#I love how you hide behind the anon button like a little coward | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

risuola · 8 months

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hi I hope you’ve been doing well <3 could you possibly write Gojo making female reader! cry during s^x and her using her safeword? basically the aftermath of that as well. tysm 🫶🫶

SAFE WORD — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Satoru got back home angry and that got him carried away. contains heat, regret and aftercare.

cw: smut, rough sex, usage of safe word and aftercare, reader discretion is advised — 1k words

a/n: hiii anon! thank you, i’m fine! could I possibly write for gojo? yes. no matter what, the answer most likely is yes, soooo without further ado-

Fucking cowards. The higher ups, with that rotting bastard Gakuganji included. Always so mouthy while hiding behind matted veils, always forcing their authority over everything Gojo does, always expecting something that stands against everything he believes in. The hell did they even mean when they tried to order him to hunt down a kid that they think might be a threat. A kid?

“Satoru, slow down-“

And they really thought that he, Satoru Gojo, will jump into action to execute a teenager that probably have no idea what is even happening to him? The boy was at most sixteen. Those assholes, they really fucked up his mood.

You noticed Satoru wasn’t exactly in the right space of mind when he came back home, later than usual, smashing the doors behind him and throwing his jacket off carelessly. It had to be a bad day, you knew him well enough to recognize it and with some amount of certainty, you could tell he got caught up with the higher ups. They had an unparalleled ability to make Gojo loose his cool and you really hated seeing your love so upset, so when he grumbled a little hi against your neck, you took him to bed in hopes to relieve some of the tension.

But Satoru’s mind was somewhere else when he was pounding into you ruthlessly, unloading his frustration with his hips colliding with yours time after time, each one harder, stronger, harsher. His mouth wandered all over your neck and chest, leaving bruises and bite marks and you tried to slow him down by tugging at his hair, pushing at his abdomen and scratching his back, but with no effect.

“Shh, you can take it, sweets,” he mumbled an auto-response, picking up the pace even more and pressing your wrists onto the mattress above your head, somewhat annoyed at the way you tried to push him away. Satoru sometimes forgets how strong he really is, how easily he can overpower you with his looming presence but usually, you can take his rough side with pleasure. You really can, and you also like the harsh attitude he sometimes gives you, so contrasting to his usual playful nature, but now he seemed to forget that if he wishes to be the bad guy he really has to put in effort to prepare you for that. This time, as he got up home so worked up and so in his head, he skipped all of the foreplay, cutting straight to the chase and it might have been still fine if he went slower. But he didn’t.

“Satoru, please, it hu- ah-“ you tried to bring him back from his mind but all it did was to push his buttons more. And when he squeezed your wrists harshly, you felt like your bones might just snap underneath the sheer force of his grip. A tear that rolled down your cheek went unnoticed, as his face was buried in the crook of your neck, leaving purple his marks all over the delicate skin over your racing pulse.

“Pikachu!”

Gojo’s mind snapped to place in a split of a second. Every picture he had in front of his brain dissolved into nothing, as suddenly he became painfully aware of his current position. An endless chain of apologies spilled from his mouth as he pulled out and wrapped both of his arms around your middle, rolling onto his back and cuddling you to his chest.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, baby,” he cooed tenderly, kissing your wrists profusely, then kissing your neck, going over every spot he had left there, surprised to even see all of the bruises and teeth marks showing on your skin, because he didn’t even register when he made them. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“It’s alright, Satoru,” you muttered, feeling yourself relaxing finally in his warmth. “I’m alright, don’t apologize.”

“I made you cry, my baby, I’m sorry,” he said again, pulling the covers over your bodies and tucking you carefully.

“Satoru, love, I’m okay,” you reassured, pressing your lips to his chest, trying to calm him down. It wasn’t often that Satoru was in the state of panic and you could feel him sliding into one as he caressed you, afraid that he’s hurt you.

In Gojo’s mind, all what just happened was nearly equal to him straight up beating you and that, he couldn’t forgive himself. How could he get so carried away to hurt you? It didn’t make sense, you didn’t deserve it and so, afraid you’ll leave him, he tightened his hold on you, whispering more and more sorrys into your hair, and you listened, allowing him to spill it because if he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t sleep for a month.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed finally, shifting slightly and resting your chin on his sternum, “what happened today? Did you talk to the elders?”

By the way he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, you could tell you hit the spot.

“Do you know what they ordered me to do?” he threw, smoothing his hand over your hair. “They wanted me to hunt down a teenager and kill him. A literal child.”

“Aaand, did you tell them to go fuck themselves?”

“Of course I did.”

“Good boy,” you praised, smiling softly and reaching up to cup his cheek. “So, we’re gonna need to find that kid and take care of him before they order someone else to kill him, huh?”

“I guess so,” he finally let his features soften enough to curve his lips up. The warm feeling of your palm against his face made all of his worries go away and he kissed your hand few times and your wrist also for good measure. “But I can’t believe they had the balls to ask me something like this knowing what I stand for. They even dared to argue with me, threatened to remove me, can you imagine?”

“Don’t worry baby,” you chuckled, moving up and hovering your mouth above his. “I’ll protect you from those old farts, you don’t need to be so tensed and afraid.”

“Ah, that’s a relief,” he lightened up, glancing at your lips with anticipation, but instead of kissing him, you rested your forehead against his, touching noses as your thumb softly brushed over his cheekbone. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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starkeysprincess · 2 years

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You're fuckin stupid to come on this page with the disrespect, you fuckin flea. 😀 You picked the wrong one.

Yall are a bunch of tiny, crushable, little maggots that love to worm your way into the ask box and try suck the fun out of everyone, aren't ya? It's so funny to hide behind the Anon feature cause you're too scared to show your face, because you know what you're doing is wrong.

You're life is so sad that you have to come on here and harass people, you're like a stalker at this point. You're coming after a bunch of people who are having a great time on the internet, what does that say about you? You're just pathetic, a lowlife, and a coward who never even learned how respecting boundaries works. You and all your little buddies are a bunch of 50cent dollar store items. Disrespectfully take 10 steps back and look at yourself before you go after anyone else.

📢📢SAY IT LOUDER, BEE📢📢

y’all just have nothing better to do than harass people 24/7, don’t you???

some of you are exactly why a lot of blogs have been taking the anon feature off lately. It’s all cause of the bullshit you say to them and they know you don’t have the balls to say it off anon.

