#everything about storms is so nice except for fucking thunder. why do i have to have thunder issues
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mmmmm thunder bad
#everything about storms is so nice except for fucking thunder. why do i have to have thunder issues#it only knocked our power out for a minute (and that lightning definitely looked/sounded EXTREMELY close yeesh)#poor billy got a bit startled but he settled down reasonably fast given how loud it was#ok i think taking a minute to stop and write this has helped distract me. shouldn’t need my anxiety meds#might take my heart meds tho idk. probably good to be safe and make sure i’m chill#actually the thing that’s helped me calm down is very obviously that the thunder has stopped#rumbles in the distance don’t bother me. sheet lighting is fine#oh there was just another flash never mind hhhhh it’s picking up again#personal
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Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public
Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah
You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.
Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.
With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.
“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”
“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”
Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-
A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.
Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”
“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”
“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”
He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.
Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.
Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”
He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”
You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”
“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.
You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”
You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”
“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.
“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.
“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”
“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.
You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”
He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”
For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”
He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”
You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”
“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”
“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”
“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”
As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.
“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.
Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.
But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”
“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”
“Oh, I’m just studying-”
“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.
You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.
Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.
He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.
Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.
You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.
The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.
He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.
“Babe?” He asks.
“Yeah?”
“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Incorrect! That's a penalty."
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Ethereal.
Pairing: Chris Evans x F!Reader
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
Requested: by @sushiinmidnight
How about reader x chris evans and they've met before and one day he is walking Dodger past a cafe and he sees her there and goes in to talk to her ends up raining so they go back to her place walking in the rain ....
Summary: Y/N has a job interview at a cafe near her house. As she is leaving after the interview, the interviewer asks her out on a date but before she could answer, Chris and Dodger interrupt her. What happens when Chris finds out that she said yes to the date? Will he try to win her over?
Author's Note: Hi guys, I'm back. first of all, @sushiinmidnight , thank you so much for the prompt! Many people were expecting the sequel to one of my other fics, Dogs (read it here). I decided to make it that (also, I'm sorry if the ending isn't what you required, I really am! hope you still like the fic 😚). Enjoy!
---
"I'm awfully sorry about this, Bet, but I have an important interview at the cafe and I can't keep Zeus alone at home," Y/N apologized to her sister again as she stood by her door. "Are you kidding? I love hanging out with Zeus, she is so friendly!" Bethany laughed, kneeling over to pet Zeus who sat by her feet. Y/N smiled.
"Thanks again, goodbye!" Y/N left and heard the door closing behind her. She walked to the cafe where her job interview was, nervously playing with her hands. Y/N had a degree in business administration, which she wanted to put to good use. Having been jobless for 5 years, she felt like she needed something to do.
She reached the cafe and a man waved her over. Immediately recognizing him as Oliver, her interviewer, she walked up to him. "Miss Y/N Y/L/N? Please, have a seat." She grinned at him and sat down. They exchanged greetings and proceeded with the interview.
In her opinion, the viva went great. Apparently, Oliver thought the same. "That was awesome, Y/N, you're good at this! I can't tell you this now, but I'm 95% sure that you're gonna get a call back." A relieved and excited smile bloomed on Y/N's face. "That is wonderful!"
"Hey, um, also off-topic, I wanted to ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"Do you wanna get a coffee with me sometime? I have another interview to take right now so maybe later?" Oliver rubbed the back of his head. She was about to answer him when a bark startled them both. They whirled around just as a dog jumped into Y/N's arms. "Dodger, stop both— Y/N? Hey, how are you?"
"Hi Chris, I'm good. I missed you too, Dodger," Y/N laughed, kneeling and petting the dog's head as he happily wagged his tail. "Chris Evans?" Both turned to look at Oliver. "Hey, nice to meet you!" Chris smiled at the man. "Chris, this is Oliver, my interviewer." They shook hands.
"Oliver, nice."
"Hi, it's nice to meet you, too. Unfortunately, I have to leave now, so Y/N…?"
"Yes?"
"The coffee…"
Y/N considered her options. She had an obvious crush on Chris, but like, come on, as if he's ever going to like her back. Plus, Oliver was hella good-looking. "I'd like to go on a date," she smiled at him. "Awesome! I already have your number, I'll text you later, okay? Bye!" Oliver left.
Chris, meanwhile, sported a huge frown on his face. She was going on a date with Oliver and not him? No, he decided, he was going to convince her to acknowledge her crush on him and go on a date with him. Not Oliver. "Chris? Everything okay?" He looked at Y/N and an automatic smile bloomed on his face.
"Wanna have coffee?"
"Damn, what is it with handsome men asking me for coffee today? Do I look that good in this suit?" Chris laughed at her joke. "You look ethereal. Let's go inside." Chris and Dodger entered the cafe, leaving Y/N to gape after him. Wait, what? She looked ethereal? No, let me rephrase that, he thought she looked ethereal?
Feeling butterflies in her stomach, she walked in. She saw him sitting in a corner with Dodger's leash tied to the table. She went over and sat in front of him, unable to contain herself. "Do you really think I look ethereal?" she blurted out. "Of course, I've thought that ever since I first saw you at the park 2 months ago."
"Holy fuck, Captain America thinks I'm hot."
"Language."
She burst out laughing at his joke, which caused him to smile. "Folks, what will your orders be?" They turned to look at the waitress, who gave them an amused smile. "Um, a Frappuccino, please," Y/N mumbled, embarrassed. "Same." She nodded and left.
"So, what's up? What was the interview for?" Chris asked, leaning back. "Nothing, just a tech company. I'm gonna work from home; I have lots of free time but I can't go out because of Zeus." At Zeus' name, Dodger let out a mighty bark. "Dodger has missed Zeus a lot," Chris chuckled. "Yeah, Zeus misses him, too."
"Now you're gonna be too busy to hang out with me," Chris pouted. Y/N blinked, since when did they decide hanging out was normal? She had only gone out with him 2 days and hadn't even seen him for 2 months! And suddenly they were best friends? Something was fishy…
"It'll be a 9-5, so I'll be free in the evenings," she shrugged, playing along with whatever he was suggesting. "Great! We can continue hanging out at the park, with Dodger and Zeus." Ah, she should've guessed. He was suggesting it for Dodger, not himself. I mean, there was no reason for him to hang out with her anyway, except for the fact that their dogs liked each other.
"Here you are." The waitress placed the two cups in front of them. Y/N picked hers up, hearing a loud rumble outside the room. "Hm, look at that," Chris commented and both looked out of the window. The sky was dark, laden with rain clouds. "We need to get out of here quickly," Y/N sighed, sipping her coffee.
Just as she said that, they heard raindrops hitting the window. "Too late," Chris laughed. "Looks like the storm will last a while…" The intensity of the rain soon increased and it started thundering. Y/N took out her phone and called Bethany, keeping the call on speaker and placing it on the table. "Y/N, still at the cafe?"
"Yes, I'm trapped with… with a friend," she answered, doing her best to not glance at Chris. "Okay, I get it. Don't come walking in the storm, you fall sick too easily. Remember when you fell sick that one time when you were 16? Took you quite a while to recover." Chris snickered as Y/N went red. "Yes, yes I do remember. I just called to ask if Zeus can live a while longer with you?"
"Bro, she can live with me forever!"
"Shut up, she's mine. Why do you younger sisters always steal stuff? Anyway, I have to go now, bye!"
"Bye, broski." Y/N ended the call, playfully glaring at Chris as he wheezed. "What are you laughing about?" she chided. "You have got to tell me the story of when you were 16? What happened?" Y/N sighed and rubbed her forehead. They had to spend a while here, she might as well become friends with the guy she was stuck with.
"Nothing. I got diarrhoea and it's disgusting so… live with it." He pouted and crossed his arms. "Fine, only because it's disgusting." All of a sudden, a news anchor's voice filled her ears and she turned to look. The receptionist had switched on television there.
The news reported that this unexpected storm was most likely going to last for hours. "Looks like we're all stuck here," she laughed seeing Y/N's expression. "I guess we are!" Chris said joyfully. Why was he so goddamn happy today? Y/N rolled her eyes at his cheerfulness.
Dodger hadn't barked in a while, so she glanced at him. "Aw, Chris, he's asleep," she crooned, clasping her hands. "He always sleeps during storms. The thunder scares him and when he's asleep, he can't hear it so that's good." Y/N laughed. "Zeus is the same, she's scared of storms too."
"Our dogs are so alike, no wonder they like each other so much," she sighed, finishing the last of her coffee. "Can the same be said about us?" Y/N blinked and looked at Chris, who intently stared right back at her. "Uh… pardon?" she stammered. "What things do you like?"
"I… Marvel, I guess."
"Oh, I love that."
"You know my likes and dislikes, dude, we've met before," she deadpanned. "That I do," he winked, resting his head on the table. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" Y/N didn't want to be blunt, but she had to be. It was the only way to get some answers out of Chris' big, beefy body.
"Sure, love."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" He sat up, frowning. "It's obvious you're flirting with me, I mean, I'm not dumb. I just… why? Why me?" He remained frozen for a few minutes before speaking. "I obviously like you," he spoke quietly, "I just want you to feel the same. I really do like you, Y/N. Ever since you offered me your water bottle the day we met. Remember that?"
She did, indeed, remember that.
"But it's just… I like that you are doing this… just… I felt like it was sudden."
"Do you want me to tell you the truth?" He looked at her with such innocent eyes that she found herself nodding involuntarily. "Please don't go out with Oliver today." Before she could stop herself, she started laughing. "Chris—" She took his hand and clasped it with hers, "—were you really jealous of Oliver?"
He pouted. "Not— not jealous…" he grumbled, reaching out with his other hand. "Aw come on, you are totally jealous of Oliver!" Y/N giggled, getting up. She sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She liked him, he liked her, all was well and they were happy.
"Fine, maybe I am," he countered loudly, "Don't go out with him?" This time, it was much softer. "I won't, silly. I just had the best date ever." Y/N reached up to kiss his cheek, but pulling a pro-gamer move, Chris tilted his head so that his lips touched hers instead. Y/N wanted to pull away but she gathered herself and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Mm, you're mine," Chris mumbled when she pulled away to breathe. "Whatever you say, weirdo." He shoved her, rolling his eyes before quickly pulling her back to him, tightly wrapping his arms around her. "Your weirdo, right?"
"God, who would've thought Chris Evans would be so goddamn possessive," Y/N joked. "All the fanfictions about me correctly predict it…" Y/N looked at him with wide eyes. "What? You read fanfictions?" she asked loudly. "I've only read a few… they were somewhat accurate and somewhat not, but mostly fun. And surprisingly well-written."
"Hey guys, congrats!"
Chris and Y/N turned to look at the lone waitress and the receptionist. "Thanks! Just don't tell anyone, okay? People will come in mobs to kill me," Y/N snorted. "Come on, we've been hiding our relationship for a long time now, what's one more?" The waitress and the receptionist shared smirks. "Wait what? You're…?"
"Gay!"
"That's awesome!" Chris guffawed as the receptionist and the waitress shared a kiss. "I wish you both well," Y/N beamed at them. "As us, you!" the waitress grinned.
---
"Y/N, I have to ask you something…" The rain had now cleared up, almost 3 hours later. Y/N, Chris and Dodger were now preparing to leave. "What is it?" She looked at him. "Tell Oliver you're not meeting him today." She good-naturedly rolled her eyes and took out her phone. "Okay, I'll tell him in front of you so you'd finally leave me alone."
"Babe, we're dating now, I'm never gonna leave you alone," he smirked. "Okay, you sap." She texted Oliver hi, I won't be able to make it today, I'm sorry :( and kept her phone away. "I am a sap and proud of it. Anyway, wanna come over later?" She considered her options. "I'll get Zeus from my sister's, change my clothes and be at your place soon, okay? Just text me your address."
"Great! Bye!"
"Chris, don't—" Too late, he gave her a quick kiss before she could remind him they were in public. As they walked in the opposite direction, Y/N shook her head.
No way today had just happened.
But it had.
And by God was it amazing.
---
A/N: Please leave a like, thank you for reading!!!! :)
#chris evans x reader#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x you#chris evans x female reader#chris evans characters#steve rogers x reader#captain america#ransom drysdale x reader#knives out#andy barber x reader#defending jacob#disney#mcu#marvel#avengers#fanfic#writing#writeblr
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Haruhi x Kaoru or Haruhi X Hikaru
kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, even though, it’s a lie, and the kiss proves it
oh my god anon i am BEYOND sorry that this took so long. this has been haunting me the whole time, and i am so sorry. i have absolutely no excuses. but here it is, with my sincere apologies. i hope it’s been worth the wait!
find me in the rain (i knew you would)
summary: hikaru finds haruhi in the rain, and they share something that even they don’t really understand. at least, not yet. takes place during “Operation Haruhi and Hikaru's First Date!” in the thunderstorm scene.
prompt: kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, even though, it’s a lie, and the kiss proves it
pairings: haruhi fujioka/hikaru hitachiin
words: 1367
warnings: one swear :)
After his apology, the two of them sit in the church without talking— there’s only the rain and the thunder and the space between them. Hikaru can hear the faint echoes of his music coming through the headphones Haruhi wears. He hadn’t asked her what music she wanted to listen to, or if it was helping. He doesn’t even know what kind of music she likes. There are a lot of things, he realizes, that he doesn’t actually know about Haruhi.
By the time that the storm has begun to subside, sun spilling through the stained glass windows in little holy smiles, Hikaru’s phone has almost run out of battery. Once the sky has gone through ten minutes of silence, the thunder having run its course, Haruhi pulls off the headphones and lets them hang around her neck.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. She doesn’t pull away from him, even as she rubs at her eyes with one hand. She’s been crying, and Hikaru feels an unfamiliar guilt growing up in his throat.
Hikaru swallows. “I didn’t think I would ever find you. I searched everywhere.”
“But you did,” Haruhi murmurs. She glances over at Hikaru, something soft in her eyes that Hikaru doesn’t quite understand. At least, not yet. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For worrying about me.” Her voice is quiet, like she’s been thinking about this for a long time. Like she’s been listening to Hikaru’s music and seeing something about him that no one else has ever seen before.
Music, Hikaru thinks, is just one of many pathways into the soul. He tries to remember what he had been listening to before giving Haruhi the headphones to block out the growls of thunder and her own cries, but he can’t quite recall. It had been something loud enough that Haruhi didn’t question him, but it must have been a song that said something about him that he didn’t think anyone wanted to hear.
But Haruhi heard something there, while he listened to thunder and she listened to music. He thinks about everything that’s happened in the past few days— about Arai, and about his own anger, and about Kaoru telling him to take Haruhi out on a date, and about the way that Haruhi had given him a lick of her own ice cream, and about the way she laughed at him, and about how she just knew he had been worrying about Kaoru.
It’s a strange and uncomfortable thought, to think that Haruhi has friends who aren’t the hosts. Haruhi has a past that Hikaru doesn’t know anything about— and he has a past that she doesn’t know anything about. But still, he finds that he would tell her, if she were to ask. He’d tell her anything, and he wouldn’t lie.
It’s terrifying, to think that. To think that there’s someone he actually trusts; someone he would give his lonely past to. He’d hand over the loneliness and his faithlessness in everyone except for Kaoru and the way he’s so scared of being alone and he’d hand over the spark of something that’s lighting matches in his heart. He’d hand over the little candles in the hollows of his ribcage, and he would trust that Haruhi isn’t going to set him on fire.
“I think,” Hikaru says quietly, “we don’t really know each other at all.”
Haruhi tenses up, pulling away from him and sitting straight up— he misses her warmth before her head has even left his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Hikaru shrugs, trying not to feel too hurt. “I didn’t know you were afraid of thunder. You didn’t know I liked whatever music was just playing. I didn’t know you were friends with Arai, or that you still talk to people from middle school. You didn’t know that I didn’t have people like Arai, not until Kaoru told you the other day.”
“Oh,” Haruhi says softly. There’s something guarded about her expression, about the way that she’s looking at him. Like she’s holding some secret back that— if she gave it to him— Hikaru would take so carefully, a little bird of hope in his hands, feathers a little rumpled, but safe at his touch.
“Yeah,” Hikaru murmurs. He turns away, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs.
Haruhi is quiet for a moment, and then she shifts so that she’s turned away from him. “But… I knew you would find me.”
Hikaru blinks, the sudden information pounding through his head like the beating of wings. That’s the secret, he thinks. That she trusts him. “Oh. You did?”
“I knew you would come eventually,” Haruhi says.
