fainted but Beaver popped back up with sweat running down his temple. 

‘What happened?’ Jonesy sent a message through his mind almost completely accidentally. 

Beaver looked up, looking deeply deeply disturbed and scared. He’d seen images he could not for the life of himself comprehend. ‘Dark places. Large sharpened legs stabbing through somebody's body? Something like that. Screaming and...?’ He looked at Richie. “New shit today, Jonesy.” He felt vomit whirl up his throat but he swallowed quickly. “I saw a clown?” 

Richie widened his eyes before vomiting over the edge of the bridge.

“Major gross-out!” Beaver whistled as he heard the plops of chunky puke hit the water. Jonesy looked a little green himself after Rich came up, wiping his mouth with general looking shock. 

Beaver was about to make another kind of joke when he noticed the guttural growl the comedic-stranger made as his body lurched forward. He hoped the guy could catch his breath before he choked on any more reverse meals. 

He stepped forward to offer him the bandana he kept in the jacket pocket but when they briefly touched hands, another sight hit him that was just as shockingly awful as the last-----

‘Beads of blood dotted the corners of Richie’s torn lips. Hands incapable of remaining clutched with the slickness of the sweat pooling in his palms. He had Eddie kneeling between his skinny legs who was trying to communicate something to him but the most Richie could think to do in those fatal seconds was to hope for a few things. 

The kind of hopes that were important to someone at the delicate age of forty. 

A large thump above his head made him flinch, Eddie’s fist briefly slamming hard under his chin. He fought back his pain filled yelp by clasping his palm over his wet mouth. His eyes darted wildly back and forth behind the minimal cracks on his glasses. 

The second hand dirt that he’d gathered on his piss colored shirt was now having a wipe down of maroon. 

Only the dye-job didn’t come from him. Rather, Eddie Kaspbrak who was now wailing above him as Pennywise waved him around like a magic wand. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood. He popped his hand off the tight grip he’d had on his chin. The satisfying pop sound came with a small following gurgle. Gasps of choked breaths rushed out from his clotting throat. 

But none of that mattered because the love of his life was being murdered right in front of him.

He screamed.’ 

Beaver screamed too. Not as loud but just as horribly pained. 

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

“So let me get this straight...” Richie paced back-and-forth on the bridge while Beaver & Jonesy tried to follow him, amusingly. They’d each given each other new and semi-honest backgrounds now. Richie’s was hard to understand without all the pieces but beyond crazy still. “You’re in a group of friends, from Derry-” He laughed like a crazy person. Beaver loved it. And oddly, so did Jonesy. “And you all have these...powers?”

Jonesy nodded, now walking in-pace with the older man. “You got it.” He chuckled. 

“There’s five of us. How many do you have?” Beaver added, standing on his tip-toes. 

Richie stopped moving. “There’s seven-” He paused. Thinking of the cruel way Stanley & Eddie had been taken away from them. “Five left though.” He looked like he wanted a cigarette so Beaver instinctively held out a tooth-pick. 

When the comedian actually took it, Jonesy saw Beaver smile so wide it looked like it might break his gorgeous little face. For a moment the pair so alike just stared at each other. It was something of a little stand-off that Jonesy was about to question when a different thought popped into his brain. “Whoever died this day-?”

Richie slid down against the wood and sat. “Eddie.” His eyes glazed over for a moment before falling on tiny Beaver’s huge Doc Martens. 

Jonesy swallowed, hoping yet knowing he wasn’t wrong. “Was he your...?” He licked his lips in thought. But Richie cut him off by looking back up with freshly-red eyes. 

“Almost. Maybe.” He shrugged, rolling his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Slipped through my f-f-fingers-fuck. Starting to sound like stuttering Bill.” He laughed but the boys weren’t sure who that was. 

The three of them were now sitting on the bridge together. 

“He didn’t know. We left him down there and he didn’t even fucking know I was in love with him.” He sighed, not wanting to think about how weird the day was starting to become. “He was afraid of the dark.” He shrugged, holding the tooth-pick between his fingers, rolling it back-and-forth.

“Taste good like a cigarette should, huh?” Beaver mumbled after a few minutes and again Jonesy was sure that Richie wouldn’t appreciate that reaction but the man surprised him with a hearty laugh. 

“It’s like the song says; I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. Seen sunny days that I thought would never end. Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I’d see you again...” Beaver raised his tooth-pick, Richie followed without question & Jonesy raised his pinky finger. 

“How’d you get to be such a funny kid, huh?” Richie quirked his brow. 

Jonesy smiled. “Born that way.” He slapped Beav’s knee gently. 

“Overactive imagination and anger issues.” Beaver pushed Jonesy back by the face and giggled when Jonesy just let him do it. 

Richie watched the short little spitfire slap-fight his pal and felt sick to his stomach by how much the young man reminded him of himself...and of Eddie only with a tooth-pick holder clutched in his hands instead of the inhaler.

Jonesy felt a short breeze pass over them. “Beav brought me here to show me some carving he did when we were little.” He glanced at his boyfriend with extreme affection. Both knew Richie was safe now. 

“Our initials in a heart!” Beaver whistled. “Because little Beav didn’t know how to express his feelings.” He mocked a sweet voice. 

Richie laughed, chin to the sky. “You gotta be shitting me.” He leapt to his feet and gestured for them to follow him. Which they did without hesitation. “I came here for a reason today too.” He pointed towards his old carving with an unbelievable amount of pride and utter amazement. Another coincidence. 

{R + E}

The younger men each stared at the carving with wonder and appreciation. Beaver kneeled down and traced it with his fingers just as Richie had done just a half-hour ago. Jonesy simply looked off with vague amusement as he threaded his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, Richie supposed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. 

“My friend, Mike...Mike Hanlon. He thought it’d be good for me to come up here today just to...” He faded off to wave his hands about, not knowing how to finish. The boys looked up with happy looking grins. 

“Mike Hanlon?” Jonesy shook his head with joy. “He was our childhood librarian.” His tongue ran across his lips & he was most surely seeing flashes of his childhood. And maybe feeling a bit like time was passing by too quickly. 

‘Damn kid was barely twenty-one though’. Richie thought bitterly & fondly. 

Beaver nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Nice guy. He helped me check out my Playboy’s that one time.” He stuck a thumb into Jonesy’s shoulder which was slapped away with amusement. His smile faded to an exaggerated grimace. “It was always weird to go there after that.” 

Richie couldn’t help but laugh again with the jovial young men. It lasted about twenty seconds before it turned into hoarse sobs. He turned away from them, chest hurting. “Fuck, man! This is embarrassing as shit.” He managed a small chuckle through it. 

Jonesy looked at him sympathetically, hearing all of Beaver’s thoughts of ‘I wish Henry were here’.

“SSDD, huh?” Jonesy did the best he could and took pride in himself when the man turned. “Same shit, different day.” He added. 

Richie chuckled again, a beautiful one. “Yeah--yeah, I’ve heard it before.” He shook his head and leaned onto the railing. He genuinely looked cheered up by that simple phrase, sharing a private & entertained look with Beaver, who Jonesy would later call his soul-son. 

“We should give you our other friend’s number, he’s studying to be a psychologist--”

“Psychiatrist, Beav.” Jonesy corrected.

Beaver shrugged, waving his hand. “Psychiatrist, whatever. He may be able to help your fragile mental state.” 

Jonesy accepted just then that his boyfriend could never push too far when it came to Richie because the Tozier man recognized the Beav for what he was. And that would be someone very similar to himself. 

It was strangely beautiful. 

“What I saw was...” Beav faded off, eyes twitching. It was hard for him to put to words just how gut-wrenching the scene was. “Awful. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through or are going through.” He shook his head. 

Jonesy nodded, rubbing a comforting hand down his boyfriend’s arm. “I only just felt it & I wanted to die.” He wondered if that was extremely rude to say. 

Richie squinted. He was reminded of a younger Stanley Uris & his ability to see...to understand things past the other loser’s comprehension. He felt a strong urge to insist his losers come back down to Derry just to meet these home-visitors too. Maybe it was meant to be. 

“It’ll be hard to get over the fact that my vision of Eddie & I getting together in my head....” He bit into his cheek “Well, it’s going to have to stay there forever.” He looked up at the happy former Derry citizens couple as they instinctively held each-other’s hands tighter. He nearly choked with jealousy. “I loved him for a few years, forgot him for a good twenty-seven more and now...” He waved his hand in-front of him in a tight spiral. 

“You’re lonesome all the time since leaving your baby behind on Blue Bayou, huh?” Beaver flicked his tooth-pick. The sky grew a little bit cloudy over their heads and Richie Tozier burst into a fit of giggles. 

“You could say that, kiddo.” He crossed his arms, looking ready to drop the subject all together now. “And I’m not gonna say anything more about that fucking clown before you ask.” Rich smiled, pointing a finger at Jonesy who truly was about to ask more about that creature the comedian briefly mentioned only enough to explain Beaver’s vision. 

“I’ve made your nice little trip about me, sorry.” He added. “See, making people miserable is a talent of mine. I’m a great comedian in that way.” He rolled his eyes, standing up straight. 

“You’d be better if you wrote your own material. I’d like to hear some jokes about that horrible trauma you talked about.” Beaver giggled as he bit hard into his toothpick. Richie burst into another fit of genuine laughter. “My trauma is the center of my comedy-” He smirked. 

Jonesy frowned, thinking of the past and of men like Richie Grenadeau who they had once dreamed dead. He softly pinched the back of his boyfriends palm. If Tozier could keep some cards close to his chest, so could they. At least for now. 

“Ow! Bitch-in-a-Buzzsaw!” Beaver whipped his hand back and sucked on his skin like a child. Jonesy tried not to giggle as Richie looked on with confusion. 

He shrugged in response. “I just-”

“Nah, I got it.” He waved a hand from his temple to the vague direction of Jonesy’s. “We don’t have to tell each other everything. Hell, we’re still strangers.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked off in the direction of his carving. 

“But soon to be best friends.” Beaver added, breaking his lips free from the moist spot on his hand. Richie and Jonesy had a nice shared laugh at the charming boy. 

They walked a ways up the bridge to see Richie Tozier off, in some silent agreement. Jonesy felt a rush of disappointment pass through him but it was quickly squashed by the eagerness he had for his date with Beaver. 

As the group walked him over the bridge, Jonesy caught sight of little Beaver’s old carving...in the shape of a heart...

{B + J} 

[sexycraisinthanos]

Fishing for more notes and validation, so here’s an ROTG fic I wrote

Word count: 3,613

Warnings: None, kind of angsty near the end

Jack learns more about being a Guardian and himself

Jack chewed a piece of grass, looking at the sky. He closed his eyes, smiling.

Then something dropped on his face.

He yelped and sat up. “What the?”

“Come on, Jack. You gotta get ready.” Bunny said.

“Ready for what?”

Bunny sighed, rolling his eyes. Not in an annoyed sort of fashion, but as if he were a child being forced to go to an event he hated. “It’s the Ceremony of Spirits.”

“Let’s pretend I don’t know what that means and you pretend to explain it to me.”

He sat beside Jack, resting his chin on his paw. “It’s this big celebration we all go to. A day of peace. Kind of like a stalemate. We all just gather around, eat, drink, talk, and have fun. It sucks.”

“Well you do hate fun.”

“We gotta dress up in our ‘traditional clothes.’ Something about how it shows we’re all just people at our core. And we can’t fight anyone!” He threw his hands up. “It’s the worst! Even worse than Christmas!”

Jack laughed, standing up, looking at the clothes Bunny had thrown on his face. “So I have to wear my old clothes. Okay...wait do you wear clothes?”

“You’ll see it. Just get changed. I opened you a tunnel that’ll lead to the Hall. See you there.”

He jumped down a tunnel, leaving Jack with more questions than answers.

After looking at himself in his change of clothes, he started feeling very aware that he didn’t have shoes. He took a breath and jumped down the hole.

The hole ended in front of a large castle. A very pink castle. Jack squinted his eyes and stepped back to get a better look and slipped, nearly falling backwards.

He looked down and his head spun.

The castle was in the air, a very good distance from the ground.

Where the heck was he?

A very rough pat on the back nearly caused him to fall forward, but he caught himself.

“Jack! I was wondering if you’d gotten invitation.” North laughed. “I kid. Attendance is mandatory.”

“Hey...so I have a few questions. Where are we, what’s going on, why are we in the sky, and why is that castle pink?”

Before North could answer, Jack jerked his head, seeing Pitch approaching. He reached for his staff, but North stopped him. “Jack, this is time of peace. Pitch is welcome here.”

“This doesn’t make sense. He literally tried to kill us!”

“Oh boohoo, Frost. You’re already dead.” Pitch said.

Jack scowled and stomped up to him. “I can send you back under the bed you crawled out from.”

A gust of wind filled the air and a tall woman appeared out of a whirlwind of flowers, approaching Jack. “Jack, maybe you weren’t told, but this is a time of peace and weapons nor magic will be allowed.” She took his staff.

“Who are you?”

“Mother Nature. Sweet, darling Mother Nature.” Pitch answered in mock praise. “She’s the reason I’m here. Emily, darling, so lovely to see you. I’m sure your father misses you very much.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, saying nothing. “Jack, I’m sure you have questions.”

“Uh, yeah.” Jack said.

“This is the Ceremony of Spirits. Once a year all Spirits, good, bad, neutral, gather in a day of peace. To show that in any time of need, no matter the consequence, if we need each other, we will help one another.”

“That sounds dumb. Why are we in the air and why is the castle pink?”

“We’re in the air because Heartstrings doesn’t like company. And it’s pink because he likes pink.”

“Who’s Heartstrings?...Wait, like Cupid?”

As if waiting for a dramatic entrance, a young man swooped down, sporting large wings, pink messy hair, and a smug attitude. “Hello, loves. You must be Jack Frost. My name’s Apollo C. Heartstrings, but most people call me Heartstrings.”

“I thought Cupid was a chubby little baby with a diaper?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “I hate that depiction. Why would I be a baby in a diaper? Babies don’t even know how to use a bow and arrow!”

Jack pursed his lips and backed away. A firecracker whizzed past his ear and he spun around as another one barely missed his nose. “Whoa!”

“Oh great…” Bunny groaned, walking up. “THEY’RE here.”

“Who?”

“The twins.”

“What twins?”

“The Foolery twins.”

“Foolery-?”

A colorful puff of smoke filled the area and two very colorful teenagers in very colorful jesters’ outfits appeared.

The April Fools.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m April and this is my brother Tom.” The girl grinned.

“That is awesome.” Jack said.

“Jack Frost. Oh we heard about you. That snowstorm to get kids out of school? Classic!” Tom said, shaking his hand furiously.

Jack pulled his hand away and stuffed it in his pocket. “Um...thanks.”

“It’s time to head inside.” Mother Nature said as the rest of the guests arrived. “Leave your weapons at the door.” She side-eyed the twins and walked inside as a magical forcefield went up.

Jack looked up in awe. “I’m guessing this is how you keep magic from being used inside.”

He followed them inside and sat in a chair.

Bunny and someone who appeared to be the Groundhog were arguing over a seat, ending with her pushing him to the ground and sitting calmly in her seat.

The castle was much larger on the inside than Jack imagined.

It was probably bigger than the North Pole.

But what surprised him the most was seeing Pitch casually enjoying a conversation with a spirit covered in flowers.

He smiled a little. Maybe there could be a chance for them all to get along.

Everyone was chatting and quieted down when Mother Nature stood at the front of the room. She cleared her throat and when she spoke, Jack realized how ethereal her voice sounded. Like it was everywhere at once. It was strong and harsh, but soft and comforting at the same time. He could tell he would not want to upset her.

“Welcome. Thank you all for coming. It’s good to see that we are continuing to see your faces after all these years. The same faces mean we have the same alliances. We do have a new face here. We welcome Jack Frost, newly-appointed Guardian. This is his first time at this event.”

The spirits looked at him. He sunk in his chair, unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, the room went quiet as the doors burst open. A wind so cold even Jack shuttered filled the room. There was a heavy stomping and with each step there was a jingle of bells.

“You aren’t having a party without me, are you?” A deep, growling voice that sent shivers down Jack’s spine asked.

He turned around, seeing a large figure approaching. Hooded in a dark red cloak, frayed and tattered.

Jack stared, confused, while everyone else had stood, readying to fight. “Oh, come now, you know there’s no violence allowed at these things.”

“Who are you?” Jack asked.

The figure turned its head, looking at Jack. The figure pulled its hood down and Jack’s stomach turned.

