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popitdontdropitwrites · 2 years

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"Mx. Sinister" Engineer/Medic - Chapter 3 🔞

Chapters: 1 (start), 2

CW: Stalking, obsession, voyeurism, NSFW.

His beautiful stranger returned home, bag in hand. He slumped against the door the very moment he closed it, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. His hair was no longer perfect, rather, a cowlick had fallen over his forehead like a drooping leaf. He placed his bag in its usual spot and ripped his tie off without even a hint of the love and care he had shown it this morning. His long, slender fingers hastily unclipped his belt, dropping the luxurious leather to the ground. He unbuttoned his shirt, carelessly throwing it into the pile of clothes. He stared at his discarded clothes resentfully, before bending down to scoop them up and throw them into the wash basket.

Unable to take the sight of his darling so upset, he turned away. The itch to ask the man about his day scratched at the back of his throat. Whatever was troubling him, he wanted to make it better. He’d listen to all of his complaints, the little things that went wrong, the stressors he faced, and every disaster that had unfurled. He’d rub his shoulders and kiss him on the cheek to help him forget about it all.

He dared to look at his beautiful stranger once more. The man was now clothed in a simple singlet and loose, fluffy pyjama pants, printed with a pattern of round, sleepy birds. He thought it to be cute. The fella was already prepared to go to sleep. But looking closer, his choice of dress wasn’t cute for long. Dell blushed when he realised how snug the singlet was against his beautiful stranger’s chest, revealing his proud, pert nipples and plump pecs. Though the man was clothed, he still felt a little guilty for looking at his body like this. But through the blush and his drying lips, he couldn’t compel himself to look away. The occupant looked like temptation itself. He closed his eyes, imagining just how gorgeous he would be if he were to pluck his clothes from his body like petals from a flower. He imagined peppering kisses on his lovely figure, telling him over and over again just how much he loved him. Dell’s heartrate quickened and he slumped against the wall, mind rushing with adoring thoughts as if there was a flock of lovestruck birds in his brain, flying around in each and every direction.

He dared to open his eyes once more and another arrow laced with potent adoration pierced his chest. Dell rested his hand against his cheek, a gush of warmth spilling out from him like a flood of tar. He watched his beautiful stranger as he sat in his desk chair, pulling it up closer to the table. The occupant browsed through a drawer and Dell had to crane his neck to see what was inside. He pulled out a hardcover journal. He opened it with care, as if he were parting the delicate wings of a butterfly, flicking through to a blank page.

Intrigue pulsed within Dell’s system, curious as to what exactly the man was up to. His beautiful stranger fished a pencil out from the penholder – which was shaped like a diagram of human skin, with the pens and pencils acting in the place of hair follicles – and held it above the page. The man paused, in thought for just a moment before putting the first mark on the page. Perhaps he would look at that page later. He sat there for what felt like hours, just admiring the way the man moved.

He slowly relaxed against the wall, eyelids heavy with oncoming sleep. He began to drift off when he heard a sudden ripping sound. Dell snapped awake and noticed that the occupant was packing his supplies away. The handsome stranger sat down on the bed, stretching out with a yawn. Dell waited for him to flick the lamp off as he always did.

But tonight, he didn’t.

Instead, the man’s elegant hands slipped under his waistband. All at once, the tiredness vanished from Dell and he found himself leaning forward, fascinated by the sight. His beautiful stranger’s eyes fluttered closed, allowing a fantasy to take hold. Dell turned away at that stage, allowing him some privacy. Though he was curious, it would be perverse to look. It would make him just as bad as sinister men, the sort who gawked at women, watching them for the sole purpose of shallow, sadistic pleasure. Dell would not do the same. He was in love. The man he loved deserved respect. He would only see such private things when he was accepted with open arms.

Dell swallowed nervously when he heard the rustle of clothing. Listening to the hasty, rapid breaths and knowing what he was missing made his once infallible morals feel as if they were falling apart at the seams. Temptation whispered in his ears, asking if he could live with himself if he were to ignore such a pretty sight. It asked how he could just turn away from such a beautiful creature, how he could dare to be as rude as to look away. It told him that his sweetheart would want him to admire him from afar, and to learn how he would like to be pleasured. Temptation told him to learn every detail of his fantasy, so that he could realise it.

He finally opened his eyes and the moment he did, his heart raced at such a speed that he thought that it would stop. His beautiful stranger was completely nude – except for his undergarments – revealing the true extent of his stunning figure. Now he could see the wonderfully thick chest hair that ran down to his belly and trailed even further down, the freckles on his body, the slight pudge around his belly and thighs so shapely that he longed to kiss them. Slowly, Dell allowed his eyes to take in the main event. His sweetheart fondled himself through his briefs gently with patient strokes and slight brushes against his narrowly hidden cock. Dell watched – not for his own sake – but to better understand his newfound lover. The stranger bit his lip and finally stripped down fully, revealing his half-hard cock.

Heat pooled in his abdomen, causing the most sensitive parts of him to throb with want. Dell’s hands clawed into the closet doors, needing to help him, to give it to him how he liked it. He’d give him anything he wanted, no matter how bizarre with no questions asked.

It seemed like the man had enough with just light teasing. He browsed through his drawers, looking for something in particular. He would have fetched it for him if he could. He closed them and rose to his feet, likely remembering that he had left it in the bathroom. His beautiful stranger left the room briefly and returned with a small tub in hand. He sat on the edge of his bed, this time parting his legs a touch more. He reached down, easing two fingers inside of himself, a twitch running through his thighs at the sensation. His free hand wrapped around his hard cock, starting a rapid, imprecise rhythm, the motion appearing almost hypnotic to Dell. The other man inserted a third finger, imitating hard, fast thrusts and letting out a shameless, breathtaking moan.

A tightness swelled within him and then a warm gush of lust flowed from him, wetting his boxers from hearing just a glimpse of the man’s voice. The sound proved to be too much for him and he sought relief, instinctually slipping his hands into his undergarments. He stopped himself there, realising what he was about to do. He couldn’t do this. If he did, he would transform into a sinister being, one that got off to the sight of others in incredibly intimate moments. He’d be a pervert. A monster.

His angel spoke, finally breaking the silence. Somehow, it was even more charming than he had expected. His voice was light and high, like that of a sparrow, and soon, he would be singing like one. He began to speak more and more as he stroked his cock faster. Dell couldn’t help but notice the accent that made his words sound all the more delightful to the ears. Before long, all English escaped his darling and he reverted to something more natural for him. The consequent flood of wetness from his abdomen made him feel immense guilt, as behind every thought, the temptation to touch grew to be irresistible. But still, he controlled himself.

His beautiful stranger stopped suddenly, panting with need. He grabbed a nearby pillow, positioning it carefully between his legs. Dell nearly let out a gasp when the man began to roll his hips against it in a back and forth motion as if he were spoiling a lover. His glasses fell askew on his nose when he rutted against it faster and the pinkness on his cheeks grew ever more vibrant. A desperate, near orgasmic moan filled the room.

Dell couldn’t help himself. He shoved his hand in his boxers, which had become warm and wet. At this stage he was desperate to get off. In his mind’s eye, he imagined his sweetheart mounting him and forcing himself in, using him however he liked. He massaged his swollen clit in pleasing circles, feeling its stout length roll under his fingertips as he imagined slender fingers in the place of his own. He spread his legs as much as he could without revealing his hiding place. He collected wetness from his labia, making sure to slick his fingers before shoving them inside of himself.

He squeezed his fist in his mouth, biting down on it to silence his moans whilst pushing his fingers in deep. He could almost feel his sweetheart’s blushing cock pushing inside of him and he thrusted his fingers in and out as quickly as he could without making too much noise. His head lolled back as he pampered himself, all the while picturing his lover on top of him. His legs shook as his climax quickly approached. He observed the occupant’s own orgasm, adoring the way his hips jittered and how thick, creamy cum spilled from the swollen head of his cock. His insides squeezed and pulsed around his fingers as Dell came with him.

In that infinitely pleasurable moment, he realised that he loved his beautiful stranger even more than before.

Next Chapter

#tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #team fortress 2 #fanfiction #fic #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #science party #dark romance #engineer x medic #medic #engineer #medic x engineer #engineer/medic #obsession #trans engie #mx. sinister #smut #popitdontdropitwrites

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its-my-whump · 7 months

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Whumptober 23

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadow

Hummingbird 23 📸

First / previous

"Have it your way then! AND SLEEP TIGHT. But watch out! Because no one's gonna be there, when the bed bugs bite." The door closed with another thundering bang and the room shook.

The thundering continued in his aching, throbbing, burning head. He felt his stomach turn, maybe for the first time without chemicals in his system since he got here. But nevertheless, puking was a bad idea. He was already thirsty, hadn't eaten since his last uprisen. The only source of some liquids in form of that bottle, just had been smashed. Even if there was a tiny sip of water somewhere on these shards, he would only cut up his intestens and die miserably by bleeding out internally. 'So no puking now.' He plead to himself. 'Just breathe. Breathe and stay alive!' His old mantra.

Sam managed to fight the bile back down after what felt like hours. But it was not like time was of the essence here. Not yet anyway.

The light, that came through the arrow slit under the ceiling had gone darker by now. Another day in hell was finally coming to an end. How long had he been here, already?

The bruise on his left upper arm had turned from blue to yellow and had almost faded by now. His ribs didn't hurt this bad anymore. So, quiet some time, he guessed. Thinking made his head hurt all the more. His face felt sticky. Moving his facial muscles put strain on his skin, where the blood had already dried.

Sam realised that the blanket was still there and pulled it near to bring a barrier between himself and the cold concrete floor. A big shard was laying on the far end of the blanket. After halfhearted lifting the cotton, trying to shake all the tiny shards away with his bound hands and help from his feet, he picked up that one big piece of glass from the side, where he had stored it before. Fascinated, Sam started to turn it in his cuffed hands after laying down on his rack. The glass was about 2 inches with a pointy end. Perfectly shaped for stabbing someone, he thought. After some thinking, he started to rub at the big leathercuffs. Minutes and minutes of pushing the shard back and forth didn't do nothing to the thick material. The shard hardly scrached the surface.

Sam only managed to cut himself. His hand slipped at least for the third time, because his fingers were already bloody and clumsy by now. He gave up, being just too tired, too thirsty, too exhausted. His head sank down weakly.

Not in the immidate danger of dying and not able to move much or free himself, his mind used the openly show opportunity to screw him over. Fear and lonelyness had taken the spot of determination, rage and even fury. He felt so empty all of a sudden. His face was pressed against one arm, when tears started to trail down his cheeks. He was miserable, not only his body, but all the more his soul. Hadn't he been through enough already? How could life find a way to always poop on the biggest turd there was? And why on earth, had especially that turd, to be his goddamn life?

A sob forced its way from his deepest core. He gasped for air while it escaped him.

The key in the door made a sound. He hadn't heard any footsteps. Did it mean Grey was trailing the corridors like a cat or had he never left?

"So what shall it be now? You calmed down and are ready to go back to a cosy room? Are you my sweet little hummingbird again or is it that stubborn goose I'm talking to?" The light flickered on and stabbed Sam right through his aching head, into his brain. His eyes snapped close. Grey was much too cheerish, apparently expecting him to falter.

After a moment to compose himself, Sam prayed his eyes open slowly and forced himself to look up. His captor had approached him and hunckered down just in front again. He was really expecting to find this fragile little thing, he loved so much. 'That idiot!' That let Sam's blood boil over again. His breakdown was instantly intercepted by newly found rage. He tapped into that source and came up as much as his restrains allowed him to. His own bloody hand lashed out, shard in hand, but the restrains were too short.

"You stupid? How often do I have to fucking tell you. I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING HUMMINGBIRD!" It felt like the pointy edge of the shard didn't even find flesh and only slashed Greys pant leg. The man suddenly pulled his leg back, while his big paw grabbed for Sam's bloody hand. He pressed his long fingers mercilessly into the thin layer of flesh around the younger man's wrist, just under his cuffs. The pressure forced Sam's palm to open and the shard fell down with a distinct noise.

Nevertheless, suddenly satisfied Sam noticed a tiny drop of blood at the edge of that shard, where he had struck. The other side was smeared with his own blood. His mouth curled into a smirk.

But looking back up, Grey didn't move a muscle. Sam had expected him to lose it, had silently hoped for him to go postal or something like that. But there was no expression in Grey's blank face. His dark empty eyes just starred at his captive on the floor. A tiny twitch around his lips, his voice completely unemotional. The pressure on Sam's arm had loosened after the weapon had been removed from his grasp, but Grey was still holding onto his arm possessively.

Sam's blood just stopped boiling and instead everything seemed to freeze on the spot. This man was the great example of a psycho.

A tiny shrug of the man's shoulders.

"Allright Andy! You have it your way then! Lets see where it gets you, Mister Andrew Samual Cooper!" He just let go of his hand and left him. The light was switched off with a slight motion of his hand, but the door stayed wide open.

Sam was dumbstruck. Not only, that Grey had used that damn nickname again or his whole name at all, to show that he must know so bloodcurclingly more about him, then Sam liked to think about, but his whole expressionless demeanor. Sam was really afraid now. This man could have been stalking him for years, for all he knew. And he was sure, that he could snap his neck in an instand, if he wanted to or just got carried away for that matter.

And Sam was this dumbstruck, that he couldn't have moved, even if he wanted to. The door was wide open, but he hadn't approached it, even if he wouldn't have been chained to the floor.

A cold turning icicle seemed to have embedded itself in his guts. 'What the hell was going on here?'

His thoughts were interruped. The man was only a shadow against the light from the basement corridor. The sun had almost settled and his prison cell was dark. Grey had reappeared in the doorway and made 2 brisk steps into the room, carrying something. He moved.

Out of nowhere an exploding wave of icecold water showered Sam as if lightling had struck or someone had just smashed his whole body into a concrete wall. His breath was stuck in his throat, while an astonished yelp jumped out of him on its own. After a second of paralysation, Sam curcled in on himself on the floor.

He wasn't able to move, or breathe, or think or... It was so cold. His body turned from shock into shivering in another heartbeat. Blood rushed through his ears like more waves of rafting water. The door had closed again with a bang, but Sam hardly noticed above the storm in his head. Everything was so freezingly cold.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #shadows #emotional whump #creepy whumper #oc #restrains #noncon icebucket challange #hummingbird #whump #writing #whump writing

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mutsukiss · 7 months

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Pedro de la Rosa (F1 pilot and test driver for Repsol Arrows 1999-2000, Jaguar Racing 2001-2002, McClaren Mercedes 2005-2009, Sauber 2010-2011, HRT 2012 and Ferrari 2013-2014) is saying "this is how it [the sport] is", and that drivers aren't used to these conditions because now with tire management they don't need to get to these extremes often or at all.

Toni Cuquerella (F1 race engineer for BMW Sauber 2008-2009 with THE Robert Kubica, HRT 2009, technical director and chief track engineer for HRT 2011-2012 and track engineer coordinator for Ferrari 2015-2016) argued that while its true the cars may be more manageable for the whole duration of the race now they are able to reach 6G and old cars weren't this physically demanding on the drivers. Pedro agrees but insists that this is an extreme sport and reaching the extremes is what is expected and actually looked for.

And I agree in the sense that I expect the fastest road coursing racing cars in the world to push the drivers to the limit and they have to be able to resist that and thrive in it, but that's also kind of the point? If the drivers suffer that's expected, and I like that, F1 should be hard and challenging and exhausting, but never needlessly unsafe (keeping in mind that they drive cars that reach 360km/h in race for shits and giggles. And a lot of money, but yknow)

So it IS true now cars are harder in a different sense but they are safer and easier to manage and the way they are driven is different with no fuel stops and a wider tire array; a significant number of the pilots now haven't driven an f1 car without a DRS system. I like when cars slip and lose control and smash against the walls and there's collisions because it's fun! and it's entertaining! and it shows how hard these cars are to drive and how insanely small the errors you can make are and how big the consequences are!!! I see how extreme the sport is there. But I only feel that when the drivers are safe. If there is a human error and someone is hurt it's a tragedy, but its stuff that happens. If the conditions are hard and someone just cannot keep up that's a shame, but it is still stuff that happens. If ALL the pilots in the grid are visibly unwell and being open and vocal about how unsafe they are while driving on something that race direction could have avoided or put a stop on, that's not stuff that happens. That's not an error, that's not the sport being hard, that's irresponsibility from the organization body, that keeps happening over and over again!

The sport IS extreme, and drivers MAY not be used to the harshest conditions a circuit may offer, and that doesn't necessarily mean that it needs changing or that it should be easier or more bearable, but that's not what's happening here and I can only watch people being pushed to the limit so much before I stop enjoying it because the worry they might get killed violently ruins the concept of the whole sport to me.

#the tldr is that i both agree and disagree with pedro #these are people that know how the old cars go because theyve driven them kr theyve managed them #i respect pedro a lot i think hes insanely undervalued in the spanish community #Bahrain's fastest lap ever has been his since two thousand fucking five #i definitely understand where hes coming from i think this is just not the issue at hand and whats going on is sometjing #much different and that has nothing to do with the nature of the sport #but with the human-born conditions it is being hosted in. which are predictable avoidable and irresponsible in this case #f1 #sorry to mutuals for the insanely long car spam dump today btw usually i shut up after the race #also ik kubica doesnt have championship or anything i just appreciate him a lot personally akfjakfjs

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pathetic-gamer · 1 year

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TTRPGs are so funny because we're all pretty well aware that they're either like the highest stakes drama imaginable or complete slapstick, but this ignores the possibility of the having both happen at the same time. My group's last session is a perfect example of this.

Due to a series of terribly unfortunate rolls, an attempted highway ambush/rescue mission has gone horribly wrong. It's raining, and a characteristically short-sighted idea from our ranger (c'est moi) means the road is six inches of treacherous mud.

On one side of the carriage, our spy has fallen on his own sleeping darts and is out cold, and our naturalist has shapeshifted into a goat. He keeps slipping in the mud and accidentally impaling the guards he's trying to take prisoner. The enemies are also slipping in the mud - basically, every attack is a wiff.

Meanwhile, on the other side...

Out of view of the other two, our ranger (a massive dragon man) and his best friend and de facto leader of the group, our doctor, are locked in combat with two extraordinarily lucky enemies.

The ranger knocks one guard out and tosses him to the side, but when he turns back to help the doctor, he is just in time to see a man jump out of the carriage and tackle the doctor to the ground, stabbing him in the stomach as he does. The doctor struggles to break free, but is only saved from the second blow by the ranger forcing himself between the doctor and the assailant to shield him from the attack and take the brunt of it himself.

The ranger orders the horrified doctor to run and heal himself, insisting he can hold the assailant off. Despite misgivings, but trusting the ranger's strength, which has not failed them yet, the doctor flees into the trees, attempting to cast a healing spell on the ranger as he runs, which fails.

The ranger has lost his dagger in the mud and is at a distinct disadvantage as he continues to roll nothing but 1s. He is too close to use his bow or crossbow, of course, and so he fights with the only thing he has left: his massive, deadly claws, a reminder of the monster he has tried so hard not to become.

It's not enough. His opponent, with a mighty swing and a battle cry, buries his axe deep into the ranger's chest.

The ranger doesn't fall. Not yet. With a final grunt and a miraculous stroke of luck - or perhaps it is an act of compassion from the universe - he pulls a lone crossbow bolt out of the quiver at his waist and plunges it into the neck of the enemy. Both collapse to the group unmoving.

From his shelter in the trees, the doctor knows the ranger is still alive, at least for a few more minutes. There is still a chance at saving him. But then, at the side of the road just a few yards away, the guard previously subdued by the ranger has recovered and is aiming his bow, intent on revenge.

The doctor is too far to take down the archer in time, and he only has enough energy left to use one special ability, which he must save if he wishes to heal the ranger. What else is there to do but repay the sacrifice of his best friend?

He steps into the path of the arrow.

It isn't quite enough to bring him down, and so he charges at the archer and uses the knife pulled from his own stomach to kill the archer.

With the last enemy defeated, all is quiet at last, except for the gentle snoring of the spy and bleating of the naturalist, and the doctor scrambles to the ranger's side. Cradling his friend's head in his lap, he uses the last of his magical energy (which, in this game system, doesn't refill at all until the next session, the amount at the GM's discretion) to heal the ranger as much as he can - just enough to bring him back from the brink of death.

Dawn is breaking already. The doctor is exhausted and injured, and he can hardly even register his relief at their survival. He wraps a bandage around his own waist to staunch the bloodflow, since he has no magic left to heal himself. The ranger has always been there to help at times like these when the doctor was unable to heal himself, scavenging for strange plants and mixing up odd herbal remedies no medical school would teach. They always seem to work, too, neutralizing poison or closing minor wounds, or even just calming a pounding headache - the same headache he has now.

His exhaustion will have to wait.

The spy has broken into the carriage and released the prisoners there, mostly old and sickly after their long and arduous ordeal, and now all of them - including the naturalist who is no longer a goat - are looking to the doctor for leadership.

He helps to get the rescued people into an orderly group, unhooks the two horses from the carriage, asks a couple of the strongest people among the ones they just rescued (the spy and naturalist arent much help because theyre both three feet tall) to help him lift the unconscious ranger (who is, again, an 8 foot tall dragon man) onto the back of one of the horses, sends the horse ahead with the healthiest person he can find, and begins to lead the 6 mile trek back to camp.

so anyway, that's what happened lmao. Bonus character illustrations of the ranger and doctor:

#we were playing a game called quest. so not dnd #ttrpg #quest game #tabletop games #the moment when i (the ranger aka Jargen) hit 0hp was so wild tbh. The GM rolled and then just stopped and like. stared at the die #for a second. then she just sighed and was like 'jargen you should roll for a bonus attack real quick'#(the rules for Quest are pretty loosey-goosey)#so i did and it was a good roll so she was like 'ok. um.' and then had the guy kill me and let me do my final attack at the same time #since it would have killed him no matter what. she just presented it so well and so reluctantly and i loved it lol #but also she's a GREAT gm for this kind of game #side note if my character dies in the game itll be fine and no doubt a fun and funky time for all #but if the doctor - Feign - dies i will cry in real life. like I'll be so devastated #and jargen in the game will probably go into a berserker rage #pg plays ttrpgs

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thefrozenfractals · 2 years

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ichorai · 3 years

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frozen hearts, flaming arrows ; p.sh

parts ; one. masterlist. two coming soon.

pairing ; fire!seonghwa x ice!reader

summary ; two enemy clans. one icer healer, one flamer soldier, one brewing war. love was never meant to be a part of this. but then again, when is love ever supposed to be a part of anything?

words ; 7.3k

warnings / includes ; cursing, violence, a make-out scene !!, future suggestive / mature content, hwa being sexy as always, ANGST okay this is a lot of ANGST and hURT, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers trope lol

a/n ; bet yall didn’t see this one coming lol but yea pls enjoy !!! im rlly excited for this series omg !!! im sorry this part was rlly short and kinda bad kkdfjdf but this is just the beginning and i swear part two will be much better !!

A snowflake glowing a luminescent blue lazily floated above your palm, multiplying into several others until you held a mini-flurry in your hand. You walked past all the frosted-over trees, huffing in deep breaths of cold air as your boots stepped over piles of unblemished snow and crispy dead leaves.

Being a healer was exhausting. Though you were still fairly new to the job, you couldn’t help but lay all the blame on yourself for being incapable of saving a life today. You just… hadn’t expected there to be that much blood. Icers had thicker blood for a reason; it wasn’t usually a problem. The head healer tried to reassure you that you did everything you could, but you couldn’t stand to be in the medbay for much longer. You needed air.

And that’s how you ended up here, head spinning dizzily as you stomped through the wintry grey forest, releasing out a frustrated groan from the bottom of your lungs.

“You’re dangerously close to our territory, Icer.” The sudden deep-timbered voice had you flinching so harshly you hit your head on an icy tree branch. “I’d watch my step if I was you.”

Breath caught in your throat, you watched with wide eyes as the Flamer stepped out of the shadow of a tree. He was undeniably handsome; his irises were dark, flecked with a fierce gold the same hue as the edge of a fire, his slicked-back hair a nightly black, and a curl of his carmine lips that was nowhere near friendly. An obvious insignia of a red flame was embedded into his unwrinkled jacket, a clear sign of this man being from the Fire Tribe.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized I was so close to the border.” You murmured, backing away slowly. The small snowflakes that you had accumulated in your palm quickly dissipated into the air, but miniscule particles of snow still floated around you, no doubt a result of your quaking nerves.

Noticing this, the man watched curiously as a snowflake drifted by him. He raised a finger towards the ice crystal, a small orange flame bursting out of the tip. The snowflake melted into a droplet of water, falling to his feet. You noticed the snow had melted away from him in a large circle around his shoes, now standing in a patch of wet grass. Even from the great distance between the two of you, you could still feel the wavering heat pulsating from this strange man.

“What are you doing so far away from your people?”

You knew you shouldn’t be talking to a Flamer stranger. They were dangerous, and it was common knowledge that Icers and Flamers weren’t on the best terms as of late.

“I couldn’t be there anymore,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to pick up. At his raised eyebrows, you continued on. “I’m a healer. It was a lot of pressure not to mess up.”

He nodded, his curiosity getting the best of him. He stepped closer and asked, “Then why are you a healer?”

“Because I’m good at it.” The words came off far too snobbish for your liking, so you quickly added in a sheepish tone, “Also because I like helping people.”

The two of you fell into a queer silence, before he nodded, somewhat satisfied with your answer. The Flamer turned his back to you, “I best get going now. The lands aren’t going to patrol themselves. Run back to the rest of your people, Icer.”

You could feel his heat retract as he walked away. More snow fell to cover his tracks, as if the strange man with flaming eyes was never there.

It wasn’t until the same time the next day that you found yourself strolling towards the forest, back to the same spot last night, feet acting to their own accord. You paused in your steps when you realized where you were heading.

Would you really risk getting a Flamer angry at you for getting too close to their borders again? With not another thought, you pushed back the doubts and walked onwards… it wasn’t like you actually crossed the border. There was a large grey strip of forest land that belonged to neither tribe; it was far too costly to maintain and the forest gave them nothing but bugs and piles of dead leaves.

Much to your surprise, the man was already there, watching you with those glowing eyes of his. “What are you doing here?” He hissed.

“I can ask you the same thing,” You retaliated, arching an eyebrow.

The cold wind whistled as it blew past you, but you were planted firmly to the ground. He, on the other hand, grimaced quite obviously as the breeze tousled his neat hair about, sending dark strands careening into his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” You said with a small smile. Although he pulsated with heat, that only made him feel the frigid sting of the cold wind all the more. At the sight of his shivering form, you wondered just how bad a Flamer can be.

He eyed you suspiciously before stepping forward quite boldly, sticking out a hand, “I’m Seonghwa.”

There was a strange arrhythmic thump in your chest. Now that he was so close to you, the lilith-hued snow around your feet started to wilt away as well, your cheeks flushing at the sudden rise in temperature. Icers weren’t very good with heat, that was obvious.

And when you took his hand, it was as if he was the coldest thing you’ve ever touched. But that couldn’t be it… you couldn’t really feel the cold much. Nonetheless, you gripped his palm unflinchingly, staring him dead in the eye. It became like some sort of challenge, but the both of you knew that you had obviously won. Seonghwa winced at how freezing your fingers against his were.

“Do you come here everyday?” The Flamer asked once he retracted his hand from yours to shove into the warmth of his pocket.

“Yesterday was my first time. I wasn’t planning on coming back today, but I just ended up here on instinct.” Your boot scuffed the pristine snow, avoiding the way his gaze seemed to quite literally burn holes into you.

Seonghwa frowned slightly. Funnily enough, the same exact thing had happened to him. He wasn’t on patrolling duty today, so really, he had no cause to be out here. He could be curled up with a book in front of a nice, warm fire, instead of standing in the snow with an Icer, of all people. Gods, he must be crazy.

“So… what are you doing here?” Your seemingly innocent question had Seonghwa struggling for words.

In all honesty, he had been curious whether or not you’d come back. An Icer healer in the Grey Forest was more than enough to pique his interest. Nothing remotely gripping ever happened in the Fire Tribe (other than the various men and women who threw themselves at him whenever they got the chance). He hadn’t actually expected you to come back.

“I’m… hunting.”

“It’s illegal to hunt outside of your tribe lands, everybody knows that.”

“Who said I was hunting for an animal?” Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest to try and look somewhat menacing, but you just grinned. “I was looking for a book I lost.”

You hummed slightly, “Right.” As you waved your arm about, little snowflakes seemed to trail after you, and Seonghwa watched in masked fascination. “Can’t you just admit that you came to see me again?”

“Who’s to say that it’s not you coming to see me?”

“Hmm, let’s just say we both came to see each other. I’ve never seen a Flamer up this close before.”

Seonghwa blinked down at you with wide eyes, as if realizing just how small the distance between the two of you was. His cheeks reddened quickly as he cleared his throat into a fist, stepping backwards and almost slipping on more snow. When he attempted to sidestep the large wet puddle he’d created because of his rippling heat, his foot caught onto a tree root and he tumbled backwards. Snowflakes clung onto his dark hair and he shivered yet again. You tried to conceal your sniggers behind a palm, but Seonghwa still seemed to notice, his blazing eyes narrowing in mock-offense.

“You’re enjoying this,” He stated with an accusatory tone.

“Of course I am,” You replied through muted laughs. “I’m sorry. I would help, but I’m afraid I’d only make it worse.” To emphasize your point, you shook your hands slightly, blue crystals of snow whirling about.

Seonghwa’s fiery eyes seemed to soften at this. He pushed himself up to his feet, now shivering so harshly that you could hear his teeth chatter. You’d only known this Flamer for less than two days and yet he’d already managed to tug at your heartstrings.

“You should go back and get warm. I’ve read about Flamers and their immune systems… you guys are absolute babies when it comes to the cold.” Out of instinct, you reached out to touch his arm, like you did to most sick patients. But of course, you paused just before the tips of your fingers brushed against his jacket, curled your hand into a palm and forced it back down to your side. “I wouldn’t want you getting a fever just to see an ordinary Icer.”

Seonghwa cracked a half of a smile, shaking his head in disbelief.

But when he spun on his heel to leave, you called out before you could stop yourself, “Will I ever see you again, Seonghwa?” He stopped in his tracks without turning to looking at you. Stomach coiling into a tight knot of tension, you awaited in the palpable silence, a heavy lump forming in your throat.

“Next time, let’s go somewhere a bit warmer, yeah? Meet me closer to Flamer territory, by the river next to the largest tree in the Grey Forest. If you get to see me shiver, I get to see you sweat, Icer.” And then he continued on his way, until his lithe form disappeared behind the misty haze and the frosted shrubbery.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Just what were you thinking, agreeing to meet with a Flamer? Were you always this stupid or had you just realized now? You couldn’t believe you were spending your free time with some random Flamer from the Fire Tribe.

Thoughts of doubt swirled about in your head as you wove your way through the Grey Forest. The low rumbling of the river had you gulping down a large lump in your throat. It was already far too warm for you liking, the little snowflakes that buzzed around your head slowly melting away in water droplets. You didn’t think you’ve ever been this nervous before; not even back when you performed your first major surgery. There was just something about Seonghwa that you couldn’t stay away from… like when your Nan used to tell you no sugar candies before bed, it only made you crave for them all the more.

By the time you spotted Seonghwa leaning against the large tree, you were panting heavily, perspiration marring your skin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” The Flamer chimed, seeming to be in a much better mood now that the tables have turned. He seemed quite at ease, not a bead of sweat to be seen. “Already worked up quite a sweat, have we?”

Pathetically, you lifted your arm to conjure a small snowball, proceeding to press it against your head for cool relief. It quickly melted into a slushy of ice and water, dripping down your hair. You frowned, while Seonghwa grinned in return.

“Not so fun, is it?” He teased while you kicked off your boots and dipped your feet into the river, moaning in relief at the slightly cooler temperature of the water. You wished to make it colder, but much to your disappointment, the water wouldn’t crystalize because of how quickly it was rushing by.

Seonghwa crouched next to you, but still kept a decent length away, picking up rocks to skip across the river. For that, you were grateful, because if he made you any warmer than you were at that moment, you would’ve gotten up and stormed back to Icer lands.

“The first time we met,” You started after flicking water onto your face to cool down, making Seonghwa glance at you with curious eyes. “You were telling me to go back to my territory. But now, you made me come closer to Flamer lands. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “You’re just… not what I thought an Icer would be like. It made me curious.”

“And what did you think we’d be like?”

A small shrug lifted his shoulder, “Cold. I mean, not that you aren’t, but cold as in… your hearts would be frozen over as well. I grew up with stories of Icers freezing Flamers to death and placing them in their gardens as statues. But you don’t seem like you’d do that kind of stuff. Especially when you told me that you were a healer.”

“For me, everybody knew the story of how the Fire Tribe would lock the Icers they captured in a sealed room, and the snow they made would melt and they’d slowly watch as the room filled with water, unable to turn it into ice because it was too damn hot. And eventually… they’d drown.” At the last few words, you frosted over your fingers and dunked them beneath the waters’ surface.

Seonghwa’s horrified expression made you chuckle slightly.

“Well, for the record, we don’t do that. We aren’t barbarians.” His words were said huffily as he crossed his arms and turned fully to fix his rapt gaze on you.

“I know. It was merely a silly childhood legend.”

The hours dribbled away fairly quickly, you and Seonghwa exchanging tales of your childhood that only increased in absurdity the farther you recounted. He told you about his friend, San, and how they once snuck into Wind Tribe territory to steal rare Gustberries that only grew in the harsh fields of the Breezers. You told him of Hongjoong and Wooyoung, the former being your closest friend and the latter constantly getting himself hurt. Laughs and giggles and the quiet hum of the river filled the silences in between the gaps of your vivid conversations. The more time you spent talking with him, the more you found yourself growing fond of the fiery-eyed man. Who would’ve thought?

By the time the sun had already set, you and Seonghwa were sitting much closer than when you had first sat down, his heat pulsating through the air in waves. To be honest, you didn’t quite mind the subtle warmth after you got used to the initial shock, but you knew you were pushing your limits. An Icer shouldn’t be out in high temperatures for this long.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, head swimming dizzily as you sucked in lungfuls of air. Slightly concerned, Seonghwa reached out to help you find your feet, but he pulled away at the last moment, just as you had last night. The tables really have turned, you thought in mild amusement.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine…” You swayed on your feet slightly, pressing your cooler palm against your warmer-than-usual forehead.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the cold. You guys are absolute babies when it comes to the heat.” He said, mimicking the same exact words you told him yesterday. A weak laugh slipped past your lips, as you leaned against a tree branch.

Oh, everything was just too hot. You’ve been out of the snow for too long…

All of a sudden, the world was flipped onto its side, damp grass pressing against your face. You could barely register Seonghwa startled yelp before everything went dark.

“Hey. Icer, are you okay? Icer! Y/N, come on, I put you back in the snow, I don’t know what else to do.”

Though your head pounded as though someone had whacked you with a tree branch, you could just barely make out Seonghwa’s concerned tone. When your eyelids fluttered open, you were met with the sight of the Flamer’s handsome, yet alarmed face.

“You okay?” His words came gentle and soothing.

Puffing out a small sigh, you nodded tiredly. Being back in the snow felt much better, “Yeah. Thank you,” You croaked out sheepishly.

Seonghwa beamed down at you, before shuffling away so as the snow around you wouldn’t melt. But just as soon as the smile graced his features, it quickly dissipated into a frown, “Don’t scare me like that,” He practically scolded. “You win, okay? Next time we can stay in the snow.”

Breath caught in your throat, a heavy blush laid over your cheeks, “Next time? You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Seonghwa said somewhat nonchalantly, shocking you.

“I… well, thank you for the, well… uhm, getting me back,” You stumbled over your words the longer Seonghwa stared. Oh, what was this man doing to you? “I have some… healer things I need to do… so, I best get going… erm -” Without another thought, you pushed yourself onto your knees, snow crunching underneath your breeches as you leaned over towards him.

He was so warm. His face, especially, once you brushed your far-cooler lips against his cheekbone. The Flamer reared back with a ridiculous, startled expression, eyes comically wide. One of his hands came up to clamp against the cheek you kissed, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

“It was really nice talking to you. Thank you again,” You murmured while hiding a grin behind your palm. With that, you turned on your heel and left the blushing Flamer alone in the snow.

From then on, you saw Seonghwa practically every day. Oftentimes, you’d meet in the snow and stroll through the Grey Forest until it got far too warm and the both of you would have to turn back. The moment he’d see your skin dampen with sweat, he’d have the two of you abruptly changing course, steering away from the heat of the Fire Tribe. You thought that was incredibly thoughtful of him.

Once, Seonghwa discovered a more shallower part of the river that you could actually crystalize to keep yourself cool. That day was a good day. You had gently taken his scorching hand and tried to help him run across the ice before his heat could melt it away. The two of you left soaking wet, boisterous grins painted across your lips.

Hongjoong, being your closest friend and all, was constantly questioning and badgering on about where you went every afternoon. After all, you were a healer and your tribe needed you. But, however selfish it was, you didn’t want to stop seeing Seonghwa… he made you feel things no person from the Ice Tribe had ever made you feel.

The more you saw him, the more you had the urge to yank his stupidly sharp jawline towards you and shove your lips onto his. You’d imagine the way the warmth radiating off his skin would feel underneath your frigid palms and lips. You thought back to the second-long cheek kiss you gave him a couple months back, a fond smile tickling at the corner of your mouth.

“What’re you thinking about?” Seonghwa asked from beside you, nudging you slightly. Over a long course of time, the pair of you grew more and more comfortable with one another, inching closer and closer with each meet-up. At this point, you were practically sitting on top of him, one of his legs intertwined with yours and your head laying on his shoulder, the both of you leaning against a frosted tree trunk. Seonghwa smelled of sweet, burning sugar with a heavier scent of roasted coffee beans. He also often complained about how cold you were, although his tone was always fairly light and lacked any true bite.

“Nothing,” You were quick to say, pulling your head away from his shoulder to peer up at him.

Shrugging off your strange attitude, Seonghwa glanced down at you with excited eyes, “You wanna see a new trick I learned?”

Without awaiting your answer (because he knew you’d say yes anyway), Seonghwa cupped his hands together and pulled them away to produce a thin orange flame morphed into the shape of a shooting arrow. You watched in rapt fascination as the fire-arrow spun in the air when Seonghwa whistled sharply. Then, he pushed it away to embed itself into the tree across from you. The tree’s dry bark was quick to catch aflame, but you flicked your hands and caged in the fire with frost, the orange dying out into the blackened wood.

“Learned that during archery,” Seonghwa beamed down at your bemused expression. “You know, only the best Flamers can morph their fires into shapes. It takes a lot of concentration.”

With no effort at all, you twirled your fingers to make an intricate rabbit out of ice, whiskers and fur and all, holding it out to Seonghwa with a minuscule smile. The Flamer scowled slightly, and touched the tip of his finger to the clear crystal, watching it dribble into liquid through the gaps of your palms.

You rolled your eyes to the side before leaning your head back onto his shoulder with a content sigh, “Don’t you compete with me, Park Seonghwa. You’ll never win.”

Much to your surprise, he didn’t bother to argue, and instead pressed his warm nose into your frosty hair, humming, “Yeah, yeah. And who was the one that fainted in the heat again?”

“If I recall correctly, you’ve caught more than three colds just this year! And it’s only the fifth moon, too!”

His hands suddenly darted out to tickle your midriff, to which you squirmed away with a smothered laugh.

“Hm, wanna put it to the test? I promise I’ll go easy,” You said teasingly once you managed to capture his wrists. You could feel his pulse rapidly thumping against the pad of your thumb.

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, you’re not the one that’ll be hurting.”

“Oh, you’re on, Icer.”

The two of you stumbled onto your feet and you held yourself up in a defensive stance. With a faint smile, Seonghwa mimicked your position. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very fair fight; you were a healer and he was a well-trained fighter.

But nonetheless, you were the first to throw, a frozen ball of ice the size of your fist hurtled towards him at top speed. Seonghwa was quick to react, blasting the ice with orange flames until it melted mid-air. You frowned and lithely dodged behind a tree when he reconjured his fire arrows and sent them after you. In retaliation, you quickly brought up a thick ice barrier with a laugh, smothering the thin lines of fire away with the sole of your boots.

The air was chock-full of his crackling flames muted by your snow, crystalline icicles dripping from nearby tree branches, and lame taunts tossed back and forth by the both of you as you play-fought for another couple of minutes.

Seonghwa might’ve had the upper hand in combat, but you knew how to play dirty. Just as he was stepping forward, you sent a sheet of slippery ice to slide underneath his boots. With a bewildered expression, Seonghwa flailed about for a moment, the small fire he prepared in his palm dying down to glowing embers, before tumbling down into the snow.

“That was low, Y/N,” The Flamer huffed out whilst trying to catch his breath against the pale white mound of snowflakes, glaring at you with playfully narrowed eyes. You were glad to see that he wasn’t actually angry at you.

“Do you call defeat, Seonghwa? There’s no shame in admitting it, you know!” Your jaunts were light-hearted as you walked closer to him and Seonghwa found himself grinning despite the cold stinging his skin.

Sticking your hand out to help him up, Seonghwa eyed you for a moment with an indiscernible expression, his playful nature fading away into something you couldn’t quite decipher.

Instead of pushing himself up, he suddenly pulled you down with him, a startled shriek leaving your lips and echoing across the Grey Forest. You fell on top of him with a grunt of pain, meeting his glowing amber eyes with your confused ones. During your hazy moment of puzzlement, Seonghwa tugged you closer, his warm palms curled around your forearms gently.

And then, without further warning, he kissed you. This one was nothing like the first kiss you gave him. That one was merely an innocent peck on the cheek. But this one… this one held passion and furtive desire and yearning. The both of you most definitely wanted this, it was quite clear by now.

Your senses were overwhelmed in the best way possible. All you could smell was him, the heavy undertone of roasted coffee beans sending your head into a cloudy daze. Your lips were slanted against his hot ones, noses of starkly opposite temperatures bumping against one another in your moment of desperation. You weren’t sure where to place your hands, so you balled them up against his jacket, just close enough to feel the hardness of his chest underneath.

For you, everything was hot, searing with a need for more as his plump, warm lips laid over yours. For him, however, everything was cold. The snow beneath was a mild annoyance, and yet he was willing to bear through it for you. You were equally freezing, but Seonghwa welcomed the cold for once, a dangerous ache that would grow to be lethal if neither of you were careful.

A small, frosty sigh left you when he pulled away for a second to stare at you with those intense eyes of his. You stared back with part-confusion and part-longing, lips agape. That apparently set something off in him, because he sat up with you straddling his hips, hands now encircled around your midriff as he kissed you more passionately, leaning forward so your back arched into him.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Why were you feeling these emotions for a Flamer of all people? Why couldn’t you have just stayed within your own tribe? Turmoil churned about in you as you kissed him in somewhat of a frantic manner. You hated yourself for loving it so much.

The second time he pulled away, you were both gasping for breath, lips swollen and clothes rumpled and askew. You could tell he wanted to kiss you again, and probably a thousand times after that. To be frank, that was all you wanted as well.

But you knew this had to stop. And so, when he leaned forward to capture your lips with his again, you flinched none-too-subtly and slid off his lap. An expression of genuine hurt flickered across his handsome, reddened features. A twinge of guilt gnawed away at your stomach as you got up onto your shaky feet.

“Go home, Seonghwa,” Was all you could find yourself saying with a hoarse voice. “You’re going to catch a cold again.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore. And so, you left him laying crestfallen in the snow, hurriedly making your way back to Icer lands, small blue snowflakes trailing behind you and cold tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

The next day, Seonghwa didn’t show up. You waited by your usual meet-up place, gnawing on your lip anxiously, glancing every which way in hopes of seeing the raven-headed Flamer. In the midst of your worrying turmoil, more and more snowflakes emanated from your skin and it didn’t take long for them to accumulate by your feet, completely covering your boots in a pristilline white blanket. You stepped out of the feather-soft pile, opting to impatiently trudge about in an attempt to steel your nerves.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Seonghwa’s heartbroken expression was imprinted into your mind, leaving you in a mess of guilt and regret and anger.

Why did you have to push him away? Seonghwa, your first non-Icer friend, shoved away as if he meant nothing. You released a frustrated groan, smacking your palm into your forehead.

It made sense that he didn’t want to see you. If you were in his shoes, you probably wouldn’t leave your room and have the light of day touch your face for a whole moon. The idea of Seonghwa upset just didn’t sit right with you. Nonetheless, you could do little else than bide your time for him, however much you hated waiting.

He didn’t show up the next day either. Nor the one after that.

By the fourth day of waiting, you started to feel twinges of discouragement, but you never gave up, determined to set things right with Seonghwa. The niggling thought of him never showing up was one that often pestered you while you patiently awaited his return, although always quickly shoved down into the corner of your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you would do if you never saw him again.

It took just over a week of waiting for him to come back. At that point, you hadn’t thought he’d come back at all, reluctantly accepting that you’ve ultimately ruined your friendship with Seonghwa.

And so, imagine your surprise when his voice rang out through the trees, your name rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Y/N.”

Startled, you flinched so hard that your head hit a branch that hung lowly on the icy tree you were sitting beneath. It reminded you so much of the first time you met him that you couldn’t help but crack a smile after your initial pained grimace.

“Seonghwa,” You gasped, eyes round with shock and mouth agape. “You’re… you’re back!”

The excitement in your voice didn’t go undetected by either of you, but his features were set in stone, unmoving and neutral. Those blazing eyes of his seemed to bore holes into you, and you felt strangely naked underneath his gaze. You noticed that his appearance was more disheveled than ever, eyebags dark and hair not neatly slicked back like usual. He looked broken, but far too proud to admit so.

“Seonghwa…?” You stepped closer, the frosted leafy foliage crumbling under the pressure. This man was someone you deeply cared about, and you knew he felt the same about you.

So why was he staring at you like you meant nothing to him?

A shiver ran down your spine, a sensation that only Seonghwa could bestow upon you. Which was ironic, because the cold feeling that tickled down your spine was ignited by a man with powers of fire and heat.

You and him didn’t belong together. That was clear as day by now.

“Seonghwa,” You mumbled again, reaching out to him once close enough.

He shut his eyes as if looking at you were torture. It stung more than you liked to admit, so you retracted your fingers, clenching them into a fist and dropping them back by your side awkwardly. The air was so tense, so utterly uncomfortable, you could feel the crack in your heart splinter into more branches.

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” Your bottom lip trembled. This wasn’t the Seonghwa you’ve grown to be so fond of. This man scared you. You had half a mind to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense back into him. Where did your Seonghwa go?

An angry huff escaped his lips, misting visibly out of his carmine lips. The very ones you kissed a little over a week ago.

“You can’t… just… don’t say my name. Please. We can’t be like that anymore. We can’t do this. We can’t keep seeing each other.” Seonghwa’s stoic mask disintegrated into raw emotion. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you mirrored the same exact expression.

There was a part of you that wanted to yell and scream and throw sharp icicles at him until he had no choice but to run back to Flamer territory. Anywhere, as long as it was far away from you. The other, more rational part of you, whispered that he was right. After all, you were the one that pushed him away first. It was only fair.

A broken bone won’t heal if you keep putting pressure on the wound. Being a healer, you couldn’t just ignore your own teachings.

But for just once in your life, you wanted to be selfish. You wanted to hold Seonghwa tightly in your grasp, no matter how dangerous it was. You wanted to call him yours, and you wanted to be his. You wanted to kiss him again, despite the small action being the ultimate downfall for the both of you.

And so you found yourself croaking out, making sure to emphasize his name, “Seonghwa, you know just as much as I do that there’s something here between us. You can’t just ignore it and toss that all out the window!”

His face screwed up in an effort to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. Perhaps what he felt for you wasn’t yet as strong as what he’d call love, but he wasn’t very far from it. He cared too much for you, so much more than anybody else in his life.

He needed you. And because of that, he had to let you go. Fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t something to be taken lightly. If his tribe knew about this little escapade of his, they’d have his head and would finally have a good enough reason to declare war. Regardless, it was only a matter of time. The Fire Tribe has hated Icers for centuries and centuries, teetering on the brink between neutrality and complete bloodshed.

“We have no choice,” The words were said in a low tone, rumbling deep down in his chest. Seonghwa shuffled closer, so close that you could feel his familiar heat wavering against the ice once again. You longed to reach out and place your hand on his chest, feel his heart thumping against his ribcage frantically, just as yours was. “Do you know what they’d do to you - to us - if our tribes found us together? It’s too risky, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m a healer. I can take care of myself! And we can just stay careful like we always have. Besides, people rarely come into the Grey Forest anymore!” Your words came out fast and jittery and panicked. You thought that you had already come to terms with losing the man that stood in front of you, but you were far from acceptance, you knew that now.

Seonghwa carded a pale hand through dark strands of hair, “I’m sorry, were you not the one that told me to go back home? You started this. You wanted this!” He was so agitated that when he swung his arm back to his side, small crackles of fire lit up his fingers.

Something inside you snapped, “I most definitely did not! It was just… all too sudden and I needed time to think. Now that I’ve already thought, there’s no need for us to run away and never see each other again! You’re overexaggerating, Seonghwa.”

“No, you don’t get it. Don’t you know, Y/N? Our tribes are verging on war. We’re supposed to be enemies, you and I. Don’t be daft!” His voice raised a notch or two louder, and you found yourself shrinking into yourself.

Tears pricked your eyes and you looked away from his fierce gaze, “We don’t have to be a part of that. We can just -”

“Just what? Pretend? We can’t play picnic in the forest and act like our people aren’t planning to slaughter each other!”

“You know what?” You shouted so loudly that the birds nesting on treetops fluttered away, a mass of dark wings and agitated squawks. “If you want to walk away from this relationship, from me, then go ahead! I won’t stop you. Fuck you, Seonghwa. Fuck you for throwing this away the moment it became something more.”

“You were the first to push away!” He protested, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Well, I’m sorry!” You cried out, furiously swiping away the tears that dribbled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry I was scared! I’m willing to try again, but you’re not giving me the chance. I waited for you every day, you know.”

“I know. I saw,” He said, suddenly quiet. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

The two of you stared at each other defiantly, heavy breaths misting the air in front of you. His nose was tinted a deep pink, no doubt because of the cold.

“I’m leaving,” Seonghwa said after a long while. “And you shouldn’t come back here. Ever. I need you to know, Y/N. I’m doing this because I care about you. I expect you to do the same for me.”

Then, after casting you a forlorn expression, he tore his blazing eyes away and stiffly swiveled around in the snow. A gust of wind tousled his hair and he blew out a sigh of pale white mist. The cold made his nose red, and you subconsciously noticed the way he shivered slightly, brushing snowflakes off his sleeve. You’d miss that.

You’d miss him.

His heat grew fainter as his long strides took him further away from you. Your tears had crystallized on your cheeks uncomfortably, a frozen reminder of what you’d lost. You had half the mind to storm right up to Seonghwa and force him to stay here, by your side. That was the child speaking within you, however, and you were no longer a child.

Flicking the solidified salt water on your cheeks away, you did just the same as Seonghwa had minutes ago, trudging your way back to Icer lands. Little did either of you know, the two of you cried fresh tears along the whole journey back.

The last time you ever stepped foot in the Grey Forest was just the day after. Your eyes were puffy and aching, hair a terrible mess, and a wax-sealed envelope was tightly clutched in your hand.

There was a chance that Seonghwa would never come back. In fact, it was most probable that he’d never get the precariously written letter you left by the usual meeting place, considering what he told you yesterday.

Fond memories sunk its sharpened claws into you, stealing away your breath as you cupped both hands over your mouth, overwhelmed in every way possible. You were far too drained to cry, having emptied away all your tears the day before.

And so, you brushed stray snowflakes off the periwinkle-hued wax stamp, placing it down by the tree stump where Seonghwa usually sat.

Then you muttered a quiet, broken goodbye, stomping back to Icer lands. You were never going to see Seonghwa again.

Dear Seonghwa,

I know you told me to never come back. I won’t, I promise. I just wanted to leave the letter because… we never properly got to say goodbye, did we?

Well, congrats, you big dummy. You’re right. You always were, and you always are. We were never supposed to be friends. I mean, I suppose we’re enemies now, aren’t we? It was quite the foolish fantasy we had going on there, huh? I get it, we have to stay loyal to our respective tribes, we can’t risk getting caught, so on so forth. I just hope that when war is declared (which doesn’t seem to be long from now, to be quite honest), I won’t see you on the battlefield. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.

So, I guess this is goodbye. It’s a little hard to believe that I won’t ever get to see your stupid face again. Remember when I threw a snowball at you so hard that it broke your nose? You panicked and blood went splattering everywhere and it didn’t stop until I got you to calm down. For a highly-ranked Flamer soldier, I’d expect you to be less squeamish at the sight of your own blood. It’s alright, though. As a healer myself, blood still freaks me out just a bit.

I thought I ruined your pretty face for all the poor ladies and gents who were mad in love with you back at the Flame Tribe, and I felt so guilty. And then you smiled! I remember feeling envy and astonishment at the same time because how the hell could one look pretty while smiling through a broken, bloody nose?

I’m glad I didn’t ruin your face, though. You’d probably get really mad at me if I did. But you would’ve forgiven me eventually, right?

Frankly, I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness for what I did. And no, I’m not talking about hurting your precious face (they say a once-broken nose makes a man more attractive!). I’m sorry for pushing you away, Seonghwa. Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared and I needed time to think. I hope you understand that. If you don’t, that’s okay as well.

If I could rewind time, I wouldn’t have stopped kissing you. I could’ve carried on for days and days and days on end. Did you know that you’re the second person I’ve ever kissed? Don’t ask about the first, drunk Wooyoung isn’t really something to brag about. Well, for the record, you were the first kiss I actually enjoyed. Congrats.

Of course, all this doesn’t mean that it was entirely my fault. I waited for you for a week, and you did nothing but hide behind trees and watch. That was real shitty of you, to put it plainly.

I’ll miss you, though. I’ve never felt this way about any Icer and I doubt I ever will. Of all people to set my sights on, it just had to be a Flamer. What rotten luck we have.

Goodbye forever, Seonghwa. Stay safe, alright? For my sake.

With much love,

Y/N.

Seonghwa read the letter through so quickly that his pupils seemed to be moving at lightning speed. Then, with a numbed heart, he read it a second time, this time much slower.

By the third time he reread each of your carefully handwritten words, warm tears of salt water were running over his cheeks. His face had grown considerably hotter, the salty liquid steaming misty tendrils against his skin. He was angry. So, so ridiculously angry. At himself, at this stupid rivalry between the tribes, at you for being so goddamn perfect. Of course you’d managed to squeeze in jaunts and jokes in a farewell note.

There was a part of him that wished he’d never come back to the Grey Forest and found the letter. Fat droplets of his tears trickled down his jaw and soaked through the parchment, marring the intricate ink characters. With a gentle sigh, Seonghwa brushed the dampness away and stiffly flicked his wrist.

The letter burst into glowing orange flames. And Seonghwa watched on, stifling down the urge to break down into a fit of chest-wracking sobs, until your goodbye was nothing but a measly pile of blackened ashes on his palm.

#ateez x reader #ateez seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez #park seonghwa #ateez smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez x you #ateez fanfiction #ateez seonghwa #ateez fantasy au #ateez imagines #ateez angst #seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa x you #ateez fanfics

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syn0vial · 3 years

Note

Top 5 Boba moments 🥺

ohh fun! :D i’m gonna go in chronological order for these, just for organization’s sake. i’m also going to try and only include moments i haven’t talked much about before, just to keep things fun and fresh!

1. freeing the sea mice: starting from the very first boba fett junior novel the fight to survive, bc, well, chronological order! i like this moment bc it really emphasizes how innocent boba used to be. basically, there’s an aquarium with an eel in the fett’s kamino apartment and while jango and zam are off making bad decisions on coruscant, boba is tasked with it feeding aquatic rodents called “sea-mice” to the eel, something he’s never had to do before. but he doesn’t like doing it. the sea-mice always seem to trust him when he picks them up and he feels guilty for betraying them by feeding them to the eel. so, one day, he decides it’s going to be different. that morning, he feeds the eel his own breakfast (which is like, both sweet and hilarious, like honey did you really just throw your lunchables into an eel’s tank bc you wanted to make sure it was fed even while you’re out here freeing feeder mice? A+ for good intentions, F- for knowledge of how animals work) and tries to free a few of the sea-mice into kamino’s oceans. unfortunately, they don’t survive. the next day, boba reluctantly goes back to feeding the mice to the eel, telling one before he drops it in, “sorry; life is hard on the small and the weak,” echoing a saying of his father’s. this then becomes horrible foreshadowing for the rest of the series, in which boba is orphaned and suddenly finds himself being preyed upon by all sorts of antagonists. i know it’s a kids’ series and it’s Not That Deep, but i do really like that there’s a parallel created between boba and the mouse and the implication of the series as a whole that boba fett didn’t become a notorious hunter because he was always that way, but specifically because he started out as prey. also, it’s kind of hilarious in retrospect that boba felt compassion for rodents, but literally days later attempted to take obi-wan’s life without hesitation. kid’s really got his priorities in order.

2. standing up to jabba the hutt: this is from the junior novel boba fett: hunted, which is my favorite of the junior novels for him. in the story, boba pretends a short-statured adult by concealing his face with his father’s helmet and attempts to find work from jabba the hutt. however, when he finally gets an audience with jabba, jabba indeed offers to bring him back to his palace—as an indentured servant. and this freaking, like, eleven-year-old, staring down the criminal kingpin of tatooine with no weapons and no armor besides a too-big helmet, snaps at jabba the hutt, “my debt to you? what do i owe you for?” naturally, he is immediately set upon by one of jabba’s guards, and, well, i’ll let you read the rest :D

Boba had no time to think. He acted.

Without a sound, he leaped to one side. The Drovian’s knife whistled harmlessly through the air where, a nanosecond before, Boba had been.

“Huh?” gaped the hulking alien.

A small table stood near the viewscreen. Boba grabbed the table and swung it in front of himself, fending off the Drovian’s blade. Jabba himself watched, laughing coarsely.

“You will pay for this!” croaked the Drovian.

As the guard bore down on him, Boba thrust the table upward. The knife stuck in the wood surface. While the Drovian struggled to free his weapon, Boba pushed the table up farther. Then, he darted sideways, kicking at the lumbering guard’s knees. With a groaning thud, the Drovian stumbled and fell. Jabba’s guests laughed as Boba turned to breathlessly face Jabba.

“I am no one’s slave or servant!” Boba said. “I will work for you, for a price—but I will name that price!”

like, this kid really just brought down an armed adult with nothing but an end table AND finishes it off with a badass line defending his autonomy and defying jabba the hutt! definitely one of my favorite moments from the junior novels.

3. the Look he exchanges with lando while han is being tortured in the background

look, idk why this is so funny to me, but it is. lando’s just so full of loathing for this man who is complicit in forcing him to betray han and boba’s just like “you got shit to say to me. or nah?” he’s such a fucking asshole, i love it.

4. staying conscious just long enough to express his displeasure with the situation in iiiiii think the mandalorian armor, idk it’s been awhile: this story takes place post-RoTJ, after boba has escaped the sarlacc pit, killing it in the process, and is being gradually regaining his strength with the help of fellow bounty hunter dengar and amnesiac former slave neelah. at this point in the story, he’s still quite weak and spends most of his time slipping in and out of consciousness. unfortunately, some of boba’s enemies find out he’s still alive and just start fucking carpet-bombing their general location, so dengar and neelah go “shit, we need a bomb shelter, stat!”...and then slowly turn to look at the subterranean corpse of the sarlacc pit. they thus drag boba’s unconscious body back into the pit so they can all hunker down and wait out the bombs. except, surprise, surprise! the sarlacc ain’t completely dead. one of its giant tentacles starts attacking the group and is succeeding in getting the upper hand over dengar and neelah, when suddenly, boba wakes up. takes a look around and realizes where he is. and then grabs the nearest blaster and just goes apeshit firing on the tentacle, finally managing to kill it. too exhausted to talk, he then turns and fixes dengar with the angriest, most hate-filled glare the man has ever seen... and then promptly passes out. i remember just dissolving into giggles the first time i read that scene. just the mental image of boba fett giving dengar the scariest fucking “why the fuck did you fucking bring me back here” deathglare in the galaxy and then immediately losing consciousness. energy well-spent, boba.

5. that time boba did a mission completely in his underwear for no discernible reason, because daniel keys moran: this one’s just like. so delightfully bizarre that i’m not even going to try justifying it logically bc literally the only reason it exists was bc renowned EU author and certified mad man daniel keys moran really wanted to give boba his strong female character moment, because he deserves it. so, in this subplot, boba is tracking this devaronian war criminal who is holed up in a safehouse equipped with security systems that are triggered by the presence of, like, metal. which means boba can’t wear his armor plates and can’t use any blasters or other gadgetry. so boba loads up a compound bow and knife and makes to hunt this guy down. now, what about his armor? obviously, the most logical thing to do would be to just remove the metal plates and hunt in his flight suit. or, if that isn’t satisfactory, go out and buy like, leather armor or something? or just clothes? BUT NOPE. boba apparently goes, “well, if i can’t wear my armor, i’m not gonna wear ANYTHING” and just. does the entire mission in his underwear. he tracks and stalks this man, shoots him with an arrow, and then chases him down with a knife, ALL IN HIS UNDERWEAR. daniel keys moran even goes so far as to explicitly specify that these ain’t no long-johns, either. he’s like, “and the underwear...... MAINLY COVERED HIS DICK.” LIKE, DANIEL? DANIEL? HOW IS IT THAT OUT OF THE TWO BOBA FETT STORIES YOU’VE WRITTEN, BOTH OF THEM MENTION HIS DICK IN SOME CAPACITY? DANIEL? WHO KEEPS LETTING YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS??? and, like, can you imagine being this poor devaronian? you’re just living your fugitive war criminal life when an arrow hits you in the shoulder and boba fucking fett comes sprinting out of the woods at you in his underwear with a knife? what the fuck. this was canon at one point. what the fuck.

#boba fett #in which you can tell i wrote this list in the hours leading up to bed-time #by how increasingly unhinged it becomes lmao #the EU was a wild place #lastwordbeforetheend

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i-writes-things · 3 years

Text

The Secret.

Part 7 Finale pt.1

Avengers x Fem!reader

(+ \) Platonic, Angst

summary- The newest Avenger keeps a big secret from the rest if the team....

Warnings- swearing, mentions of death, Gunshots and torture

I made this gif*

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? ha! I am Zemo, Baron Zemo. I hear you are a Avenger now?" he asks "no?" he asks again

...

"Well if your not going to talk to me then you just might respond when we put your son, Jake on. hmm, how does sound."

"I'm not telling you anything!" You shout at Zemo

~~~~~

Natasha speed walks down the halls of the Compound into the kitchen, stopping to talk with them about you.

"Guys-"

"Nat, glad you could make an appearan-"

"Y/n is missing, and I think I know where." she says worriedly

There are many responses to this, but mainly concerned faces

---

"No that won't work it's Hydra-" Natasha responds

"Knew it!" says Steve pointing to Tony

The team comes up with a plan and heads to your last known location, which funny enough is where you are.

~~~~~

"Aggh!" You scream as the electricity runs through your nervous system, leaving you extremely exhausted.

"You feeling ready to talk yet?" Zemo asks politely, but his demeanor only makes you more angry with him

You hesitate, but shake your head "no" you snap at him

"Well we have tortured you enough physically." He chuckles and walks out of the room, leaving you to be confused.

Two men enter and slap duck tape over your mouth and tie your hands together as tight as possible, they lead you out of the room.

Hearing only the silent footsteps of the two men and your breathing

You know now isn't the best time, but probably the only time you will have the chance.

One of the two men would be luckier than the other in this situation.

Knocking one to the ground and kicking the other in the groin, both going to the ground but that wasn't enough, they would get back on there feet any second, you had to think fast...

It felt like hell, but you kept pulling your hands through the rope, giving you a burning sensation in your hands as you kept going, one of them was getting to there feet.

"Com- Come on" you groaned to yourself

The guy pulled you away from the hook on the wall that you had the rope on trying to pull it off of your hands.

But in his doing so, your hands slipped through the rope and you got straight to work, elbowing the man and pinning him against the opposite wall punching the shit out of him, he fell to the floor unconscious.

The other man still on the ground holding his groin in pain. You hit his groin again over his hands and punching him in the face, knocking the lights out of him. You finally put the two in a closet together and left..

~~~~~

"So, Hydra really has her?" Thor asks in disgust

"I think so." Natasha says giving him a sad look.

"And her 'son' what about him, is he here?" Tony asks.

Steve is looking at Natasha for an answer.

"That, I don't know." She looks down, mad at herself for not trying to find him first for you.

---

The east wing is quiet. Should it be this quiet Romanoff?" Steve asks through comms

"For Hydra, they sure as hell know how to hide." she responds

"It seems the western side of this 'base' is also quite soundless." Thor says quietly

"Hey, Natasha there are a few life forms coming up ahead, they look pretty immobile, though." Bruce says obstervantly looking at his screen from the Quinjet

"Ahead, where?" she asks Bruce "The closest closet, up to your left."

She opens the door, gun in hand.

"They're unconscious, Banner. Could Y/n have done this?"Natasha asks the team

"Maybe." Tony sounds sure

"That silly misguardian, what has she done now." Thor says lovingly

"A total possibility." Steve responses with everyone else

"She sure as hell tried." Clint says finally speaking up "I was going through Hydra's camera footage, and there is some alarming stuff going on, in the North wing, I-" He grunts, taking a few steps back "I'd love some team spirt, and some help..." He says almost yelling with heavy breaths over comms

"On our way Clint." Steve reassures Clint, as everyone heads to the North wing in the HYDRA base

~~~~~

"Clint watch out!" You yell going to tackle him out of the way, but instead he gets sucker punched in the face by non other than Revenger Steve. You end up tackling him instead. You both on the ground, you go at him punching the shit out of his "pea brained asshole!" type of face, but before you are able to do enough damage, another Revenger pulls you off Steve. Throwing you against the opposite wall.

"Th- thor is that you?" You say head swirling.

"No. I am ThunderMan." Revenger Thor says steadily, picking you up in the air by your throat.

"Wel- your-" You gasp for air trying to break his grasp around your neck

Finally. The rest of your team was making there way into the room, slightly confused.

Natasha didn't waste time she charged Revenger Thor and got him off you in seconds.

Gasping for breath you thank her.

"Nat. They have- Robot versions of all of us.." You breath out "There clothes are different colors though."

"Is your son here?" she asks, kneeling over you

More Revengers come crashing through the ceiling as she shields you from the ruckus.

"If they do, I know where. I'll be fast." You say fast

"No. Your not going alone." Natasha says stopping you, giving you the look knowing it was her or you weren't going at all.

"Me and Y/n are headed to find her son, we'll be back Rogers." She smirks, running with you out of the room and down the hall.

~~~~~

The chaos that was now behind you and Natasha, knowing the guys would be fine without you, you relax, not fully though your son was probably in danger.

"Y/n/n?" Natasha asks you innocently

"Hmm?" You look over at Natasha walking with her down a long hallway

"Why didn't you tell us?" she was looking at you now

"I didn't want the world to know about him, the danger this job brings to me, is so great already. I couldn't pull him into that danger, the thought that he might be kidnapped at any moment, that's too much stress for me.." You chuckle looking at the tiled flooring ahead of you

"So I'm guessing, all the late meeting arrivals and being so stressed on missions. They all pertain to him, Jake?" She asks and you look up to her at his name.

"Yeah." You chuckle it off again, but there is only silence from her "Sorry. For everything. I should told you guys so much earlier about Jake and I just didn't, it was a shitty mistake, I'm sorry Nat." you say flatly turning a corner, finally realizing where the room is, before Nat could say anything else to you, you were going at a run to the sadly familiar door.

"Y/n?!" Natasha shouts at you as you stumble to open the door

"They- kept him her-" The door swings open with a loud slam against the wall.

You couldn't believe the site. Jake was sitting a chair, in a large glass tube, looking extremely scared til he noticed his mommy was in front of him.

Natasha is shocked walking up next to you.

"Is that-?" She asks shaken

"Yes-" You breath out

"Momma!" Jake shouts in joy

"Momma look!" He pointed to his head

"Hat!" He had a hat on, one you knew too well.

"No!" You shout and run up to the glass, breaking it after a few good punches to a weak spot.

Zemo runs in yelling, shots are fired, but from who and at who you don't know yet, all that matters is that Jake is alright..

He is crying by the time you pick him, holding him close, telling him "It's ok... It's ok, baby. Mommy's here." You hold him and seeing that Natasha had shot Zemo a few different times and took out 5 or so Hydra minions, She looked at the site of you with your son, she was happy for you, but all of you had to leave. Now.

~~~~~

"Tony? Are you Tony or are you Tony?!" "It's me Sir Captain O captain!!" Yelled one of the Tony's waving there arms in the air, Steve immediately obliterating that Tony.

"How'd you know that wasn't me, Cap?" Tony asking now fighting robot Thor.

"You don't talk like that, Stark." He says breaking off Revenger Nat's full left arm and hitting her with it to the ground.

"You know Rogers, I didn't think you would betray me this fast." Robot Natasha says flirtatiously to him as Steve finally pulls the cords out of her head.

Her voice breaks up and finally goes off line, as Revenger Steve picks up Steve and pushes him up against a wall.

"You touch my girlfriend again, I'll kill you." Revenger Steve exclaims

"She already is big guy." Steve says upsetting Revenger Steve further, and punches Steve full force leaving him stunned and trying to regain his strength, but the kicking, punches and shield body slams are not helping at all.

"Clint you seem to be quite out breath?" Thor asks him trying to hold Revenger Hulk away from everyone

"Yeh, I am one of the only Avengers that doesn't have a super power, so yeah I'm getting tired Thor." He says flatly, shooting a few arrows at Revenger Hulk.

"We could use Banner, right about now!" Tony yells "Where is he anyway?"

"He's out in the Quinjet. Tony you literally were the one to make him stay there." You say over comms rushing down the long hallway back towards everyone, Natasha stops you in the middle of the hall.

"Go. Get Bruce for us will you?" She looks down at Jake and back up to you. "Get Jake..." Jake looks up at Natasha at his name "..and yourself safe in the Quinjet, we can handle this." she says pointing her thumb to the chaos that was right ahead.

She smiled sincerely at you, something she hadn't done in a long time. You returned it quickly. Yelling over your shoulder to not die at Natasha as you and Jake leave to get Bruce.

~~~~~

On your way out you hear someone groaning in pain.

You walk into the room, the same room you had just taken Jake from.

Seeing Zemo lying on the ground with a shot in his leg and two in his stomach, blood flooded the ground

"Y/n. Help me." He groans out

You look down at him, hand over Jake eyes so he doesn't have to see the gruesome site that is a dying Zemo.

"No." You say steadily "Hydra will die, as with you." you says flatly and leave

---

"Bruce! Bruce! They need the Hulk. Now." You say running into the Quinjet

"You have a so-??" You set Jake down to push Bruce out of the huge jet, watching him run off, turning into The Hulk and jumping over the building to go fight.

You quickly make sure Jake is inside the jet before putting it on lock down.

After a few minutes

"Mommy?" Jake whines

"What's up?" You ask him looking over the controls of the jet.

"You were all gone." he says upset that you weren't there for him.

You stop what you were doing and pull him in for a kiss on the cheek "I know I was, and they won't ever get to us again, ok?" he nods in response and you hug him close hearing the faint crash of Hulk breaking into the base

~~~~~

"AAAGGGGGGG!!" Hulk swings in crashing a new hole in the ceiling towering over the other smaller Revenger Hulk, Smashing him to bits in seconds.

He didn't know the difference of who was who, so Barton and Stark almost got smashed, but Thor was the one to throw the Revengers at Hulk so he could just smash them, this worked for maybe 10 minutes before he smashed Thor into the ground.

Leaving everyone horrified, Hulk yelled and jumped out of the large room, hearing him stomp on the floor above them, dust falling from the ceiling as he went by.

So far only Natasha, Hulk, Thor, and Tony was down on the Revengers, and only Clint and Steve to go which was a very unfair fight, but there robots why would they care.

So they fought. It was a quick fight, Natasha fighting Revenger Clint to the ground, and Steve punching the fuck out of em. Thor threw his hammer at Revenger Steve, which turned out he caught it. Throwing it back at Thor, knocking him out. Clint shot the last strike to his Robot. Revenger Steve was going to be a bit more trouble, once he got sight of Natasha he melted thinking that was his girlfriend. Steve got jealous of himself. Steve finished Revenger Steve off in a matter of minutes.

Finally done battling, they all rushed to the Quinjet.

~~~~~

Everyone walks onto the Quinjet wrapping you and Jake into a group hug.

They all went there separate ways to clean wounds or get the Quinjet out of here, you go and sit the launch bay, It was quiet there. Jake needed to sleep, after being up for almost 2 days straight.

Natasha had finally found you.

"You know, I have missed you." She says and you look up at her

"Well, I haven't been very far." You look back down at your sleeping son

Nat comes sits next to you

"I'm just glad your safe, Y/n/n"

"I'm just glad we are on good terms again Nat."

She gives you a side hug

"I'll leave you two alone, and Tony said he was having a party later tonight, I don't know why in gods name he would have a party right now, but it's Tony so." She slightly smiles at you, doing the same you watch her leave

Finally looking down at your sleeping son, Jake, you smile

"Were finally safe." You say quietly to him and kiss his forehead

Your secret was safe, with the Avengers, you knew they would protect you forever.

Ahhhhh!! ‼️ This story was very fun to write and if anyone has any requests I would love to hear them I mainly do platonic stories!! ❤️❤️ I can try to write for any marvel character but the ones on my master list are the characters I am most familiar with!

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

“Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

Like right now.

“I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

“Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

“I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

“I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

“What do you want?”

Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

“I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

“Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

“He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

“And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

“Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

“You owe me, toy man.”

“Put it on my tab.”

Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

“Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

“Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

“Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

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please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #reader #reader insert #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you

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aurabird · 3 years

Text

To Seek Redemption

So this is based off of something my braincell that desires fluff came up with.

Something happens that causes the Hels!Hermits to become helpful, caring, and empathetic like their counterparts. No more hierarchy and anarchy, no more bloodshed and violence, just pure, familial energy and fluff. Basically, they all obtain morals and eventually the line between Hermit and Helsmit is no more.

This relies strongly on headcannons and things regarding Helsmit/Hermit first encounters are left vague on purpose for the reader to fill in because I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes :3

No major TWs, just mentions of violence, blood, and injuries.

==================================================

The Hels Dimension was a brutal place, an eternal battleground where anarchy was the norm and the hierarchy brutal. The denizens of this dimension said to be the worst traits of their Overworld counterparts incarnated or their best traits without any moral boundaries.

Those that lived within Hermitcraft’s Hels Dimension; Helscraft as they’d become to be called, referred to themselves as Helsmits as they sought to not only overpower each other, but also make the lives of their other halves miserable.

Of course, not every Helsmit was a monster, some were simply pranksters, simply finding enjoyment in teasing their counterparts because the reactions amused them; nuisances that just wouldn’t go away.

But, despite all of this, how would players such as the Helsmits react…when everything they knew, all the violence they partook in, just went away? Was replaced by feelings they didn’t understand or hated?

==================================================

The time-dilation known as lag was not a new concept to the denizens of Helscraft; after all, several of them used the enigmatic force as a weapon or safeguard for their territory, slowing down any would-be usurpers enough to gain an upper hand.

What WAS new, however, was that this time, lag stopped their world completely. No one moved, no one spoke; for only a few moments all was still…

…until it wasn’t.

When the world began to move again the Helsmits knew something had changed, feelings of vengeance and hatred were gone, replaced by emotions they did not understand; that some of them even despised. Empathy, compassion, the desire for familial companionship.

Those locked in combat sheathed their weapons, taking steps back from each other before apologizing. Those that kept themselves locked in impenetrable fortresses left their isolation and sought out the Helsmit nearest to them to simply talk and for comfort due to their isolation. Those that had gotten the last of their territory stolen from them had it returned.

And those that sought power within the hierarchy? Well, who said that having friends didn’t count as power?

Traps set up to kill and torment were disabled, and selfishly-hoarded resources distributed to those with few or none.

It was difficult at first to come to grasps with the sudden morals and emotions they'd acquired, for some, the phrase of “I hate being nice” became popular, being uttered by several of them defeatedly when they attempted to be anything but friendly to each other.

But eventually the Helsmits grew used to their new emotions, enjoyed them even. Sure they were all still competitive with each other, that was a trait no strange force could change, but now it was more friendly and lighthearted. Some even tried to act like the 'evil counterparts' they'd once been in a joking manner.

The Hesmits knew that things had changed, that their old ways of life were now gone.

They'd all gathered at their Town Hall, the first building they'd made since they'd all become friends, looking upon a portal with nervousness and uncertainty. Not a portal to the Nether, nor a portal to the End. No, this portal was to the Overworld.

It'd been Helskinght that discovered how to conjure the gateway, the purple swirls framed by blocks of crying obsidian. At one point this structure had been fought over and the land around it once stained crimson with Helsmit blood.

The area had been completely terraformed since then, making this location both a reminder of the past and the present. None of them had their weapons or tools, just the clothes on their backs, food, and basic building blocks. After all, they'd come here for one reason alone.

Now that they’d mended the conflicts that had once divided them, perhaps it was time to do the same with those that saw them as nothing but evil interlopers seeking to cause only destruction and misery.

Yes, it was time to ask their overworld counterparts, the Hermits, for forgiveness. The final step they'd all need to reach complete redemption.

"You think they'll accept it after everything some of us have done?" asked someone from the gathered crowd, "We've been silent for so long too, how do you think they'll react to us all coming at the same time?"

The two questions had no definite answers, as only a few Helsmits had even interacted with their overworld counterparts. Then again, those that had awful experiences no doubt spread the seeds of distrust throughout the entirety of Hermitcraft.

A Helsmit in ebony-plated armor and wearing a helmet sighed. Since the reforming of their society Helsuma had been the appointed the Admin of Helscraft, though unlike his counterpart, he lacked the powers that came with said title.

"There is only one way to find out." he said with uncertain confidence before taking his first steps through the passage, his fellow Helsmits following not far behind.

------

Their arrival on the main street of the Cowmercial District was met with mixed reactions. Fear, disdain, and confusion the most common but surprise could also be seen on the faces of some Hermits.

Those that knew their Helscraft counterparts had drawn their swords and bows, netherite blades and enchanted arrows aimed directly at them, ready to strike at the slightest sign of aggression.

It was Xisuma that broke the silent tension, his calm, accented voice holding the strength of a leader as he addressed the crowd before him. “Well, this is definitely a surprise.” he said as he took a few steps forward, taking note of the fact some of the newcomers flinched or tensed up at his advance. “I didn’t expect all of you to show up at once, let alone completely unarmed.”

The person who then walked out from the crowd of Helsmits was a surprise to the overworld Admin. Every Hermit supposedly had a counterpart of their own in Helscraft, but X hadn’t exactly been ready to meet his.

Features and attire were identical to his own, though their skin was marred with horrible scars and their black-plated armor boasted several gashes; fiery-orange eyes far more exhausted than his own violet ones shone with desperation.

“Careful, X.” Wels warned with a growl, cerulean gaze narrowed and locked with the red one of Helsknight, “They aren’t to be trusted.”

If the silver-armored knight had seen the hurt in Hels’ expression at those words, he didn’t react to it.

X ignored the given warning and faced his counterpart without fear or hesitation, “What brings you all to the Overworld like this? Clearly it isn’t an invasion.”

Helsuma spoke, his voice simply a deeper, more rough version of X’s. “We…we all…we all wish to ask forgiveness.” he struggled to say before looking behind him at his fellow Helsmits, “Those of us that you know the actions of more than others.”

“Why the change of heart?” came a Hermit’s confused but sharp tone as they gazed upon one that looked almost exactly like they did, no doubt remembering bitterly what their first meeting with their counterpart was like.

“Honestly, we have no idea.” came a voice from the Helsmits, “Everything just…stopped one day, like lag but for longer than a few seconds. After that, well, some of us noticed that we felt emotions alien to us, urges to be…friends, not enemies or rivals; to share and not take.”

“You learned what morals are? I find that hard to believe.”

At the comment Hels turned his head to Wels, arms crossed “Whether you believe it or not, if we sought to invade the overworld for malicious goals today, we would have done so already.”

Grian, surprisingly, was the one that came to the dark knight’s defense “You know, Wels, not all of them are incarnations of our evil.” he commented from his place on steps to the Town Hall. “Take Xelqua, my counterpart for example.“ he began, motioning to the Helsmit that was a splitting image of him save a pair of purple wings that sparkled with stars; the cloak around them bearing a strange symbol, “He’s the one that was mixing up the stuff in your guy’s sorting systems and renaming all your diamonds!”

Mumbo shot the man a look, “Seriously mate? You interacted on a friendly level with your counterpart as opposed to some of us and didn’t think to tell anyone of it?”

“Uh...no. Kinda slipped my mind actually.”

Scar spoke next, having spotted BadTimes in the center of the group; the skeletal vex wings protruding from their back a sign of the part of himself he’d cast away when he decided to reject the control of the chaotic fae he’d once been bound to. “Well, I for one believe in second chances.” he said with a grin, noticing the eyes of several Helsmits light up, “Sure it may take time for us to all trust each other but if they are counterparts of us and we’re Hermits, what’s to say they can’t be too?”

“Scar is right!” chimed Zedaph, “Look at Exy! He was all scary and stuff and he ended up being nice in the end!”

The streets were silent once more as Hermit and Helsmit alike looked at Xisuma, awaiting the verdict of the situation. The Admin thought hard about the dilemma he was faced with. His fellow Hermits all made good points and, when given proof, X was one to forgive.

He saw the looks in the eyes of their counterparts; fear, desperation, hope. He’d made the mistake of condemning his brother to the banvoid, and though they’d made up since then, it didn’t change the fact that he’d left Ex alone, abandoned, and scared when all the man had needed was guidance.

No, he could not simply turn them away, he couldn’t send them back to their dimension and find a way to seal them in there forever.

“I do not speak for all the Hermits, especially given the history some of you have with them.” he began, “However, I am willing to give you all a chance. Do not make me regret my decision.”

------

The rules Xisuma had applied to them were simple and the Admin had made it perfectly clear that they’d all be watched closely, both by him and the Hermits they interacted with.

For some, it was easy to befriend their counterparts, alike in many ways, yet still different enough to be their own person. Others had a more difficult time, uneasy truces and silent tension sparking between them.

But, time heals all wounds, and the line that separated Hermits and Helsmits eventually disappeared. Denizens of both the Overworld and Helscraft began to come and go between their realms freely, taking ideas and inspirations from each other, playing minigames as if they’d all been friends from the beginning.

Getting to the End was impossible from Helscraft, so the Helsmits had always secretly been baffled by the silvery wings that allowed their counterparts to fly around. With the befriending of each other, however, they were being taught through trial and error (mostly error, actually) how they worked and the freedom that came with Elytra flight.

It wasn’t uncommon now for the trio of team ZIT to be seen planning crazy ideas with their counterparts and teasing each other, unsurprisingly both Grian and Xelqua managed to start yet another war, and the silent chaos of shenanigans from Etho and his counterpart were never discovered until it was too late.

False and True could often be seen sparring, as could Wels and Hels; though the duo of knights usually did so through both physical combat and song.

Scar and Cub would be seen working on projects with their counterparts, laughing and remembering the times when they were once one in the same, but yet still glad to be their own individual players.

Bdubs and his phantom-featured counterpart would sometimes argue over who was the fastest of them to get to sleep ("And how are you faster? Last I checked beds blow up in Hels ya stupid!" "Not since X gave Helsuma Admin powers they haven't ya fool!"), though neither of them would win because someone else would sleep away the night while they bickered.

Ex had even returned from his journey of self-discovery, completely confused at first and then began pouting when he learned that he didn’t have a Helscraft counterpart of his own to cause mischief with. With a laugh, Helsuma had offered to be the counterpart of both brothers.

------

It was several months later when the two Admins stood on the roofs of their Town Halls, smiles on their faces as they overlooked the antics below them; Hermits and Helsmits alike interacting harmoniously. With the union of their respectful dimensions their families had doubled in size.

And both of them couldn’t have been any happier.

#hermitcraft au #helscraft #hels!hermits #evil hermits #fluff and angst #the helsmits are a chaotic family your honor #I'm a sucker for redeption arcs #Grian's counterpart is a gremlin like him #but has all the Watcher traits and regalia #Ex isn't from Helscraft either #he's a copy of X's code that got created by acident #he also wasn't permabanned in S6 #him and X made up and he went on a journey of self discovery #cub & scar's counterparts are parts of their souls that they split from when they decided to reject using Vex magic #like I said at the start this relies heavilly on headcannons #my writing #hermitblr

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cowboycostume · 3 years

Text

continuation of the fic from @heller-jensen‘s prompt post. I actually am working this into a maybe 5k friends-to-lovers fic, so keep an eye on my AO3

part one

It’s late when they leave the club; Cas drunk and exhausted, Bal sloppily making out with tonight’s hook up in the back seat of their shared uber. Cas has never been more grateful to see the facade of his apartment building. He slips the driver a twenty, silently apologizing for his friend’s behavior, before climbing out of the front seat and fishing his keys from his pocket.

Inside, he leans against the door, kicking his shoes vaguely the direction of his shoe rack. His head swims from the liquor, and he berates himself for letting Balthazar goad him into going out tonight. It always ends like this; Cas drunk and alone in his apartment, Bal going home with someone new. It’s not that he’s jealous, exactly, it’s more that he’s just so tired of feeling lonely; nothing twists that knife quite like seeing his ex pick up strangers with an ease Castiel’s never been able to manage. Even with Bal for a wingman, he’d struck out. (At least that’s what Cas told himself happened. That it definitely had nothing to do with any current hang-ups, as Bal had suggested.)

His whole body feels gritty with dried sweat and spilled drinks, and as much as he wants to collapse into bed and sleep until his head stops spinning, he knows waking up like this will only serve to make the hangover worse. He forces himself to sober up enough to wash the night off, stepping into the spray while it’s still cold enough to shock his system.

The cold water does its job too well — half an hour after his shower, he is still wide awake (and still very much inebriated). Two has come and gone, and Cas has been staring at the same tweet for the last ten minutes. It’s only four words long, but it elicits an almost embarrassing number of emotions.

Dean Winchester @piechester67 · 15min

now accepting boyfriend applications

Before he can overthink it, he’s closing out Twitter and opening his messages. He types out the first message and sends it in a matter of seconds. It’s a simple reference to the tweet, easily written off as a joke. Cas’s heart has taken up what feels like permanent residence in his throat as he types out a much less innocuous follow up: “reasons I would be a good boyfriend:” Once it’s written out, the fear of fucking their friendship up has Cas hovering indecisively over the send button. In the end he isn’t sure what makes him hit that little arrow, but once he does more and more comes spilling out of him.

He’s sent seven texts before he has a chance to think it through; the eighth, once typed out, is both too big to take back and too true to deny. Cas shifts on to his side, eyes heavy, and stares at the simple “I love you” shining at him from the message bar. Maybe it’s the alcohol blurring his judgement, maybe it’s the roll he’d got himself on, but the last thing he does before succumbing to sleep is hit send.

Morning comes too soon. Six hours is hardly enough sleep to recover from the night out, but his resolve to stay in bed is broken by the fuzzy, stale feeling of a hangover in his mouth. He’s halfway through brushing his teeth when he remembers. He almost chokes on toothpaste in his panic to retrieve his phone. Those last three words seem so much more damning now than they did last night. Flustered, he reacts with an urge to ignore the stream of messages he had sent.

He takes a few seconds to steel himself. What’s done is done. He tries his best to put the (potentially catastrophic) admission out of his mind; he makes coffee and eats something, hoping to settle the churning feeling in his gut; he does the few dishes left in the sink; he stares at his phone on the counter. Every minute it stays silent feels longer than the last.

It’s less than an hour before he is sending an apology. It’s less than five minutes before his traitorous finger hits the ‘call’ button. It rings through to voicemail. Cas hangs up and sends yet another text, this time imploring Dean to call him back.

He can’t wait anymore, he needs to do something. He pulls up the message thread and screenshots it. He sends the picture to Charlie.

#m.fic #prompt fill kinda #spn fic #still tryna find a good title for this #but i am and have been working on it #loving the love fo the last one tho

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supermanshield · 3 years

Text

Naps are overrated, anyway

~~~

There is a picture in the watchtower cafeteria of Superman and Batman, asleep on the Javelin.

This is the story of how it came to be, and why Batman let it be.

~~~

Words: 4,092

Relationship: Clark/Bruce

A/N: I had the idea for this story a year ago. For the longest time, the summary you see right now was all I had typed out. Only now, after reading a bunch of JLA vol. 1 did I finally find the right characters, the right feeling and overall vibe, and wrote this in the past three days.

It doesn’t completely comply with continuity, because while I imagine this set somewhere in the 1997-2006 JLA run, Bruce mentions 6 kids (he would have only had 2 at the time + a dead Jason), although they don’t make an appearance. And I'm actually not sure if the Javelin is a thing in that run, maybe that's just a DCAU thing. Just go with it.

Also, Bruce is a bit of a boomer in this. idk, I had fun writing him.

Read on AO3

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Batman doesn’t nap.

However, that is not to say that Bruce doesn't. He's nearing 45 years of age, not a grey hair on his head, but if he were to grow a beard now, or a moustache like his father, it would show a mix of salt and pepper, so he shaves it off, vigorously and every day. Moustache and beard, those are the first things to turn grey. Then the eyebrows. When that happens, Bruce will lose. He will give in to his age and keep his beard. Not yet. If Clark ever walks in on him during his morning ritual (probably soon), he will look at him with that forgiving smile. He will say what he thinks of it, because that's what he does. (Keep it, I like it, Bruce hopes secretively, but there is a sadness present in Clark's eyes that he will never completely understand, and that's exactly why he shaves).

Clark has seen it already though, he's sure. His 5 o'clock shadow must look like a foggy forest to Clark’s microscopic vision, and even worse in the morning, right before his shave. Clark hasn't mentioned it. A conversation for another day.

If his children ever found out about this particular insecurity, all 6 of them would laugh.

Bruce never really napped, or took time out of the day to simply rest, but now, Clark is there. To pull him onto the couch in the study when he's on his way to his desk. To keep him in bed after sex and before patrol. To fly through his window at WE at 50 floors up and pat next to himself on the couch in Bruce's office, door locked, and red cape hung up in the corner.

"It's time," he says. Every time. "You need one."

Bruce will raise his eyebrows. "Already, hmm?" he asks, almost every time.

He's made the mistake of sending him away before. (He won't do that again). Clark is the most stubborn man Bruce knows. He will say the same thing about Bruce, but that's beside the point. And It's not as if Clark distracts him from a case or work; he knows exactly when he has some time and is unable to make excuses.

Bruce is used to taking 20-minute power naps in uncomfortable positions on his desk chair, at the kitchen table behind the newspaper, with his feet up in the batmobile.

Clark sets the alarm for one hour. He pulls Bruce into a horizontal position against that broad chest, either spooning him or facing him, encasing him in his large arms (there are still 76 ways out of his hold, but Bruce can't think of a single one worth a try). They sleep.

Apparently Clark needs naps too, even though he doesn’t need sleep. Bruce has been meaning to ask him about that, wonders if it's a mental thing, a kind of meditation. Therapy.

His naps are dreamless. Afterwards, his return to consciousness is quick, he reorients on the surroundings, on Clark. Kissing him is a good strategy for grounding, Bruce has found. And just like that, they get on with their day again, because there is no time for dwelling, for another moment together. Nevertheless, Bruce is happy with what he does get. It’s more of Clark - and more time with him - than he deserves already.

So, Bruce naps.

---

After a long mission off-world, the league is on their way home towards the watchtower in the javelin. Diana is flying, with J’onn at her side in the co-pilot chair. The rest of them are hauled up in the back of the vehicle, they’re tired, exhausted, just trying to get some rest. Even Wally sits still. Only Batman is pacing up and down, his mind already on Gotham, on home, the cases that were open, the ones that he was *this* close to cracking. Batman doesn’t nap.

His mind is wandering, going at a speed that would make even Clark dizzy, but the puzzle pieces don’t make sense. Yet. His heavy boots are silent on the metal floor of the javelin, his cape a mere whisper of wind behind him as he turns to pace the other way again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Hawkgirl’s voice cuts through the relative silence of flying through space (beeping, machinery, turbines, the jet - there’s a lot). She holds up one of her large wings, cutting Batman off from his path. “Sit down.”

He does. Next to Superman. A big mistake, although he doesn’t realize it until much later. No need to upset his teammates. He can meditate instead, stay awake. The noise of the jet doesn’t make it easy, but it can be done. Clark smiles calmly at him.

He sits straight, eyes open, breathing focused, and the turmoil in his brains slows down. Soon, they’ll reach Earth’s solar system and he’ll have access to the batcomputer. Not soon enough. Next to him, Superman is a steady support of a brick wall, but his shoulder feels warm and soft against Bruce’s, even through the suit. Underneath the cape and hidden from view, Clark’s thumb rubs circles into his side, lower back. He knows exactly what he’s doing. A Pavlovian effect has Bruce relaxing his shoulders, if only slightly. None of his teachers ever taught him how to deal with a superman when trying to meditate. His superman. His annoyingly super man.

His last thought is of Clark, and that it must be irritating to have a bat ear poking into his cheek. But then again, rarely anything physical ever annoys the Man of Steel. Then, finally, he dozes off, the roar of the jet diminished to a distant snoring.

---

Bruce is proud of the watchtower. His watchtower. It stands erect on the bright side of the moon, pointing towards earth. Always looking out. Within such an enormous structure however, some simple rules are needed. There is a long list next to the fridge in the break room, and one in the meeting room. No running unless there is an emergency. Masks on outside of one’s own room. Food is to stay in the cafeteria (he’s found everyone and Clark with various wrappers and chips bags in the monitor room, so he gave up on that – it’s crossed out). Training gear stays in the gym. The coffee machine has to be cleaned once every 2 days - the stuff isn’t that good, not what Bruce is used to, but it has helped him through several meetings and dull monitor duties in the past.

A couple days after returning from their outer space mission on the javelin, Bruce returns to the watchtower. There are several new members to have a meeting about. He has made up his mind on all of them already, the meeting is merely a formality.

Connor Hawke runs past – one of the new proposed members, codename Green Arrow after his father – and Supergirl flies over his head. “No running.” He stops them both with one move of his arm and a line on a batarang.

Kara turns towards him and slips out of his trap easily. “I wasn’t even running, B,” she says while she floats down. Connor has crossed his arms and looks out the window, Batman’s line still taut around his upper arms.

“There are rules. If you want to be in the Justice League, behave like it.” He reminds her of the proper use of code names too, for good measure, and unties Connor.

With a sigh, both young heroes are off, making their way towards the break room. Bruce follows them and finds Wally and Kyle already inside, but as soon as they see Batman turn the corner they scurry out through the door on the other side.

It’s the first clue that something is amiss. The newer heroes standing around the fridge and chuckling, the second. Bruce lays eyes on the offending appliance and feels his body tense. If smoke could come out of his ears, it would.

“Flash!”

---

The standard size piece of paper lies on one of the metal surfaces in the computer area of the cave. Bruce tries to ignore it while he works, but the primary colours of Superman’s suit in the image are a thorn in his peripheral vision. With a swift move and a smack, he turns it around, and gets back to his files. He has sent his notes for the meeting to the watchtower, reported that he’s too busy to attend.

He works on some of his own active cases, gathering data and looking at evidence. Most of it is paperwork, boring but necessary. He slowly makes his way through every file, meticulously and efficiently. Everything gets reported and written down in case a pattern reveals itself later. The puzzling can be done when he’s more focused. Meanwhile, the cases that are solved and closed get a little custom-made bat-stamp on the front of their manila folder before they get filed away. Alfred brings down coffee, the good kind. Time passes quickly and he’s still busy when Clark flies in.

“Hey,” he walks up to Bruce and bends down for a quick kiss. “I thought you’d be at the meeting today. Diana said you were busy.”

Bruce points to the piece of paper in explanation, Clark turns to grab it. “Wally happened. And I’m always busy.”

“I see. He seemed almost unnaturally giddy today. Oh hey, look.” Clark holds up the picture of Batman and Superman, asleep on the javelin. In it, Clark’s face is peaceful, his mouth open, despite one of the ears on the cowl that is indeed poking his cheek. “We look cute.”

“Batman doesn’t do cute, Clark.”

Clark sighs. But you do, his eyes seem to say. No, I don’t, Bruce replies with his. “Where’d you get this, anyway?”

“Wally put it up on the fridge in the watchtower cafeteria. You didn’t notice him taking it last week?”

“Clearly,” Clark points to the Clark in the picture. “I fell asleep.”

“And here I thought you always listened to your surroundings.”

“We were in space. Not exactly much I can hear out there.”

Bruce gets up from his chair. Having a Superman has once again proven useless. Only Clark can do something so silly and time-wasting as sleeping, on purpose. Naps are overrated, anyway. They’ve had this discussion many times, Bruce knows the outcome. *Always* be on high alert, he will say. Clark will push back, it’s not that simple, he will say. Everyone needs sleep, his eyes pleading, apologetically somehow. They do. But it has taken Bruce obtaining Clark’s powers in a freak magic accident and chasing after the sun and every criminal on the planet for 72 hours straight to realise that. Now he knows the desperation, the feeling that it will never end, the knowledge that in the end, not everyone can be saved, even if you try.

Everyone needs sleep, even Superman.

Clark watches him milling through these thoughts, it must be written on his face, and holds out his hand when Bruce’s features finally relax. He’ll just have a stern talking-to with Wally and Kyle next time he’s on the watchtower.

If only it were so simple. The next time he’s on the watchtower, the picture is back on the fridge. And in the main hallway. And in the transporter room, the trophy room, and the ground level bathroom. Bruce groans, suppresses the urge to face-palm. He takes the things down one by one, systematically going through the entire watchtower. Then, he has that talk with Wally. And with Kyle. Best to keep them separated. They snicker that it wasn’t them *this* time, and don’t seem scared of him at all.

He’s either gone too soft in his old (not old, mature) age, or he should have designed the watchtower with a lot more corners for menacing shadows.

Wally and Kyle are both telling the truth, Bruce finds out in the next couple of days when more pictures return while Kyle is off in space and Wally is busy on earth. This time, it’s not just the one of them sleeping on the Javelin. A bunch of pictures have been put up in the break room. There’s one of Clark, asleep on monitor duty with his feet on the console (Bruce makes a mental note to talk to him about that). There, right there, that’s the reason why there always have to be two leaguers watching the screens. J’onn looking desperately at a small pile of Oreo crumbles on the floor of the meeting room. Diana vigorously devouring a tub of chocolate ice cream. And Batman, pointing at the camera, the other hand on his hip.

He has no idea who took it, but it has to be one of the speedsters. All he knows is that this has to stop. No matter if one finds this kind of thing funny, there are rules, privacy issues, secret identities and all that.

The security footage that Bruce watches back in the cave that night reveal some of the newer, younger members of the league sneaking around the watchtower with a roll of tape. They don’t know where all the cameras are, clearly. They don’t know the rules, clearly. Wally and Kyle have to have set them up to do this, clearly.

Clark watches with him over his shoulder. He chuckled when Bruce showed him the evidence earlier, but now his face is serious. He mouths an Oh. “This is getting out of hand. I’ll organize a meeting tomorrow.”

---

The next day, in the biggest meeting hall on the watchtower, over 30 faces stare at them from across the large round table. Diana and J’onn are seated on their side, for good measure. They’re victims in this too. It’s intimidating to be called to the watchtower by Superman and Batman for a meeting on professional conduct, and even more intimidating to sit across four of the original members, especially for the new ones in the crowd. Good, Bruce thinks. He stands up, and so does Clark.

“Welcome, everyone,” Clark starts, the warm and commanding baritone all Superman. “We’re glad you could all make it on such short notice…” While Clark talks, Bruce regards the crowd of heroes standing nervously, or sitting on the few available chairs. Firestorm’s flame burns smaller than normal, the new Green Arrow has his bow clamped between both hands, and even Plastic Man seems to genuinely pay attention to Superman. Wally has his chin in his hands on the table, pretending to be interested, and Kyle only seems to pay attention to a scratch on the table’s surface. “…today is not an emergency, but it is important nonetheless…” Get to the point, Clark. “It seems that whilst we acquire more and more members for the JL, some of you think this is some sort of club and not an international organization to protect the earth,” he drones on. Arthur sighs, and for once, Bruce agrees with him.

“I will not tolerate this any longer,” Bruce cuts Superman off brusquely, in his most serious bat-voice. “Take all pictures down. And if I see another one…”

Wally huffs, interrupting him. “No fun allowed on this godforsaken rock.”

Before Bruce can retort, Clark puts a hand on his tense shoulder. “What Batman is trying to say, is we can’t do this. Even if it seems harmless. Because if we get careless about the little things, we get sloppy, and if we get sloppy, the wrong information might fall into the wrong hands.”

“You’re just as paranoid as he is,” Plastic man points at Batman. “It’s a couple of harmless images.”

“And what did I just say?”

“You’re saying no fun allowed,” Kyle supplies this time. Once again, Bruce takes tremendous effort to suppress a face-palm, and crosses his arms instead. He grunts. Really, they have 37 children here. Not just the 6 back home – a rookie number. 37, except maybe not Diana. Maybe. “Man, we bust our butts for you guys. I’m behind at work, barely get any sleep or free time and you’re getting on our case for something as dumb as this!” Kyle throws his arms up in anger. Behind him, Connor tries to shush him.

“This is work just as much as your civilian job. And more important on top of that. If you want to slack off, you can do that back home. Not here.”

“Grumpy much, bats? Someone missed their morning coffee today…” Wally mumbles.

They continue staring at each other, but it’s Superman who breaks first, uncrosses his arms and sighs. “You can have a couch in the break room… and a tv.” he looks at Bruce. At his expense, of course. “That’s it. No more images of JL members. Leave your personal lives at home.”

“Fine,” Wally sits up. “We’ll take them down.”

---

A couple days later, Bruce is back on the watchtower. No weird pictures greet him this time. Much cleaner. He steadily makes his way to the break room to grab a coffee before the current meeting, but only because he didn’t have time to wait for Alfred’s Italian brew anymore. Clark is with him, already more cheerful because of Bruce’s relatively better mood.

The cafeteria is still empty, the little kitchen still clean. Save for the fridge. There, prominently in the middle of the door, the original picture of Batman and Superman on the Javelin stares him squarely in the face. It’s held up by a pair of small Wonder Woman magnets this time. Clark says something behind him, but Bruce isn’t paying attention. As he gets closer, he can tell it’s different. The paper is thicker, a nicer quality. The image is not a print, but hand-drawn in a mix of coloured chalk and high-quality pencil. The lighting, especially, is magnificent. Kyle Rayner. A new addition is the caption in curly handwriting underneath the image:

Even the world’s finest heroes need to sleep

Now, Bruce face-palms. Hard. Clark mutters a fuck, but regains control quickly. “I’ve got to hand it to them; they have nerve.” Bruce ignores him as he opens the fridge to grab the milk for Clark’s coffee. “It’s a good quality to have.”

“Or a bad one.”

Clark shrugs. His face breaks out into a grin. “And, I have them on my side now.”

Oh, no. Bruce whips his head up from the coffee machine to look at Clark. “Batman doesn’t nap.”

Clark inclines his head, raises an eyebrow. But *you* do. It’s so goddamn frustrating when he’s right.

“Hn. You already have Alfred on your side, that’s enough. And I’ve been good about it.”

“According to your standards, sure. Don’t you think it’s time for one later today? After the meeting?”

“Not here,” Bruce whispers.

“Back home.”

Home. It’s a good thing the security cameras don’t record sound. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I’ve got some time before patrol.”

Clark’s grin turns victorious, and Bruce burns his tongue on the coffee while he tries to hide a smile himself. He’ll decide what to do about Kyle’s art project later. Right now, they have a meeting to attend to.

---

The next morning, Bruce wakes up to Clark kissing his jaw, his mouth. He tastes like Alfred’s coffee. Too early, as always. Not early enough, as always, because Clark is already getting up for work. He considers pulling him back into bed and just straight up explaining to Perry that Clark is late again because he’s fucking the owner, but then he remembers yesterday’s incident. He’ll have to do something about it, obviously, but he’s not looking forward to acknowledging the whole thing yet again, maybe even admitting that the younger members are right, if only a little bit. Stupid watchtower clubhouse. His foul mood must be showing on his face, because all he gets is a “Let it go, Bruce” before Clark disappears into the bathroom. He comes back out in record time, fastening his tie. “Just, let it go. Let them have a little bit of fun. They’re young.”

But not doing anything about it is not an option. Not for Batman, and not for Bruce. “If I don’t retort, they’ll keep going. This won’t die out.” He sits up in bed. At the foot end, Clark is putting on his shoes.

“It will. You can’t fight fire with fire, sweetheart.” He walks over to Bruce and kisses his cheek. That’s it.

“That’s it. I’m going to fight fire with fire.” Get down to their level. He has kids, knows what teenagers and twenty-something year olds think like.

“No,” Clark groans. It turns into a sigh. “I’m going to be late.”

Bruce gets up. “Then go. Have a good day at work, honey.”

Clark clenches his jaw, and swings his messenger bag over his shoulder, giving up. “I’ll meet you for lunch,” he says, already halfway out the window.

Bruce closes it behind him, and then quickly makes his way down to the cave. He lets Alfred know he’ll have breakfast on the watchtower, dons the batsuit, makes a quick stop at his desk in the cave, and beams up to the watchtower. 9 am. He’s still on time.

---

At lunch time, the cafeteria is buzzing with excitement, more and more heroes gathering around the fridge as they point and whisper Really? And Do you even think it was him? And Wally, this must be another prank of yours. Bruce hears shushing and He’s right there while he drinks his coffee on the other side of the room. Finally, Clark walks in and takes a second to behold the spectacle, his brow furrowed, listening in. He clearly gives up on going to the fridge to get food, and instead makes a beeline to where Batman is sitting at one of the tables. “What’s going on? Did you remove it?” he asks as he sits down across from Bruce.

“I did not.”

Wally sticks his head out of the crowd and looks at the two of them. “Hey Bats! Does this mean we can keep it?”

Calmly, Bruce sips his coffee, pointedly ignoring the younglings and the little victory he supplied for them. But of course, and without skipping a beat, Clark notices his smug mood. He leans closer across the metal table. “What, did you put your bat-stamp of approval on it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Clark looks back over at the fridge with his spectacular vision to see what Bruce has done earlier, before anyone else was in the vicinity; his bat-symbol stamped onto the lower right corner of the caption. Later, he’ll add a rule to his original list next to the fridge. Only approved art and trophies allowed on the watchtower.

“I also hacked their phones and made sure there are no digital copies anymore,” he explains. “That should teach them to think twice next time.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Bruce shrugs. After all, he’s heard it all before. Only this time, Clark is unable to suppress a smile, he puts a hand over his, and adds “I love you.” Even that is nothing new, he knows it already, but it hasn’t happened on the watchtower yet. He allows a smile to form on his face while Clark holds his gloved hand. The rest of the league is too busy with the commotion around the fridge, anyway.

A few days later, he finds a copy of the drawing in the cave, this one with a small Superman stamp in the lower-right corner. It may just be exactly what he needs to see after a long night of patrol. Alfred seems happy about it too, and not just about the two people in it. He now simply points to the text with a stern face instead of obnoxiously and repeatedly clearing his throat whenever Bruce comes back from patrol battered and bruised or refuses to go up to the house and his bed.

There is another one in the fortress, although Clark doesn’t spend much time there. Bruce figures he can use the reminder whenever he does go there, so far away from humanity, to work on a case. And in Blüdhaven, Dick has one on his bedside table. The last time he visited Titans tower he noticed one in the hallway. Both of those not Bruce’s doing. He lets it slide, right of his cape and cowl and cool exterior. He just hopes everyone can keep it within their inner circles and that Batman and Superman won’t get turned into one of those ‘memes’.

#superbat #write write #humor #jla

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fallingappleshurt · 3 years

Text

Secrets to Save You

Its here after way too long of a wait!

Tommy plays baseball, Techno has a few issues in the Nether, and his family gets increasingly worried

This took longer then expected because I just really didn’t want to write this chapter but then next one should be out soon!!

Chapter 3. Rising Restlessness

TW: non graphic violence, swearing, fighting

It had been three weeks since Techno and the Captain had started working together and Techno was exhausted. It wasn’t constant trips to the Nether, he usually only had to go twice a week. It was gathering supplies late into the night and the constant anxiety that they were going to be caught.

He had to convince himself that the guards weren’t giving him weird looks, that the people in the fourth ring weren’t going to snitch on him, that Tommy wasn’t going to snoop in his room and find the maps, that there weren’t hundreds of eyes always on him.

His nerves were fried, and his family could tell. Phil resting a hand on his shoulder, Wilbur’s worried glances, Tommy straight up telling him he looked tired- or in his words; “You look like shit,” but was obviously concerned. He said that Techno should ‘relax’.

Techno guessed that was why when Tommy had a school day off, he drug Techno to a baseball field with his classmates. He wasn’t really interested in sports but after Phil said someone should be keeping an eye on Tommy, he agreed to go.

Tubbo was there, looking healthy and happy, as he waved at Tommy from the metal bleachers.

Techno sat down next to him, looking over the field, it was a dusty little square with four pieces of metal sticking out of the ground, kids scrambling to random positions on the field, Tommy was in the middle of the field, casually tossing a ball.

“Why aren’t you playing with the others?” Techno asked Tubbo, who deflated slightly.

“My dad wants me to take it easy, I’m lucky he even let me out of the house today.”

Techno nodded, “Makes sense, how’s your chest?”

“It aches a little but other than that I’m fine.”

They sat in a comfortable silence while more kids trickled onto the field. Techno watched Tommy throw a ball at a kid with a bat.

“What is Tommy doing?” He asked.

“He’s the pitcher,”

“What’s that?”

“He throws the ball for the batter,” Tubbo explained, pointing to someone standing across from Tommy.

“Uh huh- and what’s the batter?”

Tubbo laughed, “Do you not know what Baseball is? Or how to play it?”

“Uhhhh, no,” Techno raised an eyebrow.

“I forgot you’re really weird, I’ll explain the game, so-”

“Wait hang on-”

“So there are two teams,” Tubbo continued, ignoring Techno’s interjection. Tubbo described the different teams and the field positions and point systems, Techno didn't get a lot of it but he appreciated the thought.

He watched as Tommy reared back and threw the ball with force Techno didn’t know he possessed. The batter missed and the person behind him called out, “Strike one!” and tossed the ball back to Tommy.

Techno watched as Tommy made the other boy strike out three times, he made it look easy.

“He’s really good at this,” Techno commented.

Tubbo nodded, “Oh yeah he’s our best pitcher, can’t bat for shit but he’s got a good right hook,” He paused, “Good left hook too.”

Techno chuckled, watching the game continue, other kids slapping Tommy on the back. Occasionally he’d look over to the bleachers, Tubbo would cheer and Techno would give a thumbs up.

After about an hour Tommy jogged up onto the bleachers, sweat beaded on his forehead.

“What’d you think?” Tommy asked, Techno shrugged.

“Decent.”

Tommy looked elated.

“You should come down and play with us, we could use another player.” Tommy gestured to the field, Techno shook his head.

“I don’t play sports-”

“Yeah yeah I remember, just figured it was worth a try.” Tommy said, jumping down the bleachers, “Last time you tried you couldn’t get it and kept making that little grr noise.”

“I do not make a ‘grr’ noise!” He shot back but Tommy was either too far to hear or just didn’t care. Techno guessed the latter.

“You do,” Tubbo said, nudging his shoulder, “I’ve heard it.”

“Lies,” Techno said, putting his hand in front of Tubbo’s face, as Tubbo laughed.

They watched Tommy for another hour before the game started to dissolve and they went back to their apartment, Tommy telling them more about pitching.

Later that night Techno went back to the Nether. When he had dropped Tubbo off, Captain slipped him a note saying that he was running low on gold and knew there were small pockets in the Nether.

Techno didn’t have anything to really mine it with but he did have a rusty trowel and the netherrack was softer then stone so it might work.

Techno moved quickly and slightly to the portal, heart in his throat the whole time. He was hoping that after going to the Nether a few times that it would lessen his anxiety but it hadn’t, in fact it felt worse. He pushed the feeling down, he had a job to do.

After lighting the portal and stepping through Techno headed west, he remembered seeing a large pocket gold in that direction. On the way he grabbed a few blue fungi for Skeppy, he didn’t ask for any but Techno knew he’d find some use for it.

Once he spotted the sparkling gold snippets he knelt down and pulled out the trowel. He started chipping away at the netherrack, ripping small hunks from the rock and tucking it into the pouch on his belt. Captain said he didn’t need a lot so Techno didn’t want to stay for too long but he also didn’t want to come back.

He was picking over the vein one last time when he heard a howl of rage. He whipped around, grabbing his sword to see a group of Piglins charging at him all with raised swords and cocked crossbows. He realized he couldn’t take them all at once, quickly pocketing the trowel, he turned and started sprinting.

More Piglins came tearing at him from other directions, panic rising in his chest, Techno ran into the blue forest in hopes to lose them. He didn’t want to lead them to the portal, not knowing if they could cross through or not.

The roots of the fungi ripped and pulled at his ankles and Techno almost tripped multiple times while the Piglins barely seemed to notice them. After realizing he probably wouldn’t be able to outrun them, Techno started looking for something to climb onto, to get the high ground.

Only to then trip and faceplant into the netherrack.

Techno rolled away just in time to barely miss a golden sword to the back, taking out his own sword, Techno kicked the closest Piglin away, and scrambled to his feet.

An arrow shot past his ear as he lashed out at another Piglin then clashed swords with another. There was no point in holding out and letting more Piglins gather so he looked for escape options.

He could try climbing up one of the trees but he could still be shot. There was a huge, sharp, slope to his left so that was out of the question. The forest seemed to thicken more to the right and the only way he knew to get back to the portal was back through a crater. Trying to get a look at his escape Techno realised an issue.

There was a huge line of fire blocking his path, it looked like a ghast and piglin got into a fight, debris still littered around.

Mentally recapping his options were 1) try to get up the slope and most likely fall or get shot into a horde of Piglins. 2) He could try the fungi forest and get cornered again or 3) he could run through fire. Great.

The fire was his best option but he’d really rather not be set on fire today.

The choice was made for him as he disarmed a Piglin and stepped back, one managed to jump forwards and slash his shin.

Sharp stinging pierced his skin, adrenaline overriding his indecision, Techno turned and rushed through the fire, trying to ignore the heat licking at his legs. He weaved through the forest and under rocky overhangs and didn’t stop until he dove through the portal and knocked out the purple.

He collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily. That was too close for comfort, he didn’t even know what he did that made the Piglins so upset, he was wearing the pin!

The adrenaline was wearing off and Techno could feel pain searing up his leg, the ends of his pants were scorched and ashy and the skin around was red and swelling. The cut on his shin was long and sallow, slowly oozing blood.

There was nothing he could do, Techno sighed, twisting his pant leg to try and cover the wound. He stood up, brushing dust and dirt off his clothes and face, and climbed out of the cave.

He shuffled through the fourth ring, making a pit stop at Skeppy’s and throwing the fungi through the hole in his broken window then headed towards the Captain’s house.

Techno tried to walk as normally as possible to avoid stares from the people who were just trying to get to work. He managed to get to the Captain house and dropped the nuggets of gold into a flower pot by the door then set off home.

He didn’t know the time but by judging the amount of people out in the streets Tommy would be at school and Phil, hopefully Wilbur too, would be at work.

Techno hobbled into their apartment and felt a rush of relief upon seeing the place empty. After stashing his sword under his bed he went into the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit. He gingerly cleaned the wound and wrapped a bandage around it.

He was trying to push off sleep so he started on housework, dishes, laundry, and tidying up. He stitched up the ends of his pants then gave in to the tiredness and fell asleep on the couch.

Someone prodded at his shoulder, rubbing at his eyes he saw Wilbur leaning over him, “Oh thank god you’re alive.”

Techno sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes, “Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Wilbur licked his lips nervously, “We were all pretty worried when you weren’t home this morning,” He trailed off, Techno looked away, he forgot they assumed he was going to duel.

“I-I’m, uh, sorry about that, I’m fine.”

“It’s alright,” Wilbur paused, “but are you okay? You’ve been really, uh, weird lately.”

“What?”

“You’ve look like a wreck, I haven’t seen you like this in years-”

“I’m fine Wilbur, don’t worry about it.” Techno said flippantly.

“Okay but whenever you say to ‘not worry about something’ that makes me worry more.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Wilbur let out a defeated laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Should’ve known you were just going to blow off the question.”

Techno raised an eyebrow, “Okay, uh rude.”

“Yeah I’m definitely being the rude one here-”

“You kind of are-”

“I’m trying to make sure you are okay and you’re being an asshole but that’s normal for you so I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“I told you I’m fine, you’re the one whos being an asshole.”

Wilbur shook his head, “We have been worried about you for weeks! Those damn duels are becoming more and more frequent and you have been acting like a paranoid cunt!”

“Why are you all so hung up on the duels?” Techno glared at Wilbur, rising to his feet. He was trying to fight the rising panic in his chest, he didn’t trust himself to not slip up about the Nether. “I’ve been doing them forever but now everyone has a problem with it?”

“We’ve always had a problem with them! Techno you could get seriously injured! We just let you go on with them because you’re so damn stubborn!”

“Well thank you so much for allowing me to provide for you guys, its a fucking wonderful opportunity.” Techno threw his hands out to the sides, Wilbur sighed again.

“It’s impossible to have a conversation with you-”

“With me? You change the subject every minute, I’m getting whiplash.”

Wilbur groaned, “That’s it, I’m too tired for this, I tried to care but no it’s over. You win. You fucking win.” He stalked off to his room and closed the door much too loudly.

Techno flopped back down onto the couch, rubbing his temples, that was bad. He didn’t want to fight with Wilbur but he didn’t know what to do.

So he sat there, staring at the wall and trying to formulate some type of apology but kept coming up short. He got up and tried to start something for dinner, willing Tommy or Phil to get home and fill the quiet of the apartment.

They had a box of pasta and a can of beans, Techno opted for the pasta and started boiling water. Phil came home a little while later, talking about his weird day at work and Techno was thankful for the background noise, the anxiety adrenaline was starting to wear off when Techno remembered Tommy.

He looked at the clock, 6:34, Tommy should have been home by now. Logically he knew Tommy was probably just running late but all he could think about was a guard grabbing him off the side of the road and shipping him off to god knows where.

Techno tapped his fingers nervously against the counter, “Did Tommy say he was going to be late?”

Phil shook his head, “I didn’t hear him say anything like that, he’s probably fine though, you know how he is.”

Techno nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy, he could be kidnapped or hurt, waiting for someone to come help him. It hit Techno that some of the guards could’ve taken him and his blood ran cold. They could’ve grabbed Tommy just like they grabbed him and he would just be gone, they wouldn’t be able to find him again.

What if someone noticed him sneaking out, connected the dots, and grabbed Tommy as a hostage. They could try to trade him for money or resources, they could report everything-

“-hno? Techno!” Techno was knocked back into reality with pots clattering and fire sizzling filing his ears. The pot was boiling over. He rushed to take off the lid and turn off the heat.

“Techno, are you okay?” Phil placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m worried about Tommy, he should be here by now.” Techno couldn’t stop his hand from shaking.

“Do you want to go look for him? We’d probably intercept him on his way home from Tubbo’s.”

Techno nodded, he grabbed his shoes as Phil called for Wilbur. He whipped the door open and rushed down the rusty stairs, Phil and Wilbur trying to catch up.

It was cold out, the sun was setting and the wind was sharp and strong. Techno moved quickly along Tommy’s normal route, eyes flickering frantically from building to building, he tried to pick up on every sound and movement.

Wilbur came up behind him,“Techno, calm down. He’s probably just running late.”

“What if he’s not?” Techno didn’t voice his other thoughts and continued down the street, getting increasingly worried.

They had been looking for 10 minutes and it was getting darker which put Phil on edge too.

“He should’ve a least started home by now.”

“You guys worry too much, Tommy is a smart kid, he’s fine.” Wilbur said reassuringly, Techno could hear the nervousness pricking in his voice.

Techno heard something crash up ahead and ran, skidding to a halt to see Tommy trying to set someone’s trash can up straight. He ran up to him, looking him over.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah?” Tommy gave him a weird look, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Techno couldn't express in words how much he wanted to simultaneously slap the kid upside the head and hold him and never let go.

“I was just worried, you were late and it’s dark out.” He tried to coat his words with his normal nonchantelness.

Wilbur and Phil came up behind him, visibly relaxing when they spotted Tommy.

“See! I told you guys he was fine, you were worried for nothing.” Wilbur said, satisfied.

“You guys were that worried about me?” Tommy asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It was mainly Techno-” Wilbur was cut off as Techno elbowed him.

“Aww, well, sorry I didn’t mean to worry you. I was trying to take a shortcut through the alleys and got lost.”

Techno sighed, Tommy was fine. He wasn’t trying to escape anyone, he wasn’t hurt, everything was fine. He could feel Tommy’s eyes bore into him but he ignored it as Wilbur walked forwards, messing up Tommy’s hair and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Let's get back home, hopefully Techno didn’t burn dinner.”

“Oh fuck the pasta-” Techno was okay with ignoring his and Wilbur’s argument, he was too drained to want to fight anymore tonight.

Everything seemed alright except Tommy was oddly quiet the rest of the night.

#mcyt #tommyinnit #minecraft youtubers #wilbur soot #philza #technoblade #mcyt DFF AU #Apples Writing #family dynamics #sleepyblr #Sleepyboisinc #angst #fanfiction #fanfic #chapter 3 #rbs are appreciated!

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