Her voice is barely a whisper, but it’s a rain of trust that Hikaru wants to drink in and savor. He’s never had anyone like Haruhi, and he doesn’t think that he ever will again. He doesn’t love her— whatever Kaoru might think— but he definitely cares about her. He wants to be someone that she trusts; he wants this kind of secret moment, of just the two of them, hiding under a table and sharing the rain.
“How?” Hikaru asks.
Haruhi shrugs, then turns to look at him. “Because I know you. Even if you didn’t know that I was scared of thunder, once someone told you or you figured it out, you would come. You’d look for me.”
“Oh.” Hikaru thinks that maybe that’s all he knows how to say at this point. “Tamaki was the one to tell me, you know.”
“Yeah,” Haruhi says.
He thinks that maybe she sounds disappointed by that, like she wanted him to figure it out himself, and Hikaru swears that this will never happen again. He’ll figure it out, next time. He swears to himself that he’ll watch over her, pay attention, make sure that he knows when she’s hurting, and when she needs someone to sit with her in the rain.
“Do you love me?” Haruhi asks suddenly.
Hikaru flinches, some kind of reflex left over from how terrified he is of anyone other than Kaoru getting close to him— a reflex that he’s been working against ever since he met Haruhi.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. He’s never been this honest before, and he doesn't know if he ever will be again. He pauses for a moment, looking at her. Their eyes meet, and he wonders if there’s something there, if there ever could be. “Can I kiss you?”
Haruhi bites down on her lip, searching his eyes as if she’s about to say no, but Hikaru catches her eyes dropping from his own eyes to his mouth. “Yes.”
“I—” Hikaru stops.
There’s no room for doubt, not here. He doesn’t know why he asked, or why she said yes, and he doesn’t know why he wants to in the first place. He just knows that he’s putting a hand at her cheek and guiding her forward, and then he’s closing his eyes and they’re kissing. Haruhi makes some kind of half-startled, half-pleased noise, a kind of sigh that he takes in and breathes out.
Maybe, he thinks, there is something there.
But he pulls away, dropping his hand away from her cheek and taking a deep breath. No sparks flew, but his stomach turned over and his heart stuttered at the taste of her strawberry chapstick. No sparks flew, but his cheeks are red and he wants to kiss her again. Fuck, he wants to kiss her again.
Haruhi turns away from him, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “That was nice.”
He nods. “It was.”
“What happens now?”
Hikaru licks his lips. They taste like strawberry, and he exhales. “I don’t know.”
There’s a pause, enough of one for Hikaru’s skin to begin to crawl. He doesn’t know if he’s ruined everything, now, or if he’s just made everything better. Before Haruhi can respond, though, the doors to the church burst open, and Tamaki is yelling, “Haruhi!”
Haruhi slides out from under the table, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders and headphones around her neck. She doesn’t look at him, but her face is red, too. “Over here. Hikaru found me.”
#my writing#ohshc#hikaharu#hikaru hitachiin#haruhi fujioka#hikaharu fanfic#ohshc fanfiction#ouran high school host club#ouran high school host club fanfiction#i'll be online and actually talk to people more later#it's my reward for actually getting hw done#will see y'all tonight
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Caught in a Rainstorm
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU)
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: mild angst, some language, and a minor threat about kicking shins and breaking a nose, ya know, the good stuff
Summary: Bucky remembers everything about your relationship - the good, the bad, and the ugly. He doesn’t regret a single thing except for giving up on your relationship when he knew you hadn’t.
A/N: big shoutout to @missmonsters2 for beta reading this for me! it took me awhile, but i finally managed to write a full one shot! this is written for @hopingforbarnes 250 milestone - congrats again on reaching that milestone bby, that is huge! sorry this is late, but i sure hope it is worth it. my prompt will be bolded in the story <3 x
Bucky always loved rainstorms. On his hardest days, he'd step out in the rain and let the cold droplets pelt against his bare skin. He liked the way it stung because it reminded him that he was alive. People thought he was crazy for not running away at the first sight of lightning, or the boom of thunder, and maybe he was a little bit. But he didn't really care what anyone thought about him anyways. Who were they to judge? Everyone had something they loved, even if it was a little weird.
He remembered the first time he met you - you were drenched and shivering, cursing at your broken-down car as if your words would make it come back to life. He couldn't help you fix the engine, but he offered you a warm car and a ride to the nearest gas station.
At first, you had been wary. You even made a joke about the man that hitch-hiked with Jeffrey Dahmer, but the more you joked, the more at peace you seemed to be. It seemed if you were going to be killed by a stranger, at least you thought he was pretty. Which mortified Bucky the moment you said it but then all he could think about was how you called him pretty.
You were surprised when he offered to stay with you until the tow truck came. You had no issue waiting at the gas station, but Bucky hated the way the cashier was eyeing you and didn't intend on letting you stick around to find out what was going through that man's head. He wasn't really sure why he cared so much about a stranger. Maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about how much you loved the rain too. Maybe it was your laugh. He wasn't sure, but he had to soak up as much time as he could with you.
Part of him didn't expect to see you after that day. He thought you would end up a distant memory - a ghost of what could have been.
When he ran into you the second time - quite literally by crashing his cart into yours - he forgot how to breathe. You were even more beautiful when you weren't soaked from the rain, which said something because he still thought you were beautiful even then.
It took you a moment to realize who you were staring at. The second you recognized him, a smile stretched across your face and you couldn't help but run into his arms to give him a hug.
He remembered the way you called him, "My hero!" Full of light and happiness. Like seeing him again somehow saved the rest of your day.
Bucky refused to let you slip through his fingers that time around. He had a feeling the universe was giving him a second chance by letting him run into you, and he couldn't risk disappointing whatever gods were watching him from above. The last thing he wanted was to be struck by lightning because he didn't ask you out on a date when he had the chance.
From the few hours he spent with you in the car, he knew you weren't a fancy dinner type of person. You were the type to enjoy long talks and getting to know someone; you liked to ask the personal questions that would make most people too scared to even think about asking on the first date. But you never shied away from uncomfortable questions. You always encouraged Bucky to ask you some as well, and it took him some time, but he finally learned that you enjoyed being asked the questions that made you think.
Going to a coffee shop hadn't been his first idea. He thought a nice walk around the lake was something you would appreciate, but the rain ruined his plans. He remembered how easy it was for you to adjust to the new date idea.
It was a blessing in disguise, though.
He learned so much about you just from watching the way you ordered your coffee. You liked it sweet because you weren't a huge fan of strong coffee taste. Lots of almond milk (because you were lactose intolerant and not ready for the date to be put on pause thanks to dairy). You preferred iced over hot. He realized you liked to talk so much that your hot coffee would have turned cold anyways, so you beat it by putting ice in it already. And you didn't use straws because you cared too much about sea turtles. You didn't even let them put a lid on the cup because you were going to drink it right away anyways.
Every detail he put together like a puzzle. Some pieces seemed to make more sense than others, but you were so perfect in his eyes that it didn't matter if some of the edges were jagged.
The worst decision he ever made was letting you go. Because through all of the good memories - your first date, the sound of your laughter when you tried to hold it back, and the way you'd whisper his name first thing in the morning - he couldn't get the look of disappointment in your face when he stopped fighting for you. When he stopped caring about the relationship because he didn't feel worthy of you.
The way your eyes lost a little bit of their brightness would be burned into his brain until he died, and he hated it.
Bucky was always a fan of rainstorms until he realized that he wasn't able to hold you when the thunder made you jump out of your skin. He'd hear the crack of lightning and wonder if you were hiding under the covers, silently praying for the storm to pass over quickly. He'd wonder if you were already with someone else and let them comfort you.
The cool of the rain used to refresh him until he had to stand outside your home in it, waiting for you to gather up enough courage to open the door. He thought the nerves were enough to keep him warm, but they just made him shiver more.
He wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself if you didn't answer the door.
But he never had to find out because eventually he heard the chain slide and knew you were waiting for him on the other side.
You seemed exhausted. There was no life in your eyes - no excitement in your features when you saw him. He tried to smile, but it faltered the second he met your glare. You clearly weren't in the mood for whatever he was about to say, but he appreciated that you were giving him a chance. Another reason why he thought you were too good for him.
You wrapped the cardigan around your body tighter and sighed. You made no effort to step aside and let him in the house. If he wanted to speak with you then he had to do it in the rain.
"What are you doing here, James?"
"I'm sorry."
"You broke my heart and all you can say is I'm sorry?" You scoffed. "Go the fuck home before I break your nose."
You moved to close the door, but he quickly stuck his boot out before you could. A curse sat on the tip of your tongue, and he knew you wanted to throttle him for showing up at all. He just needed a few minutes of your time and that was it. A few minutes to get everything off his chest, and if you still chose to shut the door, then he'd let you.
"I'm sorry is the only thing I really can say," he murmured. "I'm sorry that I just gave up on our relationship. The last few months of our relationship was hell, and it was my fault. I started thinking about how you were the only woman in the world I wanted to marry, and it scared the hell out of me."
"The idea of being married to me scared you? Gee, that sure is romantic."
"That's not-" He groaned and ran his hand down his face. "That's not what I'm saying! I…I grew up thinking that I was going to be the most successful man in the world. I knew that I was going to get married and have a bunch of babies. Maybe have my own company or two. Then I lost my arm. I gained a little weight. Nat divorced me. I was miserable and constantly feeling sorry for myself. And I met you - a woman who challenged me to be more than what the world expected me to be. You didn't even bat an eye the first day I touched with you my prosthetic, and you were the first person to see me as something other than broken."
Your expression softened at his words. The first time he ever told you about Nat, you wanted to track her down and kick her in the shin for breaking his heart. She never admitted it out loud, but he knew she left because she couldn't be bothered by his medical needs after the accident. It was too much for her to handle, and he couldn't blame her for that. You certainly could, though.
"The idea of marrying you wasn't what scared me. I was terrified that I wasn't going to be enough for you in the end. Terrified of disappointing you and making you feel like you were trapped in an unhappy marriage."
You straightened up, jaw clenched and eyes blazing as you stared at him. "James Barnes, have I ever given you a reason to believe that I would have been unhappy with you?"
"No," he mumbled.
"Exactly. I was happy. I wanted us to have our happy ending, and instead, I spent nights wondering why you didn't think I was good enough!" You snapped. "I don't care if you are insecure, you know I am willing to work with you on that, but you had no right to turn around and make me start feeling miserable about myself. It wasn't fair, and I'm not just going to pretend that it's all okay because you're standing in the rain looking like a sad puppy."
"I know."
"You are not a broken man, James. You are so much more than the accident or what Nat believed about you. But if that is what you truly believe about yourself, I can't fix that. You need to fix yourself first because I am not your mother."
"I know."
Bucky looked down at his shoes. Water was starting to bubble out from the sides, and he could feel his socks filling, but he wasn't going to complain. He'd deal with a lifetime of soggy socks if it meant he could spend time with you. Even most of that time was spent with you scolding him for his dumb decisions.
You held your breath for a few seconds, giving your heart a moment to stop racing. You never planned on saying all of that to his face, but it felt amazing to finally get it out. James Buchanan Barnes was the love of your life, but he shattered you. You weren't going to let him off easy with a few apologies and his damningly cute blue eyes. But you weren't going to hold a grudge forever either.
Growing up, your mother told you that relationships were work. The hardest conversations were the most important ones to have in order to make them last. Love wasn't always about feeling the butterflies in your belly every time you looked at your partner. Sometimes it was about just making it through the day, holding each other up and hoping for the best. And even on your worst days when you feel like you can't stand to look at each other, you were supposed to make sure you ended the night with an "I love you."
"Are you going to agree to go back to therapy?" You asked him gently. You weren't trying to make him feel like he was crazy, but you knew it was what he needed the most right now.
"I started going back last month. Haven't missed a day yet."
"Good, I'm glad," you hummed. You shifted back and forth on your feet for a moment before finally moving to the side. "Did you want to come in and dry off? I can make you some coffee if you like."
He nodded and offered you a soft smile. "Sure. Coffee sounds fantastic."
#hopingforbarnes250writingchallenge#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes#marvel one shot#marvel fanfiction
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Dethentine’s Day 2
February 9th - In the Style of Disney/Studio Ghibli
Inspired by but not closely following The Little Mermaid. Charles is a merman, Nathan is a human, they... meet and stuff.
Blood Ocean
When it storms over the open sea, flashes of lightning illuminate the upper reaches of the depths in a pale facsimile of sunlight. It lasts for only an instant, and below the surface the sound of thunder feels like the impact of whale sonar. But when the lightning comes thick enough, it takes on the strobe effect of a stop-motion picture show.
A man falls into the water, followed by the downed mast of a wounded ship.
Impact.
The man is sinking faster than the debris around him, weighed down by his heavy boots and coat. He moves his limbs, but sluggishly. Too slow to make any difference, at the rate he's going.
Impact.
Tiny bubbles stream from the man’s mouth as he fights a losing battle to hold his breath. In the inky blackness below, just at the outside range of the storm’s light, something is beginning to dart upwards.
Impact.
The man is gone.
~
Charles doesn’t know what possessed him to do this. He hadn’t liked the Water God’s order to destroy any ships that ventured through their waters. That’s what the rest of the patrol are off doing, and tearing the throats out of any sailors trying to swim to safety besides—he can taste it in the water even at this distance.
But he swims on, balancing the necessity of speed with the difficulty of keeping an airtight seal between his mouth and the now-unconscious human’s, sharing oxygen and releasing the creature’s exhales through his gills. This one must have been smart enough to try and climb to safety, and fell with the mast when the ship finally capsized. If Charles hurries, he can throw the man up onto the nearest accessible bit of shore and race back before he’s missed.
The place he finds is rocky, but not so shallow that he can’t swim up to it or too steep that the human won’t be able to climb back to its people. Getting the man onto it takes some effort—he’s very broad, and overburdened with approximately the same amount of muscle as a blue whale. No wonder you nearly drowned, Charles thinks with an irritated frown, and gives one final heave—there, he’s up. Should be fine. The tide isn’t due to come in for another hour.
He prods him, just to make sure, with the heel of one hand. The human groans and coughs up sea water. Yeah, he’ll be just fine.
Suddenly a big hand closes around Charles’ wrist. “Hey,” the human he’s just rescued mumbles. “Hey, you . . . saved my life. . . .”
Charles feels his dorsal scales prickle in alarm. This isn’t good, the human wasn’t supposed to wake up. Humans aren’t supposed to know that merpeople exist, let alone go around thinking that they’re particularly friendly towards them. In spite of what Charles has just done, it wasn’t because he liked humans, it just . . . didn’t seem right, clawing holes in the bottoms of their ships as the Water God had ordered. It was like shooting birds in an air bubble.
“No, I didn’t,” he hisses, panicking and yanking his wrist free. “And, ah . . . don’t tell anyone about this!”
The surf is trying to push him past the rocks into tide pools but Charles kicks off hard, both hearts hammering and doesn’t slow down once he’s out over deeper water. He still feels a phantom of that hand on his wrist, and he doesn’t understand why any more than he knows why he saved the man in the first place.
He does not see the pale shape following at a distance.
~
It takes Nathan a while, but he does manage to make his way up the rocky incline. Doesn’t help that it’s February, and that between his already wet clothes and the rain he’s shaking almost too hard to stand by the time he reaches the nearest town, but still, he gets there.
No one believes him when he tries to explain how he survived the wreck.
He spends the next several days in bed, still shivering. From time to time he rambles about shapes in the water and being rescued by a man who had a tail in place of legs, and people are pretty nice about it but they clearly think he’s touched in the head. By the time the fever breaks even he isn’t sure if what he thinks he remembers is actually what happened.
Once he’s recovered enough to move on, Nathan decides to stay. It’s a nice enough town, and he’d been on that ship in the first place because he was leaving his parent’s home to find his place in the world. The town butcher needs an apprentice and has a room to rent above the butcher’s shop for cheap. He makes friends with the town drunk, who knows some guys who’re great on string instruments. They’re thinking of putting a band together. There are a lot of things that make hanging around worthwhile. . . . None of them are why he actually stays.
Every night, Nathan dreams of his mysterious rescuer. Of hazel eyes and a blur of skin and scales. Of a mouth on his, breathing life and a heavy taste of salt into him.
“‘Course ya dream about it,” Pickles tells him one night, when they’re both wasted past the point of Nathan being embarrassed talking about what might just be a vivid remnant of fever dream and possible head trauma. “Yer the sole survivor of that shipwreck, dood. If someone or something saved you, yer connected to it now. Gonna be until that debt is repaid. So, y’know, meybe that is why yer still here, yer all . . . connected to somethin’ by one’a those strings of fate or whatever.”
Nathan squints in conversation as he slowly absorbs this new idea. His hair falls across his face—it’s getting long, but it doesn’t bother him much so who knows when he’ll bother to cut it. “You mean like . . . an anchor?”