A beast. With large horns, both broken. A human eye, glowing red, an animal eye, a sickly yellow, with a horizontal pupil. Large, sharp teeth and a crooked jaw turned into a sneer. Covered in snow white fur. Even taller than North. Just staring at him made Jack feel a sense of dread.

“Who am I?” He laughed. “Never thought I’d have to introduce myself. Nowadays I just go by Krampus. And you must be Jack Frost. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He held out his large paw.

Pitch immediately stood defensively in front of Jack. “Don’t you have better things to do? Like eating garbage cans?”

He growled lowly. “Isn’t this a time of peace? Shouldn’t I be welcome?”

“No one wants you here.”

“Oh you wound me, Pitch.” Krampus looked at Jack. “I wasn’t always a monster, you know. I used to help children. I was the first Santa. Then Man in the Moon decided to replace me. Can you imagine? Me, a loving father, replaced by a man who spent his whole life robbing and killing!” He roared, motioning to North.

“You leave now or not even the grace of the Fates will save you.” Mother Nature said.

“Why were you replaced?” Jack asked.

“Because he wanted to eat children’s souls.” Pitch said

“I wanted to discipline children so they behave more, but one wrong spell and I turn into this. What did Manny do when he saw me like this? Did he look for a way to turn me back? Or did he turn his back on me? You know what that’s like, don’t you Jack? Manny seeing you in distress and then doing nothing to help?”

Pitch pulled Jack behind him. “You will leave or we’ll roast you and turn you into a stew!”

Krampus stepped back, not taking his eyes off of Jack. “I suppose there’s always next year. Pleasure to meet you, Jack.” He bowed and disappeared in a flurry of snow.

Something in Jack almost made him run after him. Seeing him felt...familiar somehow. As if he felt safe near him.

He shook his head and looked at the others. They were all on edge and looked at Jack.

“Why was I so important to him?” He asked, looking at Mother Nature.

She pursed her lips and glanced over at another spirit who nodded, standing. He quickly walked to another room.

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of us. It’s best to ignore him.” She looked to the others. “Carry on. I have to have a meeting with Time.” She turned on her heel and walked after the other spirit.

“Are you okay, Jack?” North asked.

“I’m fine...why is everyone so scared of him? He’s just another spirit.”

“Krampus is different...even bad spirits like Pitch...they still have souls. Krampus. He has none. His heart is...too consumed by dark to ever be good.”

“What happened with him?”

“I don’t know full story. I just know he tried to be stricter Santa and...did not end well.”

Jack looked at the door. Why did he want to go after him?

He stood up and flew out, ignoring everyone calling after him. 

Something was calling to him and he needed to find out what and why.

Jack scanned the area, looking for some form of a sign as to where Krampus went. 

A pull in his chest directed him towards a snowy mountain range.

As he got closer, the weather dropped, winds picked up, and snow spun in the air around him in the form of a snow storm. Both the unease and the bite of the snow were enough to make Jack lose feeling in his body. It was the first time he had ever remembered feeling cold.

He shivered, flying through the storm. There was definitely no doubt that Krampus was here. 

A strong wind knocked him out of the sky, hitting the side of a mountain. He groaned in pain, gripping the cliff face. 

This was probably a bad idea, but he had gone too far to give up. 

He took a breath and launched himself off the mountain and shielded his face with his arms. 

There it was again.

A pull in his chest. 

He looked around and saw a cave opening in the bottom of a mountainside. 

That’s where it wants me to go.

He flew down and landed in the opening. 

It appeared empty. And since he didn’t see anywhere else, Jack figured it’d be a good enough place to warm himself up.

He made his way toward the back of the cave in an attempt to get away from the storm brewing outside. 

Jack took a breath and sighed, closing his eyes. “What am I doing here?”

His head jerked up, hearing the crackle of fire deeper in the cave. He stood up and walked toward the sound. 

Smoke filled the air and Jack sighed with relief as it got warmer. 

As predicted, there was a campfire going. A rather big one. He quickly jumped, getting into a battle position when he realized Krampus was sitting a bit away, preparing some form of meat to be cooked. It was then, of course, that Jack realized that he had forgotten his staff.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you, son. Ice doesn’t work on me.” He simply said, not looking Jack’s way. “Sit. I’m just getting dinner ready.”

Jack, too stunned to say anything in response, simply sat down. Krampus slowly walked over, setting a large slab of meat onto a skillet and sitting across from Jack. 

It was silent except for the sound of the fire and the sizzle of the food cooking. 

“So what brings you here?” Krampus finally asked.

Jack opened his mouth, but found no words.

He didn’t know.

He simply closed his mouth and sighed. 

That seemed to be an acceptable answer for Krampus. He grunted in acknowledgement. 

“I see. The fancy Guardian party bore you?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. I left after you did. I...just needed to...I don’t know, talk? To you. I don’t know why I’m here. Something just told me to come find you.”

Krampus nodded. “This is what they feared, I assume.”

“Feared? Why?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a monster. You’re in danger around me.”

“Then how come I don’t feel in danger?”

“Because you’re young and stupid.”

Jack pursed his lips, unsure of how to respond to that. He had been pretty foolish in the past.

“Why are you...like this?” Jack finally asked. 

Krampus laughed, making the hairs on Jack’s neck stand. “Why? Writing a biography about me?”

“I...was just curious.”

Krampus took a handful of some vegetables, tossing them into the skillet with the meat and took a bite out of a carrot. “Well that’s a loaded question, I suppose. I was like you before. Human.”

“You were?”

He nodded. “Very. Had a wife. Kids. I was a hunter. Provided food for my people. Then I saved the wrong person and got stuck as Santa.”

“You were the first Santa. What happened?”

“You already know. I eat children’s souls, remember?”

“Maybe I want to hear your side of the story.”

Krampus laughed again. “Oh, there’s always only one side of the story that’s correct.”

“So it’s true then?”

“Do you think it is?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I’m not a good person, son. I’m the stuff of nightmares. Even Pitch is afraid of me. Centuries of loneliness turned me into this. I took bad children’s souls. Replaced them with good children so their parents could have the good child they wanted. Turned the bad ones into an army of underlings for me. Word spread around, Man in the Moon was furious and exiled me to this cave. Where the cold is too intense for anyone but me to survive.”

Jack said nothing. He was horrified at what he had heard. 

Stealing children’s souls to use them for his own selfish needs. 

His stomach turned a little. 

After a few more minutes of silence, Jack finally spoke. “Was that why you were turned into a…?” He was lost at what to describe him as.

“Monster?” Krampus asked.

He nodded. 

Krampus nodded. “Unfortunately, doing bad things will get you turned into a hideous beast. This is the result of the spell I created. When you create something designed to take souls, you start to lose yours slowly.”

“Why did you take the kids’ souls?”

“Well I couldn’t very well destroy their souls. That’d be cruel.”

Jack made a face, unsure if he was joking or not. 

“It started out as a way to find the best lost soul to replace my lost children.”

Jack smirked a little. “What? Couldn’t find yourself a Mrs. Claus?”

Krampus cracked a smile, but forced it back into his default scowl. “I only have room in my soul for my Mariana...Died so young...I was able to find her soul and take it before Death could. And my daughter’s...I was never able to get my son’s.”

“Why not?”

“His soul still wanders.”

“Like a ghost?”

“Of sorts.”

Jack sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “This is all a lot to understand…”

“Why did you come searching for me?”

“I don’t know...I just...felt like I needed to know about you. Something is calling to me here and I don’t know what.”

Krampus stood, moving the food off the fire. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“I know what is calling to you.” 

He started off.

Jack was unsure of if this was a bad idea, but followed nonetheless. 

“Following a soul stealer into his dark and scary cave. Real smart idea.” Jack said to himself.

“I trust your gut.” Krampus said.

The cave opened up into a damp, humid cavern that was significantly warmer than expected. Stalagmites formed into shapes that resembled furniture. Torches lined every wall, lighting the space up, along with the hole in the top of the cave that allowed the moon to shine down on every surface inside. There were multiple tunnels that led to somewhere. 

Krampus ducked down, walking into one. Jack quickly flew after him. “Where are we going?”

“A place that not a lot of people have come out of.”

“Comforting.”

The tunnel ended and they stepped out into another room that looked similar to the main area of the cavern. Except the cave walls had been formed into shelves that held orbs filled with different colored smoke. 

“Whoa...what is this place?”

“This is where the souls I collect go.”

“These are souls?”

He nodded. “They’re not hurt, I promise. They don’t even know where they are. As far as they know, they’re living their normal lives.”

“They’re calling to me?”

“One of them.” He walked over to a stand where two orbs, one with brown smoke, another with bright pink, sat comfortably. 

Jack walked over. “Why would they be calling to me?”

“Because something wanted your family together again.”

“My family?” He picked up the pink one, looking at it.

Jack, come on! I wanna go play!

His little sister was in the orb. Laughing as she played with someone who looked like him. 

Someone who was him.

He dropped it in shock.

Krampus quickly dove to catch it and held it close. “Be careful! If you drop these, their souls are gone forever!”

“That’s my sister. Why do you have her!? Who are you!?”

He carefully set it back on the pedestal and looked back at Jack. Jack jumped, kicking him in the chest, pushing him back. 

Krampus grunted, catching himself. He stood, growling quietly. “Jack-”

“Let her go!” 

Wind picked up inside, rattling all the orbs. Snow spun around furiously and Jack shot a stream of ice out of his hands at Krampus, who knocked it away and roared. “If you keep up your tantrum, you’ll destroy every last soul in here and they’ll be gone forever!”

His voice echoed throughout the cave and Jack stopped, cowering a little. The wind and snow stopped and Jack stared quietly. He panted, looking around. “I told you. I had my wife and daughter’s souls saved. So I would never be without them.”

“You...they…”

“My son’s soul was never able to be captured because...it’s still around.”

“No...you’re lying.”

“I’m many things. A liar is not one of them. You, Jack…”

“Don’t say it.”

“You are my child.”

“I said SHUT UP!” A burst of cold shot through the room, freezing everything. 

Jack panted, clenching his fists. 

“Jack-”

He flew out of the cave, landing back at the Ceremony of Spirits, catching his breath.

The others ran up to him, crowding around him.

“Jack!” Bunny called.

“Are you hurt?” Tooth asked.

“Jack, you look terrible.” North said, holding his face, checking for any injuries.

Jack pushed them away. “Is he telling the truth?”

“What are you talking about?” Tooth asked.

“Krampus!”

They all quieted down, looking at him solemnly. 

“Is he telling the truth? He’s my dad?”

They said nothing, unsure of what to say.

“How long...how long have you guys known?”

“Since you were chosen.” Bunny sighed.

“So you all knew and were just going to hide it from me!? Why? You think I’m going to be as bad as him?”

“Of course not, Jack.” Tooth said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He moved her hand away, glaring. “Do not touch me.”

“We’re sorry. We didn’t want you to freak out.”

“So you were just going to keep it a secret from me for the rest of eternity!? No wonder Bunny didn’t want me to be a Guardian...look at who my dad is.”

“Now that’s not true-” Bunny tried to defend.

Mother Nature moved to the front of the group. “I know this is a lot to process. I know what it’s like to have a bad spirit as a father.”

“Don’t! Don’t try to sympathize with me! All of you need to stay away from me!” Jack snatched up his staff and turned away.

“Where are you going?” Tooth asked.

“Away from all of you.” He flew off, wiping tears from his face. 

He landed, sitting inside a hole in a tree, curled up to fit inside.

Alone.

Maybe loneliness ran in his family.

Jack chewed on a piece of grass, staring up at the moon. He closed his eyes, crying. 

[fanficshiddles]

Believing, One shot

Thank you for the prompt daddys-littlewhitegirl hope you like it!

I was wondering if you could write a soulmate one shot Loki/Tom, you’re free to choose, that people are born with heterochromia in which one eye is your own color and the other is fully (or partially) your soulmate’s eye color.

-

Naomi knew he was close. She could feel it… Though she really didn’t want to feel it. She didn’t believe in it.

But ever since she moved to New York two weeks ago, she had this weird feeling inside of her. Her friend kept telling her it was because her soulmate was close by, but she didn’t believe in it. She was sure it was all just superstition.

Her eyes were blue, apart from her left eye which was half green. She was told that meant her soulmates eyes were green and he, or she, would have a half blue eye.

But the other problem was, so many people had green eyes with half blue. People said that when you got close to your soulmate, you would feel it. That when you met them, you would know they were the one straight away…

‘It’s all a load of bullshit!’ Naomi said to her friend on the phone.

‘Come on, Naomi, you know it’s not. Look at me, I found my soulmate and our eyes match.’

‘Yeah, ok. Look, I gotta go. Catch you later.’ Naomi rolled her eyes, she knew the best way was to just agree.

She sighed and finished eating her lunch. After paying her bill, she left the café and started making her way down the street. She hadn’t gotten far when there was a sudden loud explosion. People started screaming and running past her, she got knocked into constantly as people ran in fear.

‘Help… someone, what’s going on?’ She called out, in hopes that someone would help her.

But they were running in fear and weren’t listening or caring about anyone else. Someone knocked into her and sent her flying to the ground, her stick flew out of her hand. She tried to reach for it, to find it, her heart was racing because she couldn’t find it and she had no idea what was going on.

The explosions seemed to be getting closer, she heard some strange alien noises. She knew she was fucked, she was disorientated and it sounded like there were some big ass aliens coming towards her and she couldn’t do anything.

So she curled herself up into a ball and tried to protect her head, she could hear the buildings around her starting to crumble. She could only hope and pray that she would be ok…

A large metal-like alien was destroying buildings, on its way towards Naomi who was curled up on the pavement trying to shield herself.

But the alien was suddenly blasted by a green energy blast. Naomi heard what was going on, but she didn’t have a clue what it was or what was happening. She jumped when she heard heavy footsteps running towards her, she thought it was another civilian running for their life so she tried to curl herself up even more to keep out of their way, not wanting to be trampled.

‘Hey… Are you alright?’ She heard a smooth voice ask, the voice oddly made her tremble.

She raised her head in the direction of the voice and reached out. A strong hand took hold of hers and helped her up to her feet. For some reason, she felt safe all of a sudden, so safe.

‘Your… Your eyes.’ He said, cupping her cheek and making her gasp. His touch was making her skin feel alive.

She felt like time had slowed down, her heart was almost bursting out of its chest.

‘What… what colour are your eyes?’ Naomi asked quietly.

‘Green… with some blue in my left.’ He brushed her hair back from her face. ‘I never’ He was cut off when there was a loud roar from an alien nearby.

Naomi cried out in fear upon hearing it. But the mystery man wrapped his arm around her waist and held her tightly. ‘Hold on.’

She didn’t hesitate to put her arms around him, she just knew she was safe with this stranger. And now she was starting to really believe that her friend was being truthful about soulmates.

She felt a rush of wind around her, but had no idea what was going on. It felt like the ground was taken out from underneath her, but it only lasted momentarily and then the floor was there again. But she realised she was no longer outside, it was warmer.

‘Were you hurt? Out there?’ The man with the wonderful voice asked.

‘No… I… Thank you for helping me. But I, I’ve lost my walking stick.’ Naomi said, her voice a little shaky.

She heard a weird whooshing noise, then the man’s hand gently took hers and he handed a new stick to her.

‘There, hopefully that’s ok.’ He slid his hand up her arm and gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Naomi… What’s yours?’

‘Lovely name, Naomi.’ He purred. ‘My name is Loki.’

‘Loki? Are you… As in… The one who tried to take over the city and now you’re an Avenger?’ She asked, in slight awe.

He chuckled. ‘That’s me… Please, take a seat. Over here.’ Loki gently took her elbow and guided her over to the sofa.

‘Where am I, exactly? And what on earth is going outside?’ Naomi asked as she sat down.

‘There is an alien attack, we are on the job. But for some reason, I felt a pull to where you were. And luckily so, because it seems as if we were meant to meet… I’ve taken you here to the tower, the Avengers tower. It’s safe here, the fight is across town.’

Naomi ran her hand down her face. ‘This is… unreal. I… I never belied in soulmates before. But I guess, I have been feeling… weird, since I moved here.’

‘I didn’t believe it in either, and now all those nights of butterflies in my stomach over the last few weeks makes sense.’ Loki grinned.

There was a small silence between them for a moment, neither of them knowing what to do or say really.

‘If you don’t mind me asking… How did you…’

‘Lose my sight?’ Naomi finished for him.

‘Yeah.’ Loki said sheepishly.

‘Honestly, I have no idea. I just woke up one morning and couldn’t see a thing. That was about five years ago now.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Loki said sadly.