I’ve been debating on taking anon off on here cause for some reason, you little fuckers have slowly made your way onto my page. I genuinely don’t know where the hell you all came from but fuck off

I’m leaving anon on, simply because I know there are people who use the anon button for good and some people aren’t comfortable with interacting with me off anon, which I understand.

all people are asking of you, is to respect their boundaries and their rules. It is NOT that hard to do.

#shania responds #eddiemunsons-girl asks #mutuals🖤#bee <3 #💌🖤muns-trosity-main

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hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha · 6 days

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Laying low.

Alright, seems like the Big Bossy Spife has to take a course of action.

Now, initially, me responding to fatherless bitch over here (iykyk) was for MY shits and giggles. Did I ever intend for ANYONE else involved?

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

This was MY drama and I hate the fact that brainless nematode had to involve others when it clearly didn't concern them. For anyone wondering (you're not probably not), I've been getting harassed by said anon ever since this little situation here started. Even after artist and I resolved this,

As you can see, this an actual conversation Arkdraws and myself had.

bitchass twitter dweller found the need to call me an "n-word" (which Spife canonically is, but dude... Srsly?) tell me to literally die, and basically saying some really racist shit about my ancestors being black, and for some fucking reason comparing the fact that white people can actually see their shit stains while black people can't??? What does that even have to do with anything...?

On to the actual point. Big Bossy Spifey over here is here to take accountability for their actions.

———

Was it right for me to constantly engage with discord mod and basically make it hell for everyone else?

No. Big Bossy Spifey should've been the bigger person and just deleted the asks and kept their mouth shut, but as I said, it was for my shits and giggles and I wanted to troll. For anyone else who got bothered by said anon and felt uncomfortable with all of this, you have my sincerest apologies for my reckless and immature behaviour. It was not my intention to get you involved. I had not even the slightest notion of such things but it seems as if satan's fetus did.

Will I ever be answering to Plankton wannabe again?

For the sake of this not EVER happening again, no. It seems like no matter how much I try to keep others out of my online business/drama, it will always somehow end up involving them anyways, which I do not enjoy and I'm certain those who are harassed don't either.

So, what have we learned here today, fellers? Don't give people without a life the attention they didn't get from their mother. They will leech off of your very core until you fall dead, then they'll be satisfied.

As for Big Bossy Spifey over here.

Thanks to depressed bitchless person, who ruined it for everyone, Big Bossy Spifey will be stopping the anonymous asks.

Will they still be posting content?

Yes. Spifey, will. But unfortunately, Spifey won't be accepting any anonymous asks, harmless (or not) as they may seem. Not until this braindead of a Tumblr user and coward who hides behind the anonymous button finally gets a life and fucks off my page. Spifey's asks will be off until then.

Spifey will turn off all asks should the harassment continue.

———

And finally, for all who were involved in my business which really should have a never happened in the first place, I again apologise for unintentionally bringing this mess to you. Spifey was only trying to amuse themselves which unfortunately led to the discomfort of others because somebody simply can't stand still while emitting large amounts of dumbass behaviour. I would also like to advise that all who were involved to turn off anon asks for a while since that really is the best thing you can do in this situation.

That was all Spifey had to say. As for you goofy fellers, love yourself because you are worth it! 🌝👍

And a very special message to braindead anon from Spifey themselves. Wow! The attention you so craved for‼️‼️‼️

If you know, you know! 😉👍

#𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 #that ladies and gentlemen was Spifey's first internet drama

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heyitssmiller · 4 years

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So I haven’t been on cause a lot happened after posting yesterday (long story short - I’m now injured cause I am uncoordinated as hell. This isn’t new for me, I’m just mildly annoyed at myself).

But I’m so happy you got a lot of positive comments after that anon hate! can I just say how cowardly that is? Even though Sarah mentioned it. Like. show yourself if you’re gonna spread hate, don’t hide behind the screen and anon button like a coward cyberbully And I just wanted to say your writing is amazing. Your stories are amazing. YOU are amazing. And I’m so glad you are my friend, and that you have all this love to feel from Chop It Like It’s Hot and Clandestine. 💕

Oh no! Are you ok??? I hope you’re feeling at least a little bit better

All this love has really blown me away and I just feel so humbled to have all of you in my life 💕

I’m so glad we’re friends!!

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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Arrows straight to my heart // J x Patrick x Lilith // comfort.

Summary: Beaten down by the world, your men bring you back home not only to themselves... but to yourself, as well. The world can do what it wants to Patrick and to J, but to their Hyena? Oh, no. You’re safe with them, darling. They’re always there for you.

A/N: Because fuck everyone who dared to hurt Lilith today. You’re all cowards and if you have any more issues with her, then you come to me. You do not mess with my friends. Ever.

Fully personalised with permission for @jokershyena; you deserve this and more, my dear. I’m so, so sorry. You’re in my thoughts. I’m so so so proud of you and I know that J, Pat, Eric, Loki and Heath are, too! <3

Word count: 1, 862.

Today could just go and sit on an especially prickly cactus.

You stared at the screen of your laptop, the inside of your forehead growing hot. You wanted to look away, oh, how you wanted to shut the lid of your laptop and walk away, to physically separate yourself from the vile and repulsive things which people, strangers, were saying about you, to you. You wanted so desperately to just unwind the last ten seconds of your life so that you had never opened your mail, so that you had never read someone’s unwarranted opinion about something, someone, so near and so dear to your heart.

But you couldn’t.

Words, once they were translated from one’s mind, from one’s heart, onto the tip of one’s tongue, could never be taken back. They could never be retracted or changed. They could linger in the air, travelling on sound waves which burrowed deep inside your mind and set up home there. Especially words like this - words which came from those who didn’t understand, those who didn’t know what it felt like, what it meant, to struggle and to suffer in all the ways that you did.

Someone had just aimed an arrow straight at your heart... and they hadn’t missed.

Your breath caught in your throat and tears blurred your vision. Look away, look away. Just delete it, delete it ignore it just delete... like a broken record did your thoughts stutter across your mind. You were thinking everything and nothing all at once, feeling everything and nothing all at once. You could just delete the message right now and never think about it again. You could just post it and let it sit there on your blog without a response. You could just ignore it. You could just walk away. You could deactivate your account. You could just block the anon... options, reactions, all circled through your mind and you didn’t know which one to pick. What was the more mature one, the one which made the most sense?

You didn’t know.