“Sure, either that’r survivor’s guilt.” Pickles shrugs, belches, and signals for the barman to bring them new pints. “I’d say it’s a fifty fifty chance that one’a those is true.”
That percolates in Nathan’s thoughts for a while, and in the meantime he finds himself picking his way back down to the rocky beach every day, rain or shine, and looking out across the water.
Where are you? Nathan wonders. What are you? It had spoken to him with the voice of a man, so it, he, obviously had some reason. Nathan wonders if he has a name, and if so, what it is.
He knows he’s obsessing. But if it’s fate or whatever, then what choice does he have?
~
Charles is going about his business, updating the abacai records for his patrol, when a great white behemoth of a merman crashes through the shell-curtain door of his office cave. Only a last minute dive saves him from being barreled into, but not before he gets a good look at the gnashing rows of teeth that belong to one of the Water God’s watchsharks. This one looks to be half Great White, and is wearing a misshapen piece of welded metal as a mask over the top half of his face.
Fuck. This is because of that damn human, he just knows it. He’d thought he’d been so careful, and in the days since nothing had happened, reinforcing his sense of relief. . . . until now.
The other merman has a crude knife, one of his own long teeth strapped to a handle with. After the first miss he turns—slowly, Charles notes—and lunges again.
Everyday patrol schools are usually only taught minimal hand-to-hand combat skills, focusing mainly on hunting outer ocean game, targeted destruction of ships, and techniques for drowning struggling humans. But Charles had mastered the latter skills years ago and had, out of boredom and perfectionism, made a thorough study of the former in his free time. It’s something his colleagues often tease him about.
Who’s laughing now?
He waits until the last second before darting to the right, counting on his own agility—and catches the arm with the knife, kicks into a spin, and pushes the razor-edged tooth into his attacker’s own side. The sand-rough skin scrapes at his palms, but if that puts any of his own blood in the water it’s definitely covered by the red gout billowing from the other merman, who Charles shoves ruthlessly into the wall before slipping out of the cave and swimming for his life.
~
Leaving as quick as a riptide, for Charles, isn’t simply a matter of skipping town. It’s not just that he left without any of his personal effects until all this blows over. He knows his absence will be quickly noticed, and that means goodbye career. Between that and the watchshark—who could be dead or could have survived, there’s no way to know now, but even a corpse would tell a damning story—it’s goodbye colony as well. If the Water God has it out for him, no one will dare to take him in, not in any colony. He’s completely alone.
Charles tries not to think about this, focusing instead on more immediate problems such as shelter and food. The further he gets from the colony’s heat vents, the colder the water becomes, so he’s forced to stick to the relative shallows along the coast, where there’s less chance of something spotting and ambushing him from below.
Where he’d left that human.
Somehow he proves harder to avoid thinking about than all the rest; when Charles floats awake at night in whatever new crevice he’s found to hole up in, he pictures the man’s face. Strong, stubborn jaw and high cheekbones. Heavy brow overshadowing eyes that are a deeper green than seaweed, with the dark depth of an ocean except without a trace of blue. Black hair that had streamed straight back during the hurried swim. Charles’ hand had brushed through it when first grabbing him and again when grappling to get him onto the rock, but out of the water it had clung to the man’s head and shoulders like an oil slick.
He can still feel where the man had grabbed his wrist, an indelible handprint. Sometimes he catches himself rubbing at it absently. Still has no idea what possessed him to save someone only to lose everything, but for some reason he can’t move past that blankness of not knowing into being angry about it—at himself, at the human, at anything, because it just feels so . . . inevitable. As though he’d had to do it, no choice in the matter.
This does not help him sleep, but eventually he does drift off.
~
In some underwater caves there are pockets of air that were trapped tens of thousands of years ago when the sea levels rose. They sit, without light or wind, and do not wait because they expect nothing.
But this one has light. This one has wind, and a smooth beach of solid rock against which Charles wakes, half out of the water. Using his lungs instead of his gills, which is more odd than uncomfortable. The air tastes clear and he smells the greenness of above-water plants. He has no idea how he got here; it’s definitely not where he fell asleep.
A human man stands above him. Not his human—Charles realizes he’s thought this an instant after doing so and feels his dorsal scales prickle—but an old man dressed in dark red and black robes.
Somehow the old man knows that Charles is alone, an outcast in hiding. He introduces himself as Ishnifus Meadle and offers a way to escape pursuit for good.
Naturally suspicious of both the offer and this whole set-up, Charles asks what the price is.
Ishnifus tells him.
Charles listens in dawning horror. It’s not the answer itself, but the scope of it; a coral outcrop that, upon further inspection, has formed an entire reef that he had until now mistaken for bedrock. Ishnifus knows things that no human should know. He knows things about Charles’ own life that no one could have possibly told him. Somehow it’s all connected, and the feeling of inevitability rises in Charles again like bile—but ultimately what Ishnifus is offering is an explanation.
“Do you accept?” Ishnifus asks in his whispery voice.
Impact.
Charles takes a deep breath, slides down the rock shore briefly to wet his gills one last time, and says, “Yes.”
Impact.
The merman is gone.
~
On his daily visit to the rocky beach, Nathan finally sees something. He makes his way carefully but as quickly as he can down to the edge of the water, where a figure is sprawled on one of the rocks. It is in fact, he realizes when he gets there, the same rock he’d found himself on after the shipwreck, unexplained miles from where the ship actually went down.
The naked figure is pale and hardly moving, cold and clammy to the touch, but Nathan helps him sit up because he recognizes him. Except for having legs instead of a tail, it’s the same mysterious hazel-eyed stranger who saved him from drowning.
“It’s you,” Nathan says stupidly. He hesitates, but the guy is so weak from cold that before he even realizes he’s doing it he’s got his shirt off, a paltry offering but it’s better than nothing. It drapes hugely from the man’s damp, smaller frame, but after getting it on him Nathan feels like he’s at least provided some protection from the cold sea breeze blowing in from across the water.
He scoops the man up—there’s something so weird about this, like their roles are reversed and how he has to stumble through the roll of rescuer like some sort of bumbling idiot with no experience in this sort of thing. But he manages to get them up the rocky incline and into town, into his room above the butcher’s shop without attracting anyone’s attention. Wraps the man in blankets and gets the kettle going until the bath is filled with steaming water. When the tub is full, Nathan turns back and sees the man struggling to unwrap himself, straining to get to the water on his own power.
“I can do it,” the man rasps as Nathan helps him, but it’s like watching a baby deer try to walk for the first time. This guy seems to have no control whatsoever over his shaking legs. But Nathan gets him stripped down again and into the hot bath, and he sinks into it with a sigh that borders on indecent.
Nathan doesn’t know what to do with his eyes. It’s just the one room, and there’s not much to it, so it’s kind of hard to ignore the naked dude in his tub. Plus, he’s already seen everything the guy’s got to offer while carrying him in. So he settles for sitting on the end of his bed, shirtless and holding his wet shirt, and just . . . staring. He watches the man in the tub carefully pull each limb into the water and then dip under the surface, completely submerged, and stay there for a full minute.
When he comes back up for air he uses the water streaming off him to slick his short hair back from his forehead and sits, nose just above the water to breathe, and stares at Nathan.
“You, uh,” Nathan starts awkwardly. “You had gills before. On your neck. Right? Or did I hallucinate that?”
The man in the tub doesn’t answer, just stares at him.
“What’s your name?” Nathan tries. “I’m Nathan.”
There’s a long pause, and then the man in the tub lifts his head just enough that his lower lip is out of the water. “Charles,” he says hoarsely, then coughs and dips down to sip from the tub.
“Shit, don’t—You don’t know what I’ve had to scrub in there, don’t drink that. Hang on.”
Nathan gets up and pulls on a shirt to go back out into the hall again, and returns with a glass of water. He hands it to Charles and watches him slowly try to sip from the middle of the glass.
“It’s, uh, you gotta put the edge to your mouth and tip it,” he offers, miming it.
Charles—fuck, it’s just so weird to finally have a name attached to the face, but a good weird, the reassuring Okay so I’m definitely not totally crazy after all kind of weird—gives him a skeptical look, but mimics the motion and successfully gulps the water down. Soon the glass is empty, and he hands it back.
They stare at each other.
“So, uh,” Nathan says, “you saved my life.”
“I did,” Charles replies. “And I, ah, think you might have just saved mine.”
For some reason, Nathan wants to deny this. Here he’s been, thinking about Charles literally every day for a while now, feeling at the very least like he owes him some sort of debt, then the minute he shows back up in his life they’re suddenly even again and that’s it? No. He shakes his head. “Nah, I just helped you get up the hill. You could’ve done that on your own.”
They stare at each other again. Nathan gets the distinct impression that they’re both fully aware that what he just said is all bullshit; Charles couldn’t even make it into the bath on his own.
Charles says, carefully, “In that case, I, ah . . . I could use a place to stay.”
“You got it,” Nathan replies instantly, and is he really offering to share his small room and small bed with some stranger who he’s pretty sure is an honest to god merman, an actual mythic sea creature, no questions asked?
. . . Yeah. Yeah, he is. He’s not totally sure why, but he really means it, too.
Charles is going about his business, updating the accounting book in the back of the butcher’s shop. Word has gotten around town that he’s good at this sort of thing; he’s due at the bakery first thing tomorrow morning to go through their books and make sure all the math is correct, and then in the afternoon the grocer wants him to perform an audit to make sure that none of the employees are stealing from the till. He actually much prefers this bloodless work to patrols.
But he still practices hand to hand combat in his free time. Now that he’s found his land-legs it seems even more important to maintain whatever physical prowess that he can in this dry, non-buoyant environment. Nathan is helping him get better at lifting weights, and they both benefit in their own ways from the bar fights Nathan and his friends get into and that Charles finishes.
At night, they share Nathan’s narrow bed. Charles is never cold anymore with Nathan there, although the man is strangely shy whenever he mentions this—some strange human hangup, he assumes, and doesn’t press the issue. He’s become unexpectedly fond of his human, more than fond if he’s really being honest with himself, but hasn’t yet learned the culturally appropriate way to act on this yet.
Sometimes when he’s waiting for sleep to come, or when the figures on the page and flowing from the nib of his ink pen become so tedious he needs to tear his eyes away to stare at nothing for a moment, he thinks about what Ishnifus told him before giving him this above-water life. He wonders if it’s for the best that Nathan remains oblivious to all of it, Charles’ feelings included.
There’s a storm coming, and Charles hopes that, if it comes to that, he’ll be able to save his human from drowning again.
#metalocalypse#dethentines 2021#my fanfiction#narles#nathan explosion#charles foster offdensen#metalocalypse au#metalocalypse fanfic#pickles the drummer#mma#ishnifus meadle
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Motorcycle flight - Chapter three
Summary: Laxus is a biker, and as soon as he discovers that in the city there’s a motorcycle track for enthusiasts where races are organized every month, he decides to go. As soon as he arrives, he will fall in love with that wonderful place, and will meet the handsome green-haired owner. [Freed/Laxus]
Link: AO3
Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two.
The ride
Laxus was in a good mood. Finally, the insurance had paid him, he only had to wait a few weeks and then the motorbike would be in his hands again. He couldn't wait for it, even if to tell the truth, Freed let him ride his bike on the track. He had won the race, much to Lucy's happiness, and although Freed had been annoying because he had repeated several times that the credit was all of his bike, Laxus found himself laughing and having fun.
He no longer mentioned the excuse Freed had come to his workshop, but realized that the boy was very open to him. They were very close, lately they always drunk together and even if they didn't see each other elsewhere, Laxus was almost convinced that Freed might like him. Almost, because Freed was nice to everyone. Almost, because Freed still hadn't opened up to him about his private life. He avoided talking about his family, even though he occasionally hinted at him about the problems he had running the track.
But that was fine with Laxus, he just hoped he wasn't deluding himself. Honestly, he was waiting for Freed to take the next step. He thought he was pretty clear with his intentions, had answered his jokes and always chatted with him willingly.
That evening he had just come by to say hello and as usual he was lost chatting with Freed more than expected. The two boys had been sitting at the table for more than two hours, and they were lost in talking about everything and more. Until they heard loud thunder rumbling around the place. The two boys looked up from the table and Laxus looked out the window.
“Fuck” he cursed. Normally he liked thunderstorms, especially the summer ones. At the moment, however, he only thought that he would’ve to return by bus in the rain to his house, crossing the whole city. He didn't use Freed's bike off the track, he already felt quite a scrounger like that. And even if he had used it, he would still have drenched everything.
“Great,” Bickslow commented.
“I'm running home,” Lucy said instead, placing the money on the counter and then going out next to Natsu, greeting everyone quickly. They weren't the only ones, all the people who had come up there had done so on motorcycles and no one was going to get wet. Freed, on the other hand, seemed quite calm.
“Well, I guess I'm going too,” Laxus said, getting up “Magnolia's public services are bad enough, I wouldn't be surprised if the bus didn't even go by” he commented.
“If you want, I'll give you a lift, I came by car,” he said. Laxus thought about it for a moment, in reality he already owed Freed enough for his kindness, but the idea of waiting in the cold and without an umbrella didn’t excite him too much. Had it been a short walk he’d have taken it himself, but so...
“Well, thanks then.”
“Will you accompany me too? I'm a long way away,” Evergreen said.
“Yes, if you wait half an hour the bar closes, so bring me too,” Bickslow intervened. Freed sighed slightly.
“As you like,” he replied and sat back at the table. Laxus sat down as well. “Maybe next time check the forecast before coming here on the bike,” he muttered but he wasn't really upset. In any case, no one would’ve come to the bar by that time, so Evergreen and Bickslow closed five minutes early and then all four ran to Freed's car. Even if they only remained under the water for not even a minute, when they entered, they were all deep. Bickslow was standing next to Freed, while Evergreen and Laxus were behind.
“What a lousy time,” the girl complained. “Will you accompany me first?”.
“If the others are okay,” Freed replied. Laxus and Bickslow had nothing to argue and Freed turned on the headlights and drove off in the car. It was the first time Laxus had gotten into Freed's car, and he was a little surprised to see it wasn't such a nice car. He had expected him to drive one of the latest outings. Apparently, his passion for cars was not as much as that of motorcycles.
The weather, however, was getting worse and worse, and suddenly Freed was forced to slow down to practically a crawl. He reached Evergreen's house and the girl greeted them, running out to enter the house as soon as possible.
“Maybe it's best to wait before continuing,” Bickslow commented, glancing out. He wasn't all wrong, they could barely see where they were going. Freed, however, decided to continue slowly, as Bickslow didn’t live far away and shortly afterwards he too went out.
“Do you want to sit in front? At this rate, I think we'll arrive at your house tomorrow morning,” Freed commented as soon as they were alone.
“Nah, I don't want to go out even for two seconds,” Laxus replied. “And then I feel like I'm in a taxi,” he smiled.
“In fact, I feel like a taxi driver, except I don't get paid”.
“Not that you need it.”
Freed laughed.
“Where exactly do you live?” he asked.
“Near Acalypha square, if you reach it then I'll give you the directions” Laxus replied.
“Oh,” Freed said.
“Yes, I know, it's a bit far,” Laxus commented. “If you want, I can call a taxi,” he then added. Even though it was Freed who had offered to accompany him after all.
“No, I think it would be the same problem. Do you want to wait for the storm to calm down a bit and then I'll take you home? My house is just behind that street,” he explained. Laxus shrugged. He was fine with it. So Freed drove off and continued for a couple of meters, then turned right and parked under cover. The two boys got out of the car and Laxus looked around curiously. They were in the parking lot of a building, probably Freed lived in an apartment there.
He turned to the boy who, however, had his gaze fixed on a car and had a dark look. Laxus frowned slightly.
“Everything good?” he asked.
“Yes. My cousin is here” he just said and then turned to the stairs of the building, snorting. “She's a little... strange girl, don't pay too much attention to her,” he said.
“What do you mean weird?” he asked a little curious to know the girl. He didn't even know Freed had a cousin. To tell the truth, he didn't know anything about his family. He only knew that he had no siblings and that he had quarreled with his parents.
“It's just too hard to explain,” Freed replied as he climbed the stairs. The two boys arrived at the atrium of the building, from there they took the elevator and reached the third floor. Once there Laxus saw two girls outside a door and immediately spotted Freed's cousin. She was probably the green-haired girl drinking fruit juice.
“Finally, you arrived, we were waiting for you” she said in a bored tone.
“Hello to you too” was the response of Freed, who then greeted the blonde kindlier, who smiled and greeted him. Freed took out the keys.