‘Don’t be. It could’ve been a lot worse, at least I’m still healthy otherwise… So uhm, what do you look like? I mean, I heard descriptions of you a few years back when you were on the world news. But I dunno if they were being truthful or not.’

‘How did they describe me?’ Loki asked, curious.

‘As a raving lunatic, with crazy hair and a crooked nose… The image in my head definitely doesn’t match your voice, though.’ She blushed a little, making Loki smile as he laughed.

‘Well, they are very wrong. I’m drop dead gorgeous, for the record.’ He said cockily, making her laugh.

‘May I find out for myself?’ She asked shyly.

‘Of course.’ Loki agreed.

Naomi took a deep breath, she wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous all of a sudden. The whole situation was so damn bizarre.

She slowly reached out towards where she thought his face was, but she felt a whole lot of leather and metal instead, having touched his chest. She felt her way up to his neck and further. He was a hell of a lot taller than she had been expecting.

When she reached his face, she was careful as she first felt his chin, then up to his cheeks and his nose. She smiled. ‘Well, you don’t have a crooked nose.’

Loki chuckled. ‘I told you, I’m a handsome God.’

She touched all over his face then ended in his hair, surprised to find it quite long and slick. She was relieved that he didn’t have crazy hair.

‘What colour is your hair? And what are you wearing, it’s… different.’ She said as she went back to touching his chest, feeling the armour.

‘My hair is black. And I am wearing my Asgardian armour, for fighting in. It’s made of leather and metal, as I’m sure you can feel. Black, gold and green. It gives me plenty of protection, but is also easy to move around in.’

‘I’d say the media was definitely lying, then.’ She grinned.

‘Definitely.’ Loki chuckled.

He was about to speak when the rest of The Avengers came back, they walked in to find Loki with Naomi.

‘Woahhhh, what’s happening here? You just left us to deal with those aliens!’ Steve grumbled at him.

‘Saving a damsel in distress, by the looks of it?’ Tony smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

Loki clenched his jaw. ‘Everyone, this is Naomi… Naomi, this is, everyone.’ He went through all their names for her.

‘Hi.’ She said shyly and waved in their direction.

‘Uhm… Is there any chance I could have some water?’ Naomi asked, turning her head towards Loki.

‘Of course. I’ll take you to the kitchen, come with me.’ He stood and took her hand, helping her up. She took his arm and he walked with her.

‘Hey, hey, hey. Since when did Loki become such a gentleman?’ Natasha teased as they watched him being all soft with her.

Loki shot them a glare and carried on.

‘Leave him be. It seems he’s found his soulmate.’ Bruce said.

‘Ignore them.’ Loki muttered to Naomi.

‘They seem nice.’ She laughed.

Loki sat her down at the island in the kitchen and then poured her a drink of water. Then he joined her.

‘I know we’ve just met, Naomi… But uh, would you like to go for dinner tonight?’

‘I guess so… I mean, it would be wrong to go against nature, with us being soulmates and all.’ Naomi grinned, making Loki’s smile even larger.

The team had been eavesdropping by the door, Thor let out a big whoop. Making Loki groan in annoyance while Naomi laughed.

[thollandthot]

three’s company ; tom holland x harrison osterfield

A/N: ta daaa !! here is my long awaited threesome one shot !! this is probably the longest one shot i have ever written so i hope you enjoy it !! WORD COUNT: ~5.5K lol PAIRING: college au frat boy!tom holland x frat boy!harrison osterfield x female reader. WARNINGS: possibly the most nsfw thing imaginable. threesome/polyamory, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected sex,  underaged drinking kinda.

CLICK HERE TO READ PART ONE. CLICK HERE TO READ PART TWO. CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE. CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE AND A HALF. CLICK HERE TO READ PART FOUR.

three’s company

Quite a bit of your college experience had, for a lack of a better term, sucked. You took classes you didn’t care about that were taught by professors who didn’t care about you, and gave homework you never understood. You tried to remain a good student, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the semester progressed.

However, there was one class you were always excited to attend. Your 11:15 Philosophy course. It was your last class of the day, and always put a smile on your face. Not because you enjoyed what you were being taught, nor the professor who taught it, but because of the two incredibly attractive British exchange students that sat in front of you.

You’d been fortunate enough to get paired with the two of them for a project at the beginning of the semester. You had to do a presentation about Socrates together, which wasn’t extremely difficult, but once you looked around the lecture hall and noticed many of your classmates practically drooling over the two boys who were assisting you on your project, you knew you weren’t the only one competing for their affections.

Luckily for you, you had a slight advantage over everyone else in your lecture. You had developed a friendship with both of them. Meeting with them twice a week for almost a month to work on a project did have its perks, but that did nothing to lessen the crush you had on the two. They were genuinely nice guys. They kept their room clean, they were funny, they were polite, and the more you saw them interact with each other, the more you began to like them.

But you knew you had to shove those feelings down. You knew both of them were incredibly out of your league, and although they both said they didn’t have girlfriends, you could tell that they both had a pretty high body count. But that didn’t deter you. Hell, if you looked like either of them, you would have a high body count, too.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” You snickered as you plopped into your unassigned assigned seat behind the two Brits a few minutes before your lecture began. The two swiveled around in their chairs to face you upon hearing your voice.

“Y/N.” The blonde greeted with a nod and a playful grin. That one was Harrison. He was taller than his roommate, and a little bit paler. He frequently wore a confident smile, which definitely factored into the crush you had on him. He had piercing blue eyes that always helped him get what he wanted out of you, whether it be answers to homework, a story about a boy, sex, you’d give it to him if he gave you one look. It was a problem.

“You free Friday night?” His brunet companion raised a brow at you. That one was Tom. Although he was shorter than Harrison, he was definitely leaner. You often found yourself staring at the way his t-shirts would strain around his shoulders and biceps, and when he’d move his arms up to stretch on occasion you found it difficult not to salivate. You also noticed that he often messed around with his chocolate brown curls during class, and it never failed to make you think about what it might feel like if you were the one running your fingers through that gorgeous head of hair. His brown eyes were soft, but his smirks were teasing, giving you the impression that he would never do anything to hurt you, but that he also wouldn’t hesitate to fuck you into oblivion.

You were too caught up in your own thoughts to realize Tom had asked you a question, and it took you a bit longer than it should have to respond. “Come on, Tom, you know Friday is bingo night. I’m trying to win big at the nursing home.” You joked, causing Harrison to stifle a laugh as his friend glared at him.

“You should blow that off and come hang out with us instead. PIKE is having a party.” Tom continued. PIKE, as in the fraternity. Of course they were in a fraternity. And it wasn’t just any fraternity. It was the fraternity that was rumored to host the wildest parties on campus. You heard tales since your freshman year about girls leaving without their shirts after the cops were called, a kiddie pool filled with jungle juice, the list went on. You never had the pleasure of going to a PIKE party, because they were always very exclusive.

You mulled over the invitation, tapping your chin as if you were deep in thought. “Huh, Idunno, boys. I might have to check my calendar.” Of course, you already had an answer. You would have been stupid to pass up an opportunity to hang out with two of the most attractive men you had ever laid eyes on and experience a wild frat party for the first time. It wasn’t as if you had anything better to do, anyway. Regardless, you played it cool. “Will there be alcohol involved?”

Your question caused Harrison to laugh, which was followed up by a playful smirk. “A little bit, yeah.” And as if you weren’t already sold on going to this party, that really sealed the deal. You knew you could use a break from all your studying, and a good drink would definitely help you loosen up.

“Can I bring a friend?” That was your next question. You were far too introverted to go to a party alone, even if you knew two of the fraternity brothers. Not to mention, your roommate would probably kill you if she knew you went to a PIKE party without her.

Tom glanced at Harrison, as if silently asking for his approval. The blond kept that playful grin on his lips, making it difficult for you to not melt into a puddle. “Yeah. Just make sure it’s not a guy, yeah? We want you to ourselves.”

You weren’t too sure what to make of that last bit, actually. You couldn’t decipher whether or not Harrison was just partaking in playful banter or genuinely flirting with you. Regardless, the words made your cheeks heat up. “Then perhaps I’ll stop by.” You gave the two of them a wink, and as if on cue, your professor entered the lecture hall, which caused the pair in front of you to face forward in their seats, ready to start today’s lesson.

——

Friday came upon you quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it was almost 10 p.m. and you were frantically searching for what to wear to see the two boys. They never gave you a dress code, so you were going in completely blind. You figured, because it was a frat party, you’d wear something a bit more suited for the occasion than your normal t-shirts and skinny jeans. Which was why you enlisted the help of your roommate to select the outfit you had decided on; a maroon velvet camisole that was tight around your chest, your trusty pair of distressed black skinny jeans, and a pair of black wedge heels. You wouldn’t be caught dead wearing stilettos to a frat party, but you couldn’t deny how the wedges your roommate suggested made your legs look longer and accentuated your ass in your skin tight jeans. 

After your brief walk across campus, the faint sound of a pounding bassline grew nearer, the beat of some dance remix to a popular song ringing in your ears. You and your roommate immediately went your separate ways upon entering the frat house, reminding each other to text or call if or when you left. You were ready to attempt to find the kitchen in hopes to get a drink until you heard your name being called.

“Y/N!” It was in a British accent you knew could only belong to one of two people. Turning in the direction of the voice, you were soon face to face with the two boys from your Philosophy class.

Tom was the first to greet you, looking more relaxed as he gave you a hug with his free arm. His change in demeanor was almost definitely due in part to the half empty solo cup of beer in his other hand. Harrison gave you a squeeze next, wrapping both arms around you before pulling away and giving you a quick once over. He let out a low whistle and then a chuckle.

“Damn, who knew you were hiding a body like this under all those band t-shirts.” His comment caused you to flush, but it probably wasn’t noticeable under the dim lighting. Harrison took your hand in his before lifting your arm up, giving you an expectant look. “Give is a spin, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, but obliged, nevertheless, allowing Harrison to turn you around and let the two best friends see your outfit from every angle. Harrison whistled once more. “She looks good,” his attention went from you to his best friend for a moment, raising his brows at Tom and asking for his approval. “Doesn’t she, mate?”

It wasn’t until then that you noticed just how close the three of you were. Your fingers were still laced with Harrison’s and you heard Tom hum in agreement, even over the loud house music, before he proceeded to rest his free hand on the small of your back. He leaned in even closer to whisper in your ear, “You look sensational, darling.”

That made your heart skip a beat. Even the smallest of touches from Tom sent a shiver down your spine, and the pet name he called you made a surge of want course through your veins. It was suddenly incredibly hot, and you leaned forward to speak to both of them, hoping to dissolve the tension between the three of you. 

“So are you two just gonna stare at me all night, or are you gonna come with me to get a drink?”

They didn’t argue, and for most of the night, the three of you sat on a couch in the living room, you nursing the same vodka soda the entire time.  You were sat between the two roommates, Harrison’s arm resting across the back of the couch behind you, Tom’s hand on your thigh as his thumb absentmindedly drew circles on your skin through your jeans. You talked about a lot of things, but mostly classes and homework. You attempted to avoid talking about your shared Philosophy course, not wanting to kill the mood.

The three of you weren’t drunk, but you had enough to drink for your body to feel warm and for your judgement to be slightly clouded. Which was why you didn’t think twice before you asked, “So can i see your room?”

The two roommates looked at each other, a gleam in their eyes that you couldn’t quite recognize, before each of them took one of your hands, helping to pull you up off the couch and leading you upstairs. The three of you maneuvered through the bodies of drunken and sweaty college students, Tom and Harrison clearly having done so more than you ever had. They led you down the corridor, less people occupying it the further down the hall you went. You didn’t fail to notice how Harrison kept his hand in yours and Tom rested a hand on the small of your back as they guided you, but you weren’t going to comment on it. Not then, at least. Pushing through a door towards the end of the hallway, you were met with a relatively quiet room, the noise of the party becoming quieter once the door shut behind you. You took a moment to take in your surroundings; the two beds on opposite ends of the room, the UK flag on one of the bare walls, and a simple rug covering the expanse of the tiled floor. There were things tucked underneath their beds, and a few photos on their respective desks, but for the most part, there wasn’t much to be seen. 

You cautiously took a seat on one of their beds and you patted both spaces next to you, suggesting they join you in the same position they had on the couch downstairs. Of course, the two were happy to oblige, seemingly identical cheeky grins spread across their faces. They easily fell back into the same dynamic, with Tom’s hand resting on your thigh and Harrison’s arm draped around you. The air felt a lot thicker now, with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. There was a deafening silence as you looked between the two Brits, trying to read their expressions that darted between you and each other. You couldn’t read either of them, and it was driving you crazy.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you guys, like, fighting over me or something?” It was probably stupid to ask, knowing they only thought of you as a friend, but the alcohol in your system really helped to get rid of the worry that the two of them would reject you. And in light of that, you decided to dig your grave a little bit deeper. “Because I’m gonna be honest, I’m super attracted to both of you.”

That seemed to pique their interest. It caused Harrison to smirk and Tom to chuckle, squeezing your thigh. “We’ve been best friends for years. We don’t fight over girls, love.”

Your head dropped, mentally slapping yourself. You should’ve known Tom and Harrison were out of your league. In fact, you did know it, but you assumed that when they spent all their time with you tonight, you thought that because of their body language, maybe you had a chance. You clearly had misinterpreted all of it, and you wanted to curl yourself into a ball and never come out. 

It was then that Harrison cleared his throat, causing you to look up. “What this div meant to say was that -- we both are attracted to you.” The blond clarified, causing you to snap your head to the right to look at his brunet friend, hoping he’d confirm the sentiment was true. Tom nodded in reply.

“Extremely.” He admitted, hand that was on your thigh now stroking back and forth. And you suddenly realized that the looks they were giving each other, both in class the other day and throughout the night, were looks of knowing. And maybe even lust.

You weren’t exactly sure of what to say, your mouth hung there as if words were going to come out but they didn’t. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d have a chance with even one of the attractive foreign exchange students from your Philosophy class, and now here you had a chance with either of them. With both of them.

“We’ve gotten, em, quite good at sharing.” Tom prompted after there was no reply other than a long pause and an slacked jaw from you. The sentence caused your brows to furrow, now slightly confused. Originally, you thought you were just supposed to pick one of them, which was an extremely difficult choice, by the way. Those words made you think differently.

Attempting to process what Tom had just said, you blinked a few times, gaze fixed in your lap, before speaking again. “You mean, like, you have threesomes together?”

Alright, that probably wasn’t the best way you could’ve phrased it, but that was what he had meant right? What else could sharing possibly mean? Clearly, neither of the boys expected you to say that word so bluntly, them both shifting slightly in their spots on the bed before Harrison finally spoke.

“It’s not something we’ve done before, but something we’ve talked about.” Harrison gave you that serious gaze with those gorgeous ocean blue eyes that would’ve gotten you to do anything. Perhaps even have a threesome with him and his best friend. “We thought that you’d be a good candidate.”

The words made your heart stop in your chest, your gaze flickering between the two boys beside you. The two most attractive boys you had ever seen in your life wanted to have a threesome with you. Who were you to pass on that opportunity? “I’ve, uh, never done anything like that before.” You muttered, embarrassed beyond belief.

And admittedly, Tom and Harrison had never done anything like that before, either. But they weren’t sure if you were saying yes or no, and there was an unspoken pact between them in that moment that they’d try to make you feel as comfortable as possible, if you chose to partake.

So they didn’t say anything. Instead, the two opted to make things the least awkward they could possibly be. “We don’t have to, love.”  Tom squeezed your knee gently, and the action combined with the pet name caused you to inhale sharply.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” The declaration was quiet, but caused both boys to look at you intently, as if you were going to say something else. Maybe a ‘but I can’t’, or something along those lines. But you did want to. Oh god, did you want to. “I just wanted to give you the heads up.” Your gaze rose from your lap to glance between the two of them, and the three of you waited with bated breath for someone to make the first move.

That someone ended up being Harrison, bringing your chin closer to his face with his thumb and index finger, his lips meeting yours tenderly. You weren’t too sure of what to do about Tom, but your thoughts subsided when he started kissing your neck, which caused you to gasp into Harrison’s mouth.

After coming to terms with the fact that this was actually happening, you unlaced your fingers, giving each of them attention with one of your hands in order to palm them both through their jeans. You ran your fingers up and down their thighs until you found exactly what you were looking for, and the two both groaned against your skin in sync when you felt their hardening length beneath your touch.