What you were acutely aware of, however, was the fact that tears, hot and heavy, spilled down your cheeks. You felt like you were going to be sick, your entire body shaking as still were you unable to tear your eyes away from your laptop, something so precious to you. The people calling you these things were cowards hiding behind a screen but their words, their scorn, cut you deep. Your cursor hovered over the ‘delete’ button, your eyes examined the ‘report’ and ‘block’ buttons as you thought how best to respond to the situation... but then a sob ripped out of your throat and you covered your face with your hands, the wounds which your soul already tried to heal each and every day ripping open all over again at the hands of someone who knew not the damage they could inflict with a few well chosen words.

Patrick was the one who saw you first. He had come out of the kitchen with a sweating can of ice cold Monster for you but he could tell even from the back that there was just something wrong about the way you were sat. Your shoulders were stiff, even hunched over your laptop, and he could just tell that something was wrong, so well did he know you. “Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” Pat’s dark curls were all over his face as he dashed over so that he could see you, his school bag dangling off one shoulder. He dumped it unceremoniously on the floor as he flopped down beside you on the sofa, one arm automatically encircling your shoulders as he tugged you into his broad chest. You swung an arm over his waist and pressed your face into the dark grey cotton shirt he was wearing. He smelled of apples, of stale cigarette smoke and of leather and you felt more tears make their way down your cheeks.

Not feeling like you could speak, you used your other hand to push your laptop from your lap onto Pat’s. He took the hint and with his own free hand, pushed up the laptop from the bottom so that he could see the screen clearly. You felt the moment he realised what he was looking at. You heard his heartbeat pick up underneath your ear, you heard him swallow thickly, you heard his sharp intake of breath and the way that he licked his lips; trying desperately was he to make sense of what he was reading, just as you had. Pat ducked his head so that he could press a kiss to the top of your head, his full lips shaking as he tried to both give and receive comfort in equal measures.

“It’s okay, Pat,” You tried to reassure him, you did, but Pat shook his head and tilted towards so that he could rest his cheek on the crown of your head as he pulled you more securely into his lap, the laptop rested precariously on the arm of the sofa. Truthfully, even though your laptop was your prized possession, you could barely bring yourself to care about it right now. J could always just buy you a new one on the off chance that this one fell and broke. Pat had always had good and fast reflexes so he would probably catch your laptop if it so much as wobbled. “Just some assholes on the internet.”

Pat smiled but it was a gesture without humour. “Yeah, well, this isn’t just a reaction to some assholes on the internet. Talk to me, Lilith.”

“About what, hm?” J’s low voice suddenly came from the doorway and you would have jumped, were it not for Pat’s tight arms around you. You were okay, you were safe. “What’s, ah - what’s bitin’ ya, doll?” J’s head was tilted so far to the side that his ear was almost touching his shoulder, his hair, which was in desperate need both of a wash and of a dye job, hung limp, straggly.

You shrugged, knowing as you did all the while that Pat and J were having a conversation with just their eyes, so well did they know each other. All three of you knew and loved each other so deeply. It was such a unique dynamic and in the very early days of your relationship had it been touch and go between J and Pat, but it worked. “Oh, you know... just people accusing me of lovely things.”

“What?” J clicked the ‘t’, his face set and his jaw muscles ticking as he extended one hand and flexed it towards Pat. In any other mood, you would have smiled at J’s grabby hand, but right now you just cried even harder, the weight in your chest so heavy and so sickly that you were sure that you were going to be sick. Pat handed over the laptop and J barely glanced at the screen before he squinted and looked at you, at Pat, and then back to the screen. “This - “ he waved the laptop around and you eyed it carefully. J caught your gaze and put the laptop down on the coffee table, “Is a. Bad joke. I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.”

“Nor do I.” You mumbled, dashing your hand across your face impatiently.

It was then that J really saw you and his entire face dropped. “You’re, ah - really hurt by this, aren’t’cha?”

“Well, yeah, J! You saw the things people were saying about me!”

“... Yeah.” J came forward, his steps slow, careful and measured before he reached you, cuddled into Pat’s side. “Babydoll, when have ya’ ever cared what people thought about ya’, hm?”

“This is different, J, and you know it. They said - they said that I - “ Your breathing picked up, your tears fell faster, your forehead grew hotter and you heard Pat grunt quietly in exertion as he lifted you up and slid you onto his lap, his knees bouncing a little beneath you in an attempt to make you even try to smile, his lips at your ear as he whispered your name over and over and over, like a litany, his lips pursing as he feathered kisses all over your temple.

“Shush, shush, shush,” J stopped just in front of you and Pat shuffled over so that J could squeeze his broad frame beside you on the sofa. He put an arm around Pat’s waist and pulled himself into you so that even though you were seated atop Pat’s lap were you also cuddled into J’s side. Gasoline, gunpowder, greasepaint, a hint of sweat, coupled with the scent of Pat, of your own shampoo, of Monster... oh, but surely this was heaven. Surely you had died and ascended to a higher plane of existence; there was no other explanation as to how this moment was real, how it was yours. “Now, I know that you know that it ain’t easy to have what ya’ have, hm? How many nights, how many days, do ya’ struggle, not knowing what to do... and then you do it. How often do ya’ cry to me about things ya’ can’t control, but the next day you face yourself and get it done? How often have I seen ya’ kill ya’self for someone else, even when they don’t deserve it, hm? You’re so strong and so brave for me, aren’t’cha? My Hyena.” A scoff from Pat, a grumble from J, and then, “Oh, fine,” He eye rolled, adjusted his braces, and there was a genuine smile on his face as he said, “Our Hyena.”

You choked on a sob and J shushed you quietly. It was a low, soothing sound, and Pat’s arms tightened around you as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and pressed sweet kisses there, his full lips warm against your heated flesh. “Let it out, babydoll. We got’cha. Minty and I aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

“I’m so proud of you, Lil,” Patrick whispered, his breath gently playing with the hairs closest to his mouth, “Those fucking assholes don’t know what they’re talking about.”

You smiled at the coarseness of Pat’s words; it was at total odds with his sweet and gentle temperament. “Thank you.” Both of you.

J pressed a kiss to your cheek, the cool tip of his painted nose pressing against your face, his breath ghosting across your skin. “Now - how about gettin’ me those IP addresses, hm? Daddy’s got some calls to make for his babydoll.”

You flushed and Pat chuckled darkly, knowing that though you weren’t okay, you really weren’t okay, that you would be. That, just like everything else which ever came your way, you would feel what had to be felt for the time that it demanded to be, and then you would emerge on top stronger than ever. But until then, you had your clown and your koala, and you’d be just fine. There was nothing you couldn’t do without them by your side.

You were strong individuals, but together, oh... together were you unbeatable.

#heath ledger #heath ledger imagine #ledger!joker #ledger!joker imagine #patrick verona #patrick verona imagine #10 things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you imagine

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sunflowercecil-blog · 5 years

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Captain’s Orders

it’s fiNALLY HERE! The long-awaited pirate fic ft cecil and julian bc im one homo bastard. If you missed this boat, this post caught some attention and people were asking for a fic. And, weeks later, I’m finally providing.

thank u to @bazzpop, @devorak-titties, @bitters-enthusiast and @timmys-and-scribbles (and all the anons!!!) who vocally wanted this and therefore gave me my Only motivation to actually write it. love all y’all uwu

warning!! there’s blood!! there’s swearing!! there’s... like... a kinda Stockholm Syndrome vibe to it! pls be careful idk people’s triggers pls tell me how to tag this osbsb. its all 3000+ words so get some fuckin popcorn lmao

without further adieu, i present to u: gay pirates

When he found the will to open his eyes, Julian recognised none of his surroundings.

The floor his knees pressed against was a dark burgundy wood, decorated with layers of chippings and scratches that scrawled all around him. When the floor met the wall, it grew into a lighter brown. But still just as damaged. The wood had dent after dent, little holes from sharp objects hitting it and chips lying scattered at the base. If it hadn't been obvious enough that this room was for more violent activities, there was a darkened patch of the wall that tinted red when the light hit it. His throat tightened.

With an attempt to stand, he found that his hands were bound behind a large pillar in the middle of the room. The pillar looked to be the most damaged thing here. The dark paint was a mere stain now, with the light core of the wood being the most exposed part. It curved and ducked and stuck out in morbid ways, like it was mocking the branches of a tree.

Julian craned his neck around, trying to catch a glimpse of his hands behind the pillar. If he knew what kind of knot he’d been tied with, he could potentially get out. His best efforts were weak shuffles and grunts, trying to twist around the base of the pillar to look. Had it not been for the support of the bonds, he would have fallen over.

Voices, muffled through the wood, hit his ears. Snapping up, Julian watched the door. Rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks and between the edges. They danced around silhouettes eagerly, trying to squeeze through to reach him. The words outside were barely audible, and he only caught snippets of words and phrases.

“… tied.” Ah. So they were talking about him. Unless they had multiple people tied up here. Actually, that wasn’t entirely implausible.

There was silence, and a small thud before the same voice squawked.

“Yes, Captain!”

Footsteps scuttled away, getting more distant. He wanted to relax, but there was still a shadow behind the door. It felt impossible to breathe, like any sound would alert the captain of his presence. Julian dropped his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the knot once more.

He stopped when he felt the sunlight hit his face, and rays of gold illuminated the red stains deep in the wooden boards below. The blood seeped between the cracks and faint lacerations that looked awfully like the scratches of fingernails. He stared, until the light was blocked once more. A silhouette crawled across the floor of the room. Julian looked up. The figure was encased in shadows, a glow of the sun behind them. It was hard to make out any real features. A captain’s hat perched on their head, the sway of tashes by their thighs.

When they stepped forwards and leaned against the frame of the door, Julian could finally see them. A tangle of red hair swept up when the hat was pushed sideways. It fell in thick straight locks, only to the ear until it was shaved.

The man had a rounded face and a button nose. Had it been in any other situation, he would have been cute. But this man also had scars down his neck and chest, which he proudly displayed with a half open shirt. Jewellery lined every patch of skin – a silver and golden choker around his neck; ruby and sapphire gems hung from chains and rested on his chest; his wrists were covered in shiny metals and gems up to his biceps, where his ripped sleeves finally covered his skin, but not enough to hide the deep black mark of thief on his left bicep. The shirt was a faded pink colour, mostly coated in stains now. All the buttons were gone, and the only thing holding it in place was the green sash it was tucked into. Underneath the sash there must have been a belt, because a cutlass dangled from the man's waist. It scathed against his leggings, but the tip harmlessly bashed into the thick leather of his boots. After letting Julian gaze, the man finally spoke.

“Well, well, well.” His voice was higher than Julian had been expecting. It certainly didn’t have a rough accent, or the choke of a smoker, but the confident, sultry tone was enough to throw him through a loop and convince him this man was a real pirate.

As he walked forwards, he closed the door behind him. Julian swallowed. The idea of being alone in a room with this man was terrifying. And... a little exciting. He'd met pirates before. But never young ones – never ones who were glamorous and cocky and perhaps a little feminine. The pirates he knew were as rough and tumble as they come.

His staring and daydreaming finally stopped when the captain was in front of him, staring down at him. Julian felt a little vulnerable. He was bound to a pillar, kneeling in front of this man. He could barely remember how this had even happened. Where he’d been, how he’d gotten here. But the questions scattered from his brain when the tip of the man’s sword was suddenly pressed under his chin. He gasped quietly.

“You deaf?” The man snapped, eyes piercing down at him. “I asked for your name.”

“Julian-" He choked, careful about how close his throat came to the blade. “Julian Devorak, sir.”

The captain raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. He kept the sword in place. “And how did you get onto my ship, Julian?”

As he opened his mouth, it suddenly came back. Stumbling through crowds, shoving people aside and sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. With guards hot on his trail, he needed the closest hiding place possible. And it just so happened that a large ship was docked nearby, with men hauling aboard in a hurry. It was easy to blend in. Just panic and nod and hurry up. Before he knew it, the ship was sailing and Julian was a stowaway.

On a pirate ship.

“Your crew let me on.” He gulped, “They- ah- they must have thought I was just one of them.”

The captain pursed his lips. With a dirty look, he dropped the sword and tied it back to his waist. Julian let out a sigh of relief, but he wasn’t out of the water yet. He was still tied here.

“Yeah, that sounds like them. Bunch of burros, Dios mío.”

A feeling of confusion passed through Julian. Was he speaking Spanish? That would have explained the lack of a pirate voice. And, actually, a lot of his mannerisms. He wasn’t a Nevivion pirate. Which got Julian even more interested. But his questions could wait.

The captain, with an air of relaxation now, sat down in front of Julian. He pulled one leg up to his chest to rest his chin, jewellery dangling and clicking together as he moved. The way his eyes fell back to Julian's face - half lidded and dazed – made Julian gulp.

“So, why did you get on my ship?”

“I needed to hide, sir.” He quivered. “Guards were-"

A laugh cut him off, and the captain looked amused with his statement. He kicked Julian lazily, more of a playful action than anything malicious. With a grin, the captain quirked an eyebrow.

“A stowaway and a criminal? You really did fit right in. Your first time getting chased?”

Julian shook his head.

“Thought so. You’re too pretty to be good. Pretty boys are always the dangerous ones.”

Oh, Lord help him. A flirt edged on his tongue and he desperately tried to resist the immature urge to slip a reply. Julian bit his tongue, but the pain only really tempted him more.

“You must be lethal, then.”

And the immediate regret. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Julian’s eyes averted away in panicked shame. He was a dead man breathing. Flirting with a pirate captain, what was he thinking-?!

Soft laughter caught his attention and he risked a glance upwards. The captain was chuckling, head leaned back in a position all too lewd. Julian caught a brief glimpse of exposed chest and neck before turning away once more. But not quick enough.

“You enjoying the view? You’re quite lucky I haven’t killed you yet. Don’t get too confident.” The threat was spoken in such a fluid tone that Julian almost felt comfortable. Almost. He was still potentially going to die here. Unless he could talk his way out.

“I can be useful. You don’t have to kill me.” He begged. “I’m a doctor.”

The captain raised his eyebrows in surprise. He pushed forwards onto his knees and faced Julian, leaning in close to intimidate him. It worked. Julian swallowed thickly, flushed with fear. Or, at least, what felt like fear.

“You must be a coward to be begging for your life so soon. I haven’t nearly scared you as much as I could.” The low tone made him shiver, trying to squirm away from the captain's gaze.

“Either that or you’re extremely naive. I don’t think you know who’s ship you’re on.”

The captain stood, untying his blade once more, and pressed the sharp edge to Julian's neck.

They stared at each other, Julian's eyes wide with fear and desperation. He swallowed again, feeling the point press into his neck in a way that he felt familiar with. It might not have been the smartest idea to hint that he had a thing for pain.

“I am Captain Cecil Doran.” The pirate spoke down to him. Julian’s blood ran cold. He'd heard of this man. Whispers of his name in seaside taverns and warnings of his ship in the distance. He had never gotten a glimpse before. Julian struggled to comprehend it. He hadn’t expected someone who’s name was coated in dirt and blood to be so... clean? Beautiful? Not an eighty year old pirate with a parrot and a cutlass?

Cecil's chuckle caught his attention once more, and Julian spared a glance up.

“There’s that look. You’ve heard of me, haven’t you?”

Julian nodded wordlessly. The look in Cecil’s eye was animalistic. Like he was savouring the way Julian shivered and whimpered when he pressed the sword harder against his throat. The silence between them was thick enough to be cut through. Any movement from Julian could be fatal. A clumsy slip and he'd be bleeding out. Would his mark be able to repair veins and capillaries? For once, Julian wasn’t keen to find out.

Cecil opened his mouth. But the noise of shouts and thuds interrupted whatever he was about to say. The sword was yanked away and he looked over to the door. Pained yells echoed through the wood, and Julian watched Cecil’s eyes narrow at the sound.

In a split second, the cutlass had been slashed and Julian’s bonds were undone. He pulled his hands free, rubbing his sore wrists as confusion laced his features. A sword was thrown at his chest. Cecil was already on the other side of the room, hand pressed on the door, ready to leave.

“Prove that you can be useful, and I might let you stay.”

The ship outside the room had fallen into chaos. There was no easy way of telling who was from which crew. Julian could only identify the ones swinging over to hop on board as ‘the bad guys’. Even then, they melted into the fight quickly. The sound of metal clashing was almost louder than the shouts filling the air. Blood spilled quickly, and Julian watched the action with a tight knot in his throat.

A glimpse of Cecil caught his attention. The captain was in a spur with one of the attackers, and was clearly winning. The slashes looked light and easy when he gave them. It was sword-fighting. Intense and threatening and close – and then Cecil did something.

He lunged forwards and grabbed the man by the neck. It should have been a fool’s move, he easily could have been stabbed or thrown off. But the man trapped in his grip began to scream in agony, and Julian saw blood spill over Cecil’s hands. When his hand pulled back, there were deep burns around the man’s neck, so far into the flesh that blood had been drawn. The man fell to the ground weakly, clutching his neck and rasping as Cecil moved on.

There was no more time to watch. A yell from the left, and Julian was flung into a fight of his own. He barely dodged a swipe to his chest, gripping the sword tightly. Julian raised the sword he’d been given and struck, slashing into the attacker's side as they turned to face him. They gave a groan, but persisted and went for him again. The swords clashed over and over, and Julian’s battles were soon merged with the rest of the crew. Attack after attack, brawls and shouts and cuts and bruises until they were finally overpowering them, finally getting the upper hand. Julian struck a pirate in the leg and as they collapsed, he heard it.

“RETREAT, GET BACK, GET BACK-"

The crew showed no mercy. Even as they ran, they were tackled and cut and thrown about by the crewmates still capable of fighting. By the end of the fight, more attackers were lying on the deck than were retreating to their own.

The ships separated quickly. It was then that Julian caught sight of Cecil again. Standing at the edge, practically coated in blood. He wondered how much of it was actually his own.

When the opposing ship was a speck in the distance, the captain turned and looked at the groaning, writhing morsels with a grimace. He limped forwards.

“Throw them overboard. All of them. We've got no room for pathetic fighters.” Cecil grunted, apathy lacing his tone. He headed for the helm, no doubt to go hide in the captain’s quarters and patch himself up.

But Julian still needed to know if he could stay. And with injuries like those? Even infamous pirates weren’t safe from Julian’s martyr tendencies. He followed quickly, catching up to Cecil just as the man ducked into the door below the helm.

The door shut behind them. They were alone once more. Cecil looked back, eyes narrowed at Julian.

“You’re following me now? You really are desperate to live.”

Julian swallowed his pride and ignored the jabs. There were bigger things to deal with here.

“You’re injured. Badly. I told you, I’m a doctor, I can-"

“Shut up.” Cecil hissed, stumbling through another door. Julian followed.

The room he found himself in was much more well-kept than his previous experience. It was a long room, split into two halves by a thick red curtain. From what he could see, the walls were lined with shelves covered in trinkets and treasures. There was a window on the right wall, a view of the sea stretching for miles. The light shone down onto a desk, covered in maps and papers and neatly stored ink bottles. The desk had boxes beneath it, filled with glass bottles of exotic colours and little jars of herbs and foreign spices. The left wall had the collection of trinkets, as well as a few darts lodged into the wall in various places.

Cecil collapsed into one of the wooden chairs by the desk, blood dripping off his skin and sinking into the floor boards. He glared as Julian approached.

“Did I say you could come in?” He snarled, but Julian took no notice.

The doctor glanced around the room. There didn’t seem to be a great deal of options in terms of medical supplies. His gaze fell back to the captain.

“Do you have anything I can wipe the blood off with?”

Cecil’s eyebrows raised for a moment, and his lip twitched, but his face remained just as cold and bitter as it was when the attack started.

“Why? So you can hope to win my approval with care and attention? I already said, there’s no room on this ship for pa-"

“So I can clean your wounds and assure you don’t die, captain.” Julian interrupted. For an infamous pirate captain, he really had no common sense. It was a wonder he'd survived this long.

“There are healers on board. I don’t need a doctor.” He snapped back. “The more you piss me off, the more I want you to join the bodies going overboard. So, please, keep talking.”

Julian rolled his eyes. If Cecil wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe he’d respond to force. There were a lot of ways to do this. Sedate him? Seduce him? The possibilities were endless. If Cecil was as injured as Julian thought he was...

He took the risk. Moving quickly, Julian towered over the chair and placed two firm hands onto Cecil’s shoulders. As he thought, the man quickly shot up and headbutted him.

They both recoiled, groaning in pain as Cecil sunk back into the chair and Julian grabbed his nose. Blood trickled from under his fingers and he heard Cecil give a weak scoff.

“Didn’t work out like you planned?” He snarked. Julian shook his head.

“Actually, it worked out perfectly. Judging by your posture,” He gestured to Cecil's limp body, “You just gave yourself a concussion.”

There was a silence. And then, slowly, Cecil groaned and dragged a bloodied hand over his face. He grimaced, glaring daggers at the doctor's smug grin.

“You should bleed more. It’s a great look for you.”

Julian smirked. “Don’t tempt me, captain.”

Satisfied that Cecil wouldn’t be able to fight back for a small while, Julian approached once more. He pulled the captain up, helping him walk past the curtains and to the back end of the room – the sleeping area.

It was actually larger than the other half. A large bed was at the end of the room, with deep red sheets and messily placed pillows. There were more shelves, with pictures and paintings and trinkets and ... toys. Julian tried not to pay too much attention to those. He pulled Cecil to the bed and laid him down, wiping the blood on his leggings.

“Now, do I have permission to heal you?” He teased.

Cecil groaned.

“I'll take that as a yes.” And Julian was searching about the room for anything to use as bandages or antibacterial chemicals. There didn’t seem to be much. But a bottle of unopened gin bottle was his best bet at disinfecting any cuts, and a dirty rag was his only shot at cleaning the blood off.

He'd have to make do. After collecting his ‘medical supplies', the doctor returned to the captain. Who had... removed his shirt. Julian flushed. He stopped and stumbled and had to remind himself: infamous pirate captain, infamous pirate captain, infamous pirate captain. Definitely not the type of person to be attracted to. And yet, here he was.

Cecil appeared to notice the change in demeanour. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

Julian jolted. “N-no, I- um.”

The captain laughed. He sat up, and tossed his shirt at Julian's chest.

“Um.”

Julian held the fabric, looking between it and Cecil. He swallowed nervously, hoping to gauge some sort of answer for what the hell was going on.

“You need something to bandage the cuts. Use the shirt. I’ve got others.” He shrugged, sinking back into his bed. Cecil winced.

Okay. Doctor time. Yes. Julian shook himself out of his gay panic and stepped forwards. He rubbed down the blood stains, trying to keep a safe distance. It felt strained. There was a thick tension between them. Well. Cecil didn’t seem to care. He was too busy ogling Julian as he tried to clean up the wounds. It was getting hard to concentrate with his gaze.

But he got it done. With a bit of time and awkward eye contact and tension, Cecil was wrapped up and resting. Julian, gloves bloody, took a step back. He watched the captain breathe shakily, and slowly removed the gloves to clean them. Julian thought that now the chaos was over, it would be best to leave the captain alone. He headed towards the curtain, steps heavy. Cecil’s voice caught him as he left.

“Hey.”

Julian turned. Cecil was smiling at him, sitting up, resting on his elbows.

“You can stay. Only ‘cause you’re cute.” He teased.

With a choked noise, Julian nodded and fled the room – heart racing. He was technically a captive on a pirate ship. Fantastic.

At least the captain was hot.

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mcarfield · 6 years

Text

So I haven’t written anything in years & hell yes this is an anon tumblr as my friends would judge so hard but here’s a fic about James having an existential crisis post Tony’s

HOLY SHIT I JUST CANNOT EVEN WITH THIS, OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH <3 thank you, bless you for all these beautiful details and Andrew’s SPEECH and LOL JAMES’ BEAUTIFUL NEUROSES, IT’S ALL PERFECT AND AMAZING I’m so shook and you guys sending me fics are honestly blowing me away and making my life. <3

It’s the first double show after the Tony Awards and the sense of relief James feels is palpable. For weeks now he feels like he’s been wandering around in a state of low grade terror. But no more.

No more having to find his way around the labyrinthian corridors of the Marriott Marquis while Glenda Jackson barks at reporters in the background. No more glad handling botoxed backers who still don’t know what he does in the show. No more nodding politely at people gushing at him about how his accent is just “SO adorable” or pretending that yes, yes he does know your groundkeeper’s son’s team mate who may possibly have lived somewhere in Scotland in the past 20 years. No more having to worry about Tony voters in the audience and panicking that if he misremembers a word or if his accent is just a quaver off he’ll have fucked everyone’s chances and The fucking Iceman Cometh would win best revival. No more having to fret about looking like the poor cousin who should just consider himself lucky to be there while Andrew stands next to him in tailored Tom Ford that costs more than he took home last year.

No more having to pretend that it didn’t sting to hear the constant refrain of “oh we won’t be needing you for this one James” as his cast mates got to hang around with Lin Manuel Miranda while wearing their shiny Tony nominee buttons. It’s not that he’s not thrilled for them- of course he is. He couldn’t be happier for Andrew who has put everything he has into Prior and been justly rewarded for it. But to get…nothing and then immediately be shut out of the press coverage and junkets. Well, it was just a bit too much like being 19 again, living in a doss house the junkies next door would turn their noses up at just to study at RADA, only to have his posh twat classmates cheerfully tell him with the confidence that only public school boys can possess that he’ll never get to play the parts he wants because he’s “so Scottish.” He supposes he shouldn’t complain. Poor Lee managed to out himself for this play & he didn’t get a sniff of an award. And poor, poor brilliant unappreciated Nate got zip and no press coverage to boot. At least he got sloppy seconds with everyone who wanted (and couldn’t get) Andrew talking to him.

Still all done. No more. And soon no more play. Back home at last. God he misses Glasgow. James knows he should feel relief at that. But he didn’t. In fact he didn’t know why now all of the ridiculousness of awards season was over he still felt like he was a second away from throwing up at any moment. His stomach had been roiling constantly for days and he couldn’t breathe around the weight on his chest, closing his throat so much that the thought of eating made him start to shake.

He knew he should feel better than he did. And yet he was a queasy mess. He was pondering why exactly he was still feeling like absolute shit when he pushed open his dressing room door and was met by the highly unlikely sight of Andrew draped in his chair.

Andrew looks surprisingly…right in his dressing room. The light from the window caught his hair and made it look glossier than ever. Something in James loosens just a tiny bit at the sight of Andrew there in his space. James waits for Andrew to speak, but he just smiles at him cryptically. It flusters James and he turns to banter, speaking a little more loudly into the silence than he would like.

“Hey, gorgeous. And how’s my favourite Tony winner this morning? I see you’re everywhere. You’ve gone viral—I always knew you couldn’t resist an older woman.”

James watches with delight as Andrew preens ever so slightly at the compliment before becoming animated.

“I was having lunch with my parents. My parents for fucks sake, and she just strolls up bold as brass telling some story about her son having a cold and just wouldn’t leave until I’d recorded a video for her son! I mean I could hardly be rude, could I?” Andrew says beseechingly.

“I would have told her to get stuffed as I was eating my lunch and to have some bloody manners. But then I’m not A List actor and Hollywood heartthrob Andrew Garfield am I?” James teases, while Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Heartthrob? Gorgeous? Why James, you smooth talker, you. This room is very you, James, but we should go to mine—it has a bed in it.” And at that Andrew was up like a gazelle, vanishing up the flight of stairs to his dressing room, leaving a rather bewildered James behind.

James was following before he’d even thought about it, and decided now was definitely not the time to dwell on why wherever Andrew went James followed. That line from any other actor James had worked with would have resulted in a terse “thanks but no thanks” conversation, and yet Andrew says it & James doesn’t even blink.

He made his way into Andrew’s oasis of a dressing room. All ferns & cozy throw blankets. Andrew had pulled the shades & put on some sort of music James had only ever associated with poncey spas. Still it was nice. It didn’t stand a hope in hell of competing with the noise of every day New York, but it dampened it somewhat.

“Lock the door please,” Andrew said from somewhere in the room, hidden behind the curtain sectioning off the “living space” from the bed.

James did as he was told and then made his way to wherever Andrew had disappeared to. Which turned out to be lying dramatically on his bed, eyes closed, looking for all the world like the consumptive heroine at the heart of a gothic romance novel. Andrew was somehow faintly ridiculous in absolutely everything that he did, and yet instead of that annoying the fuck out of James, he found it rather endearing.

“Take your shoes off and come and join me,” Andrew said without opening his eyes.

“I don’t think we’re both going to fit on that tiny bed, Andrew,” James said somewhat awkwardly, even while he realised that his body was already swaying towards the bed, towards Andrew.

“Are you calling me fat, McArdle? We share a tiny bed every night on stage. There’s plenty of room for you. Come on, I’ll scooch up a bit. Come and lie down,” Andrew said, shifting minutely & patting the space next to him.

James decided it would be best if he just switched off the part of his brain that was currently screaming, “Not A Good Idea. danger, James McArdle, danger.” He was so so tired, and the bed looked comfy, and the thought of lying down & feeling Andrew’s warmth seeping into him as he pressed against his side was very appealing. So for the second time in 5 minutes he did as he was bidden, and took off his shoes and jacket and laid down next to Andrew.

Andrew didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly towards him until James could feel him soft and warm against him. It was nice & he could feel something inside him unclench just a little. He closed his eyes & for a minute just enjoyed the quiet, with only the sounds of Andrew’s breathing & the soft music keeping him company.

There was a slight rustling sound, & all of a sudden he could feel the warmth of Andrew’s breath against his cheek. He was much, much closer than he’d been a second ago. James couldn’t quite bear to open his eyes, unsure if he could school his features into a blank enough mask to hide just how freaked out he was. He shivered.

“Are you cold?” Andrew’s voice came an inch from his ear. “Here, this should help”

A soft heavy warmth suddenly enveloped him. Realising he couldn’t be a coward for much longer, he opened his eyes. Andrew was curled up against him, looking like a koala bear ready to pounce. It was impressive how such a tall, gangly man could make himself look so slight. Andrew had covered them both with the throw blanket that had been draped over the bed. It was far too intimate. If Denise had walked in to see them practically snuggling in bed together, she’d have had a coronary. If she didn’t drop dead of laughing first, of course.

Yet nothing short of nuclear apocalypse could have gotten him to move. He was feeling better lying there than he had in ages. James never wanted to move.

“It’s my favourite part of the play you know,” Andrew said.

“Prior and Louis tucked up together in bed. Just holding each other like they have all the time in the world and nothing could ever separate them. Sometimes when I’m lying there, I have to fight not to fall asleep. It’s so easy to just tune out Denise and Lee and be soothed by the sound of your breathing, at the feel of you curled up around me, holding me. It’s…different. So different to what I’m used to. Emily was always so frail I always panicked that if I rolled over in the night I’d break her by accident. And the girls in LA are not known for being…”

“Hefty?” James said. “All these tiny beautiful wee lasses throwing themselves at you. The life of Andrew Garfield must be a hard one to bear,” James said in fake concern while Andrew narrowed his eyes at him.

“Stop derailing me when I’m trying to say nice things,” Andrew said.

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted,” Andrew continued, while James snickered. “That moment of us just lying there. It’s like the calm before the storm. Feeling you holding me all…”

“Burly and handsome?” James chipped in.

“James, for fuck’s sake, will you shut up and let me finish,” Andrew said, with a tone that recalled Prior at his pissiest.

“Sorry, darlin. They keep calling me burly, though. I think they just mean fatter than you. But then you’re practically some sort of woodland creature, like a sprite or something, so being larger than you is hardly difficult. I wonder where the word burly…”

His babbling was cut off rather abruptly by Andrew bending down and gently kissing him full on the lips. A sharp breath of surprise escaped him while Andrew hovered over him, smiling beatifically.