“Nice to meet you, I'm Dimaria” said the blonde, holding out her hand. Laxus shook it, introducing himself, then turned his gaze on the green-haired girl.
“Brandish,” she said without reaching out, then she turned and walked through the door Freed had just opened. “I'll take your bath, I need to warm up,” the girl said.
“Make yourself at home,” Freed commented wryly.
“Obviously. Do you have something good to eat?” she asked bored.
“No”.
“Honey, would you go get something from the fridge? I'm sure Freed has a supply of gummy candies hiding from me,” she said. Freed put his hands to his temples.
“Only you can eat gummy candies at your age,” he commented vaguely irritated. Dimaria giggled.
“You can take them yourself,” she replied.
“That hassle,” Brandish said as she tossed her jacket on the sofa, which Freed got annoyed and moved it from there, hanging it up in part right away.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“We were in the storm, and your house was close,” she replied as she walked to the kitchen. Laxus looked at the two boys with a bit of curiosity. Brandish apparently acted as if it were her home, and Freed made no secret of his irritation. The girl found no candy, but she took a packet of peanuts and then walked to the bathroom.
“Can you avoid acting like you're at your home?” Freed snapped.
“You said I can do it,” Brandish retorted.
“I was obviously... you know what, do whatever the fuck you want, but you won't sleep here tonight,” he clarified right away.
“We won't bother you and your boyfriend,” Brandish said quietly. Freed was already about to say something but Dimaria put an arm around the girl's shoulders.
“Sorry Freed, I told Brandish to warn you but she didn't want to, considering it a nuisance.”
“I imagine it,” Freed muttered softly.
“Anyway, we're actually here because she has something to tell you,” she revealed. Freed frowned slightly and turned to his cousin.
“Now I don't feel like it,” she said, shoving a handful of peanuts into her mouth. Freed was already about to blur something, and Laxus was a bit on the sidelines without knowing how to behave. Maybe it was better to call a taxi, he really didn't want to make his friend uncomfortable if he had to talk to his cousin.
“Look Brandish, talk and hurry, I'm getting annoyed and I won't hesitate to kick you out of the house just to be nice to your girlfriend,” he said. Brandish snorted.
“What a hassle,” she commented. “Can I use the tub later?” she asked.
“I just hope whatever you have to tell me is worth it,” he muttered. Brandish nodded and sat down on the couch, crossing her legs and gesturing for Freed to go get her jacket. The boy turned to Laxus.
“Sorry, I didn't think she was here. You can sit down in the meantime, can I bring you something to drink?” he asked.
“No, I'm fine.”
“You're nice to your boyfriend and you're not to your cousin,” Brandish commented.
“I'll never be nice to you, and Laxus isn't my boyfriend anyway,” he replied irritably. The blond sat on the other sofa while Freed went to get his cousin's jacket and passed it to the girl. She took it and then reached into her pocket for something, took a paper and pulled it out and passed it to Freed.
“You're welcome,” she just told him. Freed frowned slightly but instead of opening it he went into the kitchen. Soon he returned with three beers and a fruit juice. He passed the last one to Brandish, while he gave Dimaria a beer and Laxus one. The two thanked him, while the green-haired girl just said 'Finally'without receiving any response.
Laxus looked at the two girls and then his gaze fell back on Freed, who had opened the paper and was reading it, darkening his face more and more. He didn't take long to read it and as soon as he finished, he closed it clearly irritated.
“You can use the tub,” he told them.
“I knew it,” Brandish smiled satisfied as she stood up and headed for the bathroom. Laxus was relieved that the two girls had disappeared from the living room. He had nothing against them, but it was all a bit embarrassing. He was silent for a moment in the living room with Freed, until he decided to break that atmosphere.
“You were right that your cousin is weird,” he commented with a smile. Freed smiled back, but it was clearly forced.
“Yes, she lived in wealth and is a bit spoiled and lazy,” he explained. Laxus nodded.
“Does she come to you often?” he asked him, although he was more curious than the piece of paper he had received.
“Occasionally, not very often though. We don't get along so well, but she has a sort of 'friendship bar rivalry' with Lucy. When I lived with her, I saw Brandish more often,” he said. Laxus nodded and glanced at the paper in Freed's hands. “What is it that she gave you? If I may know,” he asked, just not being able to restrain himself. Freed sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair.
“You can read it,” he said, handing him the paper. “It's an article my father will probably publish shortly. Guess I'll have to call him,” he explained. Laxus took it and opened it. As soon as he started reading, he understood why Freed's mood had deteriorated dramatically.
It was an article against the motorcycle track, explaining how dangerous it was and how bad it was for the boys. How the underage boys found themselves fascinated by that place and frequented it, occasionally driving vehicles they couldn’t get on. And then he was talking about a group of bikers selling weed to kids. Laxus frowned slightly. He had never seen young boys at Raijinshuu, he was sure. He finished reading the article and looked up at his friend.
“Are they lies?” he asked him.
“Not really. Let's say he made connections that have no reason to exist. I know which group of bikers he’s referring to, I kicked them out of the Raijinshuu a few months ago. They have nothing to do with us, but you know… since they go on bikes they are associated with my track,” he said irritably. “Apparently my father has changed his strategy, he wants to ruin my reputation and lead me to bankruptcy like this,” he commented sourly. Laxus didn't know what to say. He honestly didn't even know how he could help him, always if there was a way.
“I guess talking to your father isn't going to solve the situation,” he said.
“Imagine well” replied Freed in a resigned and tired sigh “I'll call him, but I already know what he’ll ask me in exchange for not publishing the article”. Laxus raised an eyebrow and Freed snorted. “He's going to ask me to come back to him, go to some stupid rich party and act like a good son should and… I don't even know why I'm telling you. I don't want to stress you out with my problems,” he sighed.
“You don't stress me out,” Laxus said immediately, perhaps faster than he should have. “Maybe it would do you good to let off steam to someone,” he added. Freed seemed to think about it for a moment, then looked down at the coffee table putting down the beer from which he had only taken a small sip. For a moment he said nothing and Laxus didn't push him, peering at him and thinking what he could do to help him. Unfortunately, however, he had no ideas.
“My parents and I have been fighting for years,” he began. “Ever since I started dating guys. I thought they would get used to it over time, but they never did. Or rather, my mother more or less did, let's say that she tries to be the link between me and my father but… in the end she always ends up taking his side and it's tiring” he sighed.
“I'm sorry,” Laxus said quietly. Freed shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter. By now I’ve put my soul in peace. The problem is, they didn't. My mother calls me every now and then just to hear me, to find out how I am, but she always has to do it secretly from my father. And then... well, there’s the whole story of the track. When I opened it, I did it both to piss them off and to show that I could become someone even without their help” he explained. Laxus nodded without interrupting him, although he already knew that piece of history because Lucy had already told him.
“At the beginning it was more difficult to manage the track, I didn't have many customers, I had to make myself known and invest a lot. I had some savings, and thanks to my surname I was able to get a loan from the bank” he admitted a little annoyed. “So, let's say I was lucky, and I know it. My father reproached me, he called me every day, telling me that he’d make me fail, that I couldn’t tarnish his name in this way and at that point… I put out an article about him”.
Laxus said nothing as Freed smiled bitterly.
“It was a low blow on my part, and maybe I shouldn't have done it, but I haven't thought about it much. I went to the reporter and told my story with my parents. Not all, only some parts. How they behaved with their gay son” he spat almost disgustedly “After that article my father had a couple of problems, but to tell the truth it's not that his companies have gone bankrupt. They had a bit of a breakdown but after a few months everyone forgot about it and everything was back to normal. My father, however, tied it to his finger, and from that moment on he did everything to make me shut up” he said, running his hands through his hair.
“I honestly think this war between us will never end. I also thought about withdrawing my accusations, but I don't think it would make more sense since no one remembers them anymore, and then... it's a matter of principle” he blurted out a little irritably. He stopped and said nothing more, leaning on the sofa and just staring at Laxus for a moment. The blond realized that he should have said something.
“Can't you threaten him in some way so that he understands that he doesn't have to go against you?” he asked. Freed smiled and shook his head in resignation.
“I've thought about it, but you’ve no idea how rich my father is. He has the best lawyers, the best reputation, I literally can't do anything against him.” Laxus didn’t reply, although the story made him nervous. It was obvious, even if Freed didn't want to admit it, that he still felt bad about the way his parents treated him.
“I'm sorry,” he said at that point. Freed shrugged.
“Well, I stressed you a lot and the storm stopped hitting. I can walk you home before it starts raining again” he said, turning his gaze to the windows. Laxus took a look outside. Indeed, even though it was still raining, the roads were probably more practicable.
“I can call a taxi,” he said.
“It’s not necessary. I offered you a ride,” Freed insisted.
“There's your cousin,” Laxus pointed out. Freed shrugged.
“Knowing her she'll be in the tub for hours, by the time I get home she'll probably still be there,” he said casually. Laxus at that point agreed and got up from the sofa, albeit thanking him. The two boys left the apartment and reached the garage and the car again.
The drive home was long and quiet, but as soon as Freed parked in front of Laxus' house, the blond decided to take a confidence that he had never taken before. He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. At the gesture Freed turned surprised to him with slightly wide eyes. Laxus tried to ignore the blush that was spreading across the boy's face.
“I'm sorry for what you have to go through, and I can't help you. But you’re clearly an intelligent and capable man, I'm sure you won't let the track close. And if you need some entertainment in the meantime, I'll be happy to help you,” he told him. The blush on Freed's face intensified even more, and Laxus was almost tempted to lean over and kiss him. Almost, because it probably wasn't a great idea to do it right after what the boy told him. He smiled at him and let go of his shoulder, opening the door.
“Thanks,” Freed said before he left. Laxus turned to him once more.
“Don't worry,” he replied and then greeted him, running to his own building before getting all wet, unaware of the chaos he had caused in Freed's body with those simple sentences.
***
Freed had been thinking about Laxus' words and his strong grip on the shoulder for days. Every time he did it, he felt a certain agitation in his stomach and a warmth in his face, and each time he struggled to lock those thoughts away before they took a turn for the worse.
He looked down at the newspaper and those thoughts were immediately swept away, while he read the article on the front page. In the end, despite the fact that he called his father, the article came out anyway. If he had expected it, they had just fought on the phone yelling at each other as usual. Freed at one point found himself with the call closed in his face and pissed off he threw the phone at the wall and smashed it. The fact had irritated him even more, and only the thought of Laxus had managed to make him sleep.
But now not even the thought of the blond could calm him down. Nor are the calls with the lawyer or the journalist who published the article. Nothing could calm him down. In the middle of the afternoon, when he was tired from all those bureaucratic chores, he left the office slamming the door behind him. He didn't care about the customers who were queuing at the counter, and he badly told Bickslow to get him a beer.
“Arrive immediately” replied the boy a little worried about his friend.
“Do it to me later. Is the track clear?” Freed asked.
“Uhm... no, there are Mira and Lucy who...”.
“Fuck” Freed growled and left the club without listening to the sequel, nervous as ever. He hadn’t noticed Laxus' presence, nor the fact that the blond had observed him a little worried. Freed made for the bike. He didn't care who was running around the track, he needed to let off steam and that was the best method he knew.
“Would you like to take a tour around Oak Town?”. Freed whirled to Laxus, who had a slight smile on his face.
“Look, I'm not in the mood,” Freed said annoyed, immediately regretting the tone he had used. Laxus certainly didn’t deserve that treatment, as indeed Bickslow didn’t.
“Precisely for this reason I propose it to you. You need to let off steam, right?” Laxus asked. Freed looked at him for a moment in silence, while Laxus took the phone from his pocket and turned it towards him, showing him a photo of some waterfalls in the middle of nature. “There’s a nice path and if you like I can take you here” he said. Freed smiled slightly and hesitated for a moment.
“I don't know if I'll be the best of the company,” he admitted.
“That's why I'm here. Come on, move your ass,” Laxus said taking his helmet. Freed at that point found himself forced to accept. Perhaps it was the best idea. He walked to his bike and climbed on it, while Laxus joined him. “And don't be a dick. Just follow me”. Freed smiled and nodded as he adjusted his helmet and exited the Raijinshuu parking lot.
***
The motorcycle ride had given him more vent than he had thought. Driving along the mountain roads was much more beautiful than running on the track, on that he had to agree with Laxus. It was liberating, and the landscapes were really beautiful. Plus, even though they were standing still at the time because Laxus apparently didn't remember where he was going, it was fun to see the blonde pissed off with Google Maps. Freed leaned on the handlebars of the bike smiling amused.
“Have you lived here for years and got lost?” he teased him lightly.
“I was a kid and I haven't been here for years” Laxus justified himself “And up here the signal doesn't even pick up” he growled a bit irritably, picking up the phone, hoping that something would change. Freed chuckled.
“We can reach Oak Town,” he proposed.
“No,” Laxus growled. Freed didn’t reply and for the moment decided to enjoy the view. Since they were stationary in an open space that was to serve as a parking lot in the middle of the mountain, he could observe the valleys below him and the mountains on the other side. He had never been there but he had to admit it was a nice place.
“Fuck you, phone shit,” Laxus snapped and Freed turned to him, noticing how he had given up.
“So?” Freed asked.
“Those waterfalls are buggered in a nowhere to be found place,” Laxus muttered irritably. Freed smiled.
“Is there any other place around here to see?” he asked. Laxus gave him a grim look.
“Here there are so many places to see, there’s only the embarrassment of choice” he replied as if it were obvious.
“Well, then let's go to one of those, if we don't get lost again,” he offered with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Laxus grunted. Freed laughed and followed the blond's example when he put his helmet back on. Shortly after he left and Freed followed him back the way they had come. The journey didn’t last long, in a few minutes they arrived near a lake. The two motorcyclists stopped, parked and then set off towards the lake shore. As Freed walked his eyes widened ecstatic by the sight. He had to admit, Laxus had taken him to a nice place.
The lake was bordered by trees on one side, while on the other there was a shore with boats and a small farmhouse. The mountains that rose behind the farmhouse were reflected in the clear waters of the lake. He saw some ducks swimming in a point not far from there and for a moment Freed stood looking at the landscape, breathing in the fresh mountain air.
“Nice, huh?” Laxus asked with a smile. Freed folded his lips up and nodded.
“Did you come here often?” he asked him.
“Yes,” Laxus said as he walked to the shore side. “In fact, I know everyone, I just hope my grandfather isn't here,” he commented. Freed followed him and the two boys walked quietly and calmly until they reached the small pier to which small rowing boats and pedal boats were tied.
“Can you take a ride?” he asked. Laxus nodded.
“Yes, you can also take a bath, if you dare,” the blond grinned. Freed raised his eyebrows. He knew for himself that the lake's waters were frozen despite the hot weather.
“I don't have a bathing suit,” he replied.
“All apologies,” Laxus retorted. Freed shook his head but didn't reply and the two sat down on a bench. For a while they remained silent, until Laxus began to tell him how he had once 'stolen' a pedal boat as a child and left in the middle of the lake, making his grandfather and all his old friends worry. He laughed at the memory and Freed joined him, and Laxus explained how his grandfather had eventually sent a man to retrieve him. A certain Macao, who had followed him on another pedal boat but without being able to reach him before an hour, when Laxus was tired.
“That man has hated me since that time” Laxus laughed and Freed found himself giggling with him.
“He's not all wrong,” he smiled. “Why were you running away from him?” he then asked.
“I don't remember,” Laxus admitted. “Maybe I had a fight with my grandfather and I wanted to piss him off,” he explained shrugging. “Anyway, if you want to go get something safe to eat, we'll meet Macao and Wakaba, and they'll probably tell you how I got them damned as a child.”
“Oh, so I'm really curious to go there,” Freed smiled.
“I imagined it”.
“For the food, of course. Not for you.” Freed smiled. Laxus didn’t believe him but followed him when Freed decided to reach the farmhouse. The two boys sat outside, and as suspected, Macao and Wakaba were there and greeted him surprised to see him. The two men hadn't changed much, they were flirting with the local waitress, who kept rejecting them politely. Freed and Laxus took two soft drinks, and then spent the rest of the afternoon talking about Laxus' old memories.
***
Laxus and Freed had stopped talking too long, and they both agreed that it would take too long to go home, so they stopped to sleep in the farmhouse, discovering that they had two free rooms. They had dined together on the porch of the restaurant, and between one beer and another they were melting more and more and the laughter increased for stupid reasons.
“I guess you drank too much,” Laxus told Freed, who was tipsier than him and had flushed cheeks and a looser gab.
“I wouldn't say, I drank less than you,” he objected.
“Yes, but you hold up even less than me,” Laxus noted with a smirk. Freed snorted and grabbed a handful of chips and munched on them, having nothing to argue with. After a moment of reasoning, however, he smiled again.