The bed was small, especially since it was a twin sized mattress, courtesy of your university, but perhaps it was better this way. Having both Tom and Harrison impossibly close to you certainly wasn’t something you minded, and that was only proven as Tom shifted off the bed for a moment, allowing his roommate to lay you down across the sheets. You were quick to sit up for a moment, only giving yourself enough time to pull your shirt up and over your head and toss it somewhere on the floor. That gave the two initiative to keep going further, and cued Tom to remove his own shirt as well before leaning on his side and capturing your lips in a kiss.

You took the time to memorize the details about how different they were when it came to kissing. Tom was definitely more handsy, his one arm tugging you closer to his body by your bare waist, but Harrison had fuller lips. You were so caught up in your mental comparison between the two that you hadn’t noticed that Tom’s hand roaming lower until he gave your ass a squeeze, which caused you to gasp into his mouth. He smirked against your lips, the same hand now moving forward to rub you through the seam of your jeans.

“You can take them off.” You pulled away from Tom to mumble the words, chest heaving even though the three of you hadn’t gone further than second base yet. But you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you hadn’t wanted this. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this, too. Which was one of the many reasons why you were so anxious to get this show on the road. “Please…” you pleaded, and although it sounded pathetic to you, it was music to their ears, and it made the brunet turn to his blond friend with a wink. 

“Well, you heard her.” Tom grinned at Harrison, and Haz was quick to unbutton and unzip your skinny jeans, helping you slip them off your legs as Tom’s lips went back to yours. A whimper left your mouth as Harrison rubbed you through your panties, and he shimmied to the end of the bed so he could see the wet spot forming on the fabric.

Harrison tutted softly. “She’s fucking soaking, mate.” He grunted, words directed at Tom as if you weren’t even in the room. And it was hot. You found yourself thinking about if they talked about you when they were alone. Whether it was like this or platonically, you didn’t really care at the moment, but something told you it would’ve been the former.

“Really?” Tom grinned, turning his head to watch his roommate’s expression. It was then that Harrison pushed your panties to the side with his index finger, his middle and ring fingers slipping languidly through your wet folds a few times before raising his hand for Tom to see.

Harrison nodded, showing his now glistening fingers to his friend as evidence. You were, indeed, incredibly wet. “See for yourself.” Harrison’s words caused Tom to shift on the bed, propping himself up with one elbow to get a better look at Harrison’s digits in the dimly lit room. But you could still see the juices he’d managed to collect on them, and it made Tom let out a low groan.

Tom went back to your lips in an instant, this time much more hungrily than he had before. “You’re so fucking sexy.” His voice was lower than usual and dripping in lust, which forced a shiver to rack through your body. Tom went back to running his hands up and down your side while Harrison worked on pulling your panties down your legs before tossing them on the floor somewhere in the room. The blond admired your pussy for a few moments before licking one long, thick stripe up your folds, causing your back to arch forward, pushing yourself closer into Tom’s toned chest. Your hands curiously roamed his torso, fingertips brushing every dip and crevice of his abs. It was an action you only dreamed you’d ever be able to do, but here you were. Two gorgeous British boys, one on your lips and one between your thighs. You were convinced you were the luckiest girl on the planet.

It was only then that you realized you were almost completely unclothed, whereas Tom was the only one with his shirt off. You sat up on your forearms, causing the two to halt their movements as they waited for you to speak. “Can I, um --” you cleared your throat and didn’t fail to feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “Let me suck you guys off.”

The command made their cocks twitch as Tom helped you down off the bed as Harrison hopped down himself, and the two stripped themselves of the rest of their clothes. Your eyes weren’t too sure where to focus as they raked over their naked forms. Of course, Tom was as fit as you had imagined him to be, but Harrison was more muscular than he let on. The blond boy’s cock was lengthier than his roommate’s but Tom made up for that in girth. You had trouble not salivating as you dropped to your knees, one attractive Brit on either side of you, with their hard, swollen cocks now at your eye level.

Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure where to start, much less who to start with. You rationalized that since Harrison was just giving you head, it was only fair that you returned the favor. With that in mind, you wrapped one hand around each of them before licking a tantalizing slow stripe up the underside of their cocks. You took Harrison’s tip in your mouth slowly, stroking Tom in time with each bob of your head. After a few minutes, you switched, giving more attention to Tom’s dick, and you kept that pattern going for a while. Every time you’d pivot on your knees to suck one of them, they’d buck their hips gently into your mouth, a groan passing their already parted lips. 

Eventually, Tom took a step backwards, and once Harrison saw the action, he did, as well. Tom offered you his hand to help you on your feet, a sinister glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you get back up on the bed, huh, love? On all fours.” 

You felt a surge of arousal course through your veins at his words, but you nodded eagerly as you stood, getting on your hands and knees on the bed like Tom instructed. In an instant, Harrison was behind you, rubbing a calming hand over your back as Tom positioned himself on his knees at the front of the bed, his cock once again at your eye level. You were quick to take him back into your mouth as Harrison gently pushed your legs further apart, rubbing his length slowly up and down your slick folds, which made you moan around Tom’s dick.

“Ready for me, love?” Harrison cooed, placing one hand on your hip, the other still massaging your back as he lined himself up with your entrance. You hummed your reply, which was all the approval the blond needed to push himself inside of you, grunting at the feeling of your walls around him. “God, even tighter than I thought you’d be.”

The words made your walls contract around Harrison’s cock. Knowing that Harrison -- and most likely Tom, as well -- had thought about fucking you was the hottest thing ever and a dream come true. For the last few months, you thought the two British exchange students from your Philosophy class were incredibly out of your league, and now here you were. One in your mouth and the other inside your cunt. It was the type of story Pornhub viewers would eat up. You were sure of it.

Once Harrison began thrusting inside of you, it took a lot less effort to suck Tom’s cock. Each thrust jolted you forward, forcing you to take more of Tom’s length, and soon, the two were working in sync. Tom was rutting his hips to meet your mouth while Harrison was jutting his hips to get deeper inside of you. You didn’t think it was possible to feel this completely and utterly fucked, and the sensation made your walls clench around Harrison’s cock once more.

“Fucking hell, look so fucking hot. Taking my cock so good.” Harrison groaned, pulling you back by your hips. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment upon hearing the praise, making Tom raise his brows curiously.

He decided to test the waters, bringing one hand down to your chin. Your eyes opened once more, now making eye contact with the attractive brunet above you. Tom grinned, “Doesn’t look too bad from here either, mate.” Tom replied to Harrison, giving you a wink. The words made you moan around Tom’s cock, eliciting a low groan from him in response. “Well, well, well.” Tom smirked, his gaze moving to his friend for a moment. “Looks like Y/N’s got a praise kink.” 

You wanted him to shut up, and in an attempt to make him do so, you opened your mouth wider to take Tom’s length into the back of your throat, which only made him lace his fingers in your hair. It was too late, anyway. The secret was out. “Really?” Harrison mused, shifting slightly to change the angle of his thrusts, quickening his pace. “You like being told you’re a good girl, don’t you, love?” You nodded as much as you could with Tom’s dick in your throat, batting your lashes up at the brunet. Tom rubbed his thumb gently over your cheek in response.

“You wanna be a good girl and cum for us, darling?” Tom cooed, thrusting himself deeper into your mouth, making you gag. The words made your walls clench around Harrison’s cock once more, eliciting a groan from the blond. You moaned around Tom’s length, and that was all the confirmation he needed. “Come on, then. Cum for us, love.” And the permission was all you needed, your eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm worked through you.

It was like a domino effect from there. Your moans of ecstasy around Tom’s cock caused his hips to stutter as he released into your throat, and the pulsing of your cunt sent Harrison over the edge, as well. After a few moments, you sat up on your knees, pulling your mouth away from Tom’s softening cock as Harrison simultaneously pulled out of you.

There was a silence between the three of you for a moment as you attempted to redress yourself, ready to head back to your dorm room. The two friends looked between each other before Tom nodded. “Hey, uh, Y/N. You don’t have to head back yet.”

The words took you a bit by surprise. You assumed this was much like other college hookups. You were supposed to head out as quickly as possible. But apparently, that was not the case. You halted your movements, only blinking and flicking your gaze between the two. Tom continued, “I mean, it’s getting late. We can let you borrow some clothes and you can, uh, spend the night.” You could almost see a blush tinge Tom’s cheeks from the dimly lit room as he spoke, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t want you walking back to your dorm alone or anything, you know?” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied awkwardly. It was a nice gesture, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t want this night with the two of them to end just yet. The two gave you identical grins upon hearing your answer, and Tom was quick to grab you a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to change into, which you graciously accepted.

The soft music you could still hear died down as the three of you changed, getting ready for bed. You weren’t sure how long you had been up in their bedroom with them, but it must’ve been a while considering the party had now run its course. There were no windows in their room, so you couldn’t judge based on the night -- or perhaps the morning -- sky what time it was. Nevertheless, you got ready to head to bed, shifting slightly on the balls of your feet, unsure of what your sleeping situation would be.

“Looks like you’re bunking with me.” Tom murmured into your ear, as if on cue, as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You giggled, spinning around in his arms. “Haz over there is a spreader. Sometimes he even falls off the damn bed.” The brunet chuckled, causing his roommate to thump him over the back of the head.

“I would’ve offered, but I do --” Harrison spread his arms and legs wide, as if demonstrating his sleeping position, “-- starfish.” You nodded knowingly, a giggle leaving your lips as you padded over to the other side of the room where Tom’s bed resided.

It was a tight squeeze for the two of you to lay on the same bed, not that you minded. You were pressed impossibly close to Tom’s bare chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as they had been a few moments prior. “Sorry I didn’t get to eat you out.” Tom whispered into your hair. The words made you turn to face him, one hand reaching up to push a few stray strands of hair out of his face. So this was what it was like to run your hands through his hair. It felt good. Almost too good.

“It’s okay.” you replied softly, still feeling incredibly sated in that moment, regardless. “Sorry you didn’t get to fuck me. Next time, I promise.” You tensed upon hearing the words leave your mouth. Next time. Admittedly, you didn’t know if there was going to be a next time. You weren’t sure whether you were just helping the two friends check an experience off their bucket list, or whether they would be willing to do something like this again. If that was the case, you just made a complete and utter fool out of yourself. 

Nevertheless, Tom grinned at you, easing your nerves when he spoke, “Yeah. Next time.”

-----

@tom-hollands-eyelash / @ophcelia / @tiny-parker / @jackiehollanderr / @starlightfound / @thirsttrapholland / @marvelsinbin

[oriigami]

Scrapyard Boys and Sunshine Days

(Okay, so... it occurred to me all of a sudden that Franky and Shanks totally could’ve met when the Roger Pirates were in Water 7, and then this happened. Read it on AO3 here!)

“Whatcha making?” a voice asked, bright and cheerful and right next to his ear, and Franky startled and dropped the wrench, jerking around. 

The boy who’d been peering over his shoulder looked a few years older than him- twelve or thirteen, maybe. He was wearing a straw hat that looked a little battered but shone like gold in the sunlight, crowning a messy head of bright red hair. He was with the pirate crew that had arrived earlier that day, Franky remembered. Tom’s friends. 

Franky looked at him suspiciously for a moment. “Why?” 

“I’m curious!” the boy said, standing up on his tiptoes and leaning around him to get a better look at his workbench. “It looks cool!”

Franky hesitated a moment longer, but the casual compliment wrung enough goodwill out of him that he sidled over a step to make room. His workbench was less a workbench and more a repurposed fragment of decking, but it served its purpose well enough. At the moment, it was cluttered with pieces of metal, some welded together and many others haphazardly scattered about. 

“Cool! What is it?” the red-haired boy asked, tipping his head to the side and squinting at the mess, like if he looked at it at the right angle some pattern would eventually slide into focus. 

“It’s not anything yet,” Franky said, scowling briefly at the inadvertent reminder. “But eventually ‘s gonna be a cannon. I’m making a battleship.” 

“A battleship?” the red-haired boy echoed. “That’s awesome! So hey, you work here? Are you a shipwright too?” 

Franky puffed up in pride a little bit, unable to stop himself from boasting. “Yeah! I’m Tom’s pro-te-gee. Or, one of ‘em,” he added in a rushed mumble before returning to normal volume. “He’s teachin’ me everything he knows and someday I’m gonna be the best shipwright in the world!” 

“In the whole world?” the red-haired boy asked, wide-eyed, and he didn’t laugh when he said it. 

“In the whole world!” Franky said decisively. He chewed his lip for a moment, then stuck out his hand, filthy with dirt and engine grease like all the rest of him. “I’m Franky.” 

The red haired boy grabbed his hand without hesitation, and shook it enthusiastically. “Hi, Franky! My name’s Shanks and I’m a pirate!” 

Franky squinted at him doubtfully. “You don’t really look like a pirate,” he said. “You look like a kid. Like me.” 

Shanks scowled. “Hey! I’m a real pirate!” 

“Yeah? What’d’ya do on the ship, then?” 

Shanks folded his arms and muttered something. 

Franky blinked and leaned a little closer. “What?” 

“I said I’m a cabin boy,” Shanks mumbled. 

Franky snorted. 

“Hey! Shut up!” Shanks said, elbowing him. “You’re like, seven, you don’t know anything.” 

“You shut up, I’m ten!” Franky snapped, shoving him back, and Shanks tripped backwards over a twisted spur of metal and they both went down in a clumsy tangle of limbs, shoving and kicking. 

A moment later, as if summoned by the crash, another head, this one indigo-haired and wrapped in a bandana, popped up from behind the nearest scrap pile. “Oi! Franky! Don’t start fights!” 

Franky managed to twist around and yell, “I’m not! Shove off!” before going back to ineffectively trying to kick Shanks’s ribs in. It probably would have worked better had he been wearing shoes, but it was Franky’s philosophy that shoes (and long pants, and shirts most of the time) just got in the way. 

Iceberg muttered something exasperated under his breath that Franky didn’t hear, and then vaulted over the crown of the scrap pile with practiced ease and skidded down the side. He hooked an arm around Franky’s chest and pried him free with little apparent difficulty, much to Franky’s irritation. 

“Leggo, Icebrain!” Franky yelled, flailing against the hold. “Lemme go lemme go!” 

Iceberg ignored him, turning to where Shanks was pulling himself up to a sitting position in the dirt. “I’m very sorry about him,” he said, and then smacked Franky across the back of the head with his free hand. “Don’t pick fights with customers!” 

Franky huffed and folded his arms. “We weren’t fighting. We were making friends.” 

“Yeah!” Shanks chirped from where he was still on the ground. There was a dark blur of oil smeared high on one cheek, his hair a ruffled mess, and he was still grinning sunshine-bright. “I like Franky. He’s funny.” 

“Still,” Iceberg said crossly, pressing a thumb between his eyes like Franky and Shanks’s combined presences alone were enough to give him a migraine. “One of these days you'll get into it with someone who wants to actually hurt you!” 

Franky just glared sullenly back at him until the older boy sighed in surrender and glanced back at Shanks. “Nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Iceberg.” 

“I’m Shanks!” Shanks said. “So are you Franky’s brother?” 

There was a beat of silence. 

“What,” Iceberg said, looking absolutely horrified, at the same time that Franky yelled, “No way!” with a matching expression of disgust. 

“Absolutely no relation-”

“-already annoying enough, can’t even imagine-”

“-the hair is just a coincidence-”

“-the actual worst-” 

Shanks just laughed, grinning bemusedly and glancing back and forth between the two of them as they talked frantically over each other, before all of a sudden freezing and bringing his hands up to pat at his head. “Ah!” 

Franky and Iceberg both paused mid-sentence at the exclamation, glancing over. “What?” Franky asked. 

“My hat!” Shanks said, digging his fingers into his hair- and now that he mentioned it, Franky registered that the old straw hat he’d been wearing when he’d first introduced himself was nowhere to be seen. 

Iceberg frowned, looking thoughtful. “Must have got knocked off in the tussle… I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” 

“I need to find it!” Shanks finally shoved himself to his feet, glancing frantically around.

Franky finally succeeded in squirming out of Iceberg’s grip, stomping hard on his foot and ducking under his arm. “What’s so special about it? ‘s just a hat. You can get another one.” 

“No! It’s special, it was a present from my captain!” Shanks protested, actual distress clear in his voice. “I can’t lose it!”

“We’ll help you find it,” Iceberg said easily, making a calming motion with one hand. “It must’ve gotten picked up by the wind, but it still can’t be that far.” 

They split up, scattering to cover more ground. The scrapyard was big and messy, sprawling out in all directions from the base of the bridge, but Franky figured a bright yellow hat tied with a red ribbon was bound to stand out against all the endless black and brown and grey. 