“I bet that was the only way Prior could shut Louis up, too. Well, that and fellatio, but I’m not sure we’re quite there yet,” Andrew said.

James’ brain was still playing catch up from “what the fuck he just kissed me,” so it took a while for the ramifications of the last sentence to sink it. When it did, he suddenly found himself flushing from head to toe. He hoped he could style it out, but judging by the way Andrew was beaming at him, he was failing dismally.

“James, what I’m trying to say is that it’s that scene that lets me do what I do for the rest of the play. It’s that moment of us together that gives me the strength to go on for another 6 & a half hours. I’m not you. I’m not as good as you. I can’t just turn it off and on like a light switch. I have to feel it. In my heart and in my soul. All of it. The love and the terror and the heartbreak. If I don’t feel it, well then, I’m just an overprivileged straight guy standing there putting on a piss poor drag act. I can’t act Prior. I have to be Prior. And it’s so, so fucking lonely at times I can’t bear it. Once you’re gone & your scenes are all with Lee, I feel so terribly alone. But I can think of that scene, and our dance, and it gives me the strength to get through it. You give me the strength to get through this. You do know that, right?”

James looked at the utter sincerity in Andrew’s face & struggled to find his voice. The lump was back in his throat, strangling all sound. Defeated, he settled for tentatively stroking Andrew’s face with his finger. Thankfully this seemed to please him, as he leant into James’ touch.

Andrew was just too close, and it was destroying James’ equilibrium. He gently rolled onto his side, taking Andrew with him. Any hopes he might have had that it would put enough distance between them for him to be able to think clearly were instantly dashed by Andrew immediately going full koala on him—arms and legs wrapped around him.

“It can be a bit lonely off stage, too,” Andrew continued. “Lee and Nate seem to be getting on like a house on fire. Nathan is…Nathan. And when you’re not entertaining our makeup girls, you and Denise are thick as thieves. And I get to be up here. On my own floor, as befits a star of my status,” Andrew said, in a tone that made it clear he didn’t give a flying fuck about his status.

“But as hard as it’s been, I just want you to know that I could never have done this without you, James. Never. You are the one constant keeping me together. I feel so terrible that you didn’t get nominated. I mean, Michael Cera? The fuck was that about? You’re so, so good, James, and I don’t think you even really know it. You should have been nominated alongside me. I was devastated you weren’t,”

James was already blushing from the kiss and Andrew being draped around him, so he figured it was just as well he couldn’t get any redder. “You’re allowed to be happy, Andrew. I was thrilled you won. You know that, right?”

Andrew shyly nodded.

“I’m not… I’m not going to pretend that I’m not happy to have won. It’s such a nice feeling to have something go right,” Andrew said quietly.

“Spider-Man was the role of a lifetime, and the scripts and the production team were just so awful that the experience was just unbearable. And now I have to be polite when total strangers tell me how much the films sucked and be gracious about being eternally compared to a 22 year old. I mean, I could cure cancer and solve the crisis in the Middle East and they’d still say, ‘yeah, but he wasn’t as good a Spider-Man as Tom Holland.’”

James started laughing and then immediately panicked that Andrew would think he was being unkind, so tried to smooth it over by wrapping his arms around Andrew in return. Andrew seemed mollified and tucked his head against James chest. He felt so nice in James’ arms.

“I spent a year preparing, well over-preparing for Silence, becoming an insufferable boyfriend in the process, and lost the girl of my dreams. And while a lot of it has helped me and stayed with me, the movie came out and no one cared. All that work, and a tiny handful of critics begrudgingly agreed it was OK. Hacksaw Ridge was…”

Andrew trailed off awkwardly while James decided now was not the time to spoil this nice moment with his views on Mel Gibson, and so kept his mouth firmly shut.

When he realised no lecture was forthcoming, Andrew continued.

“It was nice to be at the Oscars with my parents and Ellie. Everyone says they’re silly, and of course they are. Utterly meaningless, and I always knew I was the rank outsider to win. Didn’t stop me having a cry in the toilets with Ellie before the ceremony, because it was just all so fucking overwhelming. And Breathe was meant to be a huge awards contender and came out and everyone was just too bloody cynical to believe any of it, and it died a death. So, yeah, I’m embarrassed about it, but I am really happy to have won the Tony. It’s like… I can’t be the punchline anymore, you know? But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t floor me that you weren’t nominated. Didn’t mean it didn’t kill me to have to go to all those endless junkets and dinners without you.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I completely and utterly fucking adore you, James McArdle, and I know that once this is done, you’ll run screaming back to your mates in Glasgow as fast as your legs will carry you. But I have hope. Hope that once you’re back and settled and feeling like you again and not Louis Ironson, that you’ll still want me in your life. In whatever way you’re comfortable with. Because I can’t bear to contemplate the alternative. I can’t bear the thought of you going back to Glasgow and us running into each other once every three years at a premiere or press night while we make polite chit chat over warm glasses of prosecco. The thought makes me want to leap out of this window. So I have hope. I’m an optimist that way.”

James was glad he was lying down, because he was pretty sure his legs would have gone out from under him at Andrew’s declaration. Yes he wanted to go home. God he wanted to go home, he missed it so much. But in a blinding moment of clarity, he realised that it was the thought of leaving Andrew, of getting to talk to him for 30 seconds at some premiere once a year before Andrew the movie star got hustled away into a VIP area that was a no go for the likes of him, that was making him feel so violently ill all the time. The fear of being separated from Andrew was the weight crushing him into nothingness. He realised his cheeks were wet, and was horrified that Andrew was crying. He pulled him closer, holding him as tightly as he could.

Andrew was gently shushing him, murmuring nonsense into his ear. He had no idea why Andrew was trying to soothe him when he was the one…James realised to his utter mortification that Andrew’s eyes, while kind and so, so filled with adoration it was hard to look at him, were bone dry. He was the one that was crying. Andrew curled even tighter into him, trying to meld himself into James body.

“I’m not Louis. I won’t ever leave you,” James said wetly, knowing with absolute certainty as he said it that he meant every word.

Andrew beamed at him with a blinding radiance and kissed him again.

And in the darkness of Andrew’s dressing room they lay there, and for the first time in months James McArdle felt finally at peace.

#ahhhhhhhhhhhh #i love it ahhhhhhh #mcarfield #mcarfield fic #THIS IS SO ASDLKF;ASFD #ilu anons #long post #submission

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