“I wouldn’t say, I don’t miss the words. You can't even remember the movie you saw last week,” he retorted.
“Bickslow dragged me to see it, and it was shit. I removed it from my mind for this.” He defended himself and Freed smiled.
“Nah, you just have a short memory” he laughed and Laxus didn't know why but joined in the laugh. He wasn't drunk, but the alcohol in his body relaxed him. At that point the purple-haired waitress approached them, and she warned them that the bar was closing and if they could go to their rooms. The two boys didn't reply and got up from the table. Freed staggered for a moment and Laxus chuckled at the sight.
“You didn't drink too much, noooo,” he said wryly.
“Shut up” Freed muttered as he walked towards the interior of the room and the stairs. He climbed up to them by holding on to the handrail, walking a little crooked. Laxus would have made fun of him if he hadn't been busy staring at his ass. Eh, it was right in front of him. His instinct told him to reach out, and he didn't know how but he managed to stop himself. Maybe walking cleared his head, the fact is that when he got to the first floor, he had a lot of unchaste thoughts that he struggled to hold back.
Freed turned to him, leaning his back against his bedroom door, probably to stand up. At that moment Laxus realized how the boy's eyes were wandering freely around his body. Freed was really into him. Laxus had had the feeling that he was, but the boy had never been so blatant.
He would have kissed him, but despite the alcohol in his body, he forced himself not to. It wasn't the best time, maybe Freed would regret it the next morning. Laxus started to greet him, but before he could say anything Freed moved towards him.
In fact, Laxus had plenty of time to push him away, because Freed put his hands on his chest before rising to his toes, and paused for a moment before their lips collided. He peered into his eyes and, probably seeing that the blonde hadn't moved away, he pushed forward closing the gap between them.
That was enough to drive out all the rationality that was left in Laxus. He felt Freed part his lips and Laxus instinctively did it in turn, immediately making the kiss wet and making their tongues meet. He felt Freed's hand go up under his shirt and Laxus didn't stop him, in response he put his arm around Freed's waist and squeezed it against him. He felt Freed nibble on his lower lip and Laxus let out a groan, lowering another hand, feeling his buttock.
He knew it wasn’t the right way to do it, that he should have stopped, but maybe because of the alcohol or maybe because he had wanted to jump on Freed all afternoon, Laxus didn't stop. He let Freed wander his hands where he wanted, and in turn felt free to touch the boy's body.
After a while the two boys separated to catch their breath, and stared at each other for a moment, stunned. Laxus realized that Freed's hand was resting on his back under his shirt, and that Freed's thigh had landed between his legs, pressing on something that was hardening. Laxus's hand was touching Freed's ass directly under his pants, with only the fabric of the boxers separating it from the bare skin.
Fuck was going crazy. The desire to go beyond him was more and more, his heart galloped in his chest and he felt his lips burn, while the excitement continued to grow. Freed reached out and placed his lips on his neck, starting to kiss and suck voraciously. Laxus let out another moan as the urge to go through the door and slam Freed into bed grew out of all proportion.
And that's what he did as soon as Freed broke away from his neck. Laxus removed his hand from Freed's pants and looked for the key, entered the room and after closing the door, dragged Freed onto the bed. He didn't even know how but found himself lying on top of the boy, with Freed's hands lifting his shirt and their lips glued together. He no longer wondered if it was wrong or right, he didn't think about it himself. He let their clothes fly to the floor and soon after their bodies joined in uncontrollable passion.
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we poured mud through their veins (part one)
the first installment of an au i am in love with
in which a new member joins the Deetz-Maitland family!
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The sky was the color of the ocean- dark, wild, and swallowing everything in its wake. The only thing that could possibly rival its impenetrable wall of thick black-blue were the occasional cracks of blazing lightning that split the roiling clouds like a hot knife. The storm would be cut in half at the flash of its searing glory, then sewed itself back together like a monstrous, watery wound. The wind was so fierce that it seemed to be sent by an enraged being (in which Delia would helpfully say it was “God” or “angels playing bowling”) to punish Winter River for some unruly sin. Water rushed down the streets like baby rivers, threatening to drag anything and anyone in its way down the asphalt with it. Raindrops battered windows and walls and doors, knocking so viciously like an unwanted guest.
An unwanted guest. That was what this damn storm was. And Lydia was at her wit’s end with this elemental stranger.
Her computer crashed for the third time and she finally slammed the lid close, letting out a miserable groan that was soon challenged by a deep rumble of thunder. She cringed, curling her shoulders in, and then sighed.
“Fuck this storm,” She growled.
“Language,” Barbara said from the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Lydia muttered. “Screw this storm.”
Barbara chuckled lovingly. “Better.” She peered over at the closed laptop. “Everything okay?”
“It keeps crashing,” Lydia said miserably. “And I’m finally not procrastinating on doing my essay!”
“You had an essay due?” Adam looked at Lydia sharply, yanking his head out from the spice cabinet.
Lydia smiled innocently. “Maaaybe,” She said. She noticed the stern expression on Adam’s face. “Hey, I’m doing it! So don’t worry!”
“Hmm,” Adam squinted at her suspiciously. “Seems like you planned this.”
“What? Me? Never!” Lydia said.
Barbara laughed again and then turned back to the pot she was stirring. “What’s your essay on?”
“Well, my English class needed to write something that had to do with society or the ecosystem,” Lydia explained. “So I chose to do mine on why the eighth amendment should be abolished!”
Barbara and Adam blinked at her proud expression.
“Reason?” Adam asked.
“If we don’t have the eighth amendment, then we can torture rapists,” Lydia said confidently.
Barbara and Adam then nodded in agreement.
It had been nine months since the whole incident with the ghosts, and it was honestly some of the best months of Lydia’s entire life. Not only did the Maitlands officially become part of the family, but Beetlejuice stuck around, too, becoming Lydia’s chaotic best friend and older brother figure, at least after being properly “housebroken” as her father would describe it. Waking up each morning always greeted her with new mayhem from one of the otherworldly tenants and more things she could learn about them. It was incredible.
They were a family.
“It’s really coming down out there.”
Lydia looked over her shoulder to see Delia standing at the back door, sipping a steaming cup of her weird herbal tea (which tasted disgusting, by the way).
“It’s what you would call ‘Noah’s Arc’,” Barbara said knowingly. Except her ‘knowledgeable’ comment got a weird look from Lydia and a laugh from Adam and Delia.
“Noah’s Arc was the, well, arc, honey,” Adam said. “Not the storm. But nice try.”
“It’s so foggy,” Delia commented. “The river may flood at this rate.”
Foggy.
Fog.
That word always sparked a memory in Lydia’s mind.
The Netherworld.
Lydia remembered the Netherworld clearly.
The air there had been wet and heavy, like she was breathing in a thick fog that stuck to her throat like tar. There was a certain sticky humidity in that dark place, pressing down on her in heavy waves, as if the very atmosphere itself was trying to crush her skull, punishing her for even plucking up the courage to step foot in the place where the Living didn’t belong. It was cold, yet uncomfortably warm at the same time, with no wind blowing to ease the mild heat that had settled its oppressive, sultry murk over the Dead’s civilization. It spilled into every street, every alleyway, every house that dared to open the window, thinking that it would help with the clamminess that fogged their home, but to no avail.
This, of course, had brought upon complete and utter dreariness that coated every Dead making their rounds through their daily lives. And, in reaction to her presence, the gloom tried to wrap its dark protections of the underworld around her in layers that pressed deeply into her skin, trying to become a part of her. It adorned her until she was nearly suffocated in the thick, moist air.
She did not belong there.
The Netherworld had been filled with enough freaks to make a whole circus- a suicidal beauty pageant queen with slashed open wrists, a failed skydiver in a shredded jumpsuit, a lady swathed in a smoldering towel and had hair crackling hair that hugged a toaster to her chest, a charred man who breathed smoke like a great fire dragon, a very confused football player, a man with a huge cleaver lodged in his skull as a sign of his infidelity, a gravely-injured jockey that spit blood when she talked, some kind of hunter with a shrunken head, and a very excitable victim of explosion, among many more that Lydia hadn’t seen. Not that she was surprised at the amount of strange characters in the underworld.
Aside from the beauty pageant queen, the jockey was the Dead that Lydia got to know the most. Even for the short amount of time she was down in the Netherworld , the jockey seemed to grow attached to her, talking to her animatedly as if they had been friends for years and hanging onto her arm like a baby koala would to its mother. She learned that her name was Presley.
And Lydia had to leave Presley behind.
It wasn’t because she wanted to- she had to! Presley said it herself: the living didn’t belong in the Netherworld. But still, it kinda hurt to leave her new friend behind.
But she got over it. And she moved on. And she got a new family that made her completely forget about the undead horse rider.
Lydia’s memories were then interrupted by a terrible crash of thunder that seemed to rip the entire town in half. The sound rang in all of their ears, even causing Lydia to snap her hands up to cover her own, much to her embarrassment, and making Adam phase straight into the drywall of the kitchen in reaction to the shock, and the sonic boom that followed rocked the house from side-to-side.
As the rumble faded and the lights overhead flickered, there was a heavy thud from upstairs.
From Lydia’s room.
Lydia groaned. “That’ll probably be Beej,” She said. “Messing with my stuff. Again. Probably thought the thunder could cover up the sound of him setting some kind of prank.” She turned her head to yell up the staircase as she stood up. “But not this time!”
She heard Barbara, Adam, and Delia laugh as she walked upstairs.
As quietly as possible, Lydia snuck up the stairs and to her bedroom. Inside, she could hear shuffling and a muttering voice.
Someone was in there.
Wanting to scare Beetlejuice for trying to prank her again, she grasped the doorknob, slowly pushed open the door, and peeked in at the demon in her bedroom.
The light from the lamp that she had left on fed into his white and red suit, soaking into the filthy fabric. He kept looking this way and that, the helmet he was wearing shifting against his head, and-- that was not Beetlejuice.
But Lydia did know this person.
White-and-red checkered shirt, white pants, gloves, black riding boots, a helmet with a crack straight down the middle, a crop holstered to narrow hips, old blood and hoofprints all over…
“Presley?!” Lydia yelped out loud, then quickly shut her mouth. She stepped fully into her room and closed the door behind her. A moment later, the undead jockey was in her arms, clinging to her in a way that felt more like how a drowning woman to cling to the side of a boat than a normal hug between reuniting friends.
Except she didn’t feel undead. She felt warm, solid, real…living.
She was living.
But…that shouldn’t have been possible.
“Presley…” Lydia said slowly. “How are you here?”
Presley looked up at her, the rim of her helmet sliding into her eyes slightly, then glanced all around. When she turned her head back up to Lydia, she seemed equally as confused. There was a stream of dried blood trickling down between her eyes and on one side of her nose. There was another scoring her right temple.
“I don’t-- I don’t know,” Presley whispered, and her voice was hoarse and weak. She then sucked in a sharp breath and coughed. Lydia realized this must have been the first time she had breathed in a long while.
“Well, that’s…confusing…” Lydia said. She batted Presley backwards so she would be away from the door. Presley clung onto her arm with one hand like it was her lifeline. “I thought you were dead? Like, really dead?”
“Yeah…” Presley shifted. “I would know.”
Lydia laughed slightly. “What happened? How did this happen?”
Presley shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. I was just sitting in my room, crying, as I usually am, and then I fell asleep and now I’m here!” She looked around. “Nice room, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door. “Okay, well…” She ran a hand through her hair. “This…will cause some issues.”
“Oh.”
Presley took a shuffling step backwards and unholstered her crop, which she began to fidget with nervously. Lydia thought it was strange- wasn’t that the thing that basically caused her untimely demise? How could she be comfortable with even having it on her person after that?
“Sorry…”
“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Lydia assured her. “How were you supposed to know that you were going to…come back to life?”
“Heh. Yeah.” Presley smiled slightly at her, which then turned into a grimace of pain. “May I sit down?”
“Yeah, of course,” Lydia said, and Presley instantly dropped down to her knees. Her breathing came out strained and ragged. “Are you alright?”
Presley gave her a weak smile, and there was blood in her teeth and blood on her lips and blood on her tongue. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia prodded, crouching down in front of her. “You don’t look so good.”
“Well, you know how I died,” Presley said, sitting up from her hunched position. She pressed a hand against the left side of her ribs, wincing. “Wasn’t exactly very, ahh, pretty…” She swallowed.
“Your wounds didn’t heal after you came back to life?” Lydia said. “I guess that’s what we’re calling this. But you didn’t get a fresh new start?”
Presley shook her head. She unbuttoned her jockey uniform and opened up one flap, the cloth making a disgusting peeling sound as it detached from her skin, to reveal the dark black abyss that was her trampled chest. Looking at it, even in the lamp’s golden glow, Lydia couldn’t tell where one wound ended and another wound began. They were all- the bruises and the lacerations and the welts and the hoofprints- melted into one big blemish of agony upon the young jockey’s torso. For a moment, Lydia didn’t even see that she had a sports bra on because the fabric (it had been grey, once upon a time) was completely soaked in blood and blending in with the rest of the mess.
“Unfortunately, no,” Presley closed her shirt. “I suppose it’s a fair trade. Being brought back for a second chance at life, but I have to live with the effects of how I died in the first one. Actually, that isn’t as fair as I thought. My internal organs had definitely been ruptured when--” She stopped talking and looked down at her stomach grimly.
“Well, that…sucks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door again. How was she going to explain this to her family?
“Lydia!”
And speaking of the devils…
Lydia turned back to Presley. “Ready to meet my family?”
Presley perked up. “Really?”
“You don’t exactly have anywhere else to go,” Lydia said. “And you’re here, aren’t you? One more supernatural being living in our house won’t hurt!”
Presley tilted her head, and her helmet slumped over on her skull with the movement. “There are others?”
Lydia grinned. “Yep,” She said. “I got pretty much the coolest family.”
“Lydia!”
“Coming!” Lydia called back to the voice yelling for her. She looked back at Presley. “I’m going to go talk to them first. I’ll call down for you once they’re ready. Just be cool, okay? They’ll like you.”
At least, she hoped they would. Presley didn’t have anywhere else to go if they didn’t.
Delia, Barbara, Adam, and Charles, who had emerged from his office, were all assembled downstairs, preparing for dinner. Barbara smiled at Lydia when she came down.
“Did you find BJ?” Barbara asked.
“How long did it take to dismantle the prank?” Adam asked, sounding amused.
“What prank?” Beetlejuice materialized beside Charles, nearly making him drop the bowl of spaghetti he had been carrying to the table. He looked at him. “Sorry, Chuck.” He looked back at Lydia. “Now, what about a prank?”
All eyes turned to Lydia, and Lydia couldn’t help but feel like she was being interrogated, which was weird because she hadn’t done anything wrong. The ghost of a jockey who got killed during a race appearing in her bedroom as a living person wasn’t her fault! That was nobody’s fault!
“It turns out there was no prank,” Lydia said.
“Then what fell?” Delia asked.
“Yeah, about that…” Lydia glanced up the staircase. She faintly saw Presley hovering in the hallway. “Remember that one time we went to the Netherworld?”
“Yes,” Charles said. “It was the worst place ever.”
“Oh god,” Beetlejuice said. “Is this another lecture? I already said I’m sorry!”
“No, no, this isn’t about that,” Lydia said quickly. “While I was there, I met this girl. We kinda became friends, but, you know, I had to come back here so I haven’t seen her since.”
“Where is this going?” Adam asked, looking curious and slightly concerned.
“What if I told you guys that my friend came back to life somehow and appeared in my bedroom for no real rhyme or reason but now she’s here and has nowhere else to go?”
The house went quiet. Thunder rumbled outside, as if the very universe itself were laughing about the situation.
And then--
“WHAT?” Adam yelped.
“That can happen?” Delia said at the same time, looking at Beetlejuice.
“I guess!” Beetlejuice yelled.
“Wait, so there’s someone in our house right now?” Charles asked.
“Surprise!” Lydia said weakly. She looked up the staircase. “You can come down now.”
There was shuffling from upstairs; Presley emerged into the light of the open stairwell and staggered her way down the stairs, each step she took being punctuated by a wince. There were several gasps, mainly from Barbara, Delia, and Adam, as she stopped next to Lydia- not that Lydia blamed her family for their reactions.