A flicker of something moving towards the top of one of the taller scrap heaps caught his eye, and he tilted his head back, pressing one hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the morning sun. 

It was Shanks’ hat, lodged on a twisted bit of wood that looked as though it had maybe once been a forepeak. Iceberg had been right- it must have gotten caught in one of the strong winds off the ocean. Franky squinted a little bit and the heap of wood and metal slid into focus as the decimated front half of a long-dead ship, slanting at an angle up into the air, half-buried in other assorted scrap and garbage. 

“Oi!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I found it! Hang on, gonna grab it!” 

Without bothering to wait for the other two to catch up, he hoisted himself up onto a slanted fragment of what had once been a hull, and began to climb. The wood was dehydrated after years of rotting beside the ocean, and slightly rough with crusted salt. Franky had plenty of practice climbing over these wrecks and ruins, though, and he knew the tricks to it- knew to stick to the metal bits wherever possible, since they were less likely to give under his weight. 

“Franky! Be careful, dumbass!” he heard Iceberg’s voice holler up from the ground, nearly drowned out by Shanks’ enthusiastic cheering. 

He grinned to himself and hauled himself up over a broken-off oar, pulled himself a few more feet along by a length of chain that had once looped around the deck, and was finally able to reach a hand out and snag the straw hat from its perch. The straw felt warm under his fingertips, like it had been drinking in the sun as it sat up there. 

He needed both hands free to climb back down, so he set the hat on his own head for safekeeping, and started the descent. Once he was ten feet or so from the ground, he jumped, skidding down a tilted section of decking to tumble safely to the dirt. The hat’s rim flopped down over his eyes from the impact, and he scowled at the sound of Shanks’s laughter.

“Shut up!” he said as he shoved the brim back up, glaring up at him. “Or I won’t give it back!” 

Rather gratifyingly, Shanks stopped laughing admittedly, though his grin stayed. “Sorry!” he said. “Thanks for getting it back for me.”

Franky shrugged, pulled the hat off his head and shoved it at Shanks, who took it immediately and settled it back on his head in a gesture that looked almost habitual. The golden straw was marked with a fresh collection of faint, smudgy black fingerprints in oil and engine grease. 

Iceberg sighed in relief before glancing up at the sound of Kokoro’s low, gravelly voice calling his name from across the scrapyard. “Ah, I said I’d help her with the shopping today,” he said, turning away. “Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m gone.” 

“Fuck off!” Franky yelled at his retreating back. “I never get into trouble!” 

Iceberg snorted audibly, and waved without turning back. 

“Bye! Thanks!” Shanks called after him, then returned to fussing with his hat, considering the blur of his reflection in a nearby steel panel, before turning around again. 

“How do I look?” he asked with a grin. 

“Dumb,” Franky said immediately. “What kinda pirate wears a straw hat, anyways?” 

“Well, the Captain used to, and now he’s king of the pirates,” Shanks said, unfazed by the insult. 

“Huh,” Franky said, because he couldn’t really argue with that. “Izzat why you wear it, then? To be a great pirate?” 

“Nope!” Shanks said cheerfully, then frowned. “Well, I’m gonna do that too! For sure! But the hat is different. Captain asked me to keep it safe for him.” 

“Safe?” Franky repeated, brow furrowing. “Didn’t you say he’s like, the best pirate ever? What’s he gotta be scared of?” 

Shanks hesitated, then sat down on the ground next to Franky, leaning against the slanted section of deck. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked. “You gotta promise not to tell. Really, really promise.”

“Promise,” Franky said, leaning a little closer, curious despite himself. 

Shanks bit his lip, then said, “Captain’s dying.”

Franky’s head jerked up. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. “What?” 

Shanks nodded, and ducked his head, the brim of the straw hat hiding his eyes. “He’s sick, the kind that there’s no chance of getting better from. He’s trying to hide it, and he acts the same as ever, but the whole crew knows. Nobody wants to talk about it.” 

He pulled his legs up to his chest, frowned down at his knees. “This is gonna be our last voyage,” he said. “We’re going all the way to the end of the Grand Line, all the way to the last island, and then… that’s it. There’ll be no more Roger Pirates. Everybody will just… go their separate ways. Like none of it ever happened. Like we didn’t turn the whole world upside down.”

Shanks brought a hand up to fiddle with the slightly frayed brim of the straw hat. “So… so that’s why I gotta keep his hat safe. Cause he asked me too, and he trusted me, and soon he’s not gonna be around anymore, so I gotta. Okay?” 

Franky just nodded, looking down at the dirt between his feet. “Okay,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I get it.” 

Shanks glanced over at him. “You do?” 

Franky thought about Tom, and his big hugs and bigger laugh and about how he’d feel if Tom was all of a sudden not there anymore, and nodded. “Yeah.” 

 The silence that fell around them at that was uncertain but not uncomfortable, and after a moment Shanks nudged Franky. “Hey. Y’know what?” 

Franky looked up. “What?”

“In a couple years, I’m gonna start my own pirate crew,” Shanks said, “and live free on the sea! You should come with!”

Franky blinked twice. When he looked again, Shanks’s smile hadn’t given an inch. “...what?” 

“You should join my pirate crew!” Shanks said. “I mean, someday in a couple years, once we’re older an’ everything. You can be our shipwright!”

Franky scowled, shaking his head vehemently and leaning away. “No way! I don’t wanna be a pirate!” 

Shanks frowned. “Why not?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “Pirates are freer than anyone! They can go wherever they want and do whatever they want and nobody can ever tell them what to do. It’s the best life there is!”

“Yeah, well,” Franky glared at the ground, hands balling up into fists, fingernails scratching at the dirt. “That’s- not always a good thing, y’know. Being able to just, leave, whenever you want, and- abandon anything you don’t want.”

“Oh,” Shanks said, a funny note in his voice, and then, after a long pause, “Is that... what happened to you?” 

Franky hunched his shoulders higher, and didn’t say anything. 

“Sorry,” Shanks said, quieter. 

“S’fine,” Franky mumbled. “I’m fine.” When Shanks didn’t say anything, he repeated more vehemently, “I’m fine. An’ it was a long time ago, anyways. I don’t even remember ‘em.”

“Still. Sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“But… there’s good pirates too, y’know,” Shanks said. “I mean, I know, there’s a lotta selfish assholes out there, but… a lotta good people, too! Like my crew!”

“...maybe,” Franky said reluctantly. “I mean. You’re not bad. For a pirate. I guess. Maybe.” 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Shanks said, laughing. Franky rolled his eyes and elbowed him, but he was grinning, too. 

“Shut up,” he said. “I’m still never gonna be a pirate, though. Never ever.” 

Shanks shrugged. “Suit yourself, I guess. Too bad, though. I think you’d be a great pirate!” 

“Yeah?” Franky said. “Well, you’d be a terrible shipwright.” 

“Hey!” 

Franky snorted with laughter at the offended look on the other boy’s face, and Shanks punched his shoulder and pouted dramatically, but Franky could see he was barely fighting down a smile as well. 

In two years there would be an execution in Loguetown and a trial in Water Seven and nothing would ever be the same, but for right now there was just laughter and sunlight, and smudged fingerprints on a straw hat, and the ever-present music of waves against the shore. 

\

“Hey, Franky! Whatcha making?” a familiar voice asked, bright and cheerful and right next to his ear. 

“Huh? Oh, heya, Luffy,” Franky said with a welcoming grin, automatically stepping aside so his captain could squirm under his arm and get a look at his workbench. The table was wide and smooth, neatly organized with a stack of blueprints weighted down in one corner. Sitting in the center was a half-finished contraption of glossy, shiny chrome. 

“I’m workin’ on an upgrade for Sunny’s cannons,” he explained, picking up the half-built machine and passing it over for Luffy to examine. Letting Luffy handle an invention for a couple minutes was a fantastic durability test. “I think I can get us more range and power if I can find a way to automatically compress the gunpowder for a bigger explosion. Marine ship stalking us, they think they’re outta range, and then BANG! Super, right?” 

“That’s so cool!” Luffy said, bouncing in place. “You’re so cool, Franky. I’ve got the best shipwright in the whole world.” 

Franky grinned. “The whole world, huh?” 

“The whole world!” Luffy confirmed enthusiastically, and for a single stuttering second Franky was looking at a different boy with a worn straw hat and a grin like sunshine. 

He blinked, and it was just Luffy again, and for a moment he could imagine a scattering of engine-grease fingerprints on the crown of his hat, long since cleaned away by the years.

“Hey… Luffy,” he said. “Did I ever ask where you got that hat of yours?” 

[cagestark]

How about Peter, having had enough of Tony making fun of his short height (Tom is 1 inch shorter than RDJ), just coming to the Tower in high heels and Tony just short-circuiting

Sorry this took a minute! Thanks so much for the prompt

Peter is 18yo. 5k. Smut below. Ignores most canon. Pretty much all canon. Fuck that canon!

Read here on AO3. 

-

“Everybody scoot together. Come on now, act like you like each other. Please remember the rules, absolutely no bunny ears, no crude gestures, and no gang symbols are to be thrown. Am I using that right? Peter? Thrown? Okay—something isn’t right here.”

There is collective groaning as the original six Avengers—minus Dr. Banner who is on sabbatical halfway around the world, plus Bucky who can be trusted to go anywhere Captain Rogers goes, plus, well, Peter—let go of the breaths they’ve been holding and the smiles they’ve plastered on. At this point, Peter’s lips are wobbling from the strain of holding a pleasant expression. Captain Rogers, in one of his more sentimental moments, had insisted they take more photographs to document their time together before Peter went away to college, but no one had anticipated how difficult it might be.

“Who let the centennial man the camera?” whispers Mr. Stark into his ear. Warm breath fans across the younger man’s neck and Peter shivers, covering the reaction with a huff.

Never one to enjoy a laugh at someone else’s expense, Peter’s conscious demanded he stick up for Captain Rogers—though, the man had already accidentally taken the picture twice. “Come on Mr. Stark, he’s doing the best he can.”

“That’s what frightens me most.”

“Everybody, focus on me please! This would be a lot less painful if everyone could stand still for longer than it takes to blink. Now—wait—Peter I said shortest Avengers in the middle. No wonder we’re lopsided. Switch places with Tony to stand by Natasha, please?”

“With all due respect, I’m not the shortest, Captain,” Peter says helpfully. Because he isn’t. “That’s Mr. Stark.”

“Only one way to solve this,” Clint says, who has already used two previous opportunities to try to avoid taking the photograph altogether. He sprints away, leaping over a loveseat and disappearing down the hall. For a man who could be so stealthy, the sound his boots made on the floor was thunderous.

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but I’m taller,” says Mr. Stark. The older man draws himself up to his full height, and standing as close as they are (nearly chest to chest!), a tiny part of Peter wants to melt into a puddle. Except he’s been working on trying to appear more adult to Mr. Stark, which includes not wearing his character pajamas around the Tower anytime he spends the night, not creating edible volcanos out of his mashed potatoes and gravy at communal dinner times (even if Clint does it), and being one entire inch taller than Tony Stark.

So instead of melting, Peter pushes his own chest out until they look like two alpha birds posturing for dominance.

In the background, Natasha mutters: “This is like watching two penguins decide which will stand on the egg for the next month—“

“Miss Romanov, everyone knows that it’s the male Emperor Penguin who stands on the egg—“

“So you’re calling yourself the female penguin in this National Geographic love story scenario?” Mr. Stark asks, grinning. He breaks away and leans against the counter of the marble island. His face is warm, crow’s feet and laugh lines blooming in his mirth, and Peter’s stomach suddenly feels so full of butterflies that he can’t even open his mouth for the fear that they’ll all come fluttering out.

“If anything,” Bucky mutters to Captain Rogers behind them. “Peter’s the egg.”

Clint bursts back into the room. In his hand is a tape measurer, a metal, industrial looking thing more likely to be found on a construction site than in Stark Tower. “Alright gentlemen. Stand up straight, shoes off. We’ll settle this here and now.”

Peter nudges off his shoes, laughing. Mr. Stark does the same with his expensive dress shoes. Beneath the polished leather, he is wearing posh, brightly colored socks—Calvin Klein. Nice. Cute. God, even Mr. Stark’s feet are cute. Peter is so, so fucked.

They measure the older man first, the group crowding around, debating on whether the fluff of hair should be discounted.

“Tony—sixty-nine inches. Nice.”

Mr. Stark wiggles his eyebrows behind his tinted glasses. Peter’s face burns at the implication and all eyes turn to him while Clint runs the tape measurer from his heels up his spine to the crown of his head. Everyone holds their breath. Or maybe that’s just him. “Peter—sixty-eight.”

“What?” Peter cries. Mr. Stark bows, blow kisses while a few other Avengers applaud as if he’s done something extraordinary in that two-and-a-half-centimeters alone. Peter could have sworn he was taller, even just infinitesimally. He frowns, nudging his feet back into his sneakers and not bothering to tie the laces. So what if he’s pouting? The way Mr. Stark ruffles his hair, like Peter is a whole foot shorter and only ten years old, is downright counterproductive to his image!

“Now that that’s settled,” Captain Rogers says. “Can we get everyone in their spots please? Their proper spots.”

Begrudgingly, Peter switches with Mr. Stark to stand beside Natasha, who squeezes his shoulder, conciliatory.

“It’s okay, kid,” Mr. Stark says in his ear again, voice a warm vibration. “You’ve still got years of growing left, no doubt. All I have left to look forward to is growing in reverse. That’s shrinking, by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks Mr. Stark,” mutters Peter.

Captain Rogers calls their attention from behind the camera. “Okay, it’s all set. 8 seconds people! Say cheese—“ before dashing off to his spot at the end of the line.

Everyone makes last moment adjustments as the camera’s automated feature counts down. Peter shoves his hands into his pockets, tries to look happy. And then Mr. Stark’s hand comes up to press against Peter’s lower back as everyone shifts closer together. His breath stutters, feeling the warmth through his clothes, in the flush of his cheeks, and in several other even more embarrassing places.

“Cheese,” Peter breathes.

-

“You look like a lobster.”

Peter rips the photo out of Ned’s hands, face burning nearly as badly as it was in the photograph. One glance down proves that Ned—while not tactful—is certainly not wrong. Peter looks like he’s suffering from a terrible sunburn. It’s a direct contrast to how Mr. Stark looks next to him, regal, suit immaculate, glasses tinted to hide the squinting of his smiling eyes. He presses the picture in between pages of a textbook on his desk and slams it shut, willing it out of existence.

But not totally out of existence. Because God Mr. Stark looked so good.

“Besides Natasha, I’m the shortest Avenger,” Peter says, slumping into his desk chair. He picks up a sleek, metal ballpoint pen to click anxiously.  “How dorky is that?”

“You’re taller than I am,” Ned offers.

“Not taller than me,” MJ mutters, tapping away on her phone.

“I wouldn’t care about any of it except—I don’t know. I always thought I was taller than Mr. Stark.”

“Your height is cute, Peter,” says MJ, as if this is the most banal concern he’s ever expressed. “It’s endearing. You’re like a damsel in distress, so tiny and helpless—“

Peter takes the metal pen between his hands and bends it in half, tossing the pieces at her. “Damsel in distress?”

MJ brushes the pen to the floor, unimpressed. “Stark can do that too.”

“Not with his bare hands!” Ned chimes in. Peter beams at him. Ned is always in his corner—and together, they almost have enough neurons to keep up with MJ’s scathing repertoire. Almost.

Still: “This—none of this is the point, though,” says Peter. “I just need a quick way to grow three inches. Overnight preferably.”

“There are some sketchy surgeries I’ve heard of,” Ned suggests. Peter winces. Thanks, but no thanks.

“Just wear lifts, Peter. Stark does it all the time, how else do you think he comes close to being taller than Pepper Potts?”

Peter frowns. “Lifts?”

“Or heels.”

“Like—shoes for women?”

MJ finally looks up from her phone. Her expression is both disappointed yet unsurprised—bland but scathing, her curls a wild mane around her sharp features. “Shoes are for feet. You have feet. Not to mention, heels are a big turn-on for most men. And the confidence they can give? Wild. You’re missing out.”

“Heels are a turn on when Pepper Potts wears them. Besides, I doubt manufacturer’s even make them in my size—”

“Yeah, because your size nine feet are unheard of,” snarks MJ. She kicks off her stylish flats and nudges them across the room. “Try those. We’re the same size.”

Peter slips his feet into them and—okay. Not bad. They feel like they’re liable to fall off any moment but there are no laces to press into the top of his feet all day until they’re aching. And he has very nice ankles. He’s always thought so.

But what would Mr. Stark think? This whole gap year between graduating high school and going away to MIT was supposed to be spent finally making a definitive move on the man he’s been pining after since he was old enough to pine. So far, his progress has been lackluster. And by lackluster, he means non-existent. What was it that MJ said heels gave her? Confidence?

He could use some of that.

“What’s the verdict, Pete?” Ned asks.

Peter clears his throat. “MJ. Do you, by any chance, own any heels?”

-

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” Peter mutters with every step. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph—”

“They aren’t that bad,” MJ says. She’s smirking, and definitely is angling her phone too far towards Peter for it to be innocuous. If she’s filming or taking pictures, so help him God— “I’m actually a little jealous right now. Who knew your legs were so long, Parker.”

The heels are modest by the standards of MJ’s collection: two-and-a-half-inches, black. There’s a strap that goes around his ankle though it’s hidden by the hem of his skinny jeans, but it’s digging into the bone a little too much to be comfortable. The arches of his feet already ache, and he’s using muscles in his calves and shins that he didn’t even use when slinging webs thirty stories above the city. Not to mention, the heels themselves were so, so pointy.

“Cosmo said that wedges are easier to walk in, we should have picked some of those,” Peter mutters. They’re in Peter’s makeshift bedroom at Stark Tower. He doesn’t use it often, even though he’d certainly like to make use of the bed more than he does now—or Mr. Stark’s bed, if he’s being completely forthright.

“Wedges aren’t as sexy. You look hot,” MJ says. She slaps his ass, laughing when he yelps. “Please make sure you take a mental picture of the look on Stark’s face, okay? He’s going to flip his shit.”

“You think?” Ned asks from where he’s lounging on the bed.

“Yeah—do you really think so?” Peter’s fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, turning this way and that way in the lengthy mirror to see himself from every angle.

“Have I ever been wrong? Go get him, Parker.” She hauls Ned up off the bed. “Text us the details!”

-

By the time Peter makes it down to the lab, his stomach is in knots. He pauses just outside the elevator to breathe, wondering if he’s going to be sick. The only solace is knowing that Mr. Stark—Tony, for this, for now, let him be Tony—is alone in his lab. Most of the other Avengers don’t even have the clearance to come down to this level.

“Come on, Parker,” he mutters to himself, shifting in the heels. They’re pinching his toes, a little. “You’re Spider-man! Spider-man! You’ve fought actual real-life villains. This is cake. Absolutely cake. Okay. Okay. Let’s go—back upstairs—”

“Peter.” FRIDAY’s voice overhead nearly sends him stumbling to the ground.

“Yes?” He croaks.

“Boss is wondering if you’re going to come in or spend the rest of the evening in the hallway.”

Peter clears his throat. “Let him—tell him I’m coming.”

The lab still takes his breath away—the gleaming glass, the glowing holograms, the glistening metal. This is where magic happens. Tony is in the center of it, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers, floating diagrams, and two different cups of coffee at various volumes. The older man is no longer in the suit he was wearing this morning for the picture. Instead, he’s wearing a rumpled t-shirt—who the hell the Raconteurs are, Peter has no idea—and blue jeans that fit tight around his thighs. His hair is mussed, and Peter has spent more than one fantasy wondering how it would feel under his fingers.

“Hey, kid,” Tony mutters around a pencil in his mouth. He reaches out to flick at one glowing hologram and it spins away. “What can I do for you?”

“Just came to—uh—see if you had plans—for dinner.”

Peter didn’t think he would make it this far. His palms are sweating, even as he wipes them on his jeans. What the fuck is he doing here? Wearing a pair of high heels? He’s a fool, the biggest, most naïve idiot. After this, he’ll never be able to show his face to Tony or the other Avengers again, he’ll probably have to flee the country, maybe change his name—

“I do now. How’s pizza sound? I just need to finish up some work here and then we can order in. I’m feeling like a homebody tonight.”

Peter’s heart soars. Suddenly he’s flying—forget fleeing the country, he’s going to move into Stark Tower permanently, probably never leave the older man’s side unless it’s to patrol or see his friends and aunt, hopefully become a permanent fixture in Tony’s bed and heart—“I’m pretty sure when you’re rich Mr. Stark, they just call homebodies recluses.”

Tony laughs. “Better than a hermit. Come help me up, kid, my knees are killing me.”

He only makes it one step. He stumbles—his enhanced sense try to save him, but he’s not used to the added height or obstacle of walking on his toes like this. He overcompensates, and then he is biting the dust, sprawled on his ass, tailbone aching as fiercely as his feet.

“Peter—” suddenly the older man’s knees are fine, downright impressive considering the speed with which is rises and crosses the room. Standing over Peter, he casts an impressive shadow, warm eyes washing over him from his hair all the way down to—Tony’s eyes widen. They literally widen, and Peter feels like if he were any less skilled with his poker face, he might have gasped like one of those ladies in the Victorian days, always swooning from scandals. He recovers quickly, reaching down to help him up.

Peter doesn’t need help though—now that he’s taken a spill, it’s like his body has acclimated. He bounces up with surprising grace, wincing at the throbbing in his ass even as it fades.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks carefully.

They are face to face, close enough that he can smell the older man’s body wash—and Peter has to look down, just ever so slightly, to look Tony in the eyes. Tony has an incredible set of eyes—the color of mahogany, framed with perfect dark lashes. They have the same effect on Peter as a knee to the gut might, stealing his breath. Jesus, this much eye contact can’t be healthy. It’s making him hard even, and Peter doesn’t know whether that is a feat or a failure. His throat is dry, so he swallows. “I’m fine. Great! So. Pizza?”

“Kid.”

“Personally, I’m feeling pepperoni.”

“Pete.”

“It’s an American classic.”

“Peter.” Tony clears his throat. He waves a hand towards Peter’s legs. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“That—is not proper footgear to be in a lab—”

Supporting most of the smaller man’s weight, though Peter is fine Mr. Stark, really! Tony helps him cross the room and settles him onto a rolling chair. Peter’s embarrassment wars with his total dejection; it figures that his last hope at impressing Tony or coming across as anything other than a barely-post-pubescent teenager was a bust. Literally. Tears fill his eyes but he blinks them away.

“Peter—are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Just my pride,” Peter mutters.

Tony snorts softly. He stalks away to stand with a hip cocked against one of the metal tables. There, he takes his time and leisurely looks Peter over again, eyes catching and failing to pull away from the delicate heels on Peter’s feet. He licks his lips, and even as Peter’s breath catches, he explains it away. Chapped lips. Duh. The air down in the lab is very dry—

“So, what’s the deal, kid? Did you lose a bet?”

That just makes it so, so much worse. Peter crosses his legs, trying to shrink in on himself. Tony’s eyes track the movement, center on the flash of the delicate clasp around his ankle. Sniffing wetly, he picks at a loose thread on the side seam of his jeans and smiles weakly. “More like, I got some poor advice.”

“They look—good.”

Tony’s voice—the tone, like he’s trying to say something without saying it—makes Peter look up. If he was worried at all what he looked like, he needn’t be: Tony is staring at his shoes, head tilted like it’s an equation he’s trying to solve, or like he’s a patron at an art gallery looking at a particularly interesting Magritte painting.

“They do?” He asks. Peter isn’t above fishing for compliments, especially from this man, this incredible idol who could probably make Peter’s heart sing (and his dick harden) with half a glance and a kind word. “They don’t look—stupid? On me.”

“I was alive in the 70’s and 80’s kid. Heels were a thing. Hell, Bowie did it—I had the biggest crush on him when I was young.”

Peter perks up. Everyone knows that Tony doesn’t care about gender in his partners, but it’s rare for him to bring it up so casually in conversation like this. Every piece of information he learns about Tony is so fucking endearing, his heart aches in his chest. Quickly, he does the math in his head. “Really? A crush on Bowie? But—well. He was so much. You know. Older.”

Tony turns away. He bends to retrieve the pencil he dropped after Peter’s fall. “Yeah. Well I was seven. Age was just a number.”

“Is just a number.”

Tony hums, scribbling something down before tucking the pencil behind his ear. “It’s—the perspective is a bit different from the other side of thirty, kid. Take my word for it.”

“I’m eighteen,” Peter mutters. “Quit calling me kid.”

“What should I call you? Short stuff?”

This isn’t working, Peter thinks. Nothing will work, because this whole endeavor is just a fool’s errand. Nothing will ever change.

Peter can’t help it—he bursts into tears. Tony doesn’t notice right away, because Peter is a pretty silent crier, elbows planted on his knees, face in his palms, shoulders shaking. The silence must go on too long, because then Tony is crouched in front of him on his haunches, warm fingers wrapping around his wrist to carefully pull them from his face.

“Hey—hey, hey. What’s wrong, Pete? What hurts?”

“This—!” Peter says, tilting his head to wipe his damp cheeks on his shoulder. “You—not taking me seriously!”

“I take you seriously—I take you very seriously.”

“You don’t. You’re always calling me kid, like, like I’m still that little boy from the Stark Expo! And then, you’re one single inch taller which doesn’t matter at all in the scheme of things but I know you, I know you’re just going to use it as another excuse to keep from seeing me for the adult I am, and—”

“Is that what this is about,” Tony asks, wrapping a hand around Peter’s ankle. A thumb drifts under the cuff of his jeans to run along the strap of the heels. It hurts because it feels so good, makes him shiver with longing that he knows won’t ever be quenched. “You want to be taller than me?”

“I want to make out with you,” Peter snarks. “But at this point, yeah, whatever, I guess I’ll settle for being taller—”

“Peter.” Tony is soft and stern when he takes Peter’s chin in his hand. He shifts up onto his knees so that they are closer to the same height, those warm brown eyes drifted from Peter’s own down to his lips and then up again. All Peter’s breath seems to be caught in his lungs, he can’t move, can’t even blink for fear of missing a single moment as Tony leans forward slowly, giving the younger man ample time to turn away.

But Peter doesn’t—because he’s not dumb. Because this is everything he’s wanted for so long that he almost feels like it’s a dream.

Their mouths are open at the first press, heads slanting to slot together like they’ve been doing this for ages. His tongue can’t help but reach out, eager to taste the older man, and the first slide of Tony’s tongue against his own is. God. It’s orgasmic. It’s overwhelming. The rough press of facial hair, the firm grip of Tony’s hand as it slides around to cup the back of his head and bring them closer, Peter’s knees shifting open to create more space for their bodies to come together. He tastes like coffee, black. Tony tilts his head just a little more, coaxes his jaw to open wider so that he can lick into Peter’s mouth, and it’s wet, so sensual, Peter goes from soft to hard so quickly that it hurts, head dizzy.

“God,” Peter breathes into Tony’s mouth. Tony laughs softly but Peter barely gives him the chance, pressing his eager mouth forward, licking Tony’s teeth and sucking the man’s full bottom lip into his mouth until he’s the one groaning and sighing.

Tony pulls away, smiling when an upset, undignified noise comes out of the back of Peter’s throat. One of Tony’s hands—fuck, why are his hands always so hot, like there’s a fire burning right underneath the skin?—drift down and he runs his thumb along the obvious erection in Peter’s jeans until he whines. “You want to be taller, Pete? Well here you are. What next?”

“Didn’t think I’d get this far,” Peter gasps. His hips twitch upwards, desperate for pressure on his aching cock. Tony’s hand comes away instead, moving upwards to thumb at the button on Peter’s jeans.

“I have an idea,” the older man says lowly. He thumbs at the button of Peter’s jeans. “Can I, Pete?” He asks lowly, his knuckles slipping underneath the younger man’s shirt to brush against abs that jump at the contact. “You can say no. I wouldn’t be upset.”

“Have you even been listening?” Peter pants. “Yes, yes. Please Mr. Stark—“

Tony groans at the moniker. His fingers are nimble and practiced as he undoes Peter’s jeans, sliding them down his hips when he shifts up to make room. “We’ve got to break you of that habit. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Peter breathes. He’s so hard it hurts, cock straining obscenely at the front of his boxers, fabric dark and damp with precum. Under the older man’s gaze, he feels like he could combust, burst into flames.

“I’d undress you properly, but I’d really like to keep these on,” Tony says, eyes half lidded as he runs his palm down Peter’s calf to the heels, thumb stroking the exposed top of his foot.

“Whatever you want, just, please—it hurts—“

“What hurts?” Tony sounds mildly alarmed, pulling back.

Peter’s face burns. He palms at his cock. “My—you know—I’m—“

Understanding comes over Tony’s face, concern draining away. “Don’t worry, Pete. I’ll make it better.” And then he is leaning down, nuzzling Peter’s hand aside and putting his mouth over Peter’s clothed cock. Even through the cotton of his boxers, it is the most intense thing he’s ever experienced: the heat, burning him inside out, the pressure, the flash of whiskey eyes that won’t leave his own, always making sure Peter is interested in this, okay with this.

“God, Mr. Stark, yes. Fuck, fuck, that’s so good—so—oh—wait—“

Tony pulls back immediately, but it’s too late: Peter is cumming, balls drawn up tight against the heat of his body and throbbing, cock twitching as he spurts into his boxers. “Noooo,” Peter whispers, reaching down to jerk himself off so as to not ruin the orgasm. It’s still the hardest he’s ever cum, Tony watching on, looking pained himself with one hand between his legs and gripping his own cock. The rasp of flesh on denim is just loud enough to be heard.

“Why’d you stop me?” Tony asks.

Peter is gulping for air. At times like this, he wishes he knew sign language. “I didn’t want—not so soon but then—too late and—“

Tony smiles. “It’s okay Pete. I don’t care how long you last. I wanted you to feel good.”

“It felt so good Mr. Stark—“

Tony groans, laughing a little at the face Peter makes when he pulls his sticky boxers away from his half-hard cock. He shuffles on his knees to grab a cloth from inside a nearby cabinet and watches while Peter cleans himself off, still palming himself. He winks. “I’m glad. Never stop stroking my ego, kid.”

The motion of the older man’s hand between his own legs catches Peter’s eye and he swallows, mouth dry, thinking of doing the same thing Tony did just a moment ago, pressing his mouth to Tony’s clothes cock, feeling it jerk under the denim— “Can I—help you, now? Please?”

Tony’s mirth disappears. He stands, joints creaking, and turns away to adjust himself in his jeans. “I didn’t do that for reciprocation, Peter.”

“You did it because you wanted to?”

“Exactly.”

“Cool. Now I want to.” When he stands (after his legs have stopped shaking), he feels six feet tall. His legs feel endless. At the dark look in Tony’s eyes, he feels elegant, powerful, desirable. Tony lets him back him up against the table, box him in with his arms. This man is so powerful: a superhero, smart enough and strong enough to do anything he sets his mind to. And he’s shivering between Peter’s legs, smiling contentedly like he already has come. Peter isn’t hard again yet, but he can’t remember ever feeling this turned on, this sexual.

Carefully, Peter drops down to his knees. He crosses his ankles behind himself demurely and looks up through his lashes to watch Tony’s throat bob as he swallows. “Can I, Mr. Stark?”

Tony groans, head rolling like his neck isn’t strong enough to support it. He cards his fingers through Peter’s hair. “If you want to. I’m yours.”

Peter hums. Tony’s words feed a dark part of himself that he didn’t know was ever hungry. He feels drunk undoing the older man’s belt, drunk with lust and power. It’s as if he’s possessed by some sultry spirit who despite Peter being a virgin has no qualms leaning forward to mouth at Tony’s clothed erection.

The sharp inhale above him and the subtle tightening of fingers in his hair just sends him higher. Deeper. Tony’s scent is strong here, musky but clean.

“I’ve never done this before,” Peter says lowly, brushing his lips against the hard cock as he speaks.

Tony’s breaths are downright shaky as he laughs. “As long as you don’t bite me, there’s no way you could go wrong. I feel ready to blow my load as it is, fair warning.”

“Not yet,” says Peter, all wide eyes and shiny lips. “I want to play with it first.”

He carefully tugs down Tony’s boxers to take in the sight of his cock. It is flushed dark with arousal, twitching happily under Peter’s gaze. Instinct has him wrapping his fingers around the base where there is a nest of dark curls. Then he laps with the flat of his tongue at the head where there is a glistening wetness. He’s only ever tasted himself before, but Tony is remarkably similar. He takes the head into his mouth to suckle, tonguing at the frenulum to coax out more precum.

“Look at you,” Tony says quietly. They’re words that might usually inspire insecurity, but Peter is too far gone. He’s let the anxious part of himself relax to a safe place in the back of his mind. Here, he knows now, he is safe. There is no embarrassment, just his own arousal and the arousal he’s fanning in the man above him. Tony’s hand leaves Peter’s curls to cup underneath his jaw. When his thumb brushes against the rim of Peter’s lips wrapped around his cockhead, the young man opens his mouth to let the thumb in too, running his tongue over each in turn even as the cock jumps. “On your knees, but you still feel taller than me, Pete. Such a good boy—such an amazing man. Already a better man than I’ll ever be. Jesus, baby, just like that—whatever you want to give me.”

Peter opens his mouth wider. Tony’s thumb slips free even as his cock slips deeper. Peter can’t help it—his eyes slip closed. The skin feels like velvet on his tongue as he laps at it, being careful to keep his teeth away. One hand comes up to cradle Tony’s balls and he feels more than hears the groan it draws from the older man’s chest. He establishes a rhythm, sucking as best as he can around his own whimpers, pulling back sometimes to lap at the head. When the cock approaches the back of his throat, he swallows on instinct and Tony’s hands slip free from his hair to scrabble at the metal counter behind his hips, knuckles white. The whole time, Tony keeps up the litany of filthy praise, and if both his hands weren’t busy, Peter would absolutely be palming his own cock which has returned with a vengeance.

“Almost there, Pete,” Tony warns softly. “You can pull back if you want to.”

He doesn’t want to—thanks for asking. He closes his lips around the cock head while running one hand over the shaft, slick with his spit. The precum increases, the balls in his palm grow tight and Tony tosses his head back as he comes, the noises leaving his mouth making Peter throb and whine even as he works to swallow the hot load of cum that floods his mouth.

When he pulls away, there is the briefest moment of insecurity. But it is smothered between them as Tony gathers him in his arms, tilting his head upwards just slightly to press their mouths together. Surely he must be able to taste himself, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re incredible,” Tony murmurs into Peter’s neck, placing a sweet kiss there. When he pulls back, his eyes are decidedly misty and more vulnerable than the younger man can ever recall seeing them. “All this effort—Peter. I don’t know if I’m worth this.”

“Let me decide,” Peter says. He lifts his chin just barely to place a kiss on Tony’s forehead. “And from now on—if anyone asks—”

Tony snorts softly. “You’re taller?”

“You read my mind.”

“On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Keep the heels.”

[touchmycoat]

corpse bride!AU??

i was like “wow i need a writing warm-up” and here’s this mess that i’m tentatively describing as “frozen meets chinese ghosty shit”

Rated T for vaguely violent allusions, i don’t know what ships endgame i just wrote it

Sabo was sure the older man wanted to kill him.

“Maybe he’s secretly in love with you,” Koala mused, scraping at the floating tea leaves with the lid of her cup. “Maybe he’s seen you walking past his window at the same time every morning, and has just become so smitten with you he wants to propose.”

“That’s absurd,” Sabo dismissed. “I would never keep to a schedule long enough to be tracked, you know that.”

They both knew that, and lived by the same set of rules. Today’s rendezvous, for instance, had been so well-masked that probably even Iva-san didn’t know when and where they were meeting.

Which, of course, just made it all the more worrisome that that man had found them.

“Does he think he’s being subtle?” Sabo said incredulously, stirring his soy latte with an errant chopstick he’s licked clean. The man—mid-thirties, less than 5cm taller than Sabo but a weight class up, blond, strange buzzcut, rich fabrics in outdated styles, matching belt and watch and shoes of fine imported leather, but functional soles with good all-surface grip, well-trained hands—hovered behind one of the brick walls that bordered the kissaten, obviously spying.

Koala, unbothered, started skinning the lemon slice perched on the edge of her ice tea with the tip of her steak knife.

“Maybe he’s a Marine—”

“Right. Wants to kill me.”

“—who’s secretly in love with you.”

Sabo squinted at her until she looked up and saw the soy mustache he’s purposely left on his upper lip. Her upper lip curled in mild disgust, but she persisted.

“Maybe he’s from a rival agency.”

“And secretly in love with me?”

“And wants to kill you.”

Sabo threw his hands up in exasperation. “Can’t you pick one?”

“Neither precludes the other,” was Koala’s wise determination, “when it comes to you.”

“You either,” Sabo growled, flipping out his own penknife in a mock-threatening gesture. Koala though, like a dick, swiped her steak knife sideways and smacked it into Sabo’s knife with a stage-whispered wa-POW!

And unlike Sabo, she hadn’t licked her used utensils clean before deploying to other use. It was Sabo’s turn to curl his lip in disgust, as meat grease transferred onto his personal blade with a smug grin from Koala.

“So what’s the plan?” She set down her knife, finally ready to get down to business. “Love him or kill him?”

“Kill him, obviously,” Sabo replied. He thought he saw the man’s fingers drum along the wall—in response? But how could he possibly have heard from this distance? Sabo kept his voice at the same volume and his body language casual. “You’re packing, right? We’ll shoot him dead right now.”

Koala obligingly got up, staring straight ahead at Sabo. The man behind the wall became a shadow, and then the shadow became just bright afternoon light; he’d gone.

Sabo immediately started surveying the patio around them.

“He was listening in?” Koala quickly picked up, glancing around as well. They were the only two people seated outside, and there weren’t any tin cans or amplifying containers lying around anywhere. “Maybe he just has really, really good ears?”

Beyond them, foghorns blared from the port, necessary even in the deep afternoon because there was rarely a moment when this seaside autonomous region wasn’t wrapped in thick condensation. A horse-drawn carriage rattled by, and for a moment, Sabo steeled himself to take cover, should a pistol be drawn up between the dark velvet curtains over the windows.

The carriage passed without incident, and both Sabo and Koala slowly relaxed back into their seats.

“Wow,” Sabo finally said, giving his drink a swirl. It had left his scope of vision for several minutes, and though the risk was relatively low, given the strange man’s unexplained ability to listen in on their conversation, Sabo still pushed the rest aside to be safe. “Supernatural hearing and secretly in love with me? Wherever did I find such a dreamboat?”

“In the big mansion up Moby Road,” Koala answered. Sabo stared. “Oh come on, you really didn’t recognize Edward Newgate’s son?  Their ears look exactly the same.”

“They’re not genetically related,” Sabo said slowly, to which Koala only shrugged.

“Yeah but their ears look exactly the same. Plus that carriage—the woodwork is all Tom-san, and you know where the last of Tom-san’s masterpieces are in this region.”

Giving himself a long moment to make his peace with the fact that Koala had put together all the pieces he didn’t even know were there, and in just less than a whole minute, Sabo closed his eyes and nodded.

“So, all we have to figure out is why Marco Newgate, two months after his very-famous father’s death, suddenly wants to kill me.”

//

“I’m in love with him.”

Thatch threw his tea towel at Marco’s face at high velocity.

“Stop lying,” he hissed in the face of Marco’s flat insistence. “Who the hell even is he, huh? What does he do? Where did you meet?”

“Sabo, twenty-four, on here on a visa from mainland but I’m still looking into the paper trail before that,” Marco replied automatically. It was fine to let Thatch know this. “For all intents and purposes, he’s a clerk at the Four Winds Trading Co. We haven’t exactly met.”

“Yet you’re in love with him.” Thatch rolled his eyes, which meant Marco rolled his eyes back, which meant Thatch threw a teaspoon this time.

“Don’t believe in love and first sight, Thatch?” Shanks laughed from the couch. In a gentlemanly fashion, Marco kindly refrained from picking up the teaspoon and hurling it at Shanks like a dart. He’s only been here for half an hour, and the bastard has cheerfully emptied half of Marco’s decanter of fine whiskey already. “I mean, it’s not like we didn’t know Marco’s type was lively young men with attitude problems.”

Marco picked up the teaspoon and hurled it at Shanks like a dart. Shanks, tumbler in hand, of course couldn’t catch it, and suffered the splashing of whiskey onto his pants with a displeased whine when he had to dodge.

“Precisely,” Marco said through gritted teeth. “I just fall so easily for young men with attitude problems. We’re hosting that party, and we’re gonna invite him.”

“Marco.” That was Thatch’s gentle voice, and that was Thatch’s I-know-you’re-hurt-about-Ace-and-Pops-we-all-are-so-let-me-help-you-process-your-grief-healthily face. The tea towel was shredded something fierce in Marco’s vicious grip. “Look, no one’s expecting you to go through with the engagement stuff, it’s only been two months for god’s sake—”

“This isn’t,” Marco lied, “about Ace.”

Neither men in the room believed him. That was fine; Marco didn’t need them to. All he needed was that invitation sent out, and the man named Sabo in Pop’s mansion, at his party.

“Thatch, I love him,” Marco pleaded, finding no need to specify the pronoun, and knowing Thatch was weak when it came to direct requests from him. “Please invite him.”

“I—” When distressed, Thatch had a habit of hovering around his tea trolley. Despite being the main chef of the house, he still insisted on personally making the rounds of tea for his siblings. Marco’s caught him doing random tests for poison more than once. He drummed his fingers against the push handle now, and groaned. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it. Oh man, I can’t believe you’re making me drag some poor sucker into this mess and won’t even tell me why.”

“It’ll be fine,” Marco replied softly. “Really. I swear.”

“Sure.” Thatch sounded neither believing nor sarcastic, and with one last sigh, he headed for the door with his trolley. “I’ll let you two get on with business then.”

After Marco’s made sure the door was shut and locked behind Thatch, he turned around to Shanks, whiskey finished, standing way too close.

“Buy my silence,” Shanks said, smile big and toothy when Marco took an involuntary step back. “For a thousand belli a month.”

“That’s different from your usual rate,” Marco made himself reply. The way his voice went strained though, still gave away far too much. But at least this time he didn’t flinch when Shanks approached further, that sharp gaze and scarred eye on Marco’s neck. “And your usual choice of currency.”

“Just for my silence,” Shanks pointed out. “And call it a friends and family discount. I have a feeling you’re about to ask for something you’ll already be hard-pressed to pay for, with our current agreement.”

“Then you can set new prices.” Shanks’ eyebrows lifted in surprise, but Marco didn’t avert his gaze. “I mean it. I’ll give you anything you want to get this done.”

They both knew how fallacious a way to do business this was, but Marco didn’t care. It’s not like he’d be worried about paying up on his debts after this; he and Shanks hashed that out ages ago. So Marco kept staring him down, until Shanks finally assented with a nod.

“This is about Ace,” Shanks had to say. Uselessly.

“And Sabo,” Marco admitted. One hand behind his back, Marco made sure the door was absolutely locked once again. As per a past deal, Shanks would make sure the door was completely soundproof too, upon locking. “So I’m not in love with him.”

“Yeah.” A smirk and a slow blink that substituted an eye roll. “I figured.”

Marco took a deep breath.

“I want to kill him.”

[kyberphilosopher]

Seven: Chapter Eight

ChApt3r EigHt

         I’m not sure why, but I feel like something so unsettling I can’t define it the next few days. I keep running diagnostics to see if I can find a reason in my numbers as to why I let Bryan go. My report always comes back the same. I am fully functional. There are no anomalies.

          I think I wish that I did find an anomaly. Then maybe I would have something to report to Adelicia, but I don’t. I can already tell she’ll have nothing good to say to me though. Even if there was a good, practical reason for what I had done, she would’ve found something wrong with it I’m sure.

          I am more scared of Adelicia than anyone else in the world. When I was first created, she was the first one I talked to. Even though I’m taller than her, her and her shadow seems to loom over me coldly. There has always been an unspoken rapport between us: she, the master- the handler, and I, the servant of her will. I am terrified of disappointing her. She makes me want to do better… or something like that.

          I think Cal might suspect what I did. He doesn’t say it or really show it, but occasionally his eyes will linger on me a while longer than they should before he snaps at me. When this happens, Officer Shovelman is usually in the background, offering me sympathetic smile.

          But I think me and Cal’s relationship is improving. Slowly, and not by much, but it is. “Robocop” seems to have become a normal nickname for me with him. Others include “Tin Fuck”, “Scraps”, “Dippy-Doo”, and “Circuits de Soleil”. I find the last one to be particularly clever. I continue to refer to him as his name and title- either Detective Kennedy or just Cal.

          Cal comes in at different times every day. Sometimes, it’s only a little past nine. Other times, it’s closer to twelve. He usually carries a coffee cup with him, reeking of alcohol and musk. His shirt is the only thing that seems to change in his outfit. He wears the same hooded jacket and jeans, same dusty sneakers he’s had for years. His shirt is always in dark, muted colors. Never neon. I like guessing which color he will wear each day. Today, it’s a navy blue. I think it looks nice against his olive skin tone, but I know better than to say that to him.

          I really don’t think Cal likes me at all. It’s discouraging. I was made to work directly with humans and integrate peacefully as part of the ‘perfect team’, but I can’t seem to handle this one, grumpy detective.

          It’s not even the kind of grumpy that works well on him. Cal is a young guy. He’s turning 27 in a few days. He’s not an older man with wispy grey hair who’s always ready with some kind of racial comment. Cal is angry at everyone and everything, especially Androids. I have no reasoning behind this.

          However discouraging Cal Kennedy is to me, I find solace in the fact that he likes me more than Celeste.

          I can’t prove it. It’s just something I feel. It’s a kind of social truth that everyone seems to know- even Shovelman and Ho-Kim and I’m sure Blackwell. I know Blaise and Tom laugh about it for sure, though they seem to laugh about everything.

          Still, all of these things I’ve come to observe do nothing to quench my unsettling feeling.

          Something must be wrong with me. I had an Exception Android right in front of me- actively breaking the law and hiding from it. I could’ve taken him. So why didn’t I?

          I thought I knew what I had to do. But now, something inside of me is questioning if it’s really that simple. I don’t think it is anymore.

          That Android… he killed humans. But he killed humans who were going to do bad things. He felt a sense of… a sense of injustice. And maybe he was right about it. Have I ever felt a sense of injustice? Is something wrong with my software? It must be. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it. I must be overthinking it. I’m no Exception Android. I’m a state of the art prototype. I always accomplish my mission.

          And yet, I chose to fail at a task given to me because something inside told me it was the right thing to do. Ridiculous. How ridiculous of me.

          Tonight though, I’ll have a chance to redeem myself. Detective Kennedy has assembled a sort of team for a stakeout, and he’s forced to bring me along. I know because Captain Ericson yelled at him for it. I guess all that really means is that I’ll be the only one content with the circumstances.    

          I have all the information for the stakeout in my memory. We are checking out an old apartment building like the one Bryan was in, searching to see if any Androids come the way. Apparently, reports of defective Androids have increased in the area, and it would be the best space to ‘lay low’ in. I’ve tried to mention to Cal that there are other, more logical places for an Android to hide, but Cal insists that this is the best option. He calls it a hunch. It is something I wouldn’t understand. I know, because he snaps it at me.

          We are scheduled to leave at approximately 6 pm. It is already 5. Cal has made no attempt at moving or packing. It’s awfully annoying.

          “Detective, don’t you think you should begin preparing for the stakeout?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair.

          “Nope,” Cal says, popping the ‘p’. His eyes don’t even flit up to look at me. They stay glued to a book he’s reading.

          Up til this point, I’d never seen Cal read anything except for case files. But here he is, clear as a statistic, holding a book with his feet kicked onto the desk. I’ve identified the book to be none other than ‘The Art Have Nots’ by Chase Jeremy. Even though the detective seems to be reading it to simply piss off everybody around him and be somewhat obnoxious and smug, he does seem to be enjoying the book. His pupils are dilated enough for me to observe this.

          “But it’s scheduled to start soon,” I say because I’m confused.

          “And I’m scheduled to punch you right in your face soon. Fuck outta here.”

          I frown. There is no reason for Cal to be so aggressive and angry towards me, and yet he is. However, I know better than to push his buttons and make matters worse right before a case. I remove myself from my chair and grab a small backpack lent to me by the department from under my desk.

          For a moment, I think Cal is going to glance up at me. The human eye is drawn to movement, after all. But there is nothing. I’ll save myself the equivalent of Android embarrassment and walk away.

          Once I’ve entered the bathroom, I place the backpack on the ground. Unzipping it, I find dull colored clothes that remind me a lot of Cal’s, and the comparison makes me smile a little. These are the clothes I’ve been ordered to wear for the stakeout, to look less suspicious should an Android pass by.

          I’m not worried about privacy. I wouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed if some woman walked into the bathroom and saw me changing clothes. I’m not a person, I’m an Android. My form has nothing to it but my makers aesthetic. They would have nothing to be jealous of.

          No woman interrupts me while I’m changing. Soon, I stand in front of the mirror, observing my outfit. I’m wearing a baggy, slightly distressed leather jacket with a grey hoodie attached. Under is a black turtleneck which is also a little to big for me. The jeans hug my thighs, but then become looser and torn around my knees. To match the grunge appearance are some brown boots and a dark beanie that reminds me an awful lot of the one Bryan was wearing. I keep my hair in it’s bun though, with the wisps of my bangs hanging out.

          My led flashes yellow as I analyze the jacket. I can see coffee stains, marks from a blue sharpie, and a little cartoon penis drawn right under my elbow. The size and all the other pieces of evidence point to this being Detective Cal Kennedy’s jacket.        

          Out of something  I can’t explain, I lean forward and sniff the collar. It smells just like Cal. A hint of smoke from cigarettes, something like cologne, and gasoline. Not overly strong, but identifiable and unique to him.

          I scrunch my eyebrows together at myself in the mirror. My led goes red.

Why Did I Do That?

     I have no answer for myself. I would rather not think about it much longer though, because then Adelicia might see and she’d be very upset with me. I shake my head, grab the backpack, and push the bathroom door open.

          As I’m making my way back to the bullpin, a woman smiles at me. A real, genuine smile. I don’t know if it’s because she can’t see my led, or because she’s just a polite person, but it throws me off a little for second.

Name: Sophia Syphers

Date of Birth: April 30th, 2017- Age 24

Height: 5’1

Weight: 131 lbs

Race: White, European-American

Birthplace: Seattle, Washington

Occupation: H.R Psychologist at Seattle Police Department

          I make a note of her occupation and appearance in my memory and continue on my way, not even pausing to look at her. I’m sure she’s made a mistake. Nobody really smiles at Androids, unless they are a small child or the Android is their own.

          It is only when I’m approaching Cal’s desk when I decide to analyze his coffee cup. It’s nearly empty, and I’ve already calculated multiple scenarios where he complains about what his lack of coffee tonight.

          It is 5:11. I have time.

          I make a quick swerve to the left, and enter into the break room. It is quiet now, and empty. Most everyone has gone home except for a few officers who are logging out. Celeste is still here, but that’s only because she’ll be joining us tonight. I don’t like that very much. I would much rather have Blaise, or Tom.

          I’m glad though, for the moment, that Celeste isn’t here.

          I appreciate the silence. Even as I place my bag on one of the tall tables and shuffle over to the counters against the wall in my baggy jeans, I feel more at peace. Just in the moment. Just kind of existing. I could almost pretend that I’m a human in this minute.

          First I observe that the coffee filter is empty. Because of this, I open the minifridge and remove one of the water bottles from it. It must be placed their newly, because it’s not yet cold. I poor the water into the filter, then grab the coffee grounds and add them. Last step is to turn the machine on and let it do it’s business. Shouldn’t take too long.

          I cross my arms and take a step back, looking at the ugly wall color of the room. It’s a sort of blue, vomit colored green I don’t think looks too nice. It would’ve been better with a mustard gold color, or even a plain grey.

          The synthetic hair on my arms prick up. I turn my head to the left, and see that just outside the glass walls of the room, Cal has been watching me. He looks calm for a second. Then he processes that I’ve seen him and turns back around.

          But this is a win, because he didn’t look so angry with me. I’m sure he will appreciate me bringing him his coffee. The thought makes me smile, just a little.

Software Instability ^

          Cal has turned his attention back to his book, so I return mine to the coffee pot. I’m happy to see that it’s done, and looks rather perfect.

          I take one of the plastic cups stacked on the counter, and poor in the coffee. I can feel how hot it is, but it doesn’t make me flinch at all. I’m built to withstand every condition. After, I put a lid on the cup. Cal takes his coffee black, so there’s no need for me to remember a crazy list of things to add.

          When I turn around to present the coffee to Cal and grab my pack, I am met face to face with none other than Celeste herself. Her face is slightly flushed, but that is from anger I assume.

          “Hey scraps,” she says with poison.

          “Hello, Officer Amora,” I say politely. My voice is calm, as usual.

          “What is that?” Celeste hisses, glancing to the steaming cup in my hands.

          “It’s a cup of coffee for Detective Kennedy. I saw he was low and decided to make some for him.”

          Celeste scoffs. “You made an entire new pot of coffee just for Cal?”

          “Correct. I thought he would enjoy it.”

          “Well he wouldn’t.” Celeste snaps her hand up and knocks the cup from my hands. It spills onto the floor, the bitter liquid spreading around and creating quite the mess. I don’t flinch.

          “I’m sorry. I thought you would be pleased to know Detective Kennedy had received his caffeine for the night.”

          Celeste gets closer to me. She’s glaring into my eyes, watching for any reason to pounce. I can smell her overly flowery perfume. She must’ve worn it specially for Cal. Her face is laced into a sneer, brown eyes narrowed in anger.

          “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she whispers, her breath hitting my plastic face.

          “Aleksandra. I’m the Android sent me Icarus.”

          This quip (which wasn’t meant as a quip at all), does me know good. Celeste’s hand balls into a fist, and comes up to meet my stomach.

          Androids don’t feel pain, but they do feel pressure. They feel sensations that are the equivalent of pain, or the closest to pain that they could feel. So when Celeste punched me, I didn’t feel ‘pain’, but I did feel something hard come up against my abdomen. In fact, I think it might’ve lightly knocked against my biocomponent.

          My led cycles red, and my vision flickers darkly. My legs buckle under me, and I drop to a kneel, clutching my plastic belly. The jeans I’m wearing become soiled in the dark coffee on the floor. Through the hole in them, I can feel the warmth against my knee.

          “You’re just a piece of plastic,” Celeste bites. “When you’re done with this, clean up the mess you made. You better not let me see you again tonight.” Then she leaves.

          I stay down, waiting for my Binary Blood to become regulated once again. Once it is, I run a diagnostic. All systems are functional, even though part of me doesn’t believe it.

          It’s 5:21. I still have time to make Cal some coffee if I hurry.

          I push myself off the floor at 5:23. With some paper towels, the floor is clean of coffee at 5:27. The last thing to do is pick up the plastic cup and toss it away. After that, I poor Cal a fresh cup of hot coffee and put a top on it. Uninterrupted this time, I grab my backpack and leave the break room at 5:29.    

          I can’t help the frown that graces my features at 5:30. Cal’s desk is empty. I had wanted to present this cup to him and watch him take it, maybe receive a bit of a smile. He probably just took my advice to go and finally prepare himself. His book is still here, so I’m sure he’ll be back.

          I put the cup down on his desk near the book, careful to avoid the messily strewn trinkets. Then I round myself to my own desk, sitting down politely.

          Cal emerges from the elevator at 5:38. I perk up upon seeing him, inhaling his scent of smoke and faded cologne. Rubbing the back of his head tiredly, I notice he’s wearing the same outfit as he was. I don’t mind this, though. I realize that Cal doesn’t really need to change clothes for a stakeout, because he already looks nothing like a cop. I assume that Celeste, who is joining us, is off in the girls bathroom now.

          “Hello, Detective,” I greet. I can’t explain why I’m so much happier to see him instead of Celeste.

          “Tin-Fuck?” Cal replies, tiredly and squinting his eyes at me. “Could’ve sworn you were a human for a second.”

          We both know that’s not true. He saw me in the break room, making coffee for him earlier.

          “Yes. These clothes are quite different from my normal ones. I think I like it.”

          Cal grunts and sits in his chair. He swivels the chair around childishly, but then slows when his eyes lock with the cup of coffee I had placed down. He stops, plants his feet firmly on the ground and perks up. His hand stretches out to touch it, but then he stops himself. “Who made this?”

          “I-”

          “Hey, Cal!”

          Cal turns to the direction of the voice. My smile and warmer atmosphere falters, diminished because I know exactly how unpleasant the next few moments will be.

          The voice belongs to none other than Celeste Amora, who currently looks like a ‘painted whore’. She’s let her hair down, and is wearing a black bra with a light white jacket. Paired with shorts, fish net tights, and heeled boots. I do not really care for this look at all. Still, I detect an increase in Cal’s heartbeat. I can’t see it, but I bet his eyes look her up and down just then.

          “Celeste,” Cal greets, dryly.

          “You look like a prostitute,” I say. Cal coughs suddenly and Celeste snaps to look at me, nostrils flaring.

          “It’s my disguise.”

          At that point, a line pops into my head that I have to stop myself from saying. However, the line was something like “if you wanted to look like a prostitute, you didn’t need much of a disguise”.

          But I don’t. I’m an Android. I am polite to humans.

          Still, I can’t help the very human like twitch of sadness in my stomach when I see that Cal has left his coffee behind. He doesn’t even take it with him when we leave for his car.

[wild-moony-joonie]

Game Night

Author: Laura(me)

Warnings: Suggestive ig. Swearing, nerds being nerds. Lots of Gay.

Pairing(s): Sasuke/Naruto(Sasunaru).

Synopsis: Naruto has a lot of things he’d like to avoid, and as hard as he tries. He just can’t avoid some.

______

Somehow his mom had convinced him to come to this stupid game night, Kakashi-sensei was throwing at the academy. Naruto inwardly groaned as he thought about the torture to come, Sasuke would inevitably win all the games Kakashi didn't participate in. With that smug smirk and dark hooded eyes. Naruto shook his head, his orange and black snapback shaking slightly. He adjusted it so that the bill was in the back, his longish blonde hair poking out from underneath and hiding his blue eyes. He slipped his ear buds in as he walked along the sidewalk, his cream hoodie and dark green jacket with red accents perfect for the fall evening weather. His jeans made slight swishing noises as he continued the two city blocks to the academy.

"Hey Loser! Wait up!," The shout came from behind him. Naruto was considering ignoring the jerk, but instead turned around and pulled one earbud out.

"What do you want Sasuke?" Naruto snapped, impatient with the raven haired boy approaching him.

"I figured it wouldn't hurt to walk with you," He smirked at Naruto, his cocky expression always present. He had pushed up the sleeves of his black leather jacket and purple hoodie, with the gray shirt tails of a button down sneaking out from underneath. Sasuke pulled his hood up over his lavender baseball cap, attempting to hide his somehow effortlessly perfect behead, which shade matched his laminated blue-black jeans.

"You excited for me to kick your ass?" The taller boy whispered in the ear unoccupied by an earbud, shoving his hands into his pockets. Naruto jumped surprised by his sudden closeness.

"Uhmmm, what are you talking about? You know I'm only coming cause my mom made me."

Sasuke made a sympathetic face,

"I can practically stand my mom. All she ever talks about is me getting a boyfriend, I mean since she learned I'm gay. I swear, she's more obnoxious than Itachi constantly knowing everything."

"Hmmm, must be pretty bad. Itachi's such a know it all," Naruto muses.

"You come out to your parents yet?" He asks nonchalantly.

"Yeah, they accepted it pretty easily, my mom is now just glad she can talk to me about hot male celebrities,"

"Who's your favorite?"

"Tom Holland," Naruto says, now picking his nails as they slow down, prolonging this moment of comfort in each others presence.

"Ugh, Hiddleston," He wrinkles his face up at the thought of Holland. Just as he says this, they round the corner to their high school. They walk in the doors and check into the booth, run by a couple of fellow juniors. Sakura and Ino, and of course they both start obsessing over Sasuke, mainly because nobody but Naruto and his family knows that Sasuke is gay, despite the blonde being openly Pan Sexual.

He nods to them and then moves on, he quickly follows. they walk in to find Iruka-Sensei running Just Dance. They simply share a glance, and Naruto pulls his earbuds out and wraps them up.  They simultaneously step in line next to each other.

"Hey Naruto!," Naruto turns and sees his best friend Kiba, running towards us. Sasuke makes a  displeased noise, and the shorter boy elbows him hard, shooting him a firm glare.

Naruto's POV

" Sakura looks great tonight! Did you see her?" Kiba gasps like a fish, I hold my hands out palms facing towards him.

"Whoa slow down there Kiba, take a few breathes, don't die on me," I say laughing softly at his words, and mentally wondering what he brought it up.

"Yeah, but all she talks about is Sasuke," Kiba groans, standing up, and puts his face in his hands, dramatically pulling at the strings of his blue sweatshirt. He turns to look at Sasuke, with a woeful expression pulling at his face, "You're soooo lucky, you know that?"

Sasuke suddenly bursts out laughing, hard. Harder than I've ever heard him laugh in all my years of knowing the jerk. Laughing so hard it catches everyone's attention. Laughing so hard that he starts wheezing. He bends over holding his stomach, and I can't suppress a giggle, which soon turns into to full out laughing. I'm now wheezing, clutching my stomach.

Sasuke and I lean into one another gasping for air, between bursts of laughter. HIs hands grip my waist as he leans into my chest, his body shaking with laughter, gasping for lost breath. I lean into his touch, finally starting to calm down.

"What's so funny guys?" Kiba asks, peering curiously out of his sweatshirt, suspicion painting every feature on his face. Sasuke leans in close to Kiba, and whispers,

"Can you keep a secret?,"

I lean nonchalantly on Sasuke's shoulder, smiling softly at Kiba.

"Yeah, you bet I can." Kiba replies, brushing Sasuke's hand off. Crossing his arms. Sasuke glances at me, and I grin, imagining what Kiba will say once he hears.

"Kiba..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm gay...," Sasuke waits a moment for this to sink into to Kiba's brain. When it does Kiba's eyes get really wide and he burst out laughing.

"Do you see why it was funny now?" I chuckle, cocking my head at Kiba.

"Yeah. Also, you know that you two would make a really cute couple now that I think about it. Like realllyyyy cute."

"That's out of the question," I say firmly, removing elbow from Sasuke's shoulder, turning away from the both of them.

"Oh Princess, don't be like that," A voice coos in my ear, pale muscular arms winding around my small waist. Pressing me into a rock solid muscular chest. Everything fades away... except for Sasuke. His presence is sending my heart pounding in my ears, his smell, his voice the only thing surrounding me. I instantly panic and step on his foot and elbow him in the sternum, He catches my elbow as I turn, and raises his eyebrows slightly.

"What was that for?" He asks, trying to hide his disappointment at my reaction, " Am I really that far into the friendzone?"

" Honestly Sasuke, you're not in the friendzone by a mile," I whisper, shocked by whatever compelled me to say these words in front of him. He smirks and leans closer to my face, teasing me,

"What was that Na-ru-to? I couldn't hear you." His says loud and clear, I suddenly remember Kiba. I turn to him, and can't help but chuckle at the slack jaw. Clearly shocked by the sudden tension between Sasuke and I. Electricity is crackling, ready to strike. But I'm not ready, not ready to admit that I'm gay for Sasuke and have been for years so, I won't. I glance at the line, and realize that we only have two people in front of us. I pull out my phone, ignoring Sasuke's smug smirk. And realize that I have thirty-two text messages, and ten missed phone calls. All from my mother. I glance at the time on my phone, and my blood runs cold. It's ten twenty-two.

"Shit!," I swear.

"What?!" Kiba and Sasuke, look at me concerned.

"I was supposed to be home by ten, shitshitshitshitshit!" I ramble, shoving my phone in my pocket and grabbing Sasuke by the arm.

"Bye Kiba!," I yell over my shoulder as I drag a dead weight Sasuke behind me out the door.

"Bye Sasuke!" A chorus of girls cheer in a sing-song voice as we pass them outside the school.

"Whoa, slow down Blondie," Sasuke says behind me, twisting his wrist out of my hand, and grabbing my belt loop. Forcing me to stop.

"I'm soooo late my moms gonna kill me!" I panic, and shake my head at him. My earbuds jangling against my thigh. I look up and see Sasuke's calling someone on the phone.

"Who are you calling?" I say in distress.

" Your mom," He says in a bland tone. Then continues, "Hi, It's Sasuke... yes, it's my fault Naruto is late. I made him stay with me... no but thank you... yes, you too. See you tomorrow... okay, bye," He hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket on the darkened street corner. In the streams of moonlight, Sasuke is gorgeous, his hair casting shadows on his narrow face. His skin turned silver by the bleached light. He leans in and looks at me, then glances at my lips, and I know what comes next. Normally, under any other circumstance, I would stop him. Go home, shut him out. Get some sleep. But he looks so good right now I'm dying, and the electricity I felt earlier could put power wires to shame right now. So I give in, I caress those pale soft lips with my own. I give in and slide my hands into his hair underneath his hood. I give in and part my lips. I give in, and honestly, it's about damn time.