#I accidentally stayed up until half past five drawing these guys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Summary: Roman and Remus have always fought, always. But this time they’re teaming up for something they both agree on. Getting their mentors together.

A/N: for @aimasup and @pixeldragon45 I might have taken some liberties with the story but I hope you guys like it. I wrote this after seeing this amazing post by aimasup.

Two brothers, royal born but divided in every single way. The elder twin strove for honor and chivalry, raised in the royal court around the other knights and the tales of rulers and knights from the kingdom’s history in ages past. Some stories were true, others had been exaggerated more than a bit.

The younger twin had been mostly shoved into his elder brother’s shadow — a brother who was older by little less than an hour — and quickly began to act out as a result.

They quickly began to be divided on the battlefield. The younger prince had been kidnapped one day by a powerful shape changing mage when he was sixteen and just decided not to go back and the royal knights found him playing old maid with her in the tower, and he threw them out the door with a note for his parents and brother.

He had declared himself “the monsters’ problem now” and was not coming back.

It was Prince of Sanders Roman’s sword and “good” magic, versus Duke of the Dark Wood Remus’s pranks and illusions.

But that is not today’s story. The fight between good and evil is for another day.

On the edge of the city, bordering the untamable Dark Woods where monsters called home, there was a tavern. It was on a trade road that went around the woods and towards the neighboring kingdom. The tavern was a way stop before reaching the capital city of Roman’s kingdom.

It was absolutely pouring down rain when a cloaked young man ran into the tavern. He pulled down his hood after looking around the tavern. Prince Roman had come to this tavern frequently, it was considered neutral ground because the caravans that came through, the residents of the Dark Woods traded between each other and the merchants protected their clients.

Against a wall, Roman spotted his brother sitting at a table, a plate of food and three empty mugs of ale next to him.

Roman walked over and naturally turned up his nose at the magic keeping Remus from getting too tipsy. “You couldn’t wait until I got in could you?”

“Ahh, brother,” Remus smiled. “I got hungry, I got bored. There’s a very cute bartender over there.”

Remus blew a kiss and waggled his fingers at the young man in question.

“Focus,” Roman hissed at him.

Remus smiled, “So I take it you received my letter?”

“You contemptuous oaf,” Roman sneered at Remus. Roman was pulling out of his cloak a dirt speckled note that had a stick figure drawing of Roman’s fairy godmother and Remus’s mentor, the dragon witch, on it holding hands. The words: canon ship xoxoxoxo maybe?!?! Meet me at the Salty Unicorn at 10pm if you agree plz thx; were written, half scrunched into the left corner of the paper as if the second half was an unplanned addition. On the front it was addressed to: my horridly good brother, Roman; from: your bestest coolest brother, Remus.

Roman shook the note violently. “Did you write this in mud? Mother would have you raked over hot coal for a note this foul!”

Remus clapped in excitement, “So you’ll help me?”

“What type of cad do you take me for?” Roman scoffed, throwing the note down onto the table. “Of course I will.”

Shaking his hands, Remus just about squealed in delight, his smile widening. “The journey will be perilous, brother.”

“Oh please, it will be easy,” Roman scoffed. “It’s true love, and they are already smitten. Half of our job is done for us.”

It was, in fact, not easy. It was easy for the two princes to get back to their homes. But when they met back up at the border of the Dark Woods a couple weeks later, Roman challenged Remus to come out and fight him. The royal prince had to fight several goblins before Remus showed up, mace in hand and swinging it around wildly like a maniac. He managed to hit three goblins, who didn’t scramble away fast enough, in the face before he made contact with Roman’s shield.

Buzzing around Roman was a bright blue hummingbird, a little puffball of feathers and magic. She was fluttering around the royal prince, magic coming off her wings like glitter.

During the twin’s duel for honor and a bit of fun, a flash of shadow flew across as a large bat flew towards him and hit the hummingbird out of the air.

“You fiend!” Roman spat as the hummingbird seemed to glow and in an explosion of feathers a woman appeared in a billowing blue and white dress, the little jewel beads of the dress glittering and sparkling in the light. For a second or two she looked like she was covered in soft down before having more human light tan skin.

“That was a cheap shot,” Althea the fairy godmother reminded tersely as the Dragon Witch turned from a bat to a bony witch in a very dark red dress, her skin an ivory ash color.

“Please it’s almost like you wanted to get hit,” the Dragon Witch reminded. “Besides you two were gaining up on my sweet Remus.”

Althea swept her hair back, which frustrated the Dragon Witch because even in a fight it always looked flowing and fluffy.

“Give up,” the Dragon Witch smiled. “These woods are ours.”

“Never!” Althea shouted. “Your reign of terror is over.”

Lights and magic flew across the battlefield. In the end Remus and Roman had tied again as the Dragon Witch was thrown back by a gust of wind.

“Meddling child,” the Dragon Witch spat.

“Surly, caustic witch,” Althea snapped back. “Be gone and go back to your unhallowed woods. We are victorious.”

“I clearly won,” the Dragon Witch smiled smugly.

Althea made a little angry pout, crossing her arms in a huff, “You’ve done no such thing. Even if you two did win, it would only be because you both cheated.”

The Dragon Witch had some big gloating tirade of sarcastic insults, but seeing her little pout where she puffed out her cheeks a bit and looked like she was sticking her tongue to the inside of her cheek and . . . she . . . what was she going to say again? Something about her cute face? No, Althea would just make fun of her for that.

“Yeah? Well you . . .” The Dragon Witch tried not to look absolutely flustered. “. . . you’re just a poor sport.”

Althea looked angrier while the Dragon Witch was just internally screaming. Poor sport? Who says that? What are you five? Did you just get kicked out of the academy?

Remus was standing behind them, a huge toothy grin on his face that made the Dragon Witch want to have his face dragged in the mud or put worms in his stew.

Glancing at her student again she saw that both he and Roman had stopped fighting and the two of them were just watching the two mages arguing. The whole thing smacked of a trick of some kind and right now the Dragon Witch couldn’t figure out what type of trap that meant.

So she appreciated whatever the hustle was, even though she doubted that Remus had turned on her. He would be up front about it, and predictably violent.

He was a good kid so . . .

She looked over at Roman who seemed to be just as excited as Remus was, except he was staring at Althea . . .

“Wait a second,” the Dragon Witch realized.

“I will not be waiting any seconds,” Althea refused, not understanding.

The Dark Woods mage immediately remembered that the good witch had been talking to her and she had been ignoring her. But one look at her face reminded the witch why she had a crush in the first place.

“Yes or no?” Althea ordered, pointing at her?

“Uh,” the Dragon Witch stalled, staring at her, “no?”

Althea’s face got a bit fuzzy with her anger, the feathers around her face was almost a pinking color.

She looks so adora— no, don’t she’ll just turn you down.

“I can’t believe this, you’re so frustrating,” Althea huffed out. She stomped her feet a bit and grabbed Roman, “We’re leaving.”

“But you didn’t . . . I mean, justice,” Roman sputtered as he was dragged towards a carriage that had been hiding up the road to stay out of the fight.

“Don’t say a word,” the Dragon Witch ordered Remus as they watched them walk away.

“Why Maggie?” Remus smiled, setting his hands and chin on the hilt of his mace.

“If you don’t, I’ll use your tongue for a gibberish concoction,” she threatened.

“Awwww,” Remus’s grin was particularly sharkish. “Someone’s just being a poor sport.”

The Dragon Witch whipped her staff around and lightly cuffed him on the back of the head.

Inside Roman’s carriage, the royal prince was just listening to his fairy godmother rant at him.

Althea was sitting with her face buried in her hands, her face red as a tomato. “That woman is so infuriating! Ugh, what kind of game is she playing?”

“Who knows with them?” Roman shrugged.

“Maybe if she wasn’t so cute, I’d know what to say,” Althea accidentally said out loud.

She blushed even harder with embarrassment and looked up at Roman. “Uh, I mean—”

Roman stared at her for a second before pulling apart the divider behind them and turning to yell, “Cam! Turn this cart around, we got a date to catch!”

“Roman!” Althea yelled, her face getting even redder. “She’s the queen of the Dark Woods!”

“And the Dark Woods is about to get themselves another fabulous queen,” Roman proclaimed.

The cart had stopped, the driver turned around in his seat to verify, “Are you sure you want to go back to the Dark Woods, Sir?”

“Oh yeah,” Roman smiled. “I know we’re only three minutes out. We could walk there. Oh, and you and Quil are about to cough up five pounds a piece.”

“Roman!” Althea shrieked as the carriage began to move back towards the haunted woods.

“It’s true love, my darlingest mentor,” Roman insisted, “and I have it on good authority that she thinks you’re good looking.”

Althea got even redder, “Who told you that?”

“Well Remus was cruder but I understood the intent,” Roman answered.

“He could be lying,” Althea accused.

“Please, my brother is the worst liar in all the kingdoms,” Roman defended, almost offended for the brother he fought on a regular basis’s honor. “He’s crude, rude, and violent, but he is no liar.”

“She really likes me?” Althea asked.

“How could she not?” Roman demanded. “Now, we have true love to prepare for my dear.”

“Let’s just start at a first date, Roman,” Althea insisted. “It’s a little soon for anything like that.”

“You’ll see,” Roman smiled, looking out the window. “She’s over the moon for you.”

Eventually the carriage stopped because Remus was standing in the middle of the road with the Dragon Witch next to him.

Roman opened a top hatch in the carriage, “Ahh, good, we were just about to go and find you two again.”

“I’d like your men to stop accosting my woods,” the Dragon Witch spat.

“When you get your marauding bandits to stop attacking my people,” Roman bargained.

“How about when you pay my woods back for generations of war crimes?” The Dragon Witch’s eyebrow shot up.

“We shouldn’t have to defend ourselves from being set on fire,” Roman reminded. “I’d be happy to start calling off the war if we could trust you won’t pick up arms against us the moment we have our backs turned.”

“Ugh!” Remus complained. “We’re not here to talk about politics! We’re here to talk about two lovely ladies getting freaky!”

“Ah, thank you Remus,” Roman clapped his hands, smiling. “Thank you, for once, for getting us back on topic.”

Roman waved his hands and when his hand came back up Althea in her hummingbird form was perched on two of his fingers. The royal prince exited the carriage with her, clearing her throat. “Queen Dragon Witch of the Dark Woods, I present to you the Good Witch of the Sanders Kingdom. She is as intelligent as she is brave and you shall be permitted to court her on the grounds that you vow to honor and cherish her, to treat her as the lady she is.”

“That’s it?” The Dragon Witch asked, clearly braced for more.

“Yeah, she has to vow the same,” Remus cut in.

“Naturally, my mentor is no brute,” Roman agreed.

“No I meant is he going to demand anything else of me,” the Dragon Witch told Remus.

Roman briefly ran over his speech in his head and ducked back in to grab the paper he had rehearsed with, reading back over it, “honor and cherish . . . no I got everything.”

“No land, no unfavorable terms?” The Dragon Witch seemed surprised and astonished.

The royal prince made an offended gasp, “My great-great grandfather’s petty squabbles have no bearing when love is on the table. Naturally if any deals for land and power are to be carried out, our courts should both be here for that.”

The Dragon Witch just stared at Roman for a bit before smiling, “You know, you’re a spoiled rich human brat, but I think you’ll actually make a good king one day.”

“Thanks?” Roman wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or not. “I think?”

The Dragon Witch held out her hand and Althea transformed back, looking a little bit nervous. “You really are the most beautiful fairy in the lands,” the Dragon Witch told her.

Althea was just staring at her, “You are too.”

The twin brothers were standing close to the carriage and Roman’s driver, the three of them just watching the two of them talking.

“Janny owes me big for this,” Remus was almost cackling.

“Are you making deals with that snake?” Roman critiqued.

“How about you get off my ass and let me live my life?” Remus glared at him. “Besides his mother is happy, what could be better than that?”

“You do have to admit,” Cam said to Roman from his seat above them, “they do look happy.”

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, acquiescing on that front.

The two witches talked for a bit before they inevitably had to part ways. They would meet again on the battlefield, but next time it would be a not-so-quiet show of magic, designed to impress rather than harm.

#The High Tower #fantasy au #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #dragon witch x fairy godmother #Dragon Witch #Fairy Godmother #gay panic

260 notes · View notes

gobayern16 · 3 years

Link

This is my gift work for @bad-batch-of-fics for the Star Wars Valentines Exchange! I hope you enjoy!!! And thank you so much @lilhawkeye3 for hosting @starwarsfandomfests !

Tags: Reader/Fives, Enemies to Lovers, Modern AU, Fives being annoying gym bro, but he has a good reason!, Gender Neutral Reader

The loud clang of weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles. And incredibly handsome, your mind unhelpfully points out.

Or: Your morning gym routine, and your life, gets interrupted by the appearance of a well-intentioned nuisance.

No Y/N used.

There’s a bird outside your bedroom window, singing the song of its people as loudly as it can. You blink blearily at the ceiling, mind hazy with sleep. A quick glance at the alarm clock indicates five minutes until it rings, so with a sigh you roll out of bed, shutting the alarm off as you go.

The bright light of the bathroom does an excellent job of waking you up, and you hum under your breath as you go about your morning routine.

Dressed in workout clothes, you double check you have your keys, phone, and a towel before leaving your apartment. You take the stairs down to the complex gym, jumping the last four steps in a sudden burst of energy.

You don’t see anyone on the short walk to the entrance, 630am being apparently too early for many of the residents of your complex to be awake. The sun is barely peeking in through the windows, and the snow piled on the sidewalk makes you glad everything is indoors.

There are a handful of people already there, but not so many that you have to worry about getting adequate time on the various machines.

You’re almost done with your last set of bicep curls when they walk in. You pay just enough attention to check which equipment the two men are going to use, just a quick glance in the mirror, as you couldn’t care less about the other patrons, before concentrating on your workout again.

But then the talking starts.

It’s easy to tune out at first, focused as you are on counting your reps.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles. And incredibly handsome, your mind unhelpfully points out.

The bald one with the huge facial tattoo smacks the other on the arm with a loud “Watch it, dipshit! If you break it, they’re gonna kick us out!”

His friend just laughs, a warm, vibrant sound that makes you flush. His eyes crinkle, drawing attention to the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. Who the hell tattoos their face?

“It’s fine, Jesse.” He dismisses the other man’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “Now, you gonna try and beat my number? Or you just gonna stand there, complaining and stalling?”

Jesse squawks in outrage, immediately reaching for the discarded weights.

You huff, turning back to your own weights as the bickering picks up volume again. You hurry through your set, all the while mentally cursing the handsome nuisances with their powerful arms and thick thighs for cutting your workout short. It’d be too distracting to finish on the rowing machine like you usually do — the machine is across the room and it’d only give you a better view of their shifting muscles and gorgeous tan skin on display.

You glance at the stranger with the ‘5’ tattoo one last time as you walk past them to the exit, blushing but staring back in challenge when you accidentally make eye contact. You pick up your pace to the exit, hearing laughter and a smack behind you.

You never notice the third man sitting on a nearby bench, prosthetics gleaming in the light.

🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️

Pushing through the gym doors, you groan at the sounds that greet you. The loudmouth and his equally aggravating friend were here again. This was the sixth time in two weeks! Your coworkers were even starting to ask if something was wrong, since you were coming in grumpy so often, mood soured by an unenjoyable workout.

You make your way over to the mats that are unfortunately right next to them, grabbing a resistance band on the way. Settling into the first of your stretches, you try to ignore the running commentary and aggressive grunting. You would not injure yourself because one disgustingly handsome tattooed stranger caused you to cut your stretching short!

You shake out all your limbs, checking for any soreness or tight muscles. Feeling loose and limber, you replace the resistance band and move to the treadmill slightly further away.

The only upside to those two clowns, you think as you program the treadmill, is that I’ve become stronger, faster because I try to spend as little time here as possible. Working out at a different time isn’t an option; work is too demanding for you to exercise after you get home in the evenings and you refuse to skip mornings just to avoid them.

So your only option is early morning and dealing with the Terrible Twosome.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, before turning on the treadmill.

As the bickering behind you turns into an argument, you think you might set a personal best just to get away from them.

🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️

The clack of billiard balls colliding recedes into the background as you lean against the bar counter, patiently waiting for the bartender to finish with their current customer. It’s pretty empty for a Wednesday evening, so you don’t mind watching them as they mix the drinks with quick, efficient movements, placing them on the bar counter with little fanfare. Transaction completed, they wipe their hands on a towel and move towards you.

“What can I get you?”

“Could I please get a Manhattan, a Rum Collins, a Tequila Sunrise, and a Diet Coke?” You pause, trying to remember what else your friends had requested. “Oh, and three shots of your best tequila, please.” The bartender nods, pulling down the requisite glasses for the drinks, starting with the shot glasses.

“That’s gonna be a lot to carry for one person,” a voice interjects from your left. “Need a hand?”

“No thanks, I can—” You turn, breaking off as you get a good look at the stranger next to you. At the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. “YOU!” You’d laugh at his look of shock if you weren’t overcome with sudden anger. “Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with the racket you’re always making?”

He gapes, helpless in the face of the outburst a month in the making.

“Mornings are supposed to be calm and peaceful! And your grunting and smack talking ruin it!”

“Is everything alright here?” The bartender’s stern interruption makes you abruptly aware of how you’ve gotten up in the stranger’s face, finger poking his chest. You flush in shame at making a scene, ducking your head and opening your mouth to apologize when the stranger beats you to it.

“We’re fine. I was just leaving actually. I don’t want to cause any trouble.” The reasonable voice cuts you, deepens your shame, and you reach out to catch the stranger’s arm before he can leave.

“Wait! I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.” You lift your head, determined to make eye contact and fully own up to your behavior. “I’ve needed to get that off my chest for a while, but that doesn’t mean you deserved to be ranted at. Can I buy your next drink to make up for it?”

He regards you for several long moments, dark eyes intense before brightening with humor, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “Sure, why not. Never turn down a free drink, huh?”

His full attention is enough to leave you tongue-tied, and you barely manage a nod. Glad I tried to stay away from him at the gym. I’d have definitely hurt myself if he looked at me like this.

He stares at you, lifting an eyebrow as he glances down at his arm. You follow his gaze, choking on your breath as you realize you’re still clutching his arm. You hurriedly let go, cheeks heating as you mumble another apology.

“No harm done,” he chuckles, relaxing to slouch against the bar counter. “I’ll have the IPA on tap, please.”

At his order, you’re reminded the bartender witnessed everything and you cringe, hoping they don’t throw you out for yelling at another patron for no apparent reason. But to your relief they simply move to fill the beer.

“So.”

You look up at your companion (you should really ask him for his name). “Mind telling me what I’ve done that warranted getting ranted at?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. It serves to make him even cuter and you have to look away, face burning.

“Well, you see, um…” Just spit it out, can’t embarrass yourself any worse. “We go to the same gym at the same time, and you’re always talking and being loud, and it’s really annoying and distracting.”

When several seconds tick by with no reply, you look up to find him grimacing.

“Oh, that. Ah,” he pauses, rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole and that I have a really good reason for it.”

Really? There’s a good reason for dropping weights and getting into arguments with your gym partner?

Your disbelief must be obvious, because he straightens up from his slouch, fire kindling in his eyes. “I draw attention to myself so people ignore my twin. He’s there every morning too, and if you haven’t noticed him, then what I’m doing seems to be working.”

“You mean the guy with the huge, questionable face tattoo?” you interrupt, eyebrow raised. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s just as noticeable as you are.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, Jesse’s my friend. He comes with me so it’s easier. Echo has prosthetics from a really bad car accident that left him a triple amputee. He doesn’t want people to stare at them while he works out, so I act up so people focus on me. ”

Shit. You laugh awkwardly. “Uh, congrats then. It definitely worked. I only remember ever seeing you and Jesse.” You lapse into silence, not sure how to continue the conversation.

Eventually, the stranger huffs. “Look, let’s start over, okay? Clearly neither of us is good at first impressions.”

That’s a massive understatement. You snort, ruefully shaking your head. “Sure. Let me take these drinks back to my friends, and then we can find somewhere to talk?” The last part drifts up in a question.

“Sounds like a plan.” He grins crookedly. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, inclining your head at him in a short goodbye before turning to grab the now full tray of drinks. You head back to your friends, the weight of his eyes on your back making something inside you shiver in anticipation. You hope your friends didn’t notice how long it took you to come back, but that hope is dashed immediately.

“What was that all about? You got kind of up in that guy’s face. Mirage was about to check on you when the bartender interrupted you guys.” Their palpable concern brings your shame rushing back. You squash it down, reminding yourself that not only had you already apologized, but you were going to reintroduce yourself.

“Nah, it was just a misunderstanding. I’m actually going to sit down and talk with him.” That sets the wolf among the hens, and you do your best to ignore their questions and suggestions as you grab your jacket.

Diet Coke in hand, you gaze around the bar until you find the stranger. You slide into the booth across from him and smile nervously, butterflies making a reappearance. He smiles back at you, and you sit in silence for a moment, neither of you sure how to restart the conversation. Gathering your courage, you take a deep breath.

“So, I gotta ask.”

He visibly tenses, smile growing a little strained.

“What’s with the tattoo? Does it have some special meaning?”

He relaxes at the question, clearly having expected something else. In fact, if he wasn’t so tan, you would say he was blushing.

“It has to do with my name.” He coughs. “Well, my nickname.”

“Oh?” Now you’re really intrigued.

“Yeah. I’m the fifth of five kids, fifth with the name Felix, and part of the fifth set of twins to be born in my extended family that year. I heard it a lot, and at some point decided my name was gonna be Fives.”

You raise your eyebrows, amusement coloring your voice. “Really? You decided to name yourself after a number?”

“In my defense, I was four and Great Uncle Felix spent the whole party counting all the Felixes, and always pointed at me when he said five.”

You don’t try to stop the laugh bubbling up in your chest, Fives joining in with a rueful chuckle of his own. “Not my finest moment. What about you? Does your name have any “special” meaning?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “It’s kind of the opposite of yours, actually. My parents had two names in mind for me and went with the one that wasn’t shared with five of their immediate relatives.”

The ice properly broken between you two, the conversation flows easily. Fives is full of interesting stories, having led a very interesting and action-packed life, and you get lost in his passionate retellings, sucked in by his expressions and gestures.

You’re so absorbed in your conversation that it’s a shock when the bartender comes over to inform you the bar is closing in half an hour.

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Fives winks at you, grinning roguishly. You laugh, shaking your head in amusement at his antics.

Putting on your jacket, you call a goodbye to the bartender before leaving, Fives gallantly accompanying you to your car.

“Don’t want anything to happen to you.” He shrugs, suddenly bashful.

Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. Hours ago, you would have never considered thoughtfulness and Fives in the same sentence, but you knew better now. The regrettably short walk to your car passes in comfortable silence, the beep of unlocking startlingly loud in the late night quiet.

“So…”

You turn to Fives, head tilted in a silent question. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, seemingly gathering his courage before making eye contact.

“I had a really good time tonight, and I was wondering if I could get your number so we could meet up again.”

Your smile feels like it splits your face. “I’d love that.”

Numbers exchanged, you pause, debating with yourself, before thinking fuck it and stepping close to press a kiss to Fives’ cheek.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Fives.” You get into your car, Fives standing stockstill with a dopey smile on his face. He moves out of the way when you start your car, but he’s still grinning the whole time he’s visible in your rearview mirror.

(Next time turns into a coffee date, turns into lunch, turns into dinner, and pretty soon you’ve been dating for 6 months. He introduces you to Echo and Jesse, and they both question your taste in men. Fives’ feigned outrage (“I am a catch, thank you!”) hides his relief at all of you getting along. The gym routine doesn't get any less annoying.)

#Clone Wars #arc trooper fives #reader #gb's writing #valentine's fic exchange 2021 #enemies to lovers

24 notes · View notes

thepandapopo · 4 years

Text

Absolute Truths

This idea wormed its way into my head and for the life of me I couldn’t get it out.

This oneshot is a little longer than the stuff I usually write (a whopping 8539 words), but I loved every minute of it. I tried editing it to the best of my ability, but honestly I suck at that. No beta, we die like Glenn. #SorryNotSorry #TooSoon ?

Please note this is non canon. The time frame for this is sometime after the Battle of Gronder post time skip and it is a mash up of the GD and BL routes (ie. Dimitri joins Claude and is no longer crazy; Rodrigue still dies. RIP).

Cross posted to ao3.

Pairing: Sylvain x Felix

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and PTSD

Synopsis:

When Felix and Sylvain get hit with a dark magic spell that reverts them back to children, the Resistance Army gets a deeper look into their bond and learn 5 absolute truths that form the foundation of their relationship.

5 undeniable facts of Sylvain and Felix’s relationship.

Word Count: 8539

“Felix!”

Fuck. Sylvain loses sight of him for only a minute but that is all the enemy needs to overwhelm the already bombarded swordmaster.

Pulling the reigns sharply to the left, the Paladin charges across the battlefield, skewering any unfortunate enemies that dare block his way, the lance of ruin glowing like a beacon of fury despite the thick coating of blood on it. The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and dark magic, making it hard to breathe and blurring the red head’s vision. Regardless, Sylvain presses on; determined to get to his best friend in time before the group of mages over the hill finish casting… whatever ominous looking spell they are aiming at Felix.

“Sylvain, get out of here!” Felix shouts angrily, not even pausing his fighting to face the sight of Bella charging her way through the throng with her master astride her.

Shit. Felix cuts down another enemy.

It is never ending. No matter how many falls to his blade, another two enemies take their place. Felix isn’t stupid – he can see the group of mages prepping a dark magic spell in the distance, which makes him even angrier when he spots Sylvain riding to his aid.

Like hell he’ll give his childhood friend another reason to toss himself into harms way. Felix isn’t weak. He doesn’t need protection. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Sylvain to be the one who gets hurt trying to fix his mistakes just because he got a little too cocky and split from the rest of his battalion.

“Fuck.” Felix grunts and pushes his sword hard to disengage the thief that has him in a sword lock. He doesn’t bother to see if he is being pursued and dashes towards Sylvain who is now dismounting a short distance away, Lance of Ruin making quick work of anyone who strays too close for comfort.

Sylvain was undoubtedly within hit range of the spell now. If that idiot insists on being his usual self-sacrificing self, then the least Felix can do is use his own body to shield the older man and take the brunt of the damage.

The tell-tale crackle of magic behind him sets the hair on his nape standing.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

He isn’t going to make it. Damn Sylvain for being so slow – this is exactly why he keeps telling him to take his training more seriously-!

“Fe!”

The last thing he knows before succumbing to the darkness is a hard chest plate knocking the wind out of him and warm, strong arms that remind him of summers spent with a heart lighter than air.

----

1. Sylvain always has, and always will protect Felix until the day he dies.

Leonie is one of two on the first shift of babysitting duty.

Undeniably, the orange haired paladin would be the first to admit that she wasn’t the greatest with kids, however there is only so much the tiny, and thankfully unconscious, Fraldarius boy can do given his current predicament.

No one really knows what happened after the enemy spell envelops Felix and Sylvain, the larger of the two curled protectively around his companion as they fall. No one even knows what the spell is.

But what they do know is that now, instead of a regular sized Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier, they have a chubby cheeked blue haired cherub and an unfairly-cute-even-as-a-child ginger.

It is in the middle of bemoaning her poor luck at drawing straws when the mini-Felix begins to stir and she feels panic clawing its way up her throat.

“Ngghh…” small, unscarred hands balled into fist come up to rub at bleary amber eyes before they widen almost comically as they take in his surroundings.

“Uhh… hey.” His gaze snaps towards Leonie and she can feel her terror rising with mini Felix’s hysteria, clearly evident by the shiny glaze beginning to cloud his eyes and the fat crocodile tears gathering at the edges of his almond eyes.

“It’s okay, Felix. It’s just me.” She reaches out a hand tentatively in a placating gesture, but quickly withdraws back as young Felix lets out a squeak and scurries as far back into the corner of the bed as he can get, taking his older self’s wool Fraldarius crest blanket with him, as if it could shield him.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” The poor thing is absolutely terrified and damn it, Leonie wants to comfort him, but she is equally as distressed here and this is exactly why she didn’t want to babysit.

“It’s me, Leonie. You don’t… you don’t recognize me?”

It comes out sounding more like a statement than a question.

It’s so painfully obvious that little Felix has no idea who she is.

Which means he doesn’t have his memories.

Which means they are down two of their best generals.

Which means they are well and truly fucked.

So, Leonie does the only thing she can logically think to do.

“Come on,” She says, rising from her bedside chair and reaching for his arm. “We need to go tell Linheartd that the situation is much worse than we had originally thought.” But as soon as her hand wraps around his forearm, Felix screams.

“Oh shi-! Felix! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you!”

If anything, this just seems to have the opposite effect and the wails increase to near piercing.

Leonie thinks it may be a trick of her mind, and probably her ears because holy crap does little Felix have a set of lungs on him, but she is pretty sure that Felix is screaming out a name.

Specifically, a name belonging to a certain red head that is, the last time she checked anyways, unconscious two doors down from his room and currently being watched over by Caspar.

“Fe!” The door bursts open and suddenly there is chaos.

Was being watched over by Caspar, Leonie amends in her mind.

“Get back here!” The blue haired warrior lunges and swipes his arm out trying to catch mini Sylvain who is slipperier than a fish in water, using his short height to duck between legs and launch himself onto the bed.

“Leave Fe alone!” Honey brown eyes that are so very familiar yet also so different, are glaring holes into Leonie and Caspar, proudly defiant and blazing with determination. Short arms stuffed into the smallest adult shirt they could find on short notice stretch out protectively, completely shielding Felix from sight.

“S-Sylvain,” comes the little sob from behind him and the older boy spares a second to throw a comforting smile behind him. “Don’t worry, Fe. I’ll protect you.” And Goddess, he sounds so genuine and earnest that it makes Leonie wonder what happened to cause their Sylvain to hide behind fake laughs and charming lilts of the tongue.

“Sorry, Leonie.” Caspar is gasping for air like he has just run a marathon. “I tried to keep him in his room but as soon as he heard Felix screaming, he was out faster than I could blink.”

“Ugh. Just go get Ingrid and the Professor.”

----

2. Sylvain hates himself and his crest, but Felix likes him in spite of it.

A day later finds Ingrid watching over the five year old Felix (“What?! He’s five? But he’s so tiny.” “Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll cry again.”) and seven year old Sylvain.

“Just stay in this area, okay?” She calls out over the din of raucous laughter echoing throughout the courtyard. “I don’t want you two wandering off and getting into trouble.”

The play wrestling pauses for a brief moment and little Sylvain sticks out a tongue at her.

“We don’t get into trouble! You’re just a party pooper!”

“Yeah! Party pooper!”

Shoving down the urge to smack her childhood friends into the next moon, Ingrid settles for watching with pursed lips as Felix dissolves into giggles, Sylvain’s grabby hands finding purchase in his sides and tickling him relentlessly. The look of such carefree happiness on their faces makes her heart clench and eyes sting.

If Ingrid is being completely honest… she misses this.

She remembers what it was like not carrying around a broken heart for a man buried six feet under, his remains not even whole enough to bring home. Back when she could play wrestle with Fe, Sylvie, and Dima in the dirt and then go to Glenn to kiss her knee better when one of them inevitably accidentally activated their crest and used too much strength, resulting in tears and scrapes and bruises.

It doesn’t do her any good to dwell on the past.

The dead should be left to rest, and the living should move on.

For an emotionally constipated guy, Felix is dead on with his philosophy.

Though she has long come to terms with her betrothed’s death, the small sliver of envy she has for her two oldest friends still lingers in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.

They’re lucky that they still have each other, even though they spend half the time bickering and denying their feelings.

“Is that the Gautier boy?”

Two monastery staff members stop beneath the path archway and look with undisguised admiration.

“So handsome at such a young age!”

“And I hear he’s incredibly charming too.”

Ingrid knows that Sylvain and hear them. He has always been keen of hearing, especially when it involves others gossiping about himself, for better or for worse.

Felix takes advantage of Sylvain’s distraction to get the upper hand and rolls on top, completely oblivious to the onlookers.

“If I were his mother, I would have secured him a betrothed as soon as he was tested for a crest.”

A hum of agreement. “Yes. His family is blessed with good looks so it would not be hard to secure an advantageous match. The Gautier line will likely continue on stronger than ever with such a prized heir.”

“Sylvain? Why did you stop?”

Felix is all wide eyes and adorable pouty cheeks, staring confusedly down at his best friend underneath him who has gone strangely silent with a strangled expression.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

The two gossipmongers snap to attention at Ingrid’s sharp tone, her expression clearly telling them to get the hell out of here or risk facing her wrath.

With rushed replies of “yes, sorry miss!” and “our apologies”, they scurry off down the pathway and disappear around the corner.

But unfortunately, the damage is already done.

“Sylvain? What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

Gently, the older boy extricates himself from Felix’s death grip of a grapple and stands up with his eyes cast downwards. “Sorry, Fe. I… I don’t want to play anymore.”

“What? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m tired. I want to go back to our room.”

It only takes one look at Sylvain’s expression before Felix is latching his fists into the fabric of Sylvain’s pants with a scowl on his face.

“You’re lying to me. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, Fe! I don’t want to play anymore.”

“We’re best friends aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, of course we are.”

“Best friends don’t lie to each other.”

Ingrid has patiently watched the exchange between Felix and Sylvain to this very moment, hoping that they can sort out this argument without her intervening like she always did as a child, but through years of experience, she can sense that one of them is about to snap and she would very much like to avoid that.

“You know the only reason we’re best friends is because our parents are friends and we both have crests.”

There it is.

It’s absolutely heart breaking how Sylvain has already learned to self destruct at the tender age of seven. If Miklan were still alive, Ingrid would skewer him a thousand times over for instilling the mantra of ‘you’re not worthy of love’ into Sylvain’s head.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go-“

“You’re a stupid head if that’s what you think.” Felix’s interruption shocks her. His usually bright amber eyes are fixed in a watery glare leveled at the boy opposite him. Right now, Ingrid may as well be invisible for all Felix cares.

“What?”

“You’re a stupid head!”

Sylvain looks absolutely affronted.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are!” a few tears have managed to slip beyond the barrier and trail down Felix’s cheeks. “I don’t care that our parents know each other. And I don’t care about any stupid crests.”

Felix marches up to Sylvain with all the anger he can muster in his five year old glory and reaches up to smoosh his cheeks together. “I’d still pick you to be my best friend in the whole wide world because you’re funny and nice and I’m always happier with you than Ingrid or Dima.”

Sylvain can only stand there with his lips parted in round ‘o’ from his cheeks being pushed together and a dazed look in his eye. Felix takes this as a sign to continue his little tirade.

“And I know you’re smart so you should stop being such a stupid head because I don’t care what you think. You’re my best friend and I’ll always pick you over any stupid crest.”

“Fe…”

She recognizes that tone. Ingrid looks away then because she fears that if she doesn’t, the part of her heart that belongs to Glenn might just twist its way into her throat and choke her with envy.

Sylvain is giving Felix that look that she has seen many times throughout their lives whenever she watches her two friends from afar. It’s one that everyone, except for Felix, has seen a million times and knows that to Sylvain, the world around him has fallen away except for one person.

“You’re my best friend, Sylvain. So, don’t lie to me.”

For the first time since the gossipers appeared, Sylvain lets a smile slip through.

“Okay. I promise.”

Felix eyes him warily and searches for any hint of a lie in Sylvain’s expression. Once satisfied, he loops his own pinky around the one outstretched to him.

“Good. Now let’s go play Knights and Bandits!”

Perhaps it is because Felix is always looking ahead that he never sees how Sylvain looks at him like he was the one who hung the stars and moon in his dark sky, illuminating his life with happiness and love.

----

3. Felix feels so much and Sylvain is the only one who understands him even without words.

A collective sigh echoes throughout the monastery when they find out that mini Felix and mini Sylvain aren’t too picky with their food.

Granted, even as a child, Felix shows a proclivity towards eating meat; but with a little friendly jostling from his best friend, even the youngest Fraldarius son can be convinced to eat his brussel sprouts.

Which is exactly why Claude is so baffled when Felix starts to protest eating during mealtimes.

“What do you mean he won’t eat?”

He’s well aware that he probably sounds like an idiot, if the exasperated look Lorenz is giving him is anything to go by; but they haven’t had any trouble before so it makes absolutely no sense that Felix would start being picky now.

“It’s exactly as I said,” Lorenz frowns. “We were all simply sitting together enjoying a meal, when Felix stopped eating and refused to finish his dinner. I’ve been told this is now the third occurrence in a row that his has happened.”

“Was he full?” Byleth pauses from looking through some supply requests to chime into their conversation. Although she has not outright said anything, Claude knows his love well enough to tell that she is stressed about their current predicament. Felix throwing a silent protest against food is just one more thing to add to her pile of worries that she doesn’t need.

“Don’t worry, Teach,” Claude winks and flashes his signature grin. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You just worry about securing our supplies for the next moon, yeah?” His chair lets out a deafening screech as it drags across the floor, drowning out any protests their former professor may have and providing Claude the distraction he needs to usher Lorenz out of the room with him.

“Claude, are you sure you know what you are doing?” The doubt rolling off Lorenz would have offended a lesser man, but Claude has spent his life being the underdog and he lets the words bounce harmlessly off him. “Felix is not an enemy to be outsmarted. He is simply a child who only adheres to emotion.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“Then why do you look as though you are about to hatch a scheme?”

Because he is.

And although Felix is not an ‘enemy’, per say, doesn’t mean that Claude can’t use his usual tactics of watching and observing his opponent until he has hatched a plot to take them down. Hence, leading to Claude’s current position tucked away in the far corner of the mess hall during the following breakfast.

Even on his off days, Claude is always watching and learning. He knows the favourite foods of all his fellow comrades in arms and he also knows whom everyone’s preferred companion is.

There is very little that escapes his notice, and the Resistance Army leader is confident that he will have a plan by sundown at the very least.

It is a little past 8am when the two children sleepily trudge their way into the dining hall with Bernadetta, their ward for the day, close behind them.

Nothing seems particularly strange or odd when they join the line to retrieve their meal; and nothing remarkable happens either when Bernie leads them to the only empty table left in the middle of the hall.

“Good morning, Bernadetta!” Raphael greets cheerily and shuffles his mountain of food over to join the trio at their table. “Good morning, Felix, Sylvain!”

The little ones mumble back a greeting, but their voices are lost in the din of the morning meal chatter.

So far, so good. Felix is still eating his porridge (albeit with an adorable frown on his face) and talking animatedly about goddess knows what with Sylvain, who occasionally turns to answer a question from the adults.

“Oh, good morning, Bernadetta, Felix, Sylvain!”

Slowly but surely, the table begins to fill as their friends meander into the building in search of food to start their day. Greetings are exchanged and unsurprisingly, Felix and Sylvain garner a lot of attention due to their current forms. Sylvain, ever the chatterbox that he is, fields most of the questions; Whether it is because he is being considerate of his quieter friend or if he simply relishes in the attention is debatable, but Claude cannot help but notice how his eyes constantly dart back towards Felix who grows increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, you’re just too adorable!” Annette’s squeal of delight reaches even Claude’s remote corner and he assumes that the wince he sees from Felix is due to the sheer volume of the orange haired mage. Sylvain, the current object of attention, just flashes her his prize winning smile; his dimples making him look even more endearing than he already is.

The adults gathered around the children don’t even notice that Felix has stopped eating. Nor do they see Sylvain quietly reach below the table to grab Felix’s smaller hand in what looks to be a gesture of comfort.

In fact, it takes another five minutes of cooing and fawning before Raphael, of all people, notices that Felix is now glaring with teary eyes at his bowl of half eaten porridge.

“What’s wrong, little buddy? Not feeling well?”

Immediately the attention shifts to him and the effects are just as disastrous as Claude predicts.

“I’m not hungry.” Some of the porridge finds its way onto the table as Felix pushes his bowl away with such ferocity, Claude is half surprised it doesn’t completely tip over.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry?” Annette frowns. “This is the fourth time you’ve left a meal unfinished. Are you not feeling well? Do you need to go see Mercedes?”

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Felix? We just want to make sure you’re not getting sick.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s a big fat lie and anyone with half a brain can hear the distress and frustration in the blue haired boy’s voice. One lone tear manages to squeeze its way out of Felix’s water logged eyes and that’s all it takes for the table to burst into a flurry.

Claude almost feels bad for Felix as the adults descend on him like a pack of vultures, all of them crowding him and trying to coax the reason for his distress out of him. The Almyran prince has half a mind to go over and rescue his friend in arms from a situation that is probably in his top ten worst fears, but before he can even get out of his seat, Sylvain is already bounding out of his chair with a teary Felix in tow.

Sylvain shouts something about ‘Knights and Bandits’ and they’re out the southern doors before Bernadetta can even process what has happened.

Felix’s half eaten bowl of porridge sits on the table completely forgotten.

----

At lunch, Claude decides to test a hypothesis.

He asks Mercedes and Hilda to sit with the kids at lunch and pay special attention to Felix.

To everyone else, he gives them strict orders to leave their table alone.

Satisfied with how his experiment is set up, Claude finally seats himself back in his observatory spot with his own lunch sitting in front of him.

He’s not expecting amazing results. In fact, he’s not expecting his first hypothesis to be a success at all, but he wants to try it none the less because there is always the possibility that mini Felix fundamentally operates much differently than the Felix that he is used to.

What he doesn’t expect is for Felix to immediately shut down the minute Hilda tries to engage him in some conversation about the games him and Sylvain play in the courtyard.

Today’s lunch special is Daphnel Stew and Claude has it on good authority that it is a favourite of Felix’s (technically Dimitri is a reliable source, right? They were childhood friends after all).

Sylvain tries his best to jump into the conversation and pull some of the attention to himself, but Hilda is every bit as smooth of a talker as Claude is; deftly maneuvering the conversation back to Felix no matter what Sylvain does.

This time, it is Felix that reaches for Sylvain’s hand under the table.

Except instead of just holding Sylvain’s hand, Felix starts to pull at it every time Mercedes or Hilda asks him a question, as if pleading for his friend to save him.

At least Claude could now say for sure that Felix is not, and never was, a fan of being the center of attention.

When the first afternoon bell tolls signaling the end of lunch, Felix’s stew remains uneaten and untouched. On the way out of the hall, Claude looks the other way and pretends not to notice when Sylvain steals an apple from the pantry.

His experiment doesn’t exactly succeed, but he cannot write it off as a failure either. The information gathered from his two observation sessions is plentiful and a solution is forming within his mind even as he makes his way up to the war room to meet Byleth for their afternoon strategy session.

By the time he pushes open the door to his usual haunt, Claude is absolutely certain of two truths.

One, that Sylvain knows Felix better than anyone could ever hope to compare, and two, Felix Fraldarius is incredibly lucky to have an attentive best friend like Sylvain because stars above, does he suck with using his words.

----

When the hour before dinner time rolls around, Claude makes sure to talk to everyone he passes by and give them the order that no one is to approach Felix and Sylvain’s tables at mealtimes anymore. He tells them to pass the word around and it doesn’t take long before the entire monastery is in the know of their Leader’s command.

“Care for company?” Byleth smiles and sets her tray down beside his own without waiting for a reply.

Claude does a quick survey of the area to make sure no one is looking before leaning in to land a quick peck on Byleth’s cheek. Joy flutters in his stomach at her rising blush and he merely laughs and winks at her stuttered protests.

“Check it out,” Claude quickly changes the subject and nods his head over to where Bernadetta sits exhausted with a now cheerful Felix and Sylvain. The latter nodding enthusiastically to their conversation with the occasional laugh and both of their plates near devoid of food.

A tiny rush of pride swells when he sees the relived expression on Byleth’s face.

“Told ya I’d take care of it.”

Underneath the table, he flips his palm facing upward so that he can intertwine his fingers with her searching ones.

“Yes, you did.” The unspoken thanks lingers in the air between them, louder than the constant buzz of activity in the room.

For the first time in a while, the former professor looks more at ease. And Claude, being the shit stirrer that he is, cannot help but toss a little fuel into the fire.

“So… who do you think will wear white at the wedding? Between the two of them, I think Felix is the better choice.”

“What?!”

----

4. Felix has an unwavering faith and belief in Sylvain that he’s not afraid to stubbornly stand by to the bitter end.

“Annie, are you sure this is a good idea?”

If Mercedes is concerned, then Lysithea is absolutely certain that no, this is most definitely not a good idea.

They are at the part of the training grounds where the various magic users can come to practice and hone their spells. The ground is singed with charred marks from stray thunder and fire spells, the black streaks contrasting starkly with the pale stone underneath. To the side, there is also a sand pit where mages can practice some more destructive flame based spells.

“I’m just a little curious, is all!” Annette whispers back. “I know Sylvain is really good with magic even though he never uses it. He was the one who helped me understand that magic formula that I was stuck on for a week, after all. I was thinking maybe he might show an aptitude for Reason as a child.”

“That’s fine and all; but I’m not really sure how safe it is to teach a child how to conjure a fire spell. That just seems like a recipe for disaster.”

The orange hair mage cannot help but look slightly put out by Lysithea’s comment.

Yes, maybe it wasn’t the safest idea ever… but Annette just really wants to find out the extent of Sylvain’s inherent abilities. Even after she makes him promise to take his training more seriously, she still feels like he is holding back on her when they are paired together.

“What kinda magic are you gonna show us?” Felix is eager and bouncing on his toes. The House Fraldarius specializes in swordplay, not magic, so this is a treat for him and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Oh well, I was thinking we could start off with a basic fire spell!”

“Oooh, fire!”

Annette really hopes that Felix doesn’t have a penchant for pyrotechnics.

As much of a bad idea as this is, Lysithea can’t exactly bring herself to leave them in case something goes terribly wrong. She is the strongest, most advanced Gremory the Resistance Army has; with her around, she’s confident that the worst that could happen would be some singed eyebrows and possibly an impromptu need for a haircut. But even that is an outcome that she is hoping to avoid.

Once the target is set up, Sylvain and Felix eagerly make their way over to the sidelines to watch Annette demonstrate a basic fire spell.

It’s nothing special really. Even the older Felix and Sylvain could probably cast it without much problem, but to their younger versions, the small ball of fire is so grand and spectacular that it warrants oo’s and ah’s and enthusiastic applause.

“Wow! That is so cool! Isn’t that so cool, Sylvain?”

Felix is pulling on Sylvain’s sleeve and the older boy nods emphatically with admiration shining in his eyes.

“Do you think you could do it too?”

Lysithea is startled to hear the question Felix asks Sylvain. Of course, Annette was already planning to ask the Gautier boy to attempt the spell, but that was out of curiosity.

From the shining look on Felix’s face, Lysithea knows that he is asking because in his mind, there is nothing that his smart, talented best friend in the whole wide world cannot do.

“Magic is difficult to learn and takes time. It can take years for some to learn just the basics.” She cuts in before Sylvain can answer.

She doesn’t want Felix to unwittingly trap him with an unrealistic expectation that he cannot meet and she figures it is better to disappoint him now rather than allow the red head to try and then feel guilty when he disappoints his friend.

“Sylvain is smart. I bet Sylvain could do it!”

Felix is pouting in that way that they are all quickly learning means ‘I’m right and you can’t convince me otherwise’.

“I’m sure Sylvain is very smart!” Mercedes agrees and gives the boys her best placating smile. “But I’m not so sure that a person could learn how to cast a Fire spell in one day! Why, it took Annie and I at least a week of practicing before we could do it!”

“Yep, I remember I almost burned my eyebrows off the first time I tried! But I can teach you the basics maybe and then we can bring you here again next time to practice?”

The urge to verbally reprimand the warlock for her relentless pursuit to satisfy her own curiosity rises and Lysithea has to physically clutch her biceps to stop herself from bursting.

Fine. If they were so eager to set themselves down this path, then so be it.

“Yeah!” Felix is literally vibrating with excitement and Sylvain looks nervous but determined to not let his admirer down.

Heaving a sigh, Lysithea moves to settle next to Mercedes who sends her an apologetic smile.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

----

Unsurprisingly, Felix does not do so well with learning the basics.

The diagrams and symbols are a little too much on the side of complex and it becomes apparent rather quickly that there is a reason the Fraldarius men carve through the battlefield with swords instead of magic.

“Aw, it’s okay Fe! You’re still the best with a sword anyways. You don’t need magic!” Sylvain ruffles his hair and smiles. “You’ll always beat me at swordplay.”

The small admission is enough to cheer Felix up and after a bit more nudging from the older boy, he runs off to play around with the wooden practice swords they have on the other side of the training room while Annette and Sylvain continue to work on creating basic magic circles.

It’s only after the third hour and Mercedes has long left to attend to various chores that Lysithea turns to watch Felix go through rather crude sword forms instead.

“You need to spread your feet farther apart.” Using her own foot, she nudges Felix’s left heel to the side to widen his stance. “Try striking again now.”

The wooden sword wobbles a bit in its trajectory, but the swing is undoubtedly much better than before. The sheer delight that lights up in Felix’s eyes almost makes Lysithea laugh out loud because she recognizes it as the same gleam she sees in the older Felix’s eyes when he executes a particularly hard maneuver.

“Why aren’t you watching Sylvain and Annie?”

For a five year old, Felix is incredibly perceptive.

Rather than lie to him, Lysithea opts for honesty because she is sure that’s what older Felix would have wanted.

“I don’t think he’ll succeed.”

Felix frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I know how hard it is to learn magic. I’m sure Sylvain is very intelligent, but it takes a lot of hard work to use Reason.”

“Sylvain can do it. I know he can.”

She sighs and turns a baleful eye down at Felix. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you.”

“Glenn said that to me too when he didn’t believe me that I could stay up all night waiting for Sylvain.”

“And did you prove him wrong?”

Felix turns to full face her, expression full of gravity.

“Yup.” The dead seriousness of his tone looses Lysithea’s first laugh of the day and she cannot help but be drawn towards this little boy, the same way she was drawn to his older self.

Deigning not to continue a lost conversation, the cake loving Gremory opts to turn back and watch the progress that the other two have made, leaving Felix muttering to himself about his steadfast belief in his best friend.

----

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The sun is setting and it is nearly time for dinner by the time Sylvain and Annette break away from Magic and Sorcery: Vol 1. to actually put some practice to the theory they have spent all day studying.

“Now, don’t be too disappointed if you can’t get it.” Annette says while moving out of the way. “You did just learn the basics and it takes a lot of practice!”

Lysithea has not moved from her perch from a nearby bench. She’s still extremely skeptical that Sylvain will manage to do very much at all. Yes, it is true that he had a budding talent for Reason during their academy days, but Sylvain hardly ever applied himself to any of his studies. The professor had to literally force him to attend one on one magic lessons with her before his aptitude for spells finally emerged.

Although, she muses, this younger Sylvain seems to be more enthusiastic to participate in things he was interested in. Even now, the scrunched up look of concentration on his face is indication enough that the Sylvain Lysithea is used to is a much different creature than the one before her currently.

House Ordelia does not really have any established trade routes with the Gautier territory, but the Ordelia heir has heard enough to know that the current Margrave is an arrogant, crest-obsessed prick.

It doesn’t take a prodigy to connect the dots and surmise that Sylvain’s carefree attitude and refusal to apply himself to anything is a product of his father’s suffocating expectations.

Fuck Margrave Gautier.

Maybe Lysithea does want Sylvain to prove her wrong and succeed; then at least he can go back home and light his father’s breeches on fire.

She’s only slightly disappointed when her expectations prove correct and the best Sylvain can conjure is one tiny flicker from a lone flame in his hand. However, it is still much more than she thought Sylvain would be able to do and for that, she is genuinely impressed.

Annette is also very much awestruck with Sylvain’s quick learning and happily informs the boy of this all the way to the dining hall. Sylvain is uncharacteristically quiet as he listens to the older mage praise him, but he is not yet skilled enough in the art of hiding behind a mask and the slight downward tilt of his lips does not go unnoticed.

“You really did an amazing job learning so much in such a short time, Sylvain! Don’t be too disappointed that you couldn’t do it.”

Sylvain gives a weak smile in return, but it is Felix who ultimately responds; one hand clasped tightly in the Gautier’s and the other one balled into a fist.

“Sylvain can do it. Just watch.”

----

Dinner passes without much fanfare and the boys are eventually tucked in for the night. Claude and Byleth have long decided that a full-time night chaperone is no longer necessary; although occasionally, one of their friends will peek into the room in the dead of night before they retire, but very rarely do they find anything wrong that requires their attention. A week has already passed with no incident, so there should be no need to exhaust their soldiers by keeping them up at night.

Except this time, when Petra nudges the door to their room open – being extremely careful not to open it too fast lest the hinges squeak – she does not see any sign of Felix or Sylvain anywhere.

It is the dead of night, but Garreg Mach Monastery blazes alive with a flurry of panic at the toll of the emergency bell.

“You’re absolutely sure no one saw them leave their room?”

Seteth slams his palms on the table and interrogates the night shift guards; his brows furrowed and mind racing a mile a minute.

If the enemy has somehow managed to sneak into Garreg Mach and kidnap the children, then they are well and truly fucked. They may have to abandon their home base or at the very least do an extensive investigation of their current ranks and re-evaluate their current passive defense.

“There were no signs that a struggle was happening.” Petra voices from her place around the war table. “I am having confidence that they left with willingness.”

“Goddess, please keep them safe.” The situation leaves a bad taste in Flayn’s mouth; it is much too reminiscent of when she was kidnapped and although it has been years since the incident, the memories still plague her.

Byleth’s voice leaves no room for discussion, “everyone split up and search the grounds. Most of our facilities are locked up at night so that should help limit the number of places we need to search.”

Everyone dashes out of the room with their orders and branch off at the second floor corridor. Those once belonging to the Black Eagle house comb through the main hall while the former Blue Lion students check all surrounding independent buildings; the Golden Deer fanning out to cover the outdoor grounds of the monastery.

An hour passes. Then another. And another.

Soon it is 3 in the morning and the panic is truly beginning to set in, giving rise to an unsettling fear clawing its way up from the depths of the night.

“Dimitri, Dedue! Have you found anything?” Ingrid pants and skids to a halt just below the stairs to the Sauna; the rest of her Blue Lion classmates run up to join her and debrief their findings.

“Nothing,” Dedue’s tone is flat as usual but his strangled expression is enough to betray his underlying worry. “We have searched all the open buildings and the grounds. There is no sign of them at all.”

Annette is near tears now and Mercedes places a hand on her shoulder, offering her silent support even while she herself is fiddling with her shawl, an attempt to keep her mind occupied before it spirals.

“It’s not like them to run away,” Ashe frowns. “Did anything happen today? Were they acting weird at all?”

“Not really. All we did was practice magic at the training grounds.”

Mercedes frowns. “Perhaps they left something there and went back to retrieve it?”

“The training grounds should be locked at 11PM. No one should be able to get in or out until sunrise.” Dimitri shakes his head.

“Well then we’re clearly running out of ideas here!” Ingrid throws up her hands in frustration and rakes them through her hair which is on the verge of looking like a bird’s nest. “We’ve checked the dining hall and the greenhouse but –“

“Your Majesty.” Dedue’s raised voice cuts Ingrid short and they look over to see the doors to the training grounds swing open slowly with a slight push of the man’s hands. “The doors were not locked as we thought.”

It takes only a heartbeat for them to scramble through the large wooden doors and down the hallway, their rushed footsteps echoing like thunder in the stone corridor.

“Oh Goddess. I smell smoke. Does anyone else smell smoke?” If her heartbeat accelerates any more, Annette is pretty sure she will have a heart attack.

“It’s coming from over there!” Their King leads the charge towards the magical training arena where the smell of smoke is the thickest.

When they burst into the open area, they are prepared for the worst. Weapons are drawn and hands raised with spells on the tips of tongues, but the sight they are greeted with is enough to shock them into stasis.

There in the middle of the sandpit, hunched over and panting hard, albeit with a brilliant grin on his face, is Sylvain. The practice dummy a few feet in front of him is alit with flames, illuminating the room with an orange glow, casting shadows along the stone walls that flicker like a live audience.

And off to the side bundled up in a woolen teal blanket that they all recognize, is a tired, but extremely proud looking Felix Fraldarius staring directly at the newcomers.

“I told you he could do it!”

----

5. Sylvain has given Felix all the pieces of his fragile, fractured heart, even if he isn’t aware he possesses it.

Although once his greatest secret, Ignatz no longer hides his passion for art from his fellow Resistance Army members.

It’s not uncommon these days for people to find him at random places in the monastery with his art supplies sketching away at preserving a moment in time on blank paper forevermore.

Today, he is sitting on a bench next to a large oak tree, just a stone’s throw away from the main grounds. Beneath the shade and tucked between two large roots lie Sylvain and Felix, both completely tuckered out from their earlier attempts at climbing the towering tree. Sylvain is starfished on the ground with his arms stretched wide; to his left, Felix lays curled away from him with his head pillowed on the outstretched limb.

Sylvain and Felix have been the talk of the monastery for the past week and it is pretty obvious why. It’s not every day that you see two high ranking generals revert back to their child forms. Especially the most notorious bother-me-and-I’ll-bite-your-head-off and if-it-breathes-I’ll-flirt-with-it Generals to boot.

Of course, stories of their shenanigans and troublemaking usually fill the daily meal conversations, but there is one topic that floats above all else; the one that makes the maids in the kitchen giggle and even the burliest of knights crack a smile:

It is clear that even from a young age, Sylvain Jose Gautier and Felix Hugo Fraldarius are absolutely smitten with each other.

The two are inseparable and Ignatz is pretty sure that even a blind man would be able to see the absolute trust and unspoken devotion they have towards each other.

Ignatz has spent the day watching Felix and Sylvain, not just because it’s his turn to babysit, but also because he is fascinated with their bond. He had once thought that the Goddess was the most beautiful thing in the world, but the rawness and purity of their relationship fills him with more piety and awe than any portrait or statue of Sothis ever did.

It is like they are two parts of a well-oiled machine. Where one gives way, the other will step in to fill the gap; whenever Sylvain’s insecurities flare up, Felix is always there to chase the demons away with clumsy words and a physical display of affection, using his own body to ground his best friend and keep him close. Likewise, whenever tears well up in the youngest Fraldarius’ eyes (which is unfortunately quite often), Sylvain is there to wipe away the salty tracks and light up Felix’s heart with a smile warmer and brighter than sunshine.

Ignatz’s original plans were to draw the oak tree and the beautiful meadow of primrose flowers, but it seems that there will be a last minute change in muse.

Taking up his piece of charcoal, he begins the outline of what he thinks will be his fondest work to date.

Ignatz doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench hunched over his sketchbook in silence with only the occasional birdsong floating through the silence. It’s so calm and peaceful that he doesn’t even notice that Sylvain has begun to stir until he looks up to find one of his subjects in a different position.

Leonie had warned him that Sylvain has a tendency towards nightmares. She had discovered that unfortunate fact in the first three days when each time she tip-toed into their room to check up on them, she found Sylvain wide awake with wild terror in his eyes and a sleepy Felix clinging to him comfortingly.

Strangely enough, Sylvain also does not startle awake from his nightmares. Instead, he slowly rouses himself as if from a deep sleep and if it weren’t for the glaze of lingering fear in his eyes, none would be able to tell that he had just woken up from a night terror.

That same glazed look is now flickering rapidly around him as if searching for the shadow of a monster that exists only within his mind.

“Sylvain…?”

Wild brown eyes finally settle on steady molten amber ones.

“Fe.”

“It’s okay, Sylvain. I’m here...”

Felix yawns and shuffles around until he is half wrapped around Sylvain with his left hand settling over Sylvain’s pounding heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you…” Small hands curl around the material of Sylvain’s shirt in a death grip. Felix’s loyalty and protectiveness so painfully evident even when the boy himself is half asleep. He manages to cling to the realm of the conscious for a little while longer, until the rapid thump thump thump of Sylvain’s heart slows to a steady lulling rhythm, pulling Felix back down under the veil of sleep.

Ignatz has silently watched this entire exchange and to be honest, he’s not really sure that Sylvain or Felix even remember that he is here with them. He cannot bring himself to make his presence known, so he continues to watch and observe.

He watches as the fear that was once in Sylvain’s eyes slowly recede again, the monsters inside his head vanquished in the company of his best friend. It only takes one more glance at the boy cuddled up to him with a hand protectively hovered over his heart to melt away the chains that bind him to the expectations of the people around him.

Here under this oak tree in a field of blooming young love, there is no crest or Miklan or nobility. There is only Felix and Sylvain.

Sylvain holds onto that truth as he wraps his free arm around the younger boy, tucking him more securely under his chin, letting the cool summer breeze lull him back to a dreamless sleep.

Ignatz pulls out a new page and starts a fresh outline. It takes him a little longer than anticipated to finish his drawing, but he figures it’s not such a bad thing since he likes this new version much better.

Later, as he trails after the now energetic boys back towards the monastery, Ignatz tucks his newest masterpiece securely under his arm, being very careful not to smudge the drawing or crease the paper.

After all, Claude did mention something about a wedding and Ignatz thinks that his drawing will make a fine gift.

----

Bonus: They’re just two idiots in love.

“Go away. Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my meal?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Felix! You know, the younger you was much cuter. Definitely less prickly, too.” Dorothea pokes his cheek and snatches her hand away before Felix can stab it with his steak knife.

It’s been roughly a week since Felix and Sylvain have returned to their normal sizes, the dark magic having run its course and fizzling out without so much as a final spark. To the rest of the Army, this is a joyous occasion as it means that two of their best generals are now back to normal and can command them again. But to the last class of the academy… it is bittersweet.

Of course, they want their friends to return to normal. But that also means that Felix will go back to hissing and spitting with all the fury of a spooked cat and Sylvain will go back to seducing any individual that makes eye contact with him for longer than half a second.

“Better do as he says, Thea. Felix’s looking extra grumpy today and we wouldn’t want you to lose a pretty little finger.” Sylvain winks at her as he sets down his own meal and settles in the seat across from the swordsman.

The opera singer snorts, “right back to the flirting as usual. Save your hollow words for some other girl.”

“Ouch. Give a guy a break! I just recovered from a dark magic spell after all. Doesn’t that warrant some pity?”

“The only pity is that you immediately lost all your innocent and cute appeal when you reverted back to your regular body.”

Felix scowls at them, “if you insist on continuing your flirting, I’ll just eat my meal elsewhere.” He moves to stand but Sylvain is quicker and grabs his wrist, preventing him from moving.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Just stay, okay? Please? For me, Fe?”

Sylvain is looking at Felix with that expression which he knows he cannot resist and Dorothea takes this opportunity to slip away while the two engage in a silent conversation with only their eyes.

“Fine.”

Their meal continues with little fanfare and easy conversation. Around them, their old classmates are scattered in their own little groups and if they notice, none of them mentions anything about how everyone seems to avoid sitting at Felix and Sylvain’s table.

Easy conversation flows into dessert, or more specifically: Felix wordlessly giving Sylvain his peach sorbet and Sylvain beaming a rare genuine smile and promising to join him at the training grounds first thing tomorrow morning.

The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon when Sylvain and Felix gather up their dishes. On their way out of the dining hall, Ignatz stops them with a heartfelt congratulations and a bundled up package that looks suspiciously like one of his works.

“Congratulations? For what?” Artfully tousled red hair shifts as Sylvain tilts his head in confusion and reluctantly accepts the gift.

“O-oh, well Claude just said…”

Dread rises up from the pit of Felix’s stomach. “What did that schemer say this time?”

“…He said that you two were getting married.”

“What?!”

28 notes · View notes

calumcest · 4 years

Text

masterlist

ok firstly please bear in mind most of these fics were written in 2014/15 when i was 16 so please do not judge their quality too harshly

ao3

[there are some fics on there that i haven’t put here, mainly chaptered fics but some others too]

drabbles (malum, lashton, cashton, mashton)

lashton

i can count on the sun to shine

It’s not been the easiest of days, but it’s not been the roughest either, so Ashton’s half-surprised when Luke crawls into his lap and curls up in it, looping his arms around Ashton’s neck and nosing into Ashton’s neck, breath warm and even against Ashton’s skin.

my beating heart belongs to you

“God, you’re all sweaty,” Michael adds, and Ashton snorts because that is fucking rich coming from the guy whose sweat has disintegrated two shirts so far this tour. “That’s how Luke likes me,” Ashton fires back, and Calum pulls a face whilst Michael laughs. “What’s how I like you?” Luke asks, coming up behind Ashton and wrapping his arms around him, resting his chin on Ashton’s head.

young and in love (that should be enough)

“Ashton.” Luke draws out the second syllable, pouting to add effect to his words. “Lukey,” Ashton says, stringing out the second syllable too in a softly mocking manner. “What do you want?” “A cuddle,” Luke announces, “from my favourite boyfriend.”

say you’ll never change

@Luke5SOS: It feels like we’re ready to crack these days you & I

it feels like we’re ready to crack these days, you & i [extended version of above fic]

It’s not really that pathetic that Ashton’s got tweet and text notifications on for Luke. Not really.

we gamble with desire

“Guys,” Michael says, making his way into the back lounge. “Have you heard of fanfiction?”

rules of the band

In retrospect, it’s kind of Ashton’s fault that it all starts. He’d eaten the last of the Vegemite, something he knows Michael and Calum feel very strongly about, and it had resulted in a sheet of paper pinned to the fridge by a frog magnet that had ‘Rules of the Band’ scrawled in Calum’s handwriting at the top. Rules of the Band

NOBODY WILL EAT THE LAST OF THE VEGEMITE!!!

soulmates

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

my friends are a different breed

“What’s happening?” Calum says, walking out into the living room. “Luke and Ashton weren’t kissing,” Michael informs him. Calum nods. “We weren’t,” Ashton says in what he hopes is a believable tone.

i’ve got a lot of friends who are stars

The city’s fucking beautiful at night.

dreams only last for a night

Luke prefers it when Ashton’s asleep.

happy father’s day dad :-)

@Calum5SOS: @Ashton5SOS happy Father’s Day dad :-)

my friends are everything

CH: Who’s eaten the last of the fucking vegemite

AI: wtf that was like rule number 1

my new comfort zone

It’s when it starts getting to the tense, anticipatory bit of the film where the gang of actual idiots are about to enter the house which Luke’s ninety-nine percent sure has a murderer in it, that’s when Luke whimpers and turns away from the screen, burying his face in the crook of Ashton’s neck.

as the night gets older of you i grow fonder

Luke’s eight when Ashton moves in next door. (based on the video for you belong with me)

coffee shop soundtrack

“Mind if I sit here?” the guy asks, and there’s a kind of apologetic hint to his tone. “Everywhere else is full.” Full? The coffee shop's never full- Oh. Apart from today, apparently. Every single seat is taken. “Oh, Luke says. “Uh. Sure.“

taking the long way home

“May we have your attention for flight BA8227,” the tinny voice of the announcement says, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. They never announce anything he wants to hear; there’s never any we’ve upgraded hardworking and broke session drummer Ashton Irwin to first class, he’s also been given unlimited air miles and a refund on his overpriced tuna melt. “We are sorry to announce that this flight is delayed by approximately seven hours. This is due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions. I repeat-”

if these walls could talk (they’ve seen way too many things)

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens. Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow. “You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

as he faced the sun he cast no shadow

Ashton doesn’t really realise he’s fallen out of love until it’s happened.

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon (soulmate au)

chapter one ~ chapter two ~ chapter three ~ chapter four ~ chapter five ~ chapter six ~ chapter seven

The tattoos appear one Wednesday night. What’s yours?” Michael demands, sounding beside himself with excitement. Luke frowns. “What’s my what?” “Your tattoo.”

fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet

Luke hates a good ninety-five percent of his job. A solid thirty percent of that comes from the fact that he works as a receptionist at a hotel, which he thinks is possibly the most thankless job humanity could possibly have created. A further ten comes from the fact that his desk is right next to the kitchen, meaning mouth-watering smells are constantly wafting under his nose, and Luke’s not allowed to eat on shift. Fifty-five percent of it, though, is Ashton.

there’s no time for running away now

It’s three a.m., and Ashton’s awake. On the surface, that might not appear to be a problem. And ordinarily, it wouldn’t be - ordinarily, Ashton would either roll over groggily, will sleep to come with every fibre of his being and maybe a quick prayer or two, or read something mind-numbingly boring like his urgent work emails to send him back to sleep. This, however, isn’t the most ordinary situation. Ashton is awake because of Luke.

-------

malum

make me a promise here tonight

“Calum,” Michael says, walking into the bunk area and stopping in front of Calum’s bunk. “Cal.” “What?” Calum asks, not looking up from his phone. “I think we should get married.”

we know this is the way it’s supposed to be

Calum’s always the first person Michael rings in an emergency. Like right now, for example. Right now’s an emergency. “What the fuck do you want, Clifford?” Calum groans, voice tinny through the shitty phone line, but he’s picked up after the first ring so Michael knows he doesn’t mean it. “I need help,” Michael says, trying to stop the phone from slipping down his chest from where it’s pressed between his shoulder and his ear. “Green, blue, or black?“

the first time i’ve seen love (and the last i’ll ever need)

“Tell me a story.” The words are whispered into the fabric of Calum’s shirt, and Calum’s arms tighten around Michael as he hums in response. It’s familiar, the situation, because it’s what Michael always asks for when he’s tired, scared, lonely, or just wants to hear Calum’s voice.

it should be criminal that you could be mine

He can’t help but get a little jealous when Ashton and Luke start properly dating, though. He can’t help but get jealous of the way Ashton’s always taking Luke out for dinner, always holding his hand, always buying him presents, always making these romantic gestures that Michael’s never had from Calum. (or calum’s version of a dinner date)

it always will be you (wherever you are)

It started off as something kind of unnecessary. Calum already had a Twitter account, and he wasn’t someone who was afraid to speak his mind. If he had something to say, he’d say it on his public account. He’d only made the account for when he was in a bit of a shitty mood and wanted to vent or when he had an inappropriate joke that only Michael would find funny.

falling asleep on a stranger

As it is, his bus is running late today and Calum had run all the way to the bus stop from his house (a good two minutes of exercise, at least, which means he’s breathless and almost breaking a sweat by the time he reaches the bus stop) because he’d thought he was late. When he realises, however, that he could have had an extra ten minutes and actually eaten some breakfast, he groans, lets his eyes flutter shut and mutters “fuck me.” “Excuse me?” a surprised voice says, and Calum opens his eyes so fast he thinks he might have accidentally blinded himself. Standing to his left, an amused look on his face, is a boy with fluffy-looking blue hair (blue).

this could be the start of something new

He pushes past throngs of tired-looking businessmen to get into the last carriage, looking around for some seats. He’s not the only one who’s had that idea, clearly, as the last carriage is nigh-on full and Calum has the choice of two seats - one next to a balding man who’s eating what looks to be a tuna sandwich (Calum balks at the very idea) and a tattooed-up-to-hell punk kid with a shock of light pink hair in a suit, jacket on his lap. Calum goes for the latter.

you’re already the voice inside my head

“Michael didn’t say anything, mate,” Luke says, confused. “Yes, he did,” Calum says, exasperated. “I…no, I didn’t,” Michael says slowly. “What the fuck, Mike?” Calum says, perplexed. “I didn’t say it, Cal…I thought it.”

i want to teach you a lesson (in the worst kind of way)

“Who’s that, sir?” Lily asks, jabbing at the window. “The new PE teacher,” Michael says. “He’s cute,” Sarah says, and a couple of the girls nod vigorously. “He’s also twice your age,” Michael says. “Go on, off to your practice rooms.” The girls groan, but one by one pull themselves away from the window and start to wander off. Michael stays by the window, one eye on the girls to make sure they actually go where they’re supposed to and one eye on the new PE teacher, who’s dividing the class up into groups and handing out footballs. He is kind of hot, Michael supposes, if you’re into muscular guys who are clearly good at sports. Which Michael most definitely is.

dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls. “Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.” “Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

only you (and you can hear me)

“Uh,” Calum says, looking out into the crowd, and Michael follows his gaze, trying to find what Calum’s staring at. “I’m going to go to the teepee with Heather.” Michael’s stomach sinks. “Really?” he asks, before he can stop himself, looking over at Calum. “Yeah,” Calum says, turning to look at Michael, and Michael whips back around before Calum can see the look of please don’t written all over his face. “Alright.” (tiny dancer scene from rocketman but happy)

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back)

chapter one ~ chapter two ~ chapter three ~ chapter four ~ chapter five ~ chapter six

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. - or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

couldn’t make it more obvious could you (be any more obvious?)

“D’you think he was being serious?” he asks Ashton, who’s already engrossed in his phone again. “Hm?” Ashton says, without looking up. “‘Bout what?” “Jack.” That makes Ashton look up, brow furrowed. “What about him?” Calum hesitates. “Y’know,” he says, a little uncomfortably. Ashton cocks his head, raising his eyebrows in an I don’t know sort of way. “About them. Sleeping together.” “Oh,” Ashton says, shrugs, and turns back to his phone. “Yeah, obviously.”

love would burn this city down for you

There’s something so comforting about the city. Calum remembers the first time he’d got it, that rush of everything and nothing and beauty and reverence as he’d stared out at the brightly-lit scene before him, overwhelmed and trying his best to drink it all in. Fuck me, he’d thought, a delicious numbness licking at his nerves. I’m fucking irrelevant. (It was the first time he’d ever known peace.)

——-

cashton

‘cause all of the stars are fading away (just try not to worry you’ll see them someday)

Growing up isn’t easy. Nobody ever told him it would be. You’ll get hurt, his mum would say, eyes big and sad, and he’d shrug and say that’s life, not really understanding what she meant because he was yet to spend three nights in a row staring up at his ceiling, drunk and high and so miserable it somehow felt like everything and nothing at the same time. It’ll be difficult, his manager had warned, when they got their first tour with One Direction, and Ashton had shrugged and said isn’t everything?, not realising that what ‘difficult’ meant was sacrifice; his sleep, his home, his self, everything torn out at the roots and tossed aside for him to gather back into his arms again. The hardest part of growing up, though, isn’t when things happen to him, when someone breaks up with him or wakes him up two hours after he’s gone to bed or puts him on another plane six hours after he’s just got off one. The hardest part of growing up is when he looks around him and realises I’m not happy.

#ignore this post #also im gonna have to put up posts of the ones that i havent posted on tumblr yet soon #cos rn half of them are just linked to my ao3 #but im gonna space it out bc its annoying #and also i'm going to be very discerning #bc some of them are...to put it politely...RUBBISH #and when i say some of them i mean every single one of them #being proud of things you've written? could never be me

69 notes · View notes

junetuesday · 5 years

Text

sweetener - [five]

The Snap

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader - uni AU

Word Count: 3033

Warnings: none?

A/N: hi hey hello yes i know its sunday don’t @ me

Updates Friday nights (*skeptical thor face*)

sɴᴀᴘᴄʜᴀᴛ

Tom added you as a friend!

You stared at the notification, mouth hanging open. You'd been mid-sentence - mid-word, even - when you saw your phone light up out of the corner of your eye, drawing your attention away from your conversation.

"What? What happened?"

When you didn't respond to Liv, Madison peered over your shoulder to investigate for herself. You tilted the phone towards her to let her see, sighing as you looked across the table at Liv.

"Tom just added me on Snapchat."

The three of you were sat around a low table in Starbucks, shopping bags surrounding each of your armchairs. In a surprising turn of events, you'd all had pretty successful shopping trips, managing to get all the things you were looking for (and a few more besides). Less satisfying, though, was the current state of affairs between you and Tom. It had been almost two weeks since that night in the library - two weeks since you stayed over, two weeks since you kissed - and since then, nothing. Well, not nothing, you liked each other's Instagram posts, but nothing substantial, and certainly nothing compared to Liv and Harrison. She was on her phone texting him almost constantly, coming home every few days with a new addition to the growing collection of hickies on her neck and chest.

"That's good, right? Progress?" Liv sat back in her seat, slurping whipped cream off the top of her hot chocolate.

"I don't know," you groaned. The whole thing was all very confusing. "Maybe?"

"I'm confused, can you run it by me again?"

To be fair to her, Madison had only heard bits and pieces of the story. Between her visiting Jack and him visiting her on alternate weekends, and uni work and her job keeping her busy, you and Liv hadn't really been able to catch her up fully on your escapades (or lack thereof).

"We hung out," you began, taking a big gulp of your latte to keep you going while you recounted your ordeal. "Went back to his because I forgot my keys and this bitch was MIA, he gave me pyjamas and we watched TV and he kissed me and then...I dunno..."

You trailed off, waving your hands airily.

"When you say he kissed you-" Madison repositioned in her seat, pulling a knee up to her chest and twisting to face you more. "I need more details."

"It- I - he- I dunno, it was sweet?"

"Sweet?" Liv scoffed, texting with one hand while the other brought her mug to her lips.

From what you'd heard, her night had been anything but sweet. That just wasn't you though, you could never do what she did. Her account of that night was a little sketchy in places, but from what you could gather she'd spotted Harrison at the bar and just decided 'Tonight's The Night', went up to him and asked if he wanted to buy her a drink. You weren't sure if she even finished the drink, too busy with his tongue in her mouth to bother with vodka lemonade.

"I was half asleep, I don't know, it just kind of happened and then it...wasn't happening anymore? But like, that's not even the problem, it's just he started being really weird the next day."

"Weird how?" Madison pressed, sipping on her iced coffee and squinting at you questioningly.

"Like... I dunno he kind of wouldn't look at me? And then when I said I was gonna go home I left a big pause like, really obvious that I would stay if he asked, but he didn't."

"And then he took you both home and you haven't spoken since?"

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink and avoiding Madison's gaze as she hummed.

"Was it obvious though? Like, to a boy? Or were you actually just like 'g2g bye'?"

"I thought it was obvious but now I don't know," you sighed, chewing your bottom lip absentmindedly. "And then..."

Both girls looked at you expectantly when you trailed off again, waiting for you to finish.

"And then?" Liv prompted when you didn't offer anything further.

For some reason, you hadn't told either of them about you kissing Tom in his car. You weren't quite sure why, it was almost like you were embarrassed. Liv saw Harrison once, decided she was into him, and then the second time she sees him out she just goes up to him and now, what, they're sleeping together? Seeing each other? Something, anyway. And then there was you, nervously pecking Tom on the cheek and leaving without a word. It was a wonder you'd even gotten that far, after letting months of lingering glances and girlish giggles go by without even finding out his name. It was safe that way, though, if you didn't get to know him then nothing could go wrong - he wouldn't turn out to be a creepy asshole, you wouldn't realise you had nothing in common, or find out he was with someone already, or anything like that. But now? You'd started to get to know him, and yeah, he didn't seem like a creepy asshole, and you seemed to have the same sense of humor at least, and as far as you knew he was single, so that was all positive, but you were still taking things slow. So very slow. Glacial, even.

Perhaps, in the interest of speeding things along, you should start by being honest - with the girls at least, if not with Tom.

"Ikissedhimonthecheekinthecar."

You blurted it out as fast as possible, but judging by their expressions and exclamations they understood you well enough.

"What?!"

"You never told me that!"

Groaning, you shrugged, looking sheepishly between your friends.

"Why didn't you just kiss him properly?" Liv asked, Madison nodding in agreement.

If only it were that easy.

"I don't know! I don't know why I did it and I don't know why he hasn't spoken to me since and I really don't know why he's added me on Snapchat."

Silence fell over the table as the three of you pondered these particular mysteries of the universe, the only sound the slurping of Madison's iced coffee as she sucked on her straw thoughtfully.

"To be fair to him, you haven't spoken to him either. You can't really expect-"

She stopped talking abruptly when she caught the withering look you were giving her.

This is not the time for common sense, Mads.

Drinks finished and details of Liv's latest romp divulged, the three of you headed home. After a particularly beige dinner of potato smileys and chicken dippers that you were fairly sure didn't contain any actual chicken but were on offer at the supermarket so you bought three bags of, you trudged up the two flights of stairs to your bedroom on the top floor.

Clothes always look different when you try them on at home versus how they looked in the changing rooms, so you figured you'd put on some of your new purchases, just in case they turned out to be horrible and you didn't realise it until a) you went to wear them out or b) it was too late to return them. You tipped the bags out onto the bed, spreading the contents out so that you could see everything. A couple of "going out" dresses, an off-the-shoulder top you were fairly sure you'd be taking back anyway (because strapless bras are The Worst), a pair of fluffy slippersocks (because you can never have too many of those), some Nice Pyjamas (a satin cami and shorts with a matching robe, that you definitely didn't buy just on the off chance someone should stay over that you didn't want seeing you in your old Gryffindor pyjamas), a couple of make up and skincare bits that Liv swore would change your life - you didn't opt for any of those though, picking out the underwear set you'd found on the sale rack instead. Might as well start with the basics and work up to dresses.

Yeah, you thought as you twisted in front of your mirror, checking yourself out from every possible angle. Nice.

Pleased with your purchase - 60% off and in your size? And it actually looks good? A miracle, really - you grabbed your phone to send a Snap to the girls. Going downstairs just to show them your bra was too much effort, plus it was cold on the stairs seeing as you only had the radiators in your bedrooms and the living room on to try and keep the bills down, so a photo would do. After a couple of bad angle choices, you got a photo that captured how good this bra was making your boobs look, captioning it with "tysm boux avenue sale x" and sending it to your group.

It was only when the screen switched back to your friend list, and you saw a little pink ➤ under not only '#squadgoals👌', but also under Tom, "Delivered ∘ just now" next to it just to really drive it home, that your heart fell out of your ass.

Nononononononononoooooo

You let out a low whine as your heart jumped back up past where it should have been and into your throat, thump thump thumping away while you stared uselessly at your phone. Grabbing your dressing gown off the back of the door, you pulled it on as you tore open your door and practically ran down the stairs.

"Guys!" You wailed, standing between Madison and Liv's bedroom doors and knocking frantically on both. "Help!"

"What, what happened?"

Liv opened her door first, your fist almost colliding with Madison's nose when she opened hers because you were so focused on looking at Liv, pure panic in your eyes. Making a sort of strangled whimpering sound, you pushed past Madison and into her room, flopping down on your back on her bed.

"You know that Snap I just sent you?"

Your voice came out muffled, your arms swinging up to cover your face as you lay down, but you knew they'd heard you.

"Yeah?" Liv hopped onto the bed beside you - of course she'd already seen it, her phone constantly in her hand these days - while Madison sat back down at her desk, spinning her chair around to rest her feet on the bed.

"I haven't looked yet, what is it?"

You didn't bother to explain, knowing she was about to look at it anyway, just peering out from under your arms to see their reactions. "I think I accidentally sent it to Tom."

"WHAT?!"

Your body shook as Liv jumped beside you on the bed, screeching excitedly. Madison, as ever, was a little confused, having not seen the photo yet.

"Wait wait wait, lemme see..."

"He must have been at the top as like, recently added or whatever," you whined as she opened the photo, Liv still vibrating beside you.

"Oh shit," Madison mumbled, and you could tell by the strain in her voice she was trying really hard not to laugh. "Okay but no, this is good!"

At that, you dropped your arms away from your face, needing her to see the full extent of the skeptical expression you were giving her, curled lip and furrowed brow and all.

"How is this good?"

"Because, you look hot!"

Pressing buttons on her phone to screenshot your Snap, Madison moved to sit on your other side, holding her phone out for you to take.

"I'd fuck ya," Liv offered helpfully.

Choosing to ignore her, you took Madison's phone, scrutinising every pixel that made up your image. Hmm. You did look pretty good, if you did say so yourself. Your bra certainly was doing its job, and though you could only see the lower half of your face, the smirk on your lips that you'd meant to be playful could be read as seductive...playfully seductive, if that was a thing. Maybe this was a good thing, maybe it could propel things along a bit.

"I guess...?" You looked at the girls either side of you for confirmation.

"Snapchat was basically made for sending nudes anyway," Liv laughed, shrugging. "So, you know..."

You weren't sure how to feel about that. Was that really why Tom had added you? And did you even mind if it was? Hmm.

Pulling your own phone from your dressing gown pocket, you swiped on the "Mads 😻 took a screenshot!" notification to open Snapchat. The arrow under Tom's name was empty now, "Opened ∘ 3m" next to it.

"He's seen it." Locking your phone so you wouldn't accidentally send anything else, you sat up. "I can't handle this, I'm going to bed. If you hear screaming, just ignore me."

The girls protested, desperate to see what Tom might send back, but you went back up to your room all the same. He might not even reply, which would be pretty awkward and embarrassing for you so you kind of wanted to be alone if that was the case. And if he did reply... well, that would be just for you to see, wouldn't it?

You took off your dressing gown, briefly considering trying on a dress or two as a distraction before deciding to just collapse onto your bed instead. Eyes fixed on your lockscreen, you lay down on your front beside your new clothes, feet dangling over the end of the bed.

sɴᴀᴘᴄʜᴀᴛ

Tom is typing...

Your feet stopped wiggling, eyes widening as the notification flashed up, only to be swiftly replaced by another.

sɴᴀᴘᴄʜᴀᴛ

From Tom

Okay okay, you thought to yourself, looking anywhere but at your phone. Don't open it right away.

That thought only lasted a moment, before it was overridden by oh fuck it, this is stupid. You sent a photo of you in your bra, it's a bit late to worry about looking too keen.

Once you opened the message, you were glad you listened to the part of you that said fuck it, a little squeak rising in the back of your throat as you processed the picture Tom had sent back. Taken in his bedroom, it showed his legs stretched out on his bed, a PS4 controller in his hand resting on his thigh. The same pale grey sweatpants he wore that night you stayed over were low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers just visible above them, and above them was a smooth stretch of skin, toned stomach muscles illuminated by the glow of his TV. The caption read just one word: 'gorgeous x'.

Gorgeous is right, holy shit - wait is he just sitting there playing PlayStation with no top on? Not that you were complaining, you just wondered. Then again, maybe he wondered if you were sitting around in your bra and knickers. Hm.

Exiting the chat so you wouldn't accidentally click send before you were ready, you spent an inordinate amount of time trying to take an acceptable picture to send back. You eventually settled on one of your most dazzling smile (but still with a decent amount of chest on show) with a simple 'thanks 😊' strategically placed just below your collarbone. Tom replied a few moments later, the picture this time showing his face (but enough of his shoulders visible to confirm he was indeed shirtless, his hair a mass of fluffy curls, the glare of his TV screen reflected in his glasses. You only just caught the caption before the 10 seconds ran out, 'what you up to?' in white text much less interesting to you in that moment.

In an attempt to play it cool, you responded with a picture of the top half of your face, your pillow and headboard visible behind you as you lay back on your bed, captioning it 'just trying to stay awake tbh😴'.

The next notification that popped up had a blue arrow instead of a pink one, showing it was a chat message and not a photo, and you felt your whole body relax the moment you saw it. Being alluring is hard work, and knowing you didn't have to try and capture it on camera meant you could breathe normally again.

ᴛᴏᴍ

Sleepy? 😜

ʏᴏᴜ

Ive had a long hard day of shopping!

ᴛᴏᴍ

Worth it tho?

ʏᴏᴜ

I'd say so yeah 😄

If nothing else it lead to those photos, so yeah, definitely worth it.

After messaging back and forth on Snapchat for a while, you switched to texting after you both admitted you kept forgetting what you'd said last. You tried to put your shopping away in between messages, but in the end you just piled it all up on the chair at your desk, too preoccupied for anything more. Following a brief internal debate about whether or not to put on your new pyjamas, you changed into an old comfy set - the photo-swap seemingly over for the night, you figured you were safe enough in Mickey Mouse patterned pants and an old t shirt.

You weren't really sure how it happened, but all of a sudden it was 3am and you'd barely stopped messaging, the conversation flowing just like it had that night in the library - if not even easier. You really didn't want to go to sleep, but your head was starting to hurt from tiredness, and every now and then your vision would start to blur as your eyes lost focus. Reluctantly, you sent your final cry laugh emoji of the night.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Omg 😂

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Right I gotta go to sleep

Yeah me too ahah

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀Night xxx

You wondered if three kisses was too many, but pressed send anyway.

Wait

Oh God three was too many -

Do you want to go for a drink next Thursday?

Oh. You read the message four times before you replied, quadruple checking you'd read it right.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ I'd love to :)

Cool :) sort times and stuff tomorrow? I'll let you sleep now 😂

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Sounds good x

Sleep well x

You sighed as you set your phone on charge for the night. Sleep well - as if you'd be able to sleep at all now, a million and one scenarios and outfits and What If's running through your mind.

⋘FOUR | SIX ⋙

taglist: @starksparker @bi-writes @softspideys @thwippeter @cutiehollands @loserparker @madmadmilk @hollandlovely @spiderboytotherescue @hollandbaby @dtftomholland @cabbagebag @iknowisoundcrazy @spiderman-n @luvnyuh @parkerpuffwrites @thwip-it-real-good@positiveparker @ap93mcu @popculture-parker @bilkyrie @pineapplwz @thequeensardine @hollandroos @mikalaka @awkwardfangirl2014 @booksaremylife @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @mcuspidey @summernykole @smashley816 @unicorn-princess-1999 @uwu-peter-parker-uwu @shawnraulparker @curlyhairedparker @curlytoms @darlingxholland @smexylemony @musiclover1263 @hueppily @therealcap @alwaysafanficwriter @timelock97 @trustfundparker @bon-travail98 @babyplutoszx2 @xxtomxo @que-es-life @spider-babes @expcto-ptronum @rosieredcheeks @laucontrerasv @sweet-baby-cakes @mismatchingsocks @rxsesinjune @toomuchdaegu @baebeepeach @killer-barnes @hauntedbysilence @fratboievans @splashofbi @nicole-lynne @whydidichoosebiochem @parkerindustrys @parkersvibes @tomhollandsbitch @summertime-acoustic @solarspidey @enchantingkittengaditor @hcneybugs @queenofthefangirls7 @fabtasticass @driftingtonystark @txmhoelland @applenter @little-hoseok @mayaisntfunny @toodeeptowake @dangerousluv1 @chubby-cheek-calum @awwyeaahh @aussie-mantle @spiderkat1248 @underoosjae @ultrunning @stormyparker @supernatural-girl97 @petersfreckles @tiny-parker @madeinthemidnightmemories @iamcalledsteph @bellsclarkee @iamscribby519 @captainsteverodgersgirl @jessjesstotherescue @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @littlebookbengal @danicarosaline @xplodingsocks @yourwonderbelle @tommyhollandaisesauce @spiderrpcrker @mellow-delight @danny-the-coolest @gennyld-blog @parkerstylesperalta @spidey-waffles11 @wisdomsprydexparker @hannahholland1811 @hufflepuff-wanda @what--you--egg @lexshead @thisismyblogthing @i-stan-brie-larson @ohmyquackson @tiny-friggin-human @deathofmissjackson @stop-wonder-think @alexs-mardy-bum @marshmallow-babe @relise-thefury @stretchkingblog97 @1022bridgetp @nedthegay @jurassicparker @fairydustparker @altuniverse @rekrappeter @sofiarasines @misslexilouwho @tomshufflepuff @theideasofa-troubleminded @bearsbeetsbarnes @lala-florez @plxstic-rose @cancerous-lizard666 @quinjetboi @newsienewsie @crazy-bout-books @adayasgeorgia @alexv2902 @fragilebeautifulchaos @oh-my-fancan @amor-y-comida @soccerstud004 @myimagineoutlet @kaleidoscopic-sunflower @boundtorain @holdinbacksecrets @spidermeggo @redmxnn @wdwimagine @chewie-redbird @sedulouswrtr @5secondsofalphas @undiadeestos @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @queenbcornelia @aclassypuppy @rhapsodyparker @kindheartsclub

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland headcanon #tom holland fluff #tom holland x female reader #tom holland uni au

762 notes · View notes

steve0discusses · 4 years

Text

Yugioh S4 Ep 23: Roland Freaks Out for 25 Straight Minutes

Oh man, took a break from the blog for a bit there because I gave myself a project to do that is 160ish color panels to draw by June 30th and um...it takes a while to do that, it turns out. Every time I’m like “wow I actually have enough time to make a buffer for the blog” I get so distracted.

But anyways, I started having some issues with my wacom tablet, my mouse is a nightmare, and so...I’m just gonna look the other way and write a recap and unplug all of the wacom stuff and just stay the hell away from whatever happened to that...tablet.

maybe It’ll be fine tomorrow?

*sweats nervously*

Thank God I didn’t buy a cintique, that’s all I’ll say.

Anyway, lets go back to Yugioh. Where were we?

That’s right. Mokuba is checking in with my favorite Kaiba, Roland, who is currently just trying to keep the company running while the official Kaibas are flying to California.

And I’ll be honest, as I was typing this I thought “and why are they going to California again?” and it took me like...10 minutes to remember that Seto dropped absolutely everything and jumped on this massive plane in order to beat Rafael at cards to win the title “King of Games” which...Yugi had already lost to Rebecca about 2 years ago prior, but don’t tell that to Seto. Or Rebecca.

Also don’t tell Seto that the “King of Games” title originally comes from being possessed by a very emo ghost that has a tendency to set people on fire with Russian whiskey and has nothing to do with whatever shenanigans went down with Pegasus.

Honestly, I like to think that in the modern version of this show, Pegasus threw the “King of Games” line out there as like a corny joke, and when the teenagers started latching onto it like it was real, he was like “Oh what?” and left it alone because he just got his left eye ripped out of his face and was very distracted by the large amount of cultists in his basement that he suddenly needed to let go.

But youknow it’s the end of the world, Kaiba’s company is being bought out by a competitor, one of Dartz’ assassins are trying to kill both him and his brother, but he has to go to California immediately to play Rafael while he has the chance. Not sure how Alister got the tip-off that Kaiba would be flying back to California so quickly, but knowing the Kaibas, they probably jump on a plane several times a week.

I’m just still baffled that Mokuba’s doing this over a cell phone. That he was like “I better call someone.” and instead of calling the Airline or the Coastguard he’s like “I’ll call Roland💗”

I’m pretty sure Roland saw that phone ringing with Mokuba in the callerID and was like “NO NO NO NO NO”

(read more under the cut)

Luckily for Roland, everyone at Kaiba corp has to learn how to fly planes in order to pass the entry exam.

For reals though, that plane just casually bumped off a mountain like it’s in Diddy Kong Racing.

There’s a lot of levels of brother’s saving brothers in this episode. You have Seto who thinks he’s saving Mokuba, but in fact it is Mokuba saving Seto by keeping this plane afloat. And then in reality, you can take another brother step backward and say it was Roland who was saving Mokuba who was saving Seto by giving the phone to that rando, and take even another step backward and say it was this Random Guy who was saving Roland who was saving Mokuba who was saving Seto.

So in reality, no brothers were really able to save eachother, it was actually that one secretary at the desk who screamed “JUST PULL THE LEVER HARDER, I DUNNO” until it worked.

But just remember that the theme of this episode is brothers saving brothers, although Mokuba is too small to really fly this plane, and Seto is too crazy to stop this duel and Roland is not really the secret inept heir of the Kaiba bloodline, and only in my little headcanon.

And also, I just have no idea who that random secretary is.

Anyways, Alister made this thing happen on the field.

Hey guys?

How many guns do you need on a tank?

Like I...

That is a hilarious amount of guns on this tank.

Like every character designer part of me is dying right now. It’s when you’re learning Maya, and you finally figure out the duplicate tool, and you just--you just strap a billion guns on a spaceship. We’ve all done this.

But like...this gunship has a face, and that face has it’s own tiny Oricalchos.

All I’m saying is that Alister is having a hell of a time in his Maya 101 class he takes at the local community college when he’s not busy working for Kaiba Corp Airlines or busy killing people for Dartz. I want to know what grade he got on this project, because in my Maya classes the only people who were this dedicated were building weird ass warships for their games or building intense 3D My Little Pony fanfic.

Here’s a list I can think of from the top of my head of challenges Seto Kaiba either quit or completely failed outright (basically the times Seto has NOPEd out or been forcibly kicked out):

-Joey Wheeler’s many challenges and also Spanish Class (as mentioned above)

-Beating Yugi in a card game

-Not joining Pegasus’ tourney initially so he could go on a vacation.

-We’ll just assume he’s only taken like a bunch of random college classes but only got an honorary degree

-Chess (like he was a Grand Master at one point but wtv, cards exist now)

-Didn’t arrest the Big Five or remove them from his mmo so they freakin died in there.

-Being the actual owner of the Millennium Rod

-Every time Yami tells him that they should be friends

-That whole story line where he was dating a dragon in a past life

-fulfilling that prophecy of killing Yami in the present timeline to end the world

-attempting to blow up his own battle city tournament before it was over because he didn’t win

-Getting all 3 Godcards

-When a possessed Tristan appeared over a mountain top to duel everyone and Seto just went “I’m out” and simply walked away

-Flying a blimp from point A to point B without it setting on fire

-Getting his Dad to build an amusement park

-Just anything to do with Noah

-the existence of magic in general

-every attempt he’s had to rebrand Kaiba Corp as “funtime games inc I swear we don't make tanks anymore, stop looking at all the tanks”

-Seto Kaiba’s entire Destiny storyline this season that he has gone way out of his way to get away from.

And like I’m sure there’s more, but I feel like half of Kaiba’s MO is that he is either Too Good To Bother With This or he has Lost Everything Very Dramatically. Mokuba at least has the right idea, by being one of the few people who has beaten Yugi Muto by peacing out halfway through the duel and stealing all Yugi’s stuff off of Yugi’s side of the table.

Anyway, despite it being like...5 seconds since we saw Roland in a weird cyber room in what I assume was Japan, we now see him with his head pressed against the glass of this helicopter being like “BOYS NO NOT AGAIN WHY”

And youknow, Roland was just trying to do the right thing, but he accidentally made things a million times worse by just showing up.

And so Alister was like “well I better crash the plane now with this gust of green energy that destroys all mechanical equipment.”

Really not sure how Alister was planning to leave this plane after this duel was over. I don’t know if he thinks that far ahead.

this isn’t even a joke I made up, Roland really did run up to the pilot and was like “Just throw down some ladders! That should work!” and it’s like...Do you not see the giant ship covered in a thousand guns right now, Roland?

And then Alister and Seto decide to have a fight about ethics where they’re both pretty wrong.

I mean it’s not the exact line but yes this is basically what Seto said, point blank, and I was like “well...at least he owns it.”

So cards happen, dragons get played (so MANY dragons) and because we had to end this arc, Alister loses the duel as we kind of knew he would.

And then Mokuba, because he knows no other life, sees an asshole older brother in pain and just wants to adopt him.

Enjoy that trauma tossed onto your already megalith sized trauma pile, Mokuba.

Elsewhere, the legendary dragons have started syncing again, which is a weird thing that they can do that none of these guys have any control of.

Mostly it just irritates whoever is holding these cards at the time.

But behold! the glory!

The glory of three tubby dragons wielding a plane!

It’s what Kaiba always wanted but he had absolutely no idea he was doing it. Will anyone tell him that he managed to summon three dragons to fly him around the sky like a mamma bird? No. No one bothers to tell him that his wildest dreams just came true.

FYI There were other stills of more of the dragons and the plane, but I kept pausing on instances where it kinda looked like they were humping the plane so I gave up.

But, at least we all get to meet up, around the smoke coming out the back of this giant plane that now...will just sit here...until someone sues KaibaCorp over it, I guess.

Like a soccermom, now Roland gets to give the whole frenemy crew a ride with...copters or whatever.

I dont’ know how Roland got here, y’all.

This happens a lot with animated shows, youknow, there’s a lot of plot threads, a lot of scenes and episodes that get freelanced out and outsourced, and people who make these shows aren’t working on the whole thing at once, they’re just going off of director notes--so there’s a good chance they had no idea that Roland...just shouldn’t be here.

But it’s OK, I enjoy whenever Roland is panicking in the background. He’s good set dressing.

Seto does not give any more explanation of this corpse.

And then, sprinting as fast as he could out of his copter comes Roland, who does what Roland does best. It’s this moment where you would usually see a parental figure reveal how much they care and adore their little children. But because it’s Roland, and these are the Kaibas, he instead takes this moment to reveal exactly how inept he is at the very last second.

Never change, Roland. I love this massive green haired disappointment.

Anyway, I’m not sure when I’ll get the next update out, since I’ll be knee deep in drawing art I don’t need to draw, but just know I’m not dead. Usually I post fanart or whatever, but all I have is this Dartz I started drawing but he just has so much hair that I don’t think that one will ever get even remotely finished.

But anyway, if you just got here, this is a link to read these from the start.

#Yugioh #ygo #seto kaiba #mokuba #roland #yami muto #joey wheeler #tristan taylor #alister #tea gardner #S4 #Ep23 #episode recap #photo recap

26 notes · View notes

thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

Teaser: The Café, At The End Of The World

I didn’t intend to end this on a cliffhanger, but it was getting very long. Stay tuned for Action later today.

TW for: domestic abuse, slight/referenced/brief homophobia, lightly implied transphobia, vomiting, gore.

It’s a quarter past midnight, and Sol has not had a cigarette break in four hours, and he hates everyone in the Bayview Cafe right now. It’s called the fucking Bayview, what the fuck are people doing here when it’s too dark to see the View of the Bay?

He’s down to two occupied tables, a total of three people standing between him and the ability to go home and add tonight’s tips to his top surgery fund. Two are new, at a corner table where Proux must’ve seated them while Sol was in the kitchen—thirty minutes before closing, the bastard—and the third is an old man in a moldy green overcoat, who has asked Sol for “more time” three times now, so Sol is fairly confident he’s looking for a dry seat to wait out the rain coming down in buckets outside, not overpriced small-plate bullshit.

Well, Proux is busy with Shawn in the kitchen, who came in smelling like weed (again) and is arguing with surprising eloquence that he should be allowed to smell like whatever he wants if he doesn’t interact with customers; so Sol is deciding to give the old man a few more minutes of warmth and dryness anyway when he hears a sudden dramatic shattering sound and turns to see a full glass of water tumble off the newly occupied corner table and explode onto the floor.

He stomps over toward the broken glass, and he’s almost grateful for the excuse until the patron seated with his back to him turns at the sound of his approach and fixes him with a stare so cold Sol freezes to the spot for a second. The patron already facing Sol’s direction smiles, maybe apologetically, but his older companion’s glare is so hostile that Sol almost can’t see anything else.

Sol feels a drop of cold sweat make a run down his spine. His binder’s on, and he’s been reliably passing for months, but old habit fills his brain with danger signals immediately. He makes himself keep walking, telling himself some rich old person doesn’t need an excuse to hate anyone who witnessed such visible clumsiness.

The other person— the one who isn’t glaring, is already halfway out of his seat by the time Sol gets to the table, reaching for the broken glass with his bare, rich fingers, and Sol knocks his hand out of the way none-too-gently before he can cut himself and get Sol fired. The guy backs off immediately, easing awkwardly back into his chair.

“Sorry about this,” the faceless non-glarer says in a soft voice. The Glaring Man noticeably says nothing; Sol keeps his eyes on the glass so he doesn’t cut his own fingers, either. “Just an accident,” he goes on, as if Sol would have assumed it was anything else.

“No problem at all,” Sol says automatically, and then, when he stands, he makes eye contact with the non-glarer, and feels his face heat up immediately. The second person at the table is a young man, no older than Sol is himself, twenty-one or twenty-two, and he’s very, very handsome. He’s frowning at Sol with big sky-blue eyes, looking embarrassed. Sol looks away from him immediately, momentarily forgetting that his other option is the older man’s zero-degree stare. He can see immediately that they’re related, probably father and son; the old man’s eyes are the same light blue, though they’re still squinted in haughty resentment. Sol clears his throat, irrationally terrified that his voice will squeak, which it hasn’t done in months. “Another— uh— water for you, sir?” he says huskily. The man nods curtly, and Sol scurries away, relieved.

He’s about to flee back to the safety of the kitchen, but actually, he’s holding a grade-A excuse to make his conversation with the old man as short as possible, so he stops there on the way, shards of broken glass cradled in his apron.

Sol isn’t sure how the man can see him coming, buried so deep in his hood, but he curls up tighter in his filthy coat, so he must.

“Sir,” Sol says, keeping his voice gruff, “this isn’t a park bench. If you’re not gonna order anything, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

After a long, awkward pause, a voice like dead leaves chasing each other in circles wafts up from under the old man’s hood. Sol, leaning in to catch the words, is hit by a wave of the old man’s smell— much different than the normal unwashed-body smell he expects— and jerks back up straight.

“...just some coffee, then, boy,” the old man wheezes, and pulls himself in tighter like he’s trying to disappear.

The cheapest coffee on their menu is eight dollars, which is more than Sol would have had to spare when he was in a position to be loitering in cafes to be out of the rain. It’s kind of more than he can spare at the moment, if this guy runs out on him. “We don’t serve plain coffee here, sir,” he says, guilt making his voice harsher than he means it to be. “You’ll have to order something specific.”

The man cringes again, drawing in on himself like he wants to disappear. Then a single damp hand slides out of his coat sleeve and deposits a twenty dollar bill on the table.

“Cream and sugar,” he says in that same wispy voice, and Sol stares at him, then shrugs. He could tell the man five places he could sleep tonight for that much— or buy himself a decent coat, for that matter— but it’s none of his business what some stranger does with his money.

“Be right back with that, sir,” he says instead, and tramps off to dispose of this glass responsibly and pour the old man an overpriced coffee.

Entirely by accident, Sol catches the tail end of Glaring Man’s growl on his way back out to deliver the water and stutters to a stop, not sure whether it’s safe to interrupt or not.

“—like such a goddamn child,” he’s saying, his voice fast and sharp and utterly poisonous, “we would not be having this conversation, boy.” In defense of Sol’s eavesdropping, he was actually starting to raise his voice a little by the end there.

His son is more careful about keeping his voice low, and thus harder for Sol to accidentally listen to. In response to whatever the young man says, Glaring Man curls his lip and leans forward, and hisses, “I will consider your feelings when you give me feelings worth considering,” and Sol feels his own face twitch a bit in response.

“I have your water here, sir,” he says loudly, causing both patrons to look at him, and he quails a bit under the intensity old man’s renewed glare, and might actually drop the glass he’s holding if the young man didn’t suddenly swipe it from Sol’s relaxing fingers and knock back a huge sip, setting it down loudly on the table.

“Thank you,” the young man says in a very warm voice, and then he drops Sol an unmistakably lewd wink.

Sol stares at the young man with his mouth open, which means he sees every movement involved in the full-force backhanded slap his father gives him.

The young man stumbles half-way out of his seat with the force of the blow. Sol takes an involuntary step back, barely avoiding the spray as the water he’s just brought launches into the air and spills down the side of the white table-cloth. The Glaring Man gets jerkily to his feet.

“I will see you again when you’re done being a fucking embarrassment,” he says, not looking at his son, and then he shrugs into his expensive-looking coat, gives Sol one last glare, and leaves the cafe.

Catahn stares at the door for a few seconds after it has slammed shut. When he turns back, the young man hasn’t moved from the position the slap pushed him into, halfway out of his chair, one hand tight on the edge of the table, head bowed.

Sol has no idea what to do. He takes a hesitant step closer. “Uh— you— you okay?”

The young man doesn’t answer. After a second Sol realizes with a spike of panic that his shoulders are shaking, and he’s reaching up a narrow hand to cover his face under the curtain of chin-length blond hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes. Sol is about to turn tail and run because no thank you, he’s dealt with way too much bullshit tonight to add emotions to the list, when the boy leans over the table, clutching his stomach, and Sol realizes he is laughing.

“Uh,” Sol says, only barely less alarmed.

“I’m sorry,” the blond wheezes, wiping at his long-lashed eyes. “Sorry, I’m sorry, you must think I’m— damn.” Laughing even harder, the boy shakes his head and rights the water glass his father knocked over when he slapped him. “You must think I’m out of my mind,” he finishes, struggling to get ahold of himself.

Sol one hundred percent does. “Uh— I mean, ‘course not, I— um— “

“I’m sorry,” the blond says, looking up at Sol, a little more composed but still grinning, and Sol freezes up again. His eyes are incredibly blue, and they’re still lit up with laughter. His cheek is turning red where his father’s knuckles bit into it, and now that Sol’s getting a good look at him, he sees there’s more than that— a thin scar through his left eyebrow, and a new break in his nose that looks like it’s almost finished healing, just a slight crook in the bridge and very faint dark circles under his bright eyes. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” the blond boy says, shaking his head, still pinning Sol with his bright, laughter-filled, slightly-bewildered gaze. “I’m not really sure why I did that.”

Sol is determined not to say “uh” again. “Neither am I,” he says instead, and winces at hearing his own tone, which is openly hostile. “Whatever.” That’s worse, actually. Sol wants to hide his face, flexes his hand against the mug of coffee he is somehow still holding instead. “Look, do you— want anything? More water, or. Like. Whatever?” He has to stop himself from making a face at how fucking stupid he sounds.

The boy doesn’t laugh at him; at least not with his mouth. His eyes do get suspiciously sparkly again, though. “Coffee, maybe,” he says, resting his chin on his hand and looking directly at Sol and nothing else. For a blond he has surprisingly thick, dark eyelashes, and he’s still smiling, his blue eyes crinkling slightly. Then he winces as though just remembering something unpleasant. “No, wait, I take that back. My meal ticket just left.” He gestures vaguely toward the door, and raises his other hand to his cheek without seeming to realize he’s doing it. The redness is already darkening; it’s going to bruise. “I guess I should get out of your hair, huh? I’m sorry.”

It’s at least the fourth time he’s said he’s sorry. And while Sol isn’t gonna pretend he has any idea what’s going on here, not really, it does seem a lot like this kid’s dad slapped him hard enough to bruise for winking at another guy. Which is none of his business, he tells himself furiously, at the same time as he slams the coffee he’s still holding down on the table.

The blond blinks down at it, then up at Sol, blinking his long brown lashes. “I’m— sorry, I can’t afford— “

“It’s on the fucking house,” Sol snarls, and turns away to pour another free coffee, because he couldn’t reasonably pay for some rich kid’s americano and then kick some homeless guy out in the rain, which means he was gonna pay fucking sixteen dollars for the priviledge of being a gullible gay dumbass.

The first coffee splattered halfway up the sleeve of his uniform shirt, and Proux yells at him the second he enters the kitchen until he puts his horrible scratchy wool blazer on to cover the stain.

The old man is still sitting in front of the window, buried deep in his big moldy coat. Sol runs a hand through his hair— it’s been a fucking long night.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says to the old man when he sets the coffee down in front of him, and then he sighs and adds, “Keep your money, this one’s on me.”

The old man doesn’t move.

“Uh— sir?” Sol says, and then the old man leans over the coffee cup and vomits a mouthful of blood half into the cup and half across the table.

The smell of decay his Sol in the face and he stumbles back half a step. “J— Jesus Christ!”

The old man lurches suddenly toward Sol and almost topples right out of his chair, his breath coming in one long ragged wheeze, and Sol reaches forward instinctively so he doesn’t fall.

The old man puts his hands flat on the table. Sol realizes that he’s shaking. “I’m alright,” the old man says in a small, unsteady voice. “I’m alright. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Sol almost can’t hear over the alarm bells ringing in his head. He loosens his grip on the old man’s shoulder. “Uh— yeah,” he says, trying to make his voice soothing. “I’m sure you’re fine. Listen, I’m gonna just go get my boss real fast and I’m sure he’ll— “

When he starts to back away, the old man’s hand shoots out and tightens around Sol’s bicep tightly enough that Sol lets out a sound not far from a squeak. The smell coming off the old man’s hand almost makes Sol gag, and he can see it leaving some kind of slime on the thick wool of his sleeve.

Slowly, like his head is only delicately attached to his shoulders and might fall off if moved too suddenly, the old man turns his head to look up at Sol for the first time, and at the sight of his face all the air rushes out of Sol’s lungs. He can’t move a muscle.

“Please,” the old man says, and blood sprays from his lips as he speaks and splatters onto Sol’s shirt. “Please. You’ve got to help me.”

#the café at the end of the world #whump #original whump #domestic abuse whump #backhand slap #zombie apocalypse whump

14 notes · View notes

silenthillmutual · 5 years

Text

One Punch Man, thus far

all Genos/Saitama, unless otherwise specified (i still have a few on my ‘marked to read later’)

Top 10:

Colourless Saitama and his Years of Training by rironomind, M (fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, adventure, romance, drama) A lonely eggman living in the 21st century finds a cyborg who endeavours to keep him.

Connect Your Heart to Mine by Notsohappycamper, T (fluff) When Genos is left in critical condition and must stay at Dr. Kuseno’s for much longer than he’d like, Saitama is more than happy to stay connected to him.

everybody’s looking for darjeeling by Batman, G (AU) In which Genos takes up a part time job, Saitama is upset by purple aprons with sunflowers on them, and Sonic is a very tired supervillain. (Or, that one coffee shop AU now with 76% more cyborg baristas.)

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH DEMON CYBORG by nicolet, T (humor) Today we will be interviewing Demon Cyborg, 19 year old Hero Genos LIVE! Stay tuned for more!

From, Anonymous: Be my friend? by One_Punch_Chan, T Saitama wants to connect with his younger roommate as if he were any other human the only way he knows how: The power of the anonymous internet.

It’s always the internal stuff by fabulousreaper, T Here he was, the strongest man in the world, brought to his knees by a fucking cramp.

Knock Knock, I’m Back From Space by Notsohappycamper, T In which Boros lives, learns to find peace with his human rival, and comes over for tea every so often. I.e., in which Boros visits Saitama while Genos is away.

Missed Connections by batneko, T If the person you like doesn’t like you back, the healthy thing to do is move on, right? All Saitama wants to do is help Genos get over that mystery jerk who doesn’t appreciate what he could have had. And all Genos wants to do is get over Saitama, but how can he when he has to see him every day?

One Hundred Contest Entries by batneko, G Genos gets roped into an embarrassing publicity stunt, and no one is happy about it.

You’ll find me where the monsters are by supercrunch, T Genos stares. For a very long time, because he’s standing in the street with one shoe on, fighting a half-naked man who’s threatening to eat his other shoe, and now there’s an actual naked bald man with one raised eyebrow like he can’t even tell Genos is on his way to short-circuiting. “Oh.” (Either this ‘Saitama’ guy has very bad luck, or he genuinely enjoys getting attacked by monsters every week. Genos, for the life of him, can’t tell which.)

the rest!

Action and Reaction by Astarea (fluff) Saitama has come to terms that he can never confess, but it still hurts.

All The Makeup That MAC Can Make by Sacramental_Wine (hurt/comfort, fluff) “Did he have freckles once? Was he always smoother looking? Did his face always seem to have that plasticine finish? What would Saitama think when he came home to Genos looking…alive for a change?”

Black Is Your Brightest Color by daughterofMyou (fluff, angst) -A Valentine’s Day fanfiction; Saitama and Genos go for a walk in the park, then attempt to cook each other their favourite desserts. Not everything goes as planned.

Brand Loyalty by batneko (AU) Genos encounters a man who looks exactly like Saitama… but with hair.

First Crush by batneko A conversation over dinner about crushes and fandoms.

First-Name Basis by batneko (AU) Genos gave up on finding his soulmate when he gave up his skin. Saitama just isn’t looking.

Gray Matter by batneko (fluff) Some parts aren’t so easy to replace. And the injuries you can’t see can be the most dangerous.

Hands by Bloodsbane Genos asks to use Saitama’s hand as a drawing reference.

Hollow Spaces by twisting_vine_x Saitama hadn’t realized how alone he was until Genos came into his life.

“I’m his husband.” by batneko The obligatory accidental marriage fic.

It’s Cold Without You by your_tomodachi (fluff) Genos is invited to a party organised by the Hero Association on Christmas Eve. He decides to take Saitama along and everyone thinks they’ve come together as a couple. Really, Saitama only came because he heard there’s free food.

Love Bite by batneko (fluff, angst) “Maybe we should stop fooling around.”

Marks on Metal, Dents on Flesh by notsohappycamper (fluff) The boys explore the imperfections of each other’s bodies.

Masks by batneko Superheroes wear masks. Everyone knows that.

Morning Routine by rironomind (fluff) Waking up next to someone who loves you

Mr. Right by OldBeginningNewEnding Flowers in hand, Saitama takes a trip with Genos for a long-overdue introduction. And maybe a request as well.

my love has come along by lowsywriter (fluff, angst, AU) Genos knows himself too well to not notice that his feelings for Saitama are more than friendship, and with graduation looming he is gonna miss his chance to make a move.

never change by determination Saitama doesn’t know how to handle Valentine’s day or his feelings. But he’s learning, and maybe a romantic holiday is all he needed to nudge him in the right direction.

Obliviously by batneko Everyone can see how much Genos cares for Saitama, but can Genos? (No, no he can’t.)

Our Two Dads by aactionjohnny (fluff) A day in the lives of the robo babies.

The Pocket Trials by 8ball (friendship, fluff) Genos apologized at the end of the fight, like he always did when Saitama had to help him stand or gather his parts or just flat out carry what was left of him. But it bothered Saitama that Genos was apologizing for failing to defeat the monster, rather than failing to keep himself unharmed.

R.A.M Sleep by CAPSING “Genos,” Saitama finally speaks, with an uncharacteristic hint of urgency in his voice. “Yes, Sensei?” Genos straightens his back slightly, attentive; he sets his chopsticks down. “This morning, on patrol…” Saitama is clearly struggling. “I –“ There’s a pause.“I wondered what we’d have for dinner.”

Robot Parenting 101 by batneko (fluff) Dr. Kuseno’s latest project is useful, but unconventional.

Soap by 54starr Genos accidentally confessiones his love to Saitama. Now he’s gotta wash his mouth out with soap.

Uncharacteristically nervous by oiltears (fluff) Genos and Saitama go on their first “real” date and Saitama is a small bundle of nerves

unwind by bluestrawberryiii (fluff) Saitama’s had a rough day.

Warm Like the Sun’s Rays by oodlenoodle (hurt/comfort, fluff) Genos and Saitama enjoy a sunset together and share memories from the past while creating a new memory of their own.

Yellow by transtrees “The person I love is so strong it worries me, So show your weakness to me alone! I’ll find you before the stars do, So please come straight home!”

Blending and Processing by aactionjohnny It’s just a blender.

Blush by SomeplaceToStay Genos can’t blush and Saitama doesn’t know if he’s upset by that.

Breaking the Fourth Wall by nicolet (fluff, crack, humor) Genos reads fanfic. That’s all there is to it.

Breathing Fish to Life by Magisey (fluff, angst, hurt/comfort) A fluffy hurt/comfort fic of getting together, love, and fishies

Condition of Learned Helplessness by Sheepnamedpig (drama, romance, angst, friendship) Genos fights, learns, launders, and loves.

Confessions by AlaianaPotter (fluff) He had not meant to send it. He had not meant to even write it, but sitting there in the morning as Sensei slumbered, it had just been far too tempting

Fraternization by batneko Saitama and Genos learn about a very inconvenient Hero Association rule.

Frustration by icarusforgotten (angst) It’s something so fundamentally human, so unbearably real, that it almost hurts to acknowledge it.

Greed by Sheepnamedpig I get a little bit Genghis Khan./ I don’t want you to get it on/ With nobody else but me.

Hands by Bloodsbane Genos asks to use Saitama’s hand as a drawing reference.

I Didn’t Know What I Needed to Know by The_Button_Harlequin (fluff, angst) Saigenos Week Prompt: Won’t you come home soon?

I Love You by nicolet (fluff) Just a touch, the briefest touch, and yet within it, a world of importance.

Kisses For Me by nicolet (fluff, crack) Genos keeps kissing other Heroes (accidentally), and Saitama is annoyed.

Lazy Day by Notsohappycamper (fluff) Relaxing on the balcony, doing laundry together, eating ice cream, and being in love.

Love doesn’t HAVE to be a many splendored thing, does it? by Ginncide Saitama’s never been an emotional guy, so he figured he wasn’t cut out for romance. He starts to wonder what being in love really is.

Mind Over Matter by yesterday “You want me to teach you how to what?” Saitama asks as they’re clearing up the dishes from tonight’s meal. Genos washes; Saitama gathers up the garbage. Tomorrow is burnable garbage day. Each pot and plate and dish is scoured to sparkling perfection before it goes into the drying rack. “Relax,” Genos says. “Sensei appears to have a lot of experience in the art of doing nothing, and recently Doctor Kuseno suggested that it would be beneficial for me to do the same.” “Doesn’t that guy make robots? They’re not exactly like humans, you know,” Saitama says. “And it’s not like I spend all day lying around the house. I’m a hero, a hero.”

Not Today by Sheepnamedpig (action, drama, romance) There is only one thing we say to death–

One Day (Love and Loss) by SugaSugar (AU, angst) By the time he’s twenty five, Saitama starts to wonder if Genos died before they could meet.

Paper Stars by Variastrix (angst) Saitama folds paper stars as a coping mechanism.

Phantom Warmth by KNACC (fluff) Genos is feeling odd reactions in his barely functional core as Saitama carries his wrecked body away from the Sea King fight.

Practice Makes Perfect by Humanitys_Shortest_Soldier (fluff, angst) Genos takes a lesson from Saitama a little too seriously, and Saitama is surprisingly okay with the whole thing.

Regret by Lazzuli (fluff, angst) Everyone has discussions, everyone fights. Even teachers and disciples.

Search Your Feelings by Chokopoppo (fluff) Saitama can’t believe Genos hasn’t ever seen Star Wars. Genos can’t believe Saitama thinks R2-D2 is the best robot.

Separation Anxiety by NanakiBH (drama, angst) Everything can be broken; something the strong forget.

Shift by Duskglass They’re both pretty bad at dealing with change, and Saitama just wants to avoid trouble. It sort of backfires.

Simplicity by rubyfiamma (fluff) Genos kisses Saitama, Saitama wonders what in the fuck

Sleeping Cycles by LennyFace (fluff, friendship) Genos can’t help but notice many details about his master, small things he observes from their routine and includes in his housework to facilitate his life.

So much time to waste by seiji Two heroes walk into a bar. The waitstaff survive, mostly.

synthetic by cyaneyed He tastes faintly of metal.

Twelve to Four by lightning027 (fluff) [[Or a story where Saitama makes a list, Genos buys a throw pillow, and they both sort of overheat]]

why isn’t he getting paid for all the merchandise though? There was a line between admiration and obsession and Saitama was pretty sure Genos was starting to cross it.

you’re digging graves into your skin (mark the headstones with my name) by rironomind (romance) Genos is self-destructive, Saitama is insensitive and Dr Kuseno is long-suffering.

All I Have to Give by needchocolatenow (fluff) Genos is in love with Saitama.

And so the Universe Cackled in Glee by I_dont_know_man (humor) Inspired by bleepbloop6969’s Ecchi AU: “Where everything is the same, except Genos keeps getting thrown into perverted positions with Saitama.”

First Aid by Zemmiphobia (fluff) Watching Genos prep for repairs gives Saitama a sudden realization, sparking Genos’ own revelation.

Friction by Usuishi (PWP) There were far too many times where they ended up in situations in that Saitama really couldn’t find the source of. They always ended up in erotic circumstances somehow, whether it was Genos or himself that initiated them. It didn’t matter where they were by this point. It didn’t matter one bit.

A Happy Accident by paperficwriter Genos discovers that Saitama is very, very sensitive to certain touches, and he decides to experiment.

A Hot Bath and a Hot Pot by aactionjohnny (fluff, smut) Or, “what the OVA didn’t show us.”

I Want You To Want Me by One_Punch_Chan Genos gets a super obsessive fan who keeps harassing him for dates etc. and the only way to get them to leave him alone is for Saitama to fake being his boyfriend.

Jupiter Has Seven Moons by Chokopoppo (PWP) Nothing like a cool robot boyfriend with weird sexual modules to make you appreciate the modern age of technology, and no time like the present to figure out how to use that.

Nightmare by batneko Saitama has a dream that shakes him, and some reassurance is in order.

Nobody Got Me Feeling This Way by Sacramental_Wine “Normally, he felt hard around the edges, something immobile and sturdy. But the music hollowed him out, making him fluid, floating, dancing along with a general ease that came from not seeing himself.” Genos discovers what it is to love the body he’s been given.

Repairs by shaunhastings2012 Genos needs to fix some of his wiring after a battle. It should’ve been a simple repair, but it wasn’t going quite the way he’d expected. However, Genos didn’t exactly mind what happened.

Self-Indulgence by EmpanadaDrabblez The alarm clock across the room shone red like those beautiful crimson irises. The blue moonlight through the sheer curtains glowed like the white cables of Genos’ neck when they were kissed. The small fan at his feet droned quietly like the overworked hum of Genos’ cooling system.

Sensory by Duskglass Genos needs some minor repairs after a fight, and is positive he can handle them on his own. It’s a little harder than he anticipated.

So Very Loved by lilith_swbf Saitama made him feel like he was his most precious treasure.

Untitled. by DesInDisguise (fluff) Gentle lovemaking was all that he could ask for. To be shown adoration, love. To be pulled away from their lives for only a moment, no remembrance of how he was a machine made for death. How nice it was to forget, or pretend that he was human for those moments. To be loved and cherished much like anyone else, for Saitama to kiss him without hesitation, giving him no time to apologise for being too stiff, too awkward, too fake.

Add-On by NyxMidnight Genos is a cyborg. Adding a bodypart is nothing to him.

Apartment-warming by Akumeoi (smut, romance) Saitama finally moves out of the Hero Association HQ and goes back to Z-City with Genos. They do some housewarming. (Translation: 2K smut)

Appreciation by EmpanadaDrabblez (AU, PWP) “You know I appreciate you, don’t you?” The question was easier to let out than Saitama expected, but it was the silence that answered him which made him anxious.

The Apron by Bloodsbane (angst, fluff) Shit. The word buzzed around Saitama’s skull like a mosquito, one he truly had no chance of squashing between his fingers. Shit, he thought, observing his disciple/roommate/best friend as he scrubbed furiously at a spot on the floor with a rag. He was on his knees, bent forward slightly, putting all his weight into removing an ugly soy sauce stain. The straps of the apron fell as if to purposefully frame his ass. Fucking shit.

Bathtime Bubbles Baby by Darke_Eco_Freak Saitama would really hate to burst them.

Beta Testing by Croik Taken from an anon prompt on tumblr: “Masochistic Genos who knows Saitama is going too far w/o realizing it while they’re banging.”

Blackout by Lindserton (fluff, smut) A storm is approaching and Saitama doesn’t seem concerned about it one bit.

Blooming Season by oodlenoodle It’s springtime and Saitama decides to visit Genos.

Break Me Open by spunlikesugar Genos ends up with his fair share of dents the first time he has sex with Saitama…and the second time. And many times after that.

Crime and Punishment by spunlikesugar (humor, smut) Genos uses a new tactic to get Saitama to attend a wedding with him. It backfires. Or not. Depends on how you look at it.

Egging Him On by banana-babies Genos and Saitama end up at King’s house with some sake and a lot of sexual tension. King ends up having a very bad time.

Evening Interlude by SweetAvidyaJones (angst) I have been thinking a lot lately about Genos fucking Saitama and I couldn’t stop so I wrote this.

Eyes (Only For You) by 8bitcyborg (smut) «That’s when he decided that it didn’t really matter. His heart told him it didn’t matter. Genos wanted him, and he wanted Genos. The reckless but still so perfect and loving cyborg, who could have anyone in the world, possibly the universe, but only had eyes for him.»

Full Color by NanakiBH Ever since Genos appeared, something began to change.

From a Cyborg’s Mouth by Emery (fluff, smut) Genos is much, much too polite, and Saitama decides that he’s had enough of it–especially when he knows that the cyborg talking dirty will get him off.

Frozen Sunlight by Aetherdrive Humanity is the best gift you can give to someone that has transcended it.

Hard Edges by Ixxen (smut) For the rest of the day there’s a peaceful lilt in Genos’ step that Saitama hasn’t seen for longer than he liked to think, and makes sure to let the blond catch him staring. Each time is a discovery, and the specimen is a smile outlined in vivid red; perfect, entrancing, and capable of skipping a step in Saitama’s otherwise perfect heartbeat. After that, he pays attention.

Phantom Limb by batneko Genos doesn’t have a penis, but accidentally discovers his brain can make do.

Pointless by CheekyKichi (PWP) Genos is very cheeky and Saitama doesn’t let him get away with it, even if they’re at a very important wedding.

The Quality of Being Hard by NyxMidnight A misunderstanding leads to good time, or “You just had to say so, Master”.

Reconsider by SpringTide “So, uh, Genos. Do you…have a thing for me?” Time stood still in the room. This was the absolute worst case scenario. Genos weighed his options while carefully maintaining a poker face. Saitama just kept staring at him with a blank, unreadable expression. “That’s. An abrupt question, sensei.” It wasn’t abrupt. Genos had lived there for months and fallen hard and fast. It was shocking it took this long for something to come up.

Stamina by toastycyborg (PWP) A drabble for Tumblr user sai-pop, based on an anonymous ask: “OVERSTIMULATED GENOS AND A SAI THAT CANT STOP BC HE HAS A SCARY AMOUNT OF STAMINA”

Through Different Eyes by NanakiBH (drama, hurt/comfort) For the first time, he wanted to know more.

Yellow by aactionjohnny Genos buys Saitama a gift. Well, really, it’s for both of them.

Yes, Master by Astarea Genos is very upset and Saitama is having none of that.

Always Gold by OldeShoestring (AU, fluff, humor) Genos lost a bet and the result isn’t as quite as he expects it to be.

Good Boy by doobler (PWP) Saitama wants Genos to want him to want to be praised. Right?

Head Full Of Nothing by hopelesswanderlust (angst) Sweet Mask makes him write a list about what it means to be human.

His Biggest Fan by Orihander (fluff) Genos just wants his sensei to be happy

I Know Your Face by paperficwriter Sonic finds Saitama, but something about him keeps him at an uncharacteristic distance.

Lazy Mornings (PWP) Saitama appreciates staying in bed longer than necessary a lot more than he should. Especially if there is someone else with him. Someone who doesn’t mind being ground against.

The Meaning of Flowers by paperficwriter (+ Metal Bat/Garou; fluff) A collection of drabbles based around flowers and their many meanings.

So Many Colors by OldeShoestring (fluff) Genos deals, listens and loves. Not necessarily in that order but he does all of them anyway.

#fic recs #one punch man #saigenos #genosai #opm #nori talks #ok to rb #long post #popular

165 notes · View notes

sinfulserpents · 5 years

Text

Cosmic Warrior | Part Three

Zombie Apocalypse AU! Tom Holland x Reader

MASTERLIST

Warnings: gore, violence, swearing, zombies(?)

word count: 1.9 K

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! :”)

“We need to keep moving, c’mon pack up your stuff.”

With a tired groan, you pulled yourself up onto your feet as Harrison began putting out the small fire you had made with Tom’s order. Boomer was finishing up the can of beans Sam had given you, and you let a yawn rumble past your lips.

You had walked until you finally found the I-30 road, deciding to sit down and eat until you all could be bothered moving again. The road stretched miles long and you imagined how busy it would’ve gotten back in the day when civilisation still existed.

You had barely looked at Tom – or any of the boys for that matter – since he pinned you up against the tree and more often than not you found your mind thinking back to the woman and her baby.

“Which direction should we go?” Harrison questioned, looking towards Tom for instructions.

Which ever way he decides - I’ll go the opposite, you decided.

Holding the small plastic drink bottle that Harry had filled for you, you clicked your tongue as a signal for Boomer who had taken a significant liking towards you. His adorable head tilted towards you, and quickly stood to be by your feet.

“We should head right, see if what we can find in town and the houses,” Tom instructed, pointing in the direction he chose. Left it is.

The boys all tugged their backpacks tighter onto their shoulders and made sure their weapons were in place before they all began walking. You decided that you would break apart from the group without drawing any attention to yourself.

You knew that joining a group was a bad idea. They had no plan, nowhere to go, and it wasn’t safe to be floating through the streets. Toying with the small piece of paper in your jacket pocket for reinsurance, you made sure that the boys weren’t paying attention before you started backing away in the opposite direction.

With Boomer hot on your heels, you began walking in the other way. You needed to find a convenience store tomorrow, you needed a map, food, and something to drink for your trip.

“Y/N! Where the bloody hell are you going?!”

Shit.

Choosing to ignore Tom’s yells, you continued walking away praying that he wouldn’t run after you, but of course he did. Running in front of you, Tom placed both hands on your shoulders to stop you from moving.

“You sure you don’t want to push me up against another tree?” You sarcastically sneered, pushing his arms off.

“Is that what this is about? You’re mad because I was worried you were going to get killed?”

“Why would you even be worried if I was going to die? You don’t even know me.”

Taking a deep breath, Tom closed his eyes to compose himself before staring straight at you.

“You’re right, I don’t know you. You don’t know me,” he began, glancing behind you at his group. “But I do know that this world isn’t made for lone wolves; you were barely making it out there on your own, Y/N. How many people have you come across that haven’t tried to kill you?”

Realising that he was awaiting your response, you could only stare down at your white converse covered in dried blood, “none.”

“Exactly! Yet here you have four guys who are more than happy to take you in, help you; we haven’t tried to kill you.”

“You held a gun to my head.”

“I didn’t know if you were a biter or not!” Tom groaned, exasperated. “I get that you don’t trust us, you don’t trust me, but I’m not going to hurt you Y/N. You’ve got to trust my word.”

“Every group I’ve been apart of, since the beginning of this fucking mess, has ended up dead,” you stated, Tom’s eyes slightly softening. “I’ve always been the survivor and I can’t see that happen again. I can’t wake up one day to you guys being torn apart-”

“I can’t promise you that nothing will happen to us,” Tom cut you off, “but I can promise that if we work together, we will survive this. I don’t know when, if, this horror movie is going to end, but we need to live just in case there’s a chance of returning to normal.”

Nodding, you finally met Tom’s gaze as he held open his arms. Closing your eyes, you intertwined your body with his as he held you. Silent tears fell down your cheeks as he comforted you.

“We’ve got to get going if we want to reach town before it’s completely dark, you know how bad night biters can be.”

Pulling away from his embrace, you let Tom grab your hand and pull you back in the direction that he was going. The group all gave you small smiles, and Sam bent down quickly to give Boomer a few pats before standing up and walking alongside everyone.

Every couple of minutes Tom gave your hand a small squeeze of reassurance and only let it go if he had to kill a lone biter that was straggling along the road.

By the time you had reached the town of Dry Creek, night was settling in and you were all absolutely ready to collapse and rest. A sign in the distance announcing your arrival to the town was only holding onto the poll by one screw and was swaying slightly in the breeze. The now cryptic bold words painted on it, meaningless.

Welcome to Dry Creek!

Population 1,569

Enjoy your stay!

A loud animalistic squeal of a nearby biter sent up the hairs on the back of your neck, and Boomer began growling. Realising that you were clenching Tom’s hand in yours, you reluctantly let go and moved your arm away to pull out your machete.

As you turned your head to scan the suburban area around you, you didn’t see the small flash of confusion that came across Tom’s face when you let go; but Harrison did – giving his best friend a not-so-subtle nudge as he walked past.

“We should choose a house for the night and then we can move into the town tomorrow,” you suggested, looking at Tom to see if he agreed.

With a slight nod of his head, Tom pointed towards a house a couple of meters away. “That one looks safe for the night, we’ll still have to do a perimeter check though.”

The five of you began your quiet trek over to the house, Harrison leading the way with the only flashlight you had. Your entire body was on alert as you heard a close, loud moan from a biter and you had to stop Boomer from letting out a bark that would alert it to where you were.

Nobody else seemed to be paying attention as they tried to look past the barriers made out of wood covering the windows of the house. A grey, decaying hand reached around the corner of the house, soon followed by the body of a biter.

Half her scalp had fallen off and her jaw appeared to also be close to breaking if she continued to viciously chomp down on air. The white nightgown she was wearing had been torn down the middle and was only still on her body since majority of it had melted into her rotting flesh.

Her arms reached out towards you as she made her way over and you rolled your eyes in annoyance. As soon as she was close enough you sent a harsh kick to her stomach, throwing her to the ground with a thud. Not wasting a second, you walked around her and placed your foot on her stomach, keeping her down.

Her arms continued to reach out to you and her mouth relentlessly opened and closed, hoping for a chance to take a bite of you.

“Not today crazy lady,” you chuckled, raising your machete above your head before slamming it through her eye; halting her movements. Her arms flopped to the ground and her entire body went limp.

Pulling your machete out of her head, you wiped the blood on her dress before standing up straight. Before the apocalypse you never understood why murderers in horror films would clean their tools off with their victims clothing; but now that you were constantly killing the dead – you understood; it made it a lot easier.

Turning around, you saw all the boys staring at you as they waited at the open door to the house.

“What?” You teased, walking up to them. “You didn’t think I could kill biters?”

“Oh, we knew you could. You’re a complete badass,” Harry chuckled, wrapping his left arm around your shoulder, before Tom interrupted.

“The house is clear, lets get settled in for the night.”

------

“Seriously, you should’ve seen his face when you sent her flying to the ground.”

“Harry, shut up,” you laughed, rubbing your forehead.

“No, you shut up.”

“Real mature.”

Letting out a booming laugh, you quickly placed your palm over Harry’s mouth to quiet him. There was an entire hoard of biters in the street and they thankfully hadn’t realised the lot of you were in the house with the amount of noise you accidentally made moving the furniture.

There was only one bedroom set up in entire house, which made you conclude that the biter you killed earlier was probably the only person who lived here. The boys had all insisted that you take the bed considering you were the most injured and Harry offered to help you find new bed sheets since the ones that were on the bed were covered in blood.

“I’m being completely serious Y/N,” Harry continued to snicker after you pulled your hand away, “Tom was in awe! Like, the only word that came out of his mouth was ‘wow.’ You had my brother lost for words and that never happens.”

“I only killed a biter, what’s so amazing about that?”

“It wasn’t what you were doing, it was just you. He was in awe of you.”

Not knowing how to respond, you opted to not say anything and continued to pull the clean sheets over the bed, as Harry went back to helping you. Once you were done, the both you collapsed onto the mattress; letting out a string of sighs.

“This is so comfy,” Harry mumbled, hugging the pillow under his head.

“You could always share with me? It’s a big enough bed.”

“Nah, I think I’ll leave that for Tom.”

With a groan, you picked up the pillow under your head and whacked Harry in the chest with it, causing him to sit up quickly and hit you with his; the both of you starting a pillow fight – forgetting how shitty the world around you was for a moment. After a while you both calmed down and Harry decided it was time to go to sleep.

“Get some rest Y/N, Tom’s probably going to make us wake up early,” he smiled, giving your knee a gentle squeeze before jumping up off the bed and making his way to the door.

“Harry-” you stopped him, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“Making me laugh for the first time in a long time.”

A gentle smile and light blush covered his cheeks before he opened the door, “you deserve to laugh more often, Y/N. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

With that, Harry stepped outside the room; shutting the door behind him and encasing you in darkness. Pulling the thin, knitted blanket over your body as you laid down, you let out a content sigh when your head hit the pillows.

“Me too, Harry,” you mumbled, shutting your eyes. “Me too.”

-----

PART FOUR

TAG LIST:

babebenhardy, greenarrowhead, scarlettglowss, spidey-holland7, lets--be-honest, cutiepiemimi13, tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead, mrskeishasdead, kuroidesuchloe, tomblrholland, malibuholland,

237 notes · View notes

itsallavengers · 5 years

Note

Prompt: "let's get you out of the rain"

Steve hated college.

He hated the loudness. The constant stress. He hated the assholes who thought they were better than everyone and really, really hated the parties.

Like the one he was at now. Or at least, the one he had been at. Now, he was just sat on the soaking wet sidewalk, rain dripping down his nose and sinking through his shirt. Behind him, he heard the thumping bass of whatever music they were playing back inside, but he had no interest in going back to enjoy it. He was pretty drunk, too, and wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d even make it to his feet without passing out.

He kicked an empty can viciously and watched it clatter against the door of some flashy red car. He didn’t even care if it scratched the paint. Life sucked, the world wasn’t fair, sometimes skinny assholes with something to prove ruined your paint job. Guess they were just gonna have to deal with it.

He hadn’t ever had a chance with Tony. Not really. Tony was beautiful, and popular, and whip-smart. Tony had everything, and Tony could get anyone. And Steve had really had the fucking nerve to think he’d ever had a hope in hell of being the person that boy picked?

How fucking ridiculous.

Wiping his nose angrily, he blinked back the hot tears and pressed his knuckles against his eyes. He was soaked to the bone; a proper East-coast storm was overhead, and he knew he was probably gonna catch some sort of cold from this. Skinny and sickly, him and bad weather had never meshed well. Hell, a light breeze could knock him flat if he wasn’t concentrating.

Steve didn’t think a hurricane could bring Tony Stark down, though. He was so resilient. And strong. And he had really great arms. Arms that, two minutes ago, Steve had seen curled around another boy’s shoulders, their faces pressed together as they kissed messily on the dancefloor full of drunk students. Steve had only gone to the damn house party because Tony had begged and puppy-eyed him to come, but in that moment, he didn’t think there was a single force on heaven or Earth that could’ve made him stay there and watch that. Tony had only spotted him as he’d slipped out of the room, and Steve had heard him call out Steve’s name, but hadn’t stopped to look. Just left.

Now, here he was. Out in the rain, waiting for a cab while Tony stayed inside and made out with… whoever that was. Steve hadn’t seen his face. Steve couldn’t say he gave a damn, either. The point had been made.

Tony wasn’t interested. All those shy smiles and little touches and stumbled words that they’d exchanged through their slowly growing friendship over the last few months had been just that – friendship. Nothing else. Steve was that kid Tony had been assigned to sit with in Chemistry class, who he got on with pretty well with and enjoyed the company of, but would never truly look twice at. Not in the way that Steve did for him.

God, and to think he’d thought Tony might kiss him tonight. Him. Hah.

There was the opening and shutting of the front door behind him, but Steve didn’t turn to look at whoever it was. Probably someone just going home for the night, tired of the noise like Steve was. He brushed them off quickly and then focused back up on feeling sorry for himself, wet and cold and miserable on a Friday night as the boy he loved remained about 30 feet away from him, having the time of his damn life with someone else.

Except, the 30-feet thing turned out to be wrong. Steve realised as such when he suddenly saw a pair of familiar red sneakers step onto the road beside him, and then the feeling of another body join him in the sidewalk. He turned his head, eyes going wide.

Tony smiled back at him, soft and sad. “So– unsurprisingly, I managed to fuck this up before it even began, huh?”

Steve just blinked, alcohol-addled mind trying to process what was going on. “Why are you…” he began, before shaking his head and looking away. Didn’t even matter. “Just go back inside, Tony.”

“No, I want to talk to you,” Tony said, “about what you saw just then.”

His cheeks burned, mortified. So Tony knew, huh? Well, that sure made everything ten times worse. “I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about it,” he snapped, “I got my wires crossed and overreacted, alright? You… You feel free to kiss whoever you damn please, it’s none of my–”

“I’m in love with you.”

Northward, a faint rumble of thunder burst through the air, and for a second the rain intensified. It was soaking into Tony’s curly hair, gathering on the leather jacket he was wearing. Whereas Steve probably looked like a half-drowned kitten, Tony just looked… serene.

Steve choked on his own spit and raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

“I’m in love with you,” Tony responded, just as confidently and simply as the last time, “I have been for ages. You’re… you’re amazing, Steve. And beautiful and perfect and a whole lot of overly romantic adjectives that I’m not going to bore you with. I was just trying to work my way up to maybe asking you out, but every time an opportunity arose I chickened out last minute. I didn’t want to risk our friendship when you said no.”

This had to be the alcohol. Rain-induced fever. Something other than the truth, for sure. Because the truth made no sense whatsoever.

Tony looked down at his shoes, biting his lip. “Thought maybe inviting you to a party would be a good place to start,” he said with a shrug, “I’m more confident at parties. We’d both be drinking and having fun, and I could make a move, and then if you rejected me I could blame it on the alcohol and we wouldn’t have to bring it up again, saving my ego and our friendship.”

“But what, you accidentally came onto the wrong guy?” Steve snapped before he could help himself, pulling a disbelieving face and tensing up. “Right, okay. Sure.”

Tony made a noise of distress, his hand settling on Steve’s arm tentatively. “Steve,” he said, “it wasn’t… God, look, I hate to break this to you, but I’m kind of a slut, alright? And when I go to parties, usually a– uh, long term booty call of mine is also at said parties, and for the past three years it’s just been unspoken that if we see eachother at these things, we have sex. Okay? It’s just… I dunno, habit. But not this time! Okay, this time he saw me and he kissed me, and I pushed him off and told him no. I don’t want to, alright, not now.” Tony waved his hands distractedly. “There was someone way more important on my mind– of course, that person had just seen some random guy with his tongue in my mouth and now thought that I was going to be banging someone else tonight, which sucks. And isn’t true.”

Steve looked at him suspiciously. “So you autopilot kissed someone?”

Tony made a face. “Technically, he autopilot kissed me. But I– God, this is a mess. I’m… Steve, I know what you’re probably thinking okay, I know I look like a fucking sleazebag, but I genuinely… it’s only you, okay? I look at you and all I can think about is cuddling you and kissing you and being with you. All the time. You’re funny and you’re sweet, and you don’t treat me like I’m a product. You treat me like I’m worth your time– though God knows why, I mean, look what I give you in return, holy shit–” he shut his eyes and then wiped some of the drops of water off his face, shuffling on his but until he was properly facing Steve.

Then he rested his palm against Steve’s face, skin warm against he wet rain. “I am in love with you, Steve,” he repeated firmly, “and there is no one else that I want to be kissing. Swear on my life, that’s the truth. I told Ty as much myself. He didn’t take it very well, but then again, he doesn’t really take anything well, so I can’t say I give a shit.”

Steve looked up at him; his earnest open face, his nervous smile, and the fingers that were absently tracing across the jut of Steve’s cheekbone. He wasn’t really sure what to think.

So he kissed Tony instead, just to see where that would lead him.

The other boy breathed in sharply, eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s cheek as he opened his mouth and let Steve push forward, hands curling around Tony’s neck. The boy tasted wonderful- like apples and coconuts- and his lips were warm. Steve traced his tongue across Tony’s bottom lip and then brushed up inside, making Tony sigh happily and draw him in a little further. Tony was a brilliant kisser. Steve was probably shit, but Tony seemed to like it anyway.

Then he pulled away.

“I think you’re still too drunk to decide whether or not you want to do this right now,” Tony muttered, eyes still on Steve’s mouth as he swallowed. “You might still want to be angry in the morning. Which is fair. I’d be upset if you kissed someone else too.”

“I don’t care,” Steve told him adamantly, leaning forward again. Tony giggled softly under Steve’s mouth, kissing back for a second before he pulled back again, his arm slipping around Steve’s waist as the boy wobbled forward. “You’re not kissing someone else any more. You’re kissing me.” He leaned across and tried to reach Tony, but a huge droplet of freezing water fell right onto his neck and slid down his spine, and it made him wince and then shiver violently. He hadn’t really noticed how cold it was.

Tony looked upward, seeming to realise it too. With a small huff, he butted his head gently into Steve’s, unable to stop himself from giving another small kiss. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you out of the rain. You’re gonna get sick.”

“M’not gonna get sick,” Steve grumbled, feeling Tony tug him into standing position easily and then wrap his hand around Steve’s waist once more. “S’just rain.”

“Cold rain, that you’ve been sat sulking out in for five minutes.”

Steve pouted. “Can’t blame me– thought the boy I loved was off macking with some other asshole.”

Beside him, Tony stilled. “You…” He began, before just shaking his head and looking away. “Right. Drunk. Save it for the morning, Stark.” He mumbled to himself. Steve made another face– just because he was drunk, didn’t mean he was lying. Surely it was obvious at this point anyway?

Eh. Whatever. He could always say it again in the morning. And the morning after that, and the morning after that, and the morning after-

“What are you smiling at, huh?” Tony asked as he walked them over to the cab that had just pulled up at the curb. His eyes were gentle and his face soft as he took Steve in. By that point, the rain had plastered his hair right down onto his skull and the shirt he was wearing was sticking very uncomfortably to his ribs. For some reason, though, Tony didn’t seem to find it unattractive. In fact, Steve would go as far as to say that the look in the other boy’s eyes made him feel downright edible.

He leaned up and kissed Tony again. Tony hummed, kissing him back. “This isn’t fair,” the boy mumbled, “I’m trying to be… chivalrous, and you’re making it really– fuck– hard, Steve.” He broke off with a frown and then looked adamantly toward the car, helping Steve into it with a steadying pair of hands.

Steve’s world span a little as he shuffled into the seat, Tony slipping in beside him. “Don’t you wanna go back in?” He asked when Tony had finished giving the driver directions for Steve’s house.

Tony just looked at him, one perfect eyebrow arched. “No,” he said simply, “not at all.”

Steve smiled, and didn’t remember much after that.

He woke up, head throbbing, throat burning, and mind instantly made up. He rolled toward the nightstand, ignoring the glass of water and ibuprofen placed out for him in order to reach for his phone and type out a message.

You’re an assholePlease don’t accidentally kiss anyone else againUnless it’s me. I wouldn’t mind if it was me.Because I love you.Asshole

Like my work? Consider donating to my kofi!

#itsallavengers writes #stevetony #getting together #college au #pls don't let this flop i WILL cry

735 notes · View notes

rinthehufflepuff · 4 years

Text

Agent M pt. 4

Parings: Clintasha x Reader

Summary: You’ve been on the run for four years, never staying in one place too long, until you stumble across an abandoned house that seems the perfect place to bunker down in for the winter. Just as you’re getting comfortable, however, and the seasons start to change, the homeowners appear and they are far different from anything you could have expected.

Warnings: Language, guns, blood, panic

Series Masterlist

You were on edge all day. After another night of no sleep - you had instead spent the night doing odd jobs around the house that you deemed quiet enough to not wake Clint and Natasha - you were exhausted, but the buzz of machinery kept you awake as it always did. There wasn’t anything wrong at work, you had gotten a small pay increase from Mr. Wormwood, who owned the garage, and the rest of the workers had fully accepted that you were shy but good at your job - better than the rest of them and able to fix anything they threw at you. No, what had you jumpy was the white Ford Crown Victoria with a black stripe and large red letters clearly spelling out who owned the car.

Thus far, you had managed to avoid the police. Living in the woods meant you saw them every once in a while when you came across a road, but you hadn’t come in contact with an officer in four years. You do your best to not fidget too much, but once the garage closes, you know you can’t ride home on the road. The police car is still parked just down the road. You get the distinct impression it’s waiting for you.

You’re relieved that the garage sits on the edge of the woods and that you park your bike in the back. With one last look at the cruiser, you begin the long walk through the woods with your bike at your side. You had scouted the area several months ago when you first came upon the town, but with the trees and other vegetation thriving and green in the summer heat, you were having trouble picking your way towards the house. You spent hours just wandering, careful to not stray towards where you thought the road was in case there were cars patrolling for you.

You had to leave. You had to pack your bag and run as far away as you could. You shouldn’t have stayed once winter broke. You had been stupid, so very stupid. Of course, he would find you.

It’s nearly dark by the time you know where you are, the house just visible through the trees and you sigh in relief. Then the shot of a gun. A dog barking. Angry yelling. For a split second, you freeze. Then, you’re running, crashing through the trees and bushes and overgrown grass. The river. You had to make it to the river! Panic and adrenaline surge through you as they hadn’t in years, not since you were spotted in Alabama. You can’t be bothered to try and be silent as you move because the dogs could catch you anyway. They could scent you now that they had been to the house. The river would help, the moving water would help mask your smell and they might lose you.

When you finally reach the river, you throw yourself into the mud and roll, doing your best to completely cover yourself in the muck. Only when you are satisfied that every inch of you is coated in mud do you wade into the river and let yourself drift downstream, careful to keep your head above the water to watch the banks and listen for movement. You can’t gauge how long you’ve been floating, but the sun has been gone for a long time and the cool night air has fully settled. Knowing you couldn’t use the river all night, you make your way to the bank and search for a place to hunker down for the night. What you end up finding is a fallen tree. Though it’s long since dead, you know you can use the branches and the surrounding vegetation to help camouflage yourself.

You don’t sleep the whole night, terror fuelling you rather than mechanics. Every small noise makes you shrink into the grass and hold your breath. The cool night air is made worse by your wet clothes and hair and the mud caked to your skin. You can’t stand the cold, but you know you have no other choice. You couldn’t be caught.

><><><><><

Y/N wasn’t home. Clint had taken Natasha to the store to get whatever it was she needed for okroshka soup - another Russian dish she insisted on making for Y/N since you enjoyed it when she made food from her homeland. Except, Natasha hadn’t been able to find everything so they ended up getting sausages and peppers to grill since it was getting late and they were sure you were wondering where they were. When he pulled up to the house, however, you were nowhere to be seen. He searched the barn first, then your room and the roof since you liked laying on the shingles and read whatever Natasha had “accidentally” left lying around the house. The bike you took to work, his old bike he would take into town when he was going alone and didn’t want to drive, wasn’t near the porch either.

It is seven forty-five when a police cruiser pulls into the driveway and Clint can’t help but think about that first day. How you pleaded with him to not call the authorities. The panic so plane in your eyes that he would have done anything you asked at that moment. He doesn’t want to go out to investigate, but Natasha is scouring the woods nearby on the off chance you had decided to explore the property like he had suggested you do not too long ago.

“Can I help you,” Clint asks, Lucky at his side. The dog was just as antsy as he was, pawing at the ground and looking around.

“I sure hope so,” the officer smiles, but it’s tight and his eyes aren’t focussed on Clint. His hand is already resting on his gun. “I’m looking for a woman. About Y/H tall, H/C hair, E/C eyes, pretty scared up with a small tattoo on her left hand that looks like a C with two lines on the bottom curve. She’s currently wanted in connection with a gang shooting in Florida a few weeks ago.”

Lies. Even without the timing being wrong, Clint can feel the lies wash over him and it pisses him off.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Clint shrugged. Lucky growled at his side and the officer narrows his eyes. “Haven’t seen you around here, you new?” When the officer doesn’t answer Clint glances around the area thinking you had popped out of nowhere, but he’s still alone with the officer and Lucky. “Look, I’m going to need to see your badge, man. I don’t know you and you’re awful edgy for someone just looking for some woman.”

“No.” The brisk response sets him off and he gives Lucky the command to get Natasha. In the split-second Lucky begins to move, the officer draws his gun and fires, just barely missing the retriever as he dashed to the side and begins to bark for the Russian.

“The fuck, man? Who the hell shoots a half-blind dog?” Clint can’t help but yell. You aren’t here to get scared over the noise so it doesn’t matter. If anything, yelling would just make Natasha get to him sooner.

“You’re the one harboring-”

“I suggest you leave before I have to do something you won’t have enough time to regret.” Natasha is at his side, gun drawn and her eyes trained on the officer. “Now!” It’s nothing less than an order and though the officer looks like he wants to shoot them both, he slowly backs up to his car and leaves.

“Did you find her,” Clint asked, his hand buried in Lucky’s fur for comfort. Clint knew the local police, knew they wouldn’t ever come to his property without calling ahead because they were under the impression Clint was with the Feds. Whoever that was wasn’t any of the local guys - and he was looking for you.

“Thought I saw some movement on my way over here, but you were my priority,” Natasha sighs. “We should check it out now though, especially since she isn’t answering her phone…”

Clint doesn’t like the edge in Natasha’s voice, not at all. You were quiet, eerily so at times as you crept about as if you, yourself, were also a spy, but you had grown on the agents within days. After Clint’s two weeks away, Natasha had seemed so much closer with you, more attentive and relaxed. Clint knew whatever had happened while he was gone had created a severe attachment for his girlfriend. But then there was the issue of how once he had come back you didn’t seem to sleep. Dark circles had started appearing beneath your large, E/C eyes that made Natasha shift and steal glances at you and make more coffee than she normally would - even with Clint’s caffeine habit. He could hear you in the dead of night as you shuffled and grumbled as you made your way past their room to go work on some meaningless project to keep yourself awake. Something was upsetting you and now you were missing.

“You should go check it out, just take Lucky with you. I’m going to call the station and see what was up with rent-a-cop,” Clint huffed, scanning the tree line. If Natasha had seen you, if you had tried to come back to them, you were either long gone or curled up nearby. He could only hope it was the latter option.

><><><><><

Natasha felt numb. The bike - your bike - was abandoned in a bush just a few yards into the treeline. You had been here. Leading away from the bike was a trail of broken foliage that Lucky followed, his nose pressed to the ground, leading to the river where you liked to fish. Even in the dim light, she could make out a large disruption in the bank, the muddy indent just the right size to have been created by a person. By you. Swearing, Natasha pulled out her phone and called Clint. If you had bailed into the river...well the evenings were getting cooler and Natasha’s mind still rung with your words from all those nights ago. You wouldn’t be in your right mind to begin with and the cool evening air was going to make everything worse.

If you didn’t get tired out from trying to keep afloat in the current and drown. Natasha did her best to push that line of thought out of her mind.

“Nat? You there?”

“Yeah...I’m here,” Natasha replied, making her way down the river a bit. You wouldn’t have tried to swim upstream. “I’m ninety percent sure she was nearby when the gunshot went off. It looks like she panicked and jumped into the river - she went full stealth too, I found a pretty good hole in the mud that looked like someone had rolled in it.”

“D’you think she went far?”

“Can’t have, at least not too far. Clint, she’s gotta be terrified out here, and it’s almost dark. We can’t...I can’t…”

“Stay where you are and I will meet you with flashlights and a medkit. I’ll call the garage and leave a message so they know Y/N won’t be in for the next few days. We’ll find her Nat. We’ll get Y/N home and we can talk this all out and help her.”

Natasha wanted to believe him when Clint said that they would find you - that you would come home and she could help you and that you would be alright. But she knew there was every chance that that wouldn’t happen. Over the years, Natasha had seen too much. Too much violence, too much fear and panic and hate, too much bad - and those experiences made it just that much harder to believe the man who had saved her all those years ago. Still, she would look for you - wouldn’t let her darker thoughts stop her from searching all through the night and into the next day to find you.

The pair searched for hours, Clint having swum his way across the river so that they could search both banks and the surrounding areas. Everywhere they looked, they saw you - washed up on the bank, crouched behind bushes and in the tall grass, even hidden in the branches of trees. They had been trained to track people, S.H.I.E.L.D and the Red Room had both required extensive training for just this purpose, but Natasha wasn’t an expert tracker and neither was Clint. This, unfortunately, meant that they were much slower than they wanted to be.

Clint was sure you would have gotten out of the water at some point. You would have gotten tired and needed to hunker down for the night, but Natasha was constantly watching the surface and the fallen trees with branches that were bound to cling to debris. Her stomach twisted every time she thought she saw you tangled in those branches, limp and beyond her reach.

Without warning, just as the sky began to lighten, Lucky took off into the brush, tail high and ears perked. Natasha wasn’t far behind, careful to be quiet even though the light would alert you if you were awake.

><><><><><

You couldn’t be sure when you passed out. Somewhere during the night, you had heard several male voices, and in a panic, you had tried to change hiding spots. Except they saw you. Muted gunshots echoed in your ears as you had broken into a sprint to the river, sure that if you could throw yourself into the current you would have a chance of getting away. Just at the edge, though, another shot rang out and you felt a familiar explosion of pain in your side. You didn't have time to stop and try to staunch the bleeding, to feel for an exit wound, as you flung yourself into the river and let yourself sink. Only when your lungs were about to give out did you surface and let yourself drift for a while before dragging yourself out on what you hoped was the opposite bank. As you lay in the mud, you felt your abdomen for the exit wound, sighing in relief when you found one. You didn't want to risk running around with a bullet buried in you. Forcing yourself into an upright position, you stripped off your shirt from beneath the grey jumpsuit you were still wearing from work and ripping it down the middle before tying it securely around where you hoped the wounds were. It would have to be good enough because you couldn’t see and neither could you afford to stay on the bank any longer than you already had.

Struggling to your feet, you pushed into the woods and away from the river, trying to strain your eyes in the darkness for a suitable place to hide. Except it was pitch black and you couldn’t see anything. You weren’t surprised when your ankle twisted under you and you tumbled into a small ditch. Annoyed, yes, but at least you had a chance of being a little harder to spot. Your ankle throbbed and your abdomen continued to radiate pain as you lay in near silence, straining to hear even the slightest noise, the tiniest indication of not being alone. Except when you heard nothing except the wind and crickets, the burning behind your eyes finally got to be too much and you closed them. Only for a minute, you had told yourself, just to ease the burning. Except it wasn’t just a moment because you ended up passing out.

You drifted in and out after that, not completely sure if you were awake or dreaming. In the darkness, Lucky appeared, then Natasha, her face twisted into a grimace. Then Clint was there and there were muffled sounds, maybe talking, but you couldn’t grasp anything more before you were swallowed by blackness again. Pressure on your abdomen. Stabs of pain at the slightest movement. Swaying. Nausea. Soft warmth and running water. Gentle whispers and soft fur. Something vaguely sweet and floral. Coffee.

The next time you were aware of anything beyond pain and darkness, you were warm and comfortable, though thoroughly disoriented. For a moment, you panic. They must have found you and hauled you away while you were weak from blood loss and exhaustion. But that couldn't be what had happened, you were too comfortable. The warm pressure on either side of you was relaxing, enough so that within seconds your eyes drifted closed again, any worry of having been found by the wrong people dissipating.

When you were finally lucid and fully awake, you realized where you were. The familiar light blue walls of Clint and Natasha’s room were made softer by the early morning light coming through the sheer, white curtains that you and Natasha had found at a garage sale one day when you were running errands. Shifting slightly, careful to not upset the dull throb in your abdomen and ankle, you could see Lucky sleeping at the foot of the bed with his stuffed lion between his paws and Clint curled up in a chair in the far corner, fast asleep.

Since he had gotten back, you had made a conscious effort to talk to him more outside of meals and house repairs. Clint was nice, as you had always known, but you learned it was a niceness born out of genuine kindness rather than wanting something out of you. He kept his distance most of the time, careful to not be too close or too loud even though you knew he would normally do both because you saw him do it with nearly everyone else he met. As a result, you had gotten more comfortable around Clint, not freezing up whenever he walked into a room or tried to strike up a conversation. You had made the effort partially because Natasha trusted him and you trusted Natasha, but also because you felt guilty for taking advantage of his offer to stay in his home and then avoiding him. Now the guilt was even worse.

Rule five - you were supposed to call Clint or Natasha if you ever felt unsafe.

You hadn’t ever stopped to consider calling Clint or Natasha when you were at the garage. Instead, you had taken forever to get home through the woods and then bolted at the first sign of danger instead of trusting that they would help. That was another thing...you had very likely broken rule three and unintentionally brought unwanted company to the house - and then left Natasha and Clint to deal with the situation on their own. You were supposed to trust them, but you had reverted to your old mindset at the first sign of danger. Needless to say, the realization felt about as unpleasant as the gunshot wound.

And yet here you were, in their bed, as safe as you could possibly be with Him looking for you.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard, Myshka.” You turn to see Natasha slipping into the room with a steaming mug and a paper medicine cup, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I - I’m sorry I ran,” you sniffled. “I should have called you when I was at work and then someone was here and it was probably the police and I know you don't want people here at the house but I-”

“Myshka, Y/N, it’s alright,” she soothed, sitting on her half of the bed and sipping at whatever she had brought up. “We aren’t mad at you. Worried, yeah - we were very worried when you weren’t home, and you just about gave Clint a heart attack when we realized you had been shot - but you’re here and you’re safe. That’s all that matters to us, Myshka.”

“How did you even find me? I know I wasn’t all that careful, but…”

“It’s part of our jobs,” Natasha shrugged, reaching over and gently running her fingers through your hair. You, for the first time, realize that you aren’t covered in dried mud and that you are actually very clean, not to mention not in your own clothes. You have no clue what you’re wearing in the way of pants, but you’re in a tank top - the first in many years - and your scars are exposed. You feel completely naked, but it somehow doesn’t bother you as much as it should. You could see Clint and Natasha’s scars all the time as they both had several, so you knew they wouldn’t think any different of you for having some too, but you had been so used to wearing long sleeves that it almost felt wrong to not be wearing them now. Noticing you staring down at your arms, Natasha sighs. “We had you get you clean, Y/N. We didn’t want to risk any kind of infection.”

“It’s just...I don’t think I’ve looked at them in a while. I try not to when I shower, and I’ve always got them covered with long sleeves...do - do you think they look bad?”

“Yeah,” Clint huffs, adjusting himself in the chair, “bad-ass.”

“You dork, that’s not what she meant,” Natasha scoffs, but you can see she’s a little amused. “They look fine, Y/N. Honestly, they’re better than some of Clints. There's one on his ass-”

“We are not talking about Budapest,” Clint yelped, waving his hands in front of him as if it would stop Natasha from talking about whatever happened. For what felt like the first time in a long while, you huffed out a laugh. Though, you immediately regretted it when your side aches in pain.

“Here, these’ll help,” Natasha said, handing you the medicine cup with four different pills in the bottom. “We don’t normally have to break them out at home, but we use them all the time at work.”

You felt horrible when you looked down at the small plastic cup and your stomach twisted at the sight of the pills. You knew that Natasha wouldn’t give you anything that would hurt you, having passed that stage a while ago, but you were still nervous. Natasha wasn’t Him. Clint wasn’t Him. Even still, your first instinct was to tongue the pills and spit them out the first chance you got.

Forcing down the nagging voices in the back of your head, you tip the cup back and swallow the pills dry. Natasha gave you a small smile, and even Clint looked proud that you had taken the pills after only a small moment of hesitation. You knew as well as they did that even just a few weeks ago you would have tried to avoid accepting the medication altogether.

“You’ll have to keep taking them for a while,” Clint sighs, the smile slipping away. You realized almost immediately that you missed it. “That wound in your side isn’t pretty, and it’s more than likely is gonna scar pretty bad, but we’ll try to do what we can to prevent the worst of it. You did well though, Y/N, that shirt you had all tied up probably stopped you from bleeding out before we found you.”

“Well at least I managed to do something right,” you huffed. “Shouldn’t’ve been shot in the first place.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Natasha growls, and you can’t help but shrink into the bed and try to make yourself smaller. The action does not go unnoticed by either Clint or Natasha, and the redhead is quick to begin carding her fingers through your hair again. “I didn't mean it like that,” she sighed. “I’m not mad at you, Y/N, I just…”

“We worry,” Clint said, getting up and sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed near your feet. It was probably the closest you had ever been to him without flinching away. “Natasha and I can’t help you if we don’t know what you need, Y/N. Someone’s looking for you, and they were desperate enough to steal a police car and uniform to find you. Y/N,” Clint gently lay a hand on your uninjured ankle, the blankets keeping him from making actual skin contact, “please, let us help you.”

Glancing up at Natasha, the redhead gives you an encouraging smile and lightly squeezes your shoulder. You had been safe here for months and, at some point, the farm had turned into your home. You had lost home a long time ago, but you remembered that home was the people around you, not necessarily a place.

Natasha was home. Her small, reserved smiles and twinkling eyes that seemed to know so much more than she let on made you feel warm and safe. She was quiet and attentive, unobtrusive in her small gestures - food you enjoyed, an umbrella by the door when it might rain, small, barely-there touches in passing.

Clint was home, too. This was harder to admit to yourself because he looked like Him in so many ways that for a while you had jumped every time you saw him. But, somehow, Clint’s loud laugh and quirky sense of humor soothed your frayed nerves after long days of working. His stubborn attempts at getting closer to you now endearing rather than frightening. His clunky steps echoing in the house because he never remembered to take off his shoes were a distant reminder that you weren’t on your own anymore. Where Natasha sent silent encouragement, Clint always seemed to be brimming with praise over the smallest acts.

You trusted them. Everything could go so unbelievably wrong in a split second - it was a constant threat that seemed even more real now - but you weren’t as scared as before. They had followed after you - brought you home and kept you safe and warm and alive - when you had run at the sight of danger.

You didn’t want to lose this home.

You drew in a rattling breath glared at your arms.

“His name was James…”

8 notes · View notes

this-solaris-life · 4 years

Text

Hotter Than The Sun

This lovely drabble is set in my Our War of Hearts AU; It’s specifically set after the original events and is for the pairing JinYi. @ruensroad - I keep saying thank you for drawing the beautiful artwork below but really words can’t describe how I really feel. It means so much to me. This is my christmas present to you inspired by your beautiful drawing of JinYi! You inspire me so much and thanks for always being willing to listen to me ramble on and on about this AU. @the-sassiest-trixster - I told you that it would have purpose :p

Artist Credit: @ruensroad *absolutely do not remove credit*

The knock on the door is what woke him. Jingyi groaned shifting his tired limbs. He'd stayed up late working on his gifts for Lan Sizhui and Zizhen. Since being sent to Lotus Pier to live with his cousin, Lan Xichen, he’s found himself taking up a craft - glass blowing. Ironic considering the reason he was even sent here was because he’d accidentally set one of the classrooms on fire back in the Cloud of Recesses.

“Young Master Lan?” Biyu, the Jiang disciple assigned to him, called him through the door. She knocked again before speaking, “Young Master Lan?”

“Yes?” He sleepily croaked.

”You need to get up. Your friends are about to arrive at the docks.” Biyu answered.

“How long do I have?” He asked already tossing back the sheets.

“Long enough to take the bath that I’ve already prepared for you, and promptly go to the docks.” Biyu replied before walking away to keep from hearing him compliment her again. He’d found out quick that she didn’t take to flattery at all. A formidable woman with a good deal of patience. He smiled fondly before getting out of bed.

He took a brisk bath putting on the robes that was laid out. The fabric lightweight and breathable to accommodate the hotter weather in Yunmeng. By the time he was done and at the end of the pier just like she’d told him, his friends arrived. Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen both having smiles on their faces.

Jingyi quickly pulled them both into hugs. “I’ve missed you both.” He grinned.

“We’ve missed you too.” Sizhui replied.

“The Cloud of Recesses isn’t the same without you.” Zizhen chuckled.

“But,” Sizhui counted “you being here at Lotus Pier has benefited you.”

“Yeah! Where is that benefit?” Zizhen grinned.

“He’s with the other archers training for the festival.” Jingyi answered looking away from his friends.

He hoped the bright sun of the day helped to hide the blush that he felt forming on his cheeks. He’d kept in touch with rare visits and plenty of letters to his two best friends. At the beginning they were full of self pity, then turned to complaints when Sect Leader Jiang’s nephew, Jin Ling had come to learn his studies about his mother’s sect. Jin Ling and his start had been a misunderstanding that sparked pranks, bickering, and competition. It wasn’t until after a night hunt the two of them realized that they liked each other. Now, Jingyi is blessed to be in a very happy relationship with the heir of Lanling Jin sect.

“Oi, he’s blushing.” Zizhen teased leaning into a chuckling Sizhui.

“No, I’m not! It’s just the heat.” Jingyi playfully pouted stepping between them looping his arms around one of theirs pulling them forward, “You guys must be hungry. Let me show you a place and then I can show the workshop.”

“You mean they actually let you around flame here?” Zizhen joked earning him a quick jab to the side.

“Hey!” Zizhen fussed.

“You deserved it.” Suzhui replied as they made their way into the busy town.

“Senior Wei wasn’t joking when he said that the food here in Yunmeng is the best.” Zizhen groaned happily as they made their way to the workshop that Jingyi was able to work on his craft safely. His choice in working with glass was an off handed jab by Jin Ling before they got together. It made him smile now because Jin Ling treasures all the pieces that he’s made for him. They are even displayed in his rooms here in Lotus Pier and at Koi Tower.

“He really wasn’t.” Jingyi agreed even though he and Sizhui had eaten dishes that were far more bland than the ones that had been served to Zizhen. They were still good and Sizhui had given them praise when they were done eating. His thoughts returned to his workshop as they neared the business. It was run by an elderly woman and her niece that’d he become quite fond of. The two of them making beautiful things from trinkets to elaborate sculptures.

The building was beautiful with wind chimes and glass figures hanging on the roof of the porch. Two large windows allowed one to peek inside to see what pieces the glazier is working on. The three of them were able to see through the windows that the young woman was currently working on arranging a windchime.

“There you are A-Jingyi, and you’ve brought friends.” She smiled warmly as she looked up at them.

“Yes, I have A-Fan. This is Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen.” Jingyi replied introducing his friends. The both of them bowing respectfully. “If it’s okay, may I show them around before we head back?”

“Of course, just be careful in the back. Popo has a sculpture cooling.” Fan replied with a small nod before going back to work on her windchime. The glass figures that would be dangling looked a lot like various sized sea pancakes*.

“That’s adorable.” Zizhen said noticing that Sizhui had taken an interest in it. He and Jingyi shared a look. Sizhui wasn’t one to call out his love adorable things much like his father. So it was a rare sight to see him openly eyeing the windchime.

“It’d make a good gift for Uncle Xichen.” Sizhui stated looking away.

“Is it already claimed?” Jingyi asked.

“No, it’s not and if you want it then I can have this finished before you leave.” Fan answered.

“That’d be perfect.” Zizhen grinned mentally high fiving with Jingyi by sharing a look when Sizhui graced them with a smile.

After that, Jingyi showed them around telling them about different tools and showing them some of the figurines that were on the shelves that he’d made. All of his profits going to Fan and her popo for letting him come here almost every day.

“These are stunning.” Zizhen said lifting one of Jingyi’s beautifully crafted figurines of a bear standing up on its hind legs with a golden heart painted in the center of a sun on it’s stomach.

“Agreed.” Sizhui nodded.

“I’m glad.” Jingyi grinned happily now knowing that his hard work on the gifts he made them would be appreciated. “Because I have these for…” He paused looking on the shelf wondering where his gifts were. He checked the cooling racks despite knowing that they weren’t going to be there because they were completed. He hadn’t seen them on the sale shelves in the front. “Uh, one moment.” He said to them nervously thinking that they might have gotten sold on accident.

“Hey, A-Fan, have you seen my two pieces from last night?”

“Uh-huh, Popo had them sent to Sect Leader Jiang’s residence just before lunch when you didn’t come to collect them.” Fan answered lifting the now completed windchime up.

I must have missed them when I was on my way to the pier. He thought.

“Thanks.” Jingyi said as she nodded.

“If you want to round up your friends. I’ll have this packaged up for you.” Fan stated as she went to grab some cloth to wrap the wind chime in.

“I had a gift for each of you but it seems that they were already sent to Sect Leader Jiang’s residence. Since, we were going there already let’s head out.” Jingyi replied as his friends come back out from the back to check on him. They nodded in agreeance. After paying Fan for her windchime the three of them made their way to the sect leader’s residence.

Sect Leader Jiang’s home was buzzing with the staff getting things prepared for the feast tomorrow to kick off the festival. Sect leaders were welcome to attend this event which is why Zizhen was able to come. He’d been sent in his father’s stead.

“It’s so lively here.” Sizhui mumbled mirroring the sentiment he’d originally felt. It had taken a while to get used to the life that always seemed to be awake here. A contrast to the quiet serenity of the Cloud of Recesses.

“It is.” Jingyi agreed. He was about to continue when three or four of the child disciples went past them running. His sect rule about running on the tip of his tongue and he could tell on Sizhui’s. One lagged behind though. He recognized him and Jingyi called out to him, “Hey! Bohai-xiao, where are you going?”

“The hills! Jin-gege is there dueling with er-shixiong.” Bohai said to him when he stopped long enough to give him a small bow before taking back off to catch up with his friends.

“Maybe we should go check it out?” Zizhen asked grinning because of the look currently on Jingyi’s face.

“We were heading that way right?” Jingyi replied as he started following after the boy.

“Right.” Zizhen said nodding his head as Sizhui shook his trailing after him.

It didn’t take them long to get to the practice hills outside the training grounds. The hills is the exterior training area for archer’s to practice. A few ascending walkways have been made in the ground in the hill to signal where the archer is to stand. Which is where they spotted Jin Ling with another young man. The young man had gone first. His one arrow missing the target while the other three had landed.

Jingyi came to a full body stop at the sight. He swallowed hard seeing his partner looking hotter than the sun take his form about to shoot. His half pulled back hair free of any decoration. He had a beaming smile on his face. The normally golden clad hier was currently dressed in simple Jiang sect robes. The left side of his robes completely off his torso folded down exposing his wonderfully toned frame.

Honey eyes meeting molten gold making Jin Ling flush before refocusing on his task. “Fire!” Jin Ling yelled and the disciple launched the catapult filled with four apples. He released his arrows each one scoring an apple with perfect precision. The arrows hitting the desired spot on the target. He earned a chorus of cheers from the juniors of Jiang sect and the golden dressed juniors of Lanling Jin sect that’d come to watch.

Jingyi happily cheered with the others. His chest swelling with pride. Jin Ling has many talents but his speciality is archery. He loved watching him practice and during their hunts. His gaze tracking Jin Ling as he comes towards them with the others dispersing.

He didn’t know when he’d sat down or when his mouth dropped open but his best friend assisted in closing it with a gentle lift of his hand.

“You might want to keep that shut.” Sizhui laughed.

“Before the flies go in…” Zizhen added.

“Or the drool comes out.” Jin Ling joked as he came a stop in front of them making the others laugh. The flush to his cheeks a bit deeper as his gaze met Jingyi’s. The earlier gleam in his golden eyes back. He reached out grabbing him by the waist pulling him into his lap. Jin Ling flailed for only a second before he wrapped an arm around Jingyi’s shoulder.

“And suddenly those disciples over there look like they’d make great friends.” Zizhen sassed as Suzhui urged him towards the said disciples to let them have a moment.

Jingyi probably should feel embarrassed for being so shameless, but he lets the sound of Lan Qiren’s voice reciting their sect rules fade at the smile on the other’s face. “I love you.” He says getting lost in honey colored eyes.

Jin Ling’s heart started to race at his confession. One that Jingyi gives so freely to him. He wishes that he too could but it always stops in his throat. There is no doubt he loves Jingyi with all of his heart. It’s just not that easy. He guesses that he’s like his jiujiu in this way. Jin Ling leans in pressing a soft kiss to the other’s lips to keep him from some say thing anything else when Jingyi looks like he’s about to start talking. It’s the sound of Zizhen’s teasing calls followed by some of the disciples over to them that has them parting with blushes on both their cheeks laughing.

-----

*JingYi’s figurines are based off this post.

* Sea Pancakes - there has been a craze on Twitter of the #xicheng fandom showing Xichen as a sea pan cake with a neko-mermaid Jiang Cheng. It’s super cute and click the hashtag above if you want to check the art out.

#jinyi #our war of hearts au #Lan Sizhui #Ouyang Zizhen #Mentions of Wei Wuxian #solaris writes #i hope that you really do like this #it took a turn i didn't think it would #sorry if im butchering the sect relationship titles #I have no knowledge of archery

14 notes · View notes

joeycupcakerichter · 5 years

Text

Zach Dempsey - Steel Bars and Broken Hearts p6

A/N: Hey guys. Let’s not talk about the fact that this hasn’t had an update since September. It’s that time of year again and I know that 13RW will be coming back soon so I started a rewatch of the whole series and I swear the moment my beautiful angel Zach spoke I was like, yo, I need to write about this absolute angel. All of my thirstiness aside, here is the long awaited next part in this weird series that I started at the tail end of my writing for this show. I’m particularly proud of this one. I like the way I wrote it a lot. Self flagellation, aside, I really hope you like it. ^~^ Here’s hoping part seven doesn’t take another thirty years to get here. I was also thinking of posting all of my works for 13RW over on AO3? I would still post here but maybe other people would find it and enjoy it I don’t know I just wanna make people happy. 😭😂

Pairing: Zach Dempsey x Reader

Warnings: Nothing really. A bunch of fluff mixed in with some angsty angst. You know, that good shit.

Word Count: 1732

Part Five

Masterlist

You woke suddenly, quickly trying to wipe away the small pool of drool you had accidentally allowed to accrue on Zach’s shoulder, thanking whatever above that he was still out. The sun was out in full force now, brightly shining in the front windows, fully illuminating the peaceful face next to you. The haze of sleep was starting to wear off and you quickly yanked your phone from your pocket to check the time, relieved that it was only noon. Relaxing back into the couch, you couldn’t help but stare into the face next to you, unable to fully grasp the fact that you were actually sitting there next to him, let alone that you had actually fallen asleep all snuggled up with him. You longed to reach out and touch him again, convinced that this had to be a dream, that you actually had been able to fall asleep last night. But, pinch yourself as hard you can, there was no waking. This was your reality, but that didn’t erase the dreamlike feeling that was overwhelming you.

You spent a longer time than you would ever actually admit studying the small curves and lines of the sleeping boy next to you, and by the time he finally started stirring, you were sure that you could draw him from memory, if you even possessed that talent in the first place. Trying to ignore how creepy you were being, you quickly busied yourself with your phone, trying to act as innocently as possible to not clue him in to how much of a creep you were.

“Hey.” He murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Shit, what time is it?” He asked, a tired panicked spreading over his once peaceful features.

“It’s only noon.” You tell him soothingly, relieved when he relaxes back onto the couch.

“I didn’t even mean to fall asleep.” He said, a sleepy smile playing on his features. “I thought we were gonna talk and then I was gonna head back to school. I guess that plan’s busted now.” He shrugged. “Didn’t you say you had to work?” He said, light panic returning.

“Yeah, but I have closing tonight. I don’t go in until two.” You assure him. Yet again, he relaxes into the couch and this time a comfortable silence falls between you. It lasts awhile, before a dangerous thought crosses your mind. “What happens now?” You ask quietly, a note of fear threatening your composure. You don’t want to lose this. You don’t want this moment, this peaceful, blissful moment to ever end but sooner or later, you knew it would. You watched his expression as he considered the question, a sense of melancholy overtook your once peaceful moment, and you could feel the familiar twinge of heartbreak as the silence became tense and strained.

“I don’t know.” He said, his eyes no longer on you, focused in on his hands instead. He didn’t have to say it, but you knew what he was thinking. This was a pipe dream. Even though it was the least of your worries, your eyes welled with tears as you realized his mother would never approve of you, not with your track record. Zach looks up at you, startled by the sudden tears staining your cheeks. “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” He tries to assure you. “If you just tell your mom, that’ll be half the battle-”

“If I tell her, she’ll hate you more.” You say plainly, sniffling and wiping away the moisture around your eyes. You took a deep breath to steady yourself, feeling a sob building in the back of your throat. For the first time in a long time, you finally felt the wave of hopelessness washing over you. For the past five years, you’d steadied yourself with the thought of hope. You never gave up trying to fix what had gone wrong in your life because some large part of you thought somehow, the two of you would be able to work through all the bullshit, work through everything but now, when it came time to face that moment, you didn’t know what to do. You felt lost, and judging by the look on his face, he was feeling something similar. You reverted your eyes to your own hands, unable to watch him look so dismayed.

“We’ll figure it out.” He said, moving his hand over yours in consolation. “I just got you back. It may have gotten fucked up before, but I won’t let it happen again.” You brought your eyes up to look into his again, surprised to find a look of intense determination radiating in them. You wanted desperately to press your lips to him, to assure him somehow you wanted the same, but as you finally built up the nerve, as you started to lean in to press your lips on his, your alarm went off, alerting you it was time to get up for work. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room and that time had completely stopped until the stock sound for alarms had rudely interrupted. Suddenly everything became real again, and the dream like state you had been living in shattered around you.

“I-I have to get ready for work.” You said, using all of your willpower to pull away from him. His face, for once is hard to read but you pull yourself off your couch, stretching all of your muscles, waiting for him to do the same. When he doesn’t, you turn back at him, raising an eyebrow surprised. He looks confused for a moment, before realization washes over him and he jumps up from the couch.

“Yeah, I suppose I should probably get going soon.” He says, but the look in his eyes was begging you to let him stay. You nod, looking away to steel your resolve. “You want a ride?” He asked nervously. Your eyes flit to him before you can stop yourself and you watch as a devious smile played on his cheeks.

“Would this ride actual end up with me putting in my usual eight hours?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. You were grateful for this opportunity to lighten the mood. It was starting to feel like you could breathe again.

“Of course you would.” He replied, feigning offense.The smirk on his face betrayed him.“I’m pretty sure Skye would kill me if I left her there alone tonight.” You called behind as you walked down the hallway to grab a towel for a shower. “Besides I’m getting in the shower, I can’t have you wandering around the house while I’m indisposed. That would be unladylike.” You re-emerged in the living room, this time the devious smirk playing on your cheeks.

“I will be nothing but gentlemanly.” He assured you raising three fingers. “Scouts honor.” You groaned loudly in response.

“You have no Scouts honor because you were never a scout. We’ve been over this.” You insisted, laughing through the groan.

“We have been over this and the day it stops driving you so irrationally crazy is the day I’ll stop.” Zach told you, grinning from ear to ear now.

“It doesn’t drive me irrationally crazy!” You insist, voice cracking a bit, giving you away. “I just don’t think you should be calling on honor you have to party to. Next you’ll be calling for knights honor.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one, I’ll have to remember that.” He raised his eyebrows in excitement.

“No, not another one.” You groan, stalking off to your bedroom to grab your clothes for work. “I’m getting in the shower, if you wanna hang around and use your borrowed honors to behave, I’ll take that ride.” You concede, after checking the weather on your phone. It was almost 90 degrees out and you were not interested in taking another shower in the employee sink after your 20 minutes walk to work. You couldn’t help but smile as Zach beamed at you in response. He plopped himself back on your couch, busying himself with his phone again.

As the warm water cascaded around you, you occupied with bathing yourself and getting into mindset you reserved for work. You knew there was no way that work would get the usual seventy five percent of focus you gave them, not with the way your head was spinning even now. After rinsing your hair out, you turned the water off, toweling your hair off as much as possible before sliding the curtain open and letting the cool air of the rest of the bathroom swirl around you. Shivering you wrap the towel around you, drying your hands as much as possible before reaching for your hair dryer and plugging it in. You resumed your before work routine, blow drying your hair and styling your hair and applying your makeup. Once you were ready you emerged from the warmth of the bathroom, chilled by cold air of your air conditioning.

Looking up at from the couch in surprise, Zach genuinely looked surprised to see you. “I thought there was that whole stereotype of women taking forever in the shower or something.” He said, standing up to stretch again.

“Two things Zachary.” You started, tone harsh, but even. “Prison gives you habits and don’t believe stupid stereotypes about women made up by men.” You expected him to argue back about the validity of the stereotype but instead he raised his hands in surrender. You raised your eyebrow in suspicion but relent regardless. You head to the front door, Zach butting in front of you to open the door for you. You roll your eyes and smile, unable to resist the shit eating grin he was wearing. You wanted this to be real. You wanted this life to be the life you got to lead, forever. Everything with Zach was just… easy. You follow him to his car, contemplating the future and what you were going to tell your mom and what would happen when people gave him endless shit for caring about you at all.

But for now, for this private moment you shared as he opened your door again, shutting it behind you and going around to enter his side, this was yours. No one could take this sense of peace and ease from you and you knew you’d be damned if you’d let it slip away again.

|Part Seven|

#zach dempsey #zach x reader #zach dempsey imagine #13 reasons why #13rw #13 reasons why imagine #13rw imagine #zach x you

29 notes · View notes

patsdrabbles · 5 years

Text

Five Times Hawkeye and Charles Don’t Tell Each Other What They Think And One Time They Do

Fandom: M*A*S*H Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce/Charles Winchester III Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 2492 Summary: Five times Charles and Hawkeye don’t say what they’re thinking and one time they do- six scenes ranging from angst but developing toward fluff starting shortly after Charles’s arrival at the camp and ending several years post-canon. A/N: Prompted fic for the awesome @onekisstotakewithme! Thank you so, so much for this prompt (and getting me into this nice ship <3), I had lots of fun writing this! ♥ Feedback is, no matter how short, super appreciated and helpful! ♥ Enjoy <3 (AO3)

1) Pierce, I am scared.

They are already gathered inside of Colonel Potter’s office and Hawkeye just suggested drawing matchsticks, while the colonel himself is standing outside at the radio station, still trying to argue for only one of them having to go help out at Battalion Aid. In the end it’s no good though: The other camps either already sent surgeons themselves or can’t afford to send one of their staff either, and Hawkeye is very well aware BJ and the colonel were the ones who went to the front the last times. Charles has been stationed at their camp for a while already but hadn’t been to the front so far, so the honor will fall to the two of them.

Hawkeye takes a steadying breath when he climbs into the truck and he can see Charles trying not to let on the worry he feels. Hawkeye almost says something then but finds he can’t lie about it not being so bad. It’s always bad, just like this entire war.

It doesn’t take long once they have arrived for another attack to hit the area immediately before the bustling medical camp. They continue tending to the patients that have it worst, keeping the dust off them as best as they can. Charles looks like he is ready to pass out for the first two or three hours.

They get a short break when a surgeon from another camp arrives and takes over and move to an adjacent room where they won’t be in anyone’s way. Hawkeye lets himself slide down the wall tiredly, every bone in his body aching and the smell of blood still in his nose making it impossible to enjoy a breath of fresh air.

“Pierce, this is-“ Charles doesn’t get the chance to say Hell, because that very instant, a mortar shell goes off almost immediately behind the wall they’re both resting against.

Hawkeye ducks and doesn’t remember reaching out as he waits for the life to be drained from him, and neither does Charles, but they both do. The next seconds are filled with the sound of debris raining to the ground and people screaming outside, and against all odds, their wall is still standing, they are still alive.

Charles moves in Hawkeye’s arms. Under normal circumstances he would never have-

But this isn’t normal. And he’s never been this scared for his life before. Charles’s eyes are screaming in panic when he opens them and Hawkeye does the same, meeting his gaze from mere inches away.

Charles doesn’t need to say it, even if he could, if he weren’t trembling in their tight embrace. Hawkeye’s been here before. And he knows how the panic, the fear for one’s life, never gets less no matter how often you’ve come here before.

Pierce, I am scared.

2) You’re a good brother, Charles. And a better person than you want to let on.

Hawkeye must have found out somehow. Charles doesn’t know how, and for some reason it seems like he hasn’t even told Hunnicutt yet, no comment coming from the other man over the course of the following week, but when the other surgeon enters the swamp and heads straight for the distiller, Charles can see a faint smile playing around the corner of his lips. He finished recording his reply to Honoria a good minute before Pierce entered the tent, so surly he can’t have heard-

Did he wait outside for Charles to finish his recording? It doesn’t seem much like the man that is his constantly loud, annoying bunkmate, but maybe... Just maybe Hawkeye Pierce has some sense of consideration and decency after all.

When Hawkeye sits down on his cot with a tired groan, a martini in his hand, Charles looks up to meet his eye for a short instance. What he sees confuses him deeply. Pierce is wearing a visible smile on his lips now as he toasts to Charles. It almost looks like he means to say something to him, only to think better of it and keep quiet, drinking his martini in silence, his gaze now fixed on BJ’s empty cot.

He had seen Charles’s copy of Moby Dick on to the young private’s bed last month, had heard about how said private had been bullied at first and had put one and one together. He had also accidentally walked in on Charles recording replies to his sister two times already, stopping in his tracks today when he heard Charles speaking softly inside the swamp. This time he waited for him to finish recording his letter before going inside. He doesn’t know much about Honoria Winchester, but Charles seems to care deeply about her.

He takes another sip of his martini as he glances at the man on the cot opposite of his out of the corner of his eye.

You’re a good brother, Charles. And a better person than you want to let on.

3) I won’t tell a soul.

He doesn’t mean to walk in on Pierce and the unfamiliar corporal who are kissing each other frantically in the supply shed. He should have waited outside and knocked, long ago having learned the rule of the sock on the door handle. And still, he can’t help but keep staring for the split second it takes until Hawkeye finds his gaze and there’s panic in his eyes, then anger, then panic again and then a mix of both. Hawkeye is stammering and the corporal is winding out of his arms, ducking behind the high supply shelves and out of Charles’s field of view.

“You- Charles, please.” Hawkeye is struggling to get words – any, really – past his lips and Charles understands, understands so well, but he can’t do much more but give Hawkeye a court nod and a calm “I am not one to start gossip and I certainly shall not start with stories of your romances either, Pierce.” Then he turns and leaves the room, leaving a gaping Hawkeye and the nameless corporal behind.

He walks straight out of the front door, the supply check he’d been meant to do forgotten about. As he leans against the sidewalls of the building, half hidden by the shade, he lets the breath he’d been holding out. His hands and the clipboard he is holding are shaking, and he’s both embarrassed at what happened, for the most part, really, but also just the tiniest bit... delighted? Not at having caught Pierce and the corporal kissing quite intimately, but very much at the fact that he thinks... he understands him a bit better now. Charles doesn’t intend to give him any reason to be able to say the same, but... the thought that someone in the camp would be able understand his position is comforting nevertheless.

His thoughts travel back to the supply shed and Hawkeye’s fearful gaze. He clenches the nails of one hand into his palm as he considers what he truly had wanted to tell the other man that moment. How much he really meant it, wouldn’t tell anyone nor otherwise get him in trouble for it.

I won’t tell a soul.

4) Stay. Please.

Hawkeye is running his fingers in little circles over Charles’s chest, his head resting heavy against the very same. Every breath he takes is a bit of a challenge with the added weight half on top of him. He huffs, and the air he exhales makes the top of Hawkeye’s shock of black hair move slightly.

“Do you always do this when you’re nervous, Pierce?”

Hawkeye lets out a stifled laugh that vibrates right against Charles’s chest. “Who are you to speak? Mister ‘I call the guy I just kissed senselessly by his last name’?”

“Pierce, look-“ Charles lets out a groan that sends Hawkeye into a genuine fit of laughter. “Hawkeye! ... Hawk. Will you please look at me?” He places a hand under Hawkeye’s chin, gently directing the other man to look at him again. He has been avoiding meeting Charles’s eyes for the past five minutes now and, to be quite frank, it is making Charles antsy.

The view he receives takes his breath away for a moment. Hawkeye is still laughing when their gazes meet, his eyes sparkling mirthfully while also expressing an overwhelming fondness. Charles has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss him again.

Just a second later, however, the expression on Hawkeye’s face changes as a thought seems to pass through his mind. The one that had originally driven him from Charles’s reach, his face thereafter hidden in Charles’s chest.

Hawkeye turns his head away and Charles swears he understands what he mumbles next clearly. “I will only be the ruin of you.”

They haven’t talked about this yet. How they each feel about this... arrangement of theirs. What is going to happen when the war finally ends.

Charles has... an odd feeling deep down in his chest that tells him he already knows. Knows what he hopes for. Possibly understands that Hawkeye might just agree with his sentiments. But it is not time for that kind of talk yet.

Right now, it is 3am in Tokyo, and Hawkeye Pierce is busy reaching for his bathrobe, ready to wrap it around himself and his rumpled pajamas. With the added weight off his chest, Charles sits up as fast as he can. He reaches out for Hawkeye’s hand, catching three fingers only at first but holding onto them as if he were holding his entire hand. Startled by the shift of the bed and the sudden touch, Hawkeye freezes and carefully turns around. His other hand is still holding onto his bathrobe, as if his mind is made up, but the gaze Charles now is at the receiving end of is full of fear, past hurt and an odd amount of hope.

Charles’s voice carries the lightest tremble when he speaks up into the silence between them. “Don’t go yet.”

Stay. Please.

5) I won’t give up on you, no matter what happens.

The door lock breaks open a second after they had frantically closed the visible portions of their buttons again.

“Finally,” Hawkeye rasps out, then blames the scratchiness of his voice on the heat in the supply shed they allegedly have been stuck in for almost an hour now. He doesn’t even make a remark about the annoyance of being stuck with Charles of all people anymore. They’re long past that and Hawkeye doesn’t want to feign, doesn’t want to throw verbal stabs Charles’s way even when they both know they’re only lies.

They still don’t talk about it, but it’s there. They only changed their view on each other drastically half a year ago, but it’s enough to make their relationship something they won’t forget – don’t want to forget – for a lifetime. Something so strong that it almost makes them forget about the danger of a blue discharge at times.

Later, much later that day, Charles passes by Hawkeye as he enters Post-OP for his shift. Their hands brush for the briefest moment and Hawkeye takes hold of Charles’s hand as he passes him, squeezing it ever so shortly. He doesn’t stop for a short conversation, a talk that could only cover work-related issues or private ones that were of less importance than what had happened earlier, had been happening for a while now, but that’s alright.

Charles watches Hawkeye walk briskly toward the swamp before turning and going inside to look after their patients. His hand is still tingling from Hawkeye’s brief touch.

I won’t give up on you, no matter what happens.

+ 1) “Till later at the hospital. I love you, Charles.”

Hawkeye is practically draped over his shoulder and whining from the back of his throat. Charles doesn’t know if he should roll his eyes in annoyance or give in and laugh.

“Don’t go.” It’s mumbled into his shoulder and it sounds grumpy as only Hawk manages to be on occasion, said occasion being when he wakes up earlier than he has to and Charles is leaving for work already. Lord have mercy, Charles can even feel him pout through his suit jacket.

Two gangly arms wrap around him and for a moment, Charles is mentally back in Korea and they’re sitting in a jeep, Hawkeyes arms and a blanket wrapped around him comfortingly, with only the stars above them as witnesses. Then he turned around and raises an eyebrow at the man he came to love so many years ago, earlier than he’d allowed himself to admit it.

“Unlike you, I have work in the morning already, Hawkeye. Besides, I can’t afford to be late to my lecture. While my students are quite the eager sort when it comes to learning, they sadly appear to be just as curious about my private life at times. Especially when I’m late for class.” Charles pauses for emphasis, noting the grin that was slowly spreading on Hawkeye’s face. He finds himself returning the grin as he gently lifts Hawkeye’s hands off his shoulders. Hawkeye is quick to replace his hold on Charles, though, his arms now wrapped loosely around Charles’s middle. “Speaking of which, I shouldn’t have brought you for that guest lecture last semester. They keep asking about you all the time!”

“How bad can it be?” Hawkeye asks, seriously, before deciding that it’s time to say goodbye to Charles’s neck, peppering kisses all over his skin. Charles shudders under Hawkeye’s ministrations but makes sure to elaborate nevertheless.

“Well, while the occasional question about whether you will be looking for an apprentice in two years’ time seems quite genuine, I also received a few more personal inquiries the week after you held that lecture. All of them were concerned with the status of your... availability.”

Hawkeye merely hums as he keeps pressing kisses up Charles’s throat. When he reaches his chin, he pulls away. “Well, tell them I’m taken. Smitten. Utterly and foolishly in love for the rest of my life.” He puts his hands over his heart dramatically before pressing a kiss to Charles’s lips, lingering a moment longer than he knows Charles is bound to tolerate when under beginning time pressure.

“How about dinner at that new Italian place down the street this evening?”

Charles tsks. “Again? We only went there the other day. And the day before that.” “Can’t help it, they really know how to make a good pizza.” Hawkeye is grinning at him. “So- is it set?” Charles rolls his eyes at him fondly, but nods. “It is.”

“Now- go look dashing and go dazzle your students with your brilliance,” Hawkeye teases and, with a sweet final kiss, steps back so that Charles can finally leave.

“Till later at the hospital. I love you, Charles.”

Charles makes sure to meet his gaze before placing his hand over his heart.

“I love you, too- utterly and foolishly.”

34 notes · View notes