Presley looked much, much worse in full lightning. Her skin was no longer pale pink like it had been in the Netherworld, rather just pale, as if all the blood was drained from her body and leaving her as an empty shell. Even her lips were completely leached of color. It was impossible to tell if the dark rings around her eyes were from sleep deprivation or were just shiners caused by her death. Her jockey uniform was slathered in a thick caking of mud--and then Lydia realized most of that was just dried blood. Black hoofprints were stamped up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, and some areas of the fabric were ripped, revealing grimy, bruised, and bloodied flesh underneath. The streams of blood down her face and side of her head were completely dried now, crusted over and flaking off. She was squeezing her crop nervously, bright hazel eyes darting everywhere around the house, but she quickly latched onto Lydia’s arm with one of her hands, holding on tightly, similarly to how she did down in the Netherworld when they first met.
“Everyone…” Lydia said to her gaping family. “Meet Presley!”
#i dont know what this au is gonna be called yet#but it's definitely something!#beetlejuice the musical#beetlejuice the broadway musical#beetlejuice au#beetlejuice fanfiction#beetlejuice fic#beetlejuice fluff#beetlejuice#lydia deetz#barbara maitland#adam maitland#delia deetz#charles deetz#the jockey#we poured mud through their veins
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T.H| Goodnight
Summary: you get stuck in the middle of the road kinda, the Beatles, vinyls and bathtubs
Warnings: fluff, raining, idk?
A/N: IM SORRY BUT I HAVE A BRA BULGE NOW, I CRIED ABOUT IT FOR THE PAST 5 HOURS PLEASE HELP, IM BEING SO SERIOUS I HATE BELLY ROLLS ON ME!
It was basically thundering outside in the heavy rain, cups of coffee in each cup holder, it was date night you were to afraid to drive because the ground was very slippery.
“I’m happy” he muttered to you, putting his cold hand on your thigh as you hissed by it “I’m cold, very cold” you said, rubbing your arms as your teeth started to stutter together.
“Okay now your being dramatic” “Thomas your a fucking man! You have more muscle, not more hair but more skin- well that isn’t true either” he laughed, “I GOT IT- you have more clothes on then me!” “Well fuck us” he whispered, looking at the gas tank. “Tom I’m not getting stuck out here in this rain” “welp” he shrugged, driving up to the bridge where you have to pay 5 dallors to cross, he pulled to the side of the road, unbuckling himself “wait here” “Thomas it’s storming outside-“
“how are we gonna get home love?” You bit your lip as he looked at you “just don’t die alright?” He laughed as you turned to him and hit his shoulder “I’m serious Thomas, do not die” “give me a kiss for good luck” you reached forward and pressed a kiss on his lips. He opened the door and stepped outside.
Some of the rain getting inside the car as he shut the door, you locked the doors watching him as he hopped over at he small walls to keep you from falling off the building, there was a small building connected to it, you always thought that part is where the soldiers or aliens stayed as a child, you don’t know why.
He wasn’t really wearing anything to keep him from the cold, just a jean jacket under his black shirt, but everything he’s wearing is soaked, including his socks. He entered the building and you didn’t see him anymore.
You unblocked yourself and looked in the backseat, looking under the seat sand somehow finding a puff coat “oh thank god, I love you so much” you grabbed it, putting it on and turning off the car.
You seen the rest of the cars pass by no problem, there was no use to try and contact anyone because your in the middle of the bridge, you end up just using the rain as a calming sensation and fall asleep.
Knock knock, knock knock knock
“Y/N!” He screamed instantly waking up you turned to him, unlocking the door. “How long was I out?” “Uh I don’t know” he shrugged “but the car is working! And I see you have a very nice coat on” he smiled as you smacked your lips and rolled your eyes.
“I just wanna take a shower and go to sleep” you yawn, him giggling as he started up the car again.
“Does it have to be cold everywhere!” You complained as you took off your shoes in the house. “I’ll turn on the heater and run us a bath” he said, taking off his also and going to the heater into the hallway. You took off the puff coat and helped Tom by going to the upstairs bathroom and getting on your knees to run the bath, you stood up and went to the cabinet, grabbing a red bathbomb and putting it in the bathtub, going back to the cabinet and grabbing a book, Harry Potter.
“You have us set?” He asked, “candles and vinyl” you said, he helped and grabbed the candles, placing them on the brown stepping stool and lit them up. Grabbing the vinyl of Grover Washington, ‘just the two of us’ and setting it on the counter. He came up behind you and unzipped you slowly, taking in your scent as he smiled to hisself, dropping the dress leaving you in your underwear and opening the window to let in the breeze and the raining noise.
Both of you in the bath, naked, you behind him, leaning your head on his back, the lights off, raining, candles, it all so calming, he reads Harry Potter to you, the small table that goes across the bathtub holding the book, you wrapped your hands around his chest, hearing his heart beat.
It was forever lasting, the small drops of water hitting the window seal, thunder striking and laughing as Tom stutters and leans into your touch more, just the two of you. Nothing else could be better.
After that was done you got dressed in your silk black robe, the tv turned off and everything dark, except the moon that was shinning from the large window, Tom only in his boxers, it was all a dream to be honest. Teas on each night stand as now ‘stand by me’ was playing, talking to each other with your night glasses on and your hair wrapped in a cute large bonnet, purple to be exact.
“Oh yeah it was freezing, I almost argued with them too, they would give me the gas” he rolled his eyes, “well my baby can do anything, can’t he?” You asked mostly to yourself, sipping the tea. “Let’s dance” he smiled. “Oh no” “oh yess darling, you put the song on anyway” he stood up, taking your free hand as you put the tea aside.
He mimicked the words to you as he put his hand on your waist, the other in yours as your other one was on his shoulder. You laughed and leaned in his shoulder. Breathing in his neck, “I love you” he whispered, now singing to you. “I love you too” you smiled, taking your head from his shoulder and looking up at him.
“Oh when can we start a family already, I wanna see you carrying my babies” “Thomas please” you shook your head giggling as he know started to dramatically sing it. “You know you want my babies y/n” he glared at you smiling.
“I’m not gonna disagree” you shrug as you suddenly weep from him picking you up, and throwing you on the bed. “Then let’s get it started!” “It’s cold” “then I’ll be right back” “Thomas let’s go to bed” he sighed, Fine” he through himself on the bed next to you, the moonlight glimpsing his face and you lifted your hand to mess with his curls. “Goodnight y/n” “goodnight Thomas” he shifted closer, wrapping his hands around you and pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your nose and lifted a knee ontop of your leg.
#tom holland x reader#tom holland x black!reader#tom holland blurb#tom holland fluff#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fic#tom holland imagine#tom holland au#tom holland#jb writes
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why rayllum is a MASTERPIECE part 3
*RUBS MY CLAWS TOGETHER* IT IS SEASON 3 TIME BITCHES AND H O L Y S H I T I LOVE THIS SEASON SO MUCH
i even rewatched it for this!
this time i’ll try to have SOME order, and go by episode. this will however still include unintelligible screaming
1. DAMN THESE FUCKERS BE PINING MORE THAN A PINE TREE FOREST!
first off, affectionate eye rolling, nose boop, and head bonk is the best thing.
second, IF SOMEONE SAYS THAT DURING WHEN CALLUM WAS HELPING RAYLA PUT ON HIS SCARF AND THEY J STARED AT EACHOTHER FOR A BIT BEFORE RAYLA TURNED AWAY THAT HE WAS N O T LOST IN HER EYES? they’re wrong. this is fact now.
third, their teamwork and decision making is excellent. they agree to try and sneak past sol regem, and when that fails try talking to him and then decide to simply trick his senses with the scarf. and instead of rayla shooting down callum’s “smelltriloquism” idea, she simply adds onto it! LOVE HEALTHY FRIENDSHIPS
“i think it’s good luck!” YES IT IS RAY THAT’S UR BOYFRIENDS SCARF
also, here you go. you’re welcome.
2. STILL PINING. GOD DAMN.
first, CALLUM BEING SO EXCITED BY ALL THE MAGIC IN XADIA IS S O CUTE! MY SON. this might turn into an overrall review of s3. o well
second. FLUSTERED RAYLA AND FLUSTERED CALLUM. Y E S
third, THE ADORABURR FIELD! their smiles were so fond and soft and A. they make me cry of joy.
an overall look on it, i like how this episode really shows their feelings clearly. no “will they won’t they”, at least for rayla. it’s clear she has feelings.
3. AH FUCK. ANGST.
first i love how when rayla mentions that she’s excited and happy but also terrified, callum tries to comfort her. good boi. best boi.
second, elf callum. i love that scene so much even if the second-hand embarrassment kills me, and rayla is j like “why the fuck do i love you. im gonna kill him.”
third, DANCE! callum not being rude and saying her home is “modest” before rayla explains it’s an illusion, his BLUSH WHEN SHE HELPS HIM, and the softness in general. rayla’s excitement that she’s home and talks abt that she can show callum where she went to school, the best moonberry surprise place, until...
fourth, AH FUCK. A N G S T T I M E. rayla being crest-fallen before callum says that it must’ve been a mistake, and she realizes that ethari would probably understand!
and then CONFIRMED GAYS. YES.
rayla realizing ethari ghosted her too and then callum GOING O F F. he angy and when rayla runs out callum IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWS (like in a later episode) and comforts her again.
when ethari comes down and breaks the spell and says to callum “trees to meet you too” and rayla’s like “don’t encourage him”
also callum trying to get on the shadowpaw and ethari being Concerned is AMAZING. concerned dad content
i’ll talk more about ezran/ruthari/the dark magic trio in a later ted talk
4. H E R E W E G O
first, rayla clearly being sad and callum picking up on that quickly (he even seems to be almost falling on purpose, perhaps to make her smile?) and asking if she’s ok before being shot down by rayla insisting she is fine. GOD DAMN. THAT HURTS.
second, their interaction with nyx is so amazing. rayla being protective of zym and callum being a DORK is awesome, but also their decision making.
after rayla reluctantly decides that they can go see how nyx could get them across the desert so quickly, they see the ambler and then their reasoning is amazing.
“what do you think?”
“the dragon queen is dying.” and then i forget the rest of the exact quote but they give a subtle nod to eachother. they make their decisions TOGETHER. AS A TEAM. AND THAT’S ON HEALTHY FRIENDSHIPS X2!
third, callum continuing to gently press for rayla to express her emotions. he doesn’t pressure her, but seems to simply let her know that if she needs to talk (when she insists she’s fine), he is there.
four, MORE FLUSTERED RAYLLUM. YES. TY NYX but also fuck u for taking zym but also ur hot- A N Y W A Y
five. OOOOOOH. MY FAVORITE SCENE.
rayla’s crying and callum tries to reassure her. nyx is plotting, while rayla runs away and callum follows. Y E S.
rayla talks about how there’s nobody left that cares about her and she lost everything.. and then the SPEECH. i have this speech memorized i’ve watched this scene so many times
"JUST SHUT UP, YOU'RE TALKING CRAZY. JUST, LISTEN TO ME. YOU'RE TOO GOOD TO FEEL THIS BAD ABOUT YOURSELF. I KNOW THAT, AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT. YOU HAVE TRUE COURAGE, AND A BIG HEART! I'VE SEEN YOU GET KNOCKED DOWN SO MANY TIMES AND EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. YOU GET UP AGAIN. THAT'S REAL STRENGTH. AND.. AND YOU'RE TEN TIMES FUNNIER THAN ANY HUMAN I KNOW! chuckle SEE? SEE YOU KNOW YOU'RE AMAZING. YOU'RE SMART AND FAST AND BEAUTIFUL. RAYLA YOU'RE THE MOST AMAZING PERSON I'VE EVER MET."
LOVE THEMMM
and then rayla kisses him and that’s all that happened. callum was not a dumbass. right? RIGHT???
5. MY FAVORITE EPISODE!
first, rayla saving callum from the soulfang serpents and callum helping her get up is AMAZING, LOVE THAT.
second, callum tryna get a good position and rayla j saying to hold onto her and callum GETTING FLUSTERED. BOY IS PINING also he didn’t have to hold her that close.
“I DON’T THINK OF HER THAT WAY” “YOU AND I DON’T HAVE THAT YET” LIAR.
three, THEM JUMPING OFF THE AMBLER AND. THAT WHOLE MOMENT? THE ROMANTIC TENSION IS KILLING ME
four. DAMN CALLUM RLLY DO BE HAVING HEART EYES @ RAYLA WHILE SHE KILLS LIKE 80 SOULFANGS HE IS PINING PART 2
five. THE SPEECH. THE SOFTNESS. THE KISSES. GOD DAMN. FAVORITE SCENE OUT OF THE ENTIRETY OF TDP. LOVE THEM.
also here you go again
what can i say except YOU’RE WELCOME
6. ANGST BUT ALSO FLUFF ALSO REUNION
once again won’t b talking abt ezran specifically but there’s some passing mentions of him from now on
first, rayla and callum reaching the stone thunder and callum asking “is it... a statue?” and rayla sadly saying “no. it’s not a statue” A. I CRI.
1.5 ayla and callum best dragon parents
i’ll get to an actual analysis later
second, THIS MOMENT IS UNDERRATED EVEN THO IT’S ONE OF MY FAVS why has nobody mentioned the lil tender moment where ezran is by phoe-phoe and rayla puts her hand on callum’s shoulder AND CALLUM PUTS HIS HAND ON HERS. SO SWEET.
third, OK I’LL STOP MOST OF MY UNINTELLIGIBLE SHRIEKS AND ACTUALLY ANALYZE THIS.
callum is upset because of thunder and rayla sympathizes immediately. this is similar to how callum lets rayla let out her own emotions, and rayla is doing the same. he explains how he feels angry, upset, confused, sad, and rayla quickly empathizes. he keeps on venting, not knowing whether to feel regretful, or glad, and how he’s confused because that’s sarai’s spear. he feels sorry that all this happened, but rayla reassures him that zym and ezran are going to break the cycle! that’s hope! and then they hold hands and i screech
AND THAT’S SO FUCKING HEALTHY AND I LOVE IT. THEY RLLY BREAK ALL BAD HET RELATIONSHIP STEREOTYPES (coughbutistillheadcanonthembothasbiandcallumistransilldieonthishillcough)
7. angst but not rayllum angst so its ok
first, they begin to go up the storm spire and i really love their banter. “and i’m guessing the dragon queen didn’t make her den at a nice, halfway kinda place?” “nope. tiptop!”
cuties.
second, ASSDHFNF THE FACT THEY M O C K THE IDEA OF A FORBIDDEN RELATIONSHIP. THEY’RE IN LOVE AND THE WORLD CAN DEAL WITH IT. LOVE THAT FOR THEM
third, RAYLA CATCHING CALLUM. IT’S. NOT RLLY BIG I JUST LIKE IT AND THINK IT’S CUTE HOW EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS ALSO OUT OF BREATH SHE RAN UP TO CATCH HIM.
four, AHSDHGDHFG THEY DEADASS FORGOT EZRAN WAS THERE. more flustered rayllum i love that
8. FUCK IT’S RAYLLUM ANGST NOOOO
one, ibis is j a good boi. back to rayla and callum
two, rayla going in to see the dragon queen and when she runs out callum QUICKLY FOLLOWS to see if she’s ok. asks her if she’s ok, and she OPENS UP!! CHARACTER GROWTH BABY!!! and then they hold hands and i once again shriek
three, AH. HELLO ANGST.
before we go to the actual angst, can i say that THE LAUGH AFTER RAYLA SAID “STORM SNEEZE” IS SO CUTE. CALLUMS IN LOVE. MY SON.
oh no.
*bonks rayla on the head* nO SELF SACRIFICING!!
although their fight is super angsty and i hate it, it does provide some conflict and more plot because it gives callum a reason to want to find out the truth about rayla’s parents. and then he does! people argue that this fight was unnecessary or that callum was a jerk, but this was needed i think. he did let his worry become a bit of anger, and that was not a nice move, but he knows he fucked up and fixes it!
and then we get soft rayllum this is fine
9. AND YOU THOUGHT LAST EPISODE WAS BAD N O *CRYING*
there’s not much rayllum featured in this ep, but the amount we do get is 80 PERCENT ANGST AND I WASN’T OK WITH IT
first, the fluff! callum trying to do the wing spell and rayla teasing “did you pull a muscle in the middle of a jumping jack?” is so cute. i LOVE THEM. also they hold hands and i SH RIEK again.
also soren how dare you interrupt callum he was abt to confess
second, callum when he’s explaining the battle plan and his ZAP HAND. rayla is j watching him like “yep. that is my dork.”
and CALLUM SEEMS SO FOND WHEN JANAI CALLS RAYLA THE LAST DRAGONGUARD. PERHAPS I SOB
skipping forward in time a bit for the angst oh no
third, callum going up to the storm spire after ez encouraging him to go to rayla. love that soft brotherly relationship. and we think “oh, soft rayllum, right?”
NO. VIREN’S UP THERE.
fourth, THEY DIDN’T NEED ME TO BE ROLLING ON THE FLOOR WTF. the fact that rayla’s blade went right in front of callum and he looks up and sees zym in danger, viren is there, and RAYLA is there, p a n i k.
and then rayla jumps and the entire rayllum fandom SC REAMS after callum’s “no!” before she jumps and “no, no, no, RAYLA!”
fifth, CALLUM NO WHY ARE YOU JUMPING TOO- oh wait its ok he did the wings and im still crying fuck
THAT CONFESSION THO- i cri tears of joy now. they’re in love
sixth, I J WANNA KNOW WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT BEFORE EZRAN SHOWED UP. like it’s clear that they’re talking or something, but abt what is the question. also yes they hug and raylas fond
seventh, THEY HOLD HANDS!! soft bbs,,,
AAAND IM DONE! this is. quite long so if you read all of this i hope u have a good day and thnx for listening to me ramble with some coherent thoughts
#rayla#callum#rayllum#rambling#thanks for reading#ezran#tdp season three#tdp s3#soren#the dragon prince zym#tdp
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Intrulogical (platonic or romantic) : Forest!God Remus (moss, decay, insects, underbrush darkness, mold, slime ect) meeting Sky!God Logan (Stars, constellations, clean rain, thunderstorm fury, knowledge divined from clouds) and having a complementary relationship with his foil. (It shouldn’t surprise Logan as much as it does. The forest needs rain to grow and flourish- just as the heavens needs the earth to shine. The sky needs the trees to breathe. The plants need the air to live. As is nature)
(Okay, so, this prompt is fucking amazing. I spent much longer working on it that I usually do with prompts and I would absolutely LOVE to write more things in this au (whether it’s intrulogical or another ship). Therefore I’m gonna tag this as ‘clouds and moss au’ which i’ll tag anything else i write in this au as. Also, i only just remembered i have a taglist so i’ll start adding it to my short prompt things from now on. Also this mentions all the other sides once.)
General Taglist - @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game
Intrulogical - Clouds and Moss
Masterpost
Clouds and Moss AU Masterpost
Remus and Logan never really had a first meeting. None of the gods did.
At first, they didn’t exist, and then, one day, they did.
And when they did, they knew their purposes immediately. They knew of the other gods, and they knew, well, everything.
They didn’t need to meet, they interacted with each other through the interactions of their creations.
Humans cooked and danced with fire, and, through them, Patton felt Roman’s warmth.
Janus collected the numerous souls of the drowned, and, through them, he felt Virgil’s waves in his own lungs.
Plants flourished and grew as every drop of rain gave them life. Through them, Remus felt Logan’s gentle touch, like fingertips brushing against his skin. He never knew how much they paled in comparison to the real thing.
“I didn’t know you ever left the clouds.”
Logan glanced up from the tree he was studying, startled. He looked over Remus: the forest god leaning against a mossy tree trunk. It was hard to tell where the moss ended and Remus begun. There wasn’t a difference, really.
The sky god bowed, respectful, before straightening up and adjusting his glasses. Remus wondered why he needed them.
“Good morning, Remus,” He greeted. “I trust you’re having a pleasant day?”
Remus shrugged, wriggling his toes as a beetle crawled over his foot. He watched a butterfly land on a nearby branch. It didn’t know it was in the presence of two gods, and there was something nice about that.
Logan watched it, too. He didn’t seem to mind the silence.
“There will be a thunderstorm in exactly thirty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds. I hope it doesn’t disturb any of your plans,” Logan said eventually, and that was that.
He disappeared, and a sillouette-shaped cloud lingered for a moment or two, before it, too, disappeared.
Remus sunk into the mud, until he became the mud, and took a nap.
He didn’t know how long it took until he saw Logan again. Gods lived longer than mortals, so most had a rather crooked sense of time. Some moments lasted years; some years lasted moments.
Logan seemed to be an exception to that rule.
“Good morning, Remus.”
Remus sat up. He hit the side of his head a few times, and a few bugs fell out the opposite ear. They hit the ground and scattered. Remus watched them run, and wondered how long it would take for something bigger to come along and squash them.
He didn’t speak for almost a minute, before he finally glanced up at his guest.
Logan was sitting cross-legged, floating a few feet above the ground. He, too, was watching the insects, with an odd look of fascination on his face.
“Why are you floating?” Remus asked, after a minute of watching the other god. “Afraid of a little mud?”
Logan looked up from the ground, meeting Remus’s eyes.
Blue. Logan’s eyes were blue.
Fitting.
“I do not want to get dirty.”
Remus stared at him for a few moments, and then slowly and deliberately - without losing eye contact - picked up a handful of mud. He then threw it at Logan, hitting him in the centre of the chest.
If he was honest, he’d expected the sky god to leave after that - maybe reciting the exact time of the next storm, beforehand, if he wasn’t too irritated at the forest god, but leaving nonetheless.
Instead, the corners of his lips twitched upwards, and he slowly lowered himself onto the ground, until he was sitting in the mud opposite Remus. He placed his hand close to the forest god’s, feeling the mud ooze between his fingers, and gave him a small nod.
Remus, a little perplexed, nodded back.
They sat there in silence for some time, until there was a rumble of thunder overhead, and Logan disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Remus began counting the days after that. He had no interest in keeping track of the time. However, he had been watching the sky more, unintentionally keeping track of the days and nights through that.
It took fifty-seven days for Logan to come visit after that.
“Hey, Logan, how are the clouds?”
Logan gave him an amused look, adjusting the glasses that he absolutely didn’t need.
“They are adequate. There shall be some light precipitation in four hours, twelve minutes and three seconds.”
“Cool, cool, cool,” Remus waved his hand. “Why do you wear glasses? You don’t need them.”
Logan blinked a few times, before glancing away, a light blush dusting his cheeks. The red was a stark contrast to the cool blue colours that decorated the rest of his body.
Remus tilted his head, and decided that that colour suited him.
“I, uh… I just like them.”
He said that as if it was a crime, something to be ashamed of, and Remus paused for a moment, watching the flustered sky god, before reaching out and plucking the glasses right off his nose. He then placed them on his own face.
Remus looked around at their surroundings. They looked the same; the glasses altered nothing.
“Hmm,” Remus blinked owlishly at Logan. “I don’t get it.”
The corners of Logan’s lips twitched upwards, and he leant forwards, his face impossibly close to Remus’s. He carefully took his glasses back.
“They’re upside down.” He righted them, and then slid them back onto the forest god’s face. “Here.”
Logan’s fingertips brushed against Remus’s cheeks. They were soft, so soft, as gentle as the raindrops that landed on leaves and stayed there for hours. But Logan’s touch didn’t stay there for hours, no, it was gone within moments, and Remus found himself desperate for more, more, as the sky god pulled away and looked at him expectantly.
“It’s, uh… it’s the same,” Remus said awkwardly. “You really don’t need these, do you?”
Logan shook his head. Little droplets of water fell from his hair and landed on the ground. Remus felt them as if they’d landed on his own skin.
And his hair, oh, his hair. It was as black as night and looked as soft as clouds and Remus wanted desperately to hold him close and run his fingers through it.
Remus took off the glasses, and then carefully - more carefully than he did anything else - pushed them back onto Logan’s face. He let his touch linger, before pulling away.
There was mud on the sky god’s face now, and his glasses were lopsided.
Logan took a moment to correct them, but he made no move to get rid of the mud. The two stared at each other for an unknown amount of time, before Logan’s eyes drifted elsewhere, landing somewhere behind Remus.
The forest god didn’t even need to turn around. He had eyes everywhere, so he knew Logan was admiring a patch of flowers beside a tree.
Remus’s moustache twitched, and the prettiest blue flower appeared in his hand. He reached out and tucked it behind Logan’s ear. His fingertips brushed against a lock of hair; it was exactly as soft as it looked.
Logan’s lips parted slightly in surprise, and he reached up to touch the flower, his hand coming in contact with Remus’s, sending a shiver up his arm and down his spine.
There were a few moments of silence, before Logan suddenly disappeared, and then the rain began. Had it really already been four hours?
Remus turned his face to the sky, feeling the rain hit his skin and run down his body. If he closed his eyes, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that it was Logan’s hands on him instead.
The next time he saw Logan was much sooner than the last.
“Good evening, Remus,” Logan said, appearing behind the other god and peering curiously over his shoulder. “What are you working on?”
“This tree is dying,” He answered, laying his hand on the mossy trunk, feeling the life drain out of it like blood dripping from an open wound.
“Oh.”
Logan placed his hand on Remus’s shoulder. The forest god turned around, opening his mouth to speak again, but the words slipped back down his throat when he saw the other god’s face.
Oh, what a fool he’d been, when he’d called Logan’s eyes blue.
Logan’s eyes were the sky.
They weren’t just like the sky, they were the sky.
They were soft blue during the daytime, sure, but a harsh grey during storms. At night, the irises were dark blue - barely distinguishable from the black of his pupils - speckled with numerous bright white stars. Remus was sure that if you were close enough, you would be able to make out the constellations in his eyes.
And, right now, as the sun began to set over the horizon, his eyes were filled with the soft pinks and oranges of sunset.
Consciously or subconsciously - neither could tell - Remus began to lean closer to Logan, their faces only inches apart.
And then, Logan crossed the gap, and kissed him.
As soon as their lips met, rain began to pour from the clouds. The sky met the forest and it was impossible to tell where they ended and the gods began, but the duo didn’t seem to care.
Remus wrapped his arms around Logan, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss. Time either flew by or crawled at a snail’s pace, neither god felt the need to keep track.
When Logan eventually pulled away, Remus let out an involuntary whine, and the sky god’s eyes - his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes - were wide, his lips parted in surprise at his own actions.
Remus glanced up at the sky, at the passionate storm that raged above them, and then back at Logan.
“Was that planned?” He asked, soft and breathless, and even he didn’t know if he was referring to the storm or the kiss.
Logan looked up, too, as if he’d only just noticed the rain, and then laughed. It rang through the air like bells and Remus silently declared it his new favourite sound. He looked back at the forest god, looking happier than he’d ever seemed before.
“No, it wasn’t.”
The other gods soon learned of the lovers, of course; rumours spread like wildfire. They talked and they talked and they especially loved to say that every drop of rain that hit the forest was a kiss shared between Logan and Remus.
When asked, Logan called the idea prepostorous - basing something as constant as the weather cycle on something as fickle as kisses would be foolish.
But, privately, he knew that they weren’t that far off.
#me#ask#writing#clouds and moss au#intrulogical#sanders sides#remus sanders#sympathetic remus#logan sanders#gods au
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There's something calming about sitting around the fire while the storm rages on outside, listening to the sound of rain pounding against the roof. About an hour before, the power had blown out, but the fire is bright enough to see by and it's warm. There's not enough seats for everyone, it's rare that everyone is together these days, but they manage. They're nothing if not adaptable. John and Esme have commandeered one of the armchairs, sprawled across it in a mess of limbs, and the kids are piled around them on the floor, talking in whispers to each other, flinching slightly when the thunder claps too loudly.
Everyone else is scattered throughout the room, in their own chairs or sprawled across the ground. Vincent is stretched across the couch, advantages of still recovering from being shot, and Arthur is wedged in behind him, legs bracketing his body, fingers running through his hair. It's rare that they don't have anything important to do, so it's nice to just relax. He can't remember the last time they'd all been in the same place, without arguments, at least.
"Everything alright? Stitches not pulling?"
He tilts his head back and looks up at Arthur.
"I'm fine, if anything changes I'll let you know."
"See that you do."
"Yes, sir."
Truthfully, the stitches have been itching all day, but he doesn't say anything. He's been dutiful about using the salve that the doctor had given him, so he knows there's no infection, it's just irritation. It's a familiar routine, from the last time. He still wouldn't have changed anything about that day. Loyal to a fault, he's been called, and that might be the case, but he wasn't going to let anything happen to his family, not if he could help it. A choice between almost certain death and saving John's life? He'd choose the same outcome every time. Slowly, in groups a few at a time, the room slowly empties with everyone heading to bed, until it's just him and Arthur left. Polly goes last, and tells them to put the fire out before they leave.
"Should we head up too, then? You need rest."
"Soon. I'm comfortable."
Silence fills the room, except for the soft crackling of the fire, until Arthur speaks up again.
"I have something that I need to ask you."
"Am I in trouble?"
"No?"
"Then ask away."
There's a shifting from behind him, Arthur moving to grab something out of his pocket.
"I'm going to need you to just be quiet for a while, alright?"
He just nods.
"Okay. Good. Now, I've never been good with words, so just- Give me a minute. Seeing you in that hospital bed was the scariest time of my life, and I understand why you did it, and I'm not grateful for it, but I fucking hated it. I could've lost you, and I don't know what I would have done if I had, but it wouldn't have been good. It's not- I'm the oldest, so this was given to me, after my mother died. It can't be official, and I hate it, but I want you to have it anyway, because it's as good as to me, and- I don't know, we swapped tags, but it's supposed to go to whoever I marry, and that's never going to be anyone but you."
It might be the most words he's ever heard Arthur say at one time, and happens in bursts, like he's trying to rush the words out before his nerves get the best of him. Arthur unhooks the chain from around his neck and threads one side through the ring before he clips it back together. The ring is heavy, heavier than the tags, and feels solid against Vincent's chest.
"What do you say?"
"Well. I think Vincent Shelby has a nice ring to it. Arthur Beckett just doesn't feel right."
#peaky blinders#peaky blinders x oc#arthur shelby x male reader#my tiny angry omc vincent#arthur shelby#john shelby#tommy shelby#ada shelby#polly gray#finn shelby#charlie shelby#karl thorne#esme shelby#grace who? i dont know her.#this is so sappy#it's also a peace offering for the next piece#because it's gonna hurt.#sorry#enjoy but please be gentle
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the moral of the story (it is cruel my dear)
So I wrote a fic and finished it, I don’t know who I am anymore. Jokes aside though, this might not only be the longest but also my favourite fic I’ve ever written. Also, I should probably have edited it properly but I was way too excited not to share it, so yeah.
warnings: angst, full on angst that I hope will rip your heart out (what else do you expect from me), also slight smut, language (and badly written dialogues)
7,137 words (yeah I don’t know how that happened either)
summary: How comforting it is, Steve thinks, that there are 14 million universes out there. How comforting it is to know that there must be a universe where he gets to love you.
He closes his eyes and lets his knees give in.
(there´s a lot of things Steve Rogers wishes he would have done differently)
How comforting it is, Steve thinks, that there are 14 million universes out there. How comforting it is to know that there must be a universe where he gets to love you.
He closes his eyes and lets his knees give in.
Life is easy at the Tower.
Steve wakes up at 5am sharp every morning and drinks two protein shakes before going on a run. He showers in a shower that is almost as big as his and Bucky's whole bathroom back in Brooklyn used to be. He ignores Tony's snarky remarks and pretends to understand Clint's pop culture references. He storms Hydra bases with his new team. He doesn't flinch anymore when Natasha appears out of nowhere.
Life is good. It's not the way it used be; with Bucky and the Commandos and their dirty jokes and laughter around camp fires all over Europe, but it's not his apartment in DC anymore either, with its walls that always seemed to be caving in on him, or doing Hydra's dirty work. Steve can work with that.
You're young, that's the first thing he notices about you.
Tony recruits you on a whim and before Steve even looks twice, you've moved into the Tower and you go on missions and you attend team game nights.
See, usually Steve would be mad, except that he can't be when he sees you; sees you fight, sees you with the team. Truth is, you fit right in.
You get all excited discussing science stuff with Bruce over dinner, measure your biceps against Thor's when he pays you one of his random visits, making his laugh thunder down the halls of the Tower, meal prep (whatever the fuck that is) with Natasha on Saturdays and Wednesdays; you're part of the team before Steve can even say you're not, and honestly, he can't even be mad about it.
Steve likes you. Until he doesn't.
***
See, you're nice, you're charming, everybody likes you, Steve likes you. You don't always follow orders and you have butted heads with a couple congress men before but that's okay. It's not good, but it's okay; Steve can work with that.
What he can't work with, however, is half-truths.
It all starts with a routine mission.
Storm Hydra base, get intel, blow it up; it's easy enough. You and Steve take the west wing, knocking out Hydra agents on your way down. Steve kicks one of the agents in the gut, tries to pry the arms of the other one off his throat, when he calls out for you for backup.
You don't answer.
He finally escapes out of the agent's choke hold and knocks him out, panting heavily, eyes scanning the room for you. You were on the other side of the room just a minute ago, but now you hover over another Hydra agent and you- you don't do anything. You look at him, gun hanging loosely by your side, as he says something to you, urgently, thoroughly.
Steve calls out your name again. You startle, as if pulled out of a daze and put a bullet through the agent's head. Steve furrows his brows, shooting you a questioning look. You look away.
“What was that”, he asks you, as you board the quinjet. You've been carefully avoiding him for the rest of the mission.
“What?”, you ask, looking up at him, slightly limping.
“You know exactly what I mean” His voice is harsh, your eyes widen, but these are the facts: He saw you hesitate. Those few seconds could have cost somebody's life.
“I don't think I do, Captain.”
“You hesitated!”, he grits out, “You hesitated taking out a hostile!”
“I- I was just out of it for a second, Cap”, you shrug, smiling a little and Steve doesn't believe a word you say.
“Don't lie to me”
“I-”
“Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?”, Tony interrupts you. He's looking between you and him, eyes furrowed.
You've gathered the attention of the whole team now, Natasha looking up from bandaging Clint's side, Bruce watching you from the cockpit, Thor awkwardly wringing his hands together.
“Oh, I don't know, I'm just wondering if she's compromised!” He gestures at you. Steve's irritated, angry even and his arm hurts where he got shot because you didn't cover him.
“What?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hey, hey! Calm down everybody!”, Natasha barks, ”Steve?”
“She hesitated- she froze. A Hydra agent was talking to her and she listened! I could've-”
“She froze?”, Tony asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes.”, Steve says, tightening his jaw. You stare at the ground. He knows there's more to it.
“Well, happens to the best of us! No need to be a pussy about it, Capsicle”, Tony snaps and wraps an arm around you, telling you to sit down so he could examine you leg.
***
So, you used to be Hydra. Kind of, at least.
After the mission you sit down in the common room - the common room, not the conference room – and you have a pillow in your lap and offer cookies you baked yesterday as if you were going to have a girls night and talk about ex-boyfriends.
Clint is sprawled on the coach and pushing his feet in Natasha's lap, while she pushes them back down again. Steve balls his fists and raises his eyebrows at you. You take a deep breath; and then you spill.
You used to work as a scientist for an institution, completely oblivious to the fact that it was knees deep in business with Hydra. Then you found files, files about Hydra, files about your work being used by Hydra. You panicked. You didn't know any better and you panicked and you wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, so you quit.
“I was stupid”, you sigh, “I knew too much, probably even without having found the files. They took me before I could even leave the building.”
They know the rest, seeing as it actually is in your file. You were used as a test subject by Hydra, causing you to develop your powers. Months into your captivity you were rescued by another handler that wasn't better by much; there are aren't a lot of pretty things in you file.
Then Tony found you in Berlin, battered and bruised. It's a sob story, really.
“Why didn't you say something?” Steve's the first to break the silence after you finished.
“I didn't want to talk about it”, you say, stirring your tea with a spoon, not even looking up.
“You didn't want to talk about it? That's it? That's why you lied to all of us?”
“I didn't lie”
“You said you- ”
“I didn't say anything, you assumed” You press your lips together. You're angry now, too, Steve realises. “also, Fury knew.”
It's not a big deal to Natasha because she knows, because Steve probably doesn't want to know about all of the half-truths and lies she serves them on a regular basis, it's not a big deal to Tony because Tony loves you, Tony put his eyes on you and basically adopted you and it's not like anything bad happened, Cap and it's not a big deal to anyone else either because apparently all you have to do is laugh a little and bake a couple cookies and it's all forget, forgive.
Well, guess what. It's a big fucking deal to Steve.
Maybe he's over-reacting. He knows better than to assume that what stands in Natasha's file is always accurate and he's pretty sure there's more to Clint than he knows, too.
But still, there's more to it. Steve knows there's more and you're still not telling everything. And he doesn't know you long enough to trust you despite of it- or maybe he doesn't want to in the first place.
You're everywhere.
The following days Steve tries to avoid you, tries to be civil about it in the most middleschool-ish way he knows because he might just yell at you again when he sees your face and he's trying not to do that.
But you make it damn hard not to.
You're sparring with Natasha when Steve wanted to and you're cooking breakfast when Steve wanted to make himself eggs and then he's done because Sam cancels their morning run on Thursday; Sam can't go on a run with him because he wants to go running with you because he's concerned after hearing your sob story and wants to make sure you're alright.
Maybe it's not even just about that one mission – maybe it's also about how you just made yourself part of the team, how you invaded every part of their lives from to without asking and now you can't even be trusted, now you endanger missions, now Steve has to write longer mission reports because of your goddamn recklessness (“as if you're the one to talk, Rogers-”).
There's nothing about you that doesn't annoy Steve anymore.
He doesn't think you're adorable. He doesn't think you're funny. You're too sarcastic and too much of a know-it-all and Steve doesn't even get half of your jokes.
It's different now. Team dinner are tense because you either had a fight before or he is pissed at you for making Natasha smile that much. Briefings are tense, missions are tense, everything is tense once you and Steve are in the same room.
He knows he should feel sorry for it, feel sorry at least for everyone else, but he doesn't. You roll your eyes at him when he asks for the salt.
***
He wishes he could say it happened differently.
If he were a better man, if he were the man everyone thinks he is, maybe he could. But he isn´t, so the first time he kisses you is the first time you fuck, and the first time you fuck is against a wall and it hasn´t anything to do with love or feeling and everything with the fight you just had. It´s fast and rough an it´s dirty and in hindsight, he hates himself a little for it, for not giving you what you deserve, for ruining it from the start (it probably was already ruined way before that).
***
So you fuck now.
Not routinely, not exclusively, but you do. Who would have thought, huh.
It's mostly just getting rid of boiled up frustration, blowing off steam after a mission or a fight or, most of them time, both.
You're more civil with each other now at least, too. You still snap, you still argue, but not to a degree where it's uncomfortable for anyone to be around the two of you.
You're still annoying but there are other ways your mouth actually can be useful, Steve found out and he's okay with that.
***
“You knew him”, Steve says as he's kissing down your neck.
“What?”, your voice is breathy and he knows you're not really paying attention. It's low, using sex to get information out of you but he had to, he saw an opportunity and he had to take it.
“The Hydra agent. At the warehouse. You hesitated, you knew him.” He's still trailing kisses down your body, travelling lower and lower but you stiffen underneath him.
“Steve, stop”, you say, pushing at his shoulders, “what the fuck?”
He stops at your belly button, looking up when he says, “what, you used to fuck him?”
You freeze.
“Fuck”, Steve hisses, jumping from the bed, before you can open your mouth, trying to deny it. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He hadn't meant it as a serious question, hadn't even considered it as a possibility. He din't even know what had gotten into him, it was supposed to be just another insult, irritating you.
“Rogers”, your voice is quiet and cold, eyes calculating as you watch him pace. You're still naked from the waist up.
He's been looking for a reason to mistrust, to dislike you for so long now but he didn't want to find one, he realises now.
“I didn't-”, he starts, running his fingers through his hair, “fuck!”, he yells again.
You don't say anything. The door slips shut too quietly after him.
You find him in the kitchen. It's just past 3am when he hears your light footsteps on the hardwood floor. He doesn't look up, only hears you sit down on the kitchen aisle, one seat between you.
“He was a co-worker. We started going out three weeks after I started working there. I liked him, I really did.”
“I thought liked me, too, you know, I though it was really something. But turns out he was just keeping tabs on me the whole time.”, you add quietly. Your voice doesn't quiver but Steve can hear the heartbreak, the betrayal netherless.
“It sucked, making all of these friends, trusting all of these people only for it to turn out they'd solely been using me the whole time.”, you sigh, “What I want to say though- I know you're going to tell everybody and you got every reason to. You're not going to trust me at all anymore and I understand it, I do, but I just- it doesn't change anything. This team, it- My loyalty is with you.”
“Does Fury know?”, he asks, finally speaking up.
“I don't know”, you shrug, “probably”
You both sit in silence for a long while after that.
As it turns out, Fury does indeed know.
Steve steps out of the elevator, just having come back from his office and he sees you pouring a cup of coffee, laughing with Bruce at Clint's antics.
Fury knows, Steve figures. The team doesn't have to.
***
“Fuck”, Steve swears and the corners of your mouth curl upwards.
“This isn't funny”, he spits out, pressing your hips further into the desk.
“Sure it isn't, Captain.” Lazy smile still forming on your lips
“Stop it. Stop pretending everything is a joke to you!”
“I'm not.”
“You endangered the mission. Do you even know what that means? What could have happened?” He rips off your blouse, ignores you snarling when buttons spring off, and discards it on the floor.
“I didn't. Endanger the mission.”
He huffs, unbelieving and turns you around, hands tracing over your ass, grabs a handful when you start speaking again.
“I- uh- would have gotten the job done either way.”, you say between breaths, hips rocking into his.
“Yeah, but you could have gotten yourself killed”, he hisses.
“As if you care about that”
“Of course I care about that!”Steve grits out forcefully and freezes.
You use that moments to flip you around, Steve now presses to the edge of the desk.
“I care about my team”, he retorts lamely, when he finally recovers.
“Whatever you say, Captain”, you snort and push down his pants, stealing any further words out of his mouth.
***
You still haven't stopped. In the back of his mind, Steve knows you should. You shouldn't even have started this whole thing in the first place. But the thing with your co-worker, that should have put it to an end for good. It didn't though.
It took a few days for you to stop dancing around each other to go back to normal again, took a rather strong disagreement on tactics and Steve bending you over the conference table for you to go back to sarcastic comments and borderline hostility again.
But still, it changed something.
“I still don't get why you hate her, man”, Sam says, sipping his beer, after Steve snapped at you.
He catches himself before he can say me neither.
He thinks about what you said. About him caring about you. He thinks about it, a lot (too much).
Here's the conclusion he draws: it's strictly professional, of course.
If you die, he failed as a team leader. If something happened to you, the mission probably wouldn't be accomplished. If you got killed, it would add further conflict among the team, which is the last thing they need.
He finds himself looking for reasons to get angry at you so he can feel you smooth skin underneath his hands again.
He thinks about you, more often than not. Your hands, your hair, your lips, your laugh- he shakes his head, no.
He jerks off, determined not to go to you, determined to not think of you and still, still his mind wanders to your lips, your hands tracing his chest, the little sounds you make, the little smile on your face afterwards when you thought he wasn't looking – he spills into his hand.
“Fuck”, he says to an empty room.
Here's the ugly truth: you matter to Steve and he doesn't want you to.
And maybe the reasonable, sensible approach would be to stop whatever the two of you are doing; no more hate sex and spiteful comments.
It's what Sam, or anyone with some resemblance of common sense, really, would tell him to do but Steve can't bring himself to do it, can't bring himself to actually tell Sam about it either though because he's ashamed.
Instead he pushes you into a closet, manhandling you roughly, when you do something thoughtful for Wanda.
He wants to hold your hand and squeezes your thigh under the table instead.
You laugh against his lips when he stumbles over a box lying on his floor and Steve thinks IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.
He kisses you frantically before the words can spill out of him.
(Captain America's healthy way of dealing with feelings 101)
“He was everything”, Steve says quietly and meets your eyes. You're close, too close. All things considered, you have been a lot closer and it shouldn't matter but this feels different.
This is different, with the two of you the only ones left in the kitchen, Bucky's files spread out on the table and Steve's heart on his sleeve. You're inches away and really, in comparison, it's nothing to freak out about, but now, you're looking at Steve, really looking and it's soft, tender, almost- loving.
It's so intimate that Steve feels like he has to ruin it with mean comment but you take his face in your hands and close the gap.
It's slow that night, for the first time, it's slow. You squeeze his hand when it finds yours.
***
You choose Tony and Steve doesn't know if he can blame you for it.
He knows that he wants to, but there's still enough righteousness in him left to remind him that there might be a lot of things Steve wishes to be to you, but there are only a few that he is actually is.
And then he thinks of Tony and your ever-ongoing banters, him nudging your shoulder playfully, all the times he's found the two of you sitting at the kitchen counter, each nursing a cup of coffee at ungodly hours, just having resurfaced from the lab. Steve wasn't the only one to spend nights with you in some way or another and somehow he can't help thinking that Tony and yours were much more precious.
He doesn't know a lot about your and Tony's relationship, never cared to ask, but he knows that you don't have any family left and Stark got you out of a really ugly situation; he sees the light teasing and easy smiles and fond-yet-exasperated looks shared between you (and everything else yours and Steve´s relationship lacks).
Tony's like a father to you, and nothing that Steve is could ever come close to that.
Of course you'd choose Tony and Steve has no right to be mad about it.
If it were for anyone else picking Stark's side, it'd be no problem. Steve´s put all of them in this position, Steve understands, doesn't blame them, doesn't take it personal.
But with you, it stings. It stings more than he's ever willing to admit.
***
Being on the run changed him. He can see it in the mirror, his hair and beard longer now than they've ever been, he can feel it when they are storming Hydra bases and he strangles a man with his bare hands without batting an eye and he can see it in Natasha's eyes when he meets her gaze afterwards.
He´s vicious and ruthless and angry. Steve is so angry it burns in his bones and ignites the pit of his stomach and there is not a number of Hydra members he can kill or hours of sparring he can spend with Natasha that are ever going to ease that feeling. He´s angry at the government, at Tony, at Hydra, at Zola for doing this to Bucky, at a god he stopped believing somewhere between when everything he fought for, died for turned out to be a lie and aliens started to fall out of the sky, at everything, at anyone (at you, at you, at you).
***
He sees you again in Stockholm and for a moment he panics.
It's a small bar and you spot him immediately, beard and ballcap be damned. You haven't been looking for him though, he can tell by the look of surprise swiftly crossing your features.
“Here to arrest me?”, he jokes without humour when you take a seat at the bar next to him.
“No”, you answer, completely serious, “I won't”
Because you could. You could call someone right now and in a matter of hours they'd be behind bars. Or you could give them a head start and tell on them when you were back in New York.
Hell, you probably should, God knows what trouble you could get into if someone found out you'd let him go.
But you won't, Steve knows you won't.
You're starring at him, but Steve knows he's no better himself. Your hair's a little shorter now and you look tired.
“What are you doing here?”, he asks, only to break the silence, to force himself to stop starring.
You smile. You can't tell him and he knows.
When your hand finds his, he laces your fingers together before he can top himself.
“I miss you”, you whisper so quietly Steve would have missed it if it weren't for his enhanced hearing.
You brush your thumb over the back of his hand before he feels your hand slip out of his. You're gone a moment later.
“You know it's okay if you need a weekend away”, Natasha suddenly says from behind him. He didn't hear her coming and honestly, he hasn't had it in him to be surprised by that for a long time now.
A weekend away. He knows what she's implying and he almost smirks because for once, Natasha is wrong. Still, he allows himself to think about it for a moment, you and him, hauled up in a hotel room somewhere in Spain. Wanda has hers in Scottland, Natasha has her in Iowa. He could have his with you. He can't though, he can't.
“How do you know?” No one knows. They've always kept quiet, but really, he shouldn't be surprised, it's Natasha.
She snorts, and takes another gulp of his whiskey, obviously not planning on answering. When she looks up again her smile turns wry, and maybe a little sad, “your eyes, Rogers, your eyes.”
“It's- we're not- we've never been-” he says, sighs and honestly, what surprises him even more is that Natasha seems to be surprised at that.
“Oh”, she says, and after a moment, “you're angry at her.”
“Yeah”, Steve sighs, and he feels every single one of his hundred years on this earth, “Guess I'm never not”
Natasha breaths out through her nose and it's silent for a moment.
“Yeah, I get that”
The words are so quiet he almost doesn't hear them. He doesn't understand for a moment but then he thinks of Peggy's funeral and the bitterness in Natasha's voice, says he's retired, and of the hotel room in Vienna and the cracks in the screen of her phone after she threw it against a wall, says he's taking the house arrest.
He reaches over, squeezing her hand and Natasha looks up to the ceiling.
***
You meet again in Wakanda.
“Steve”, you say, nodding your head. Your hair is shorter now, not even reaching your shoulders and Steve, Steve has images, memories in his head of your hair falling around your face when you sat on top of him, leaning down to kiss his chest, your hair tangles in his fingers, your hair-
He says your name in return and he hates how it sounds a little to breathy, a little too low and most of all he hates how he knows that you know.
You fuck again that night.
Maybe it isn't the rational, the right decision to make, but the world is ending and you show up at his door in the middle of the night, hair tangled and just as unable to find sleep as him and Steve would be lying if he says that he hasn´t missed you like a starving man.
The first time is for getting it out of your system. Hands reaching, clinging, grabbing, desperate, so, so desperate, and fast and angry and almost violent. So many years missed, spent thinking, longing for this, for you.
The second time is for holding on.
It's desperate in different way. Soft and clinging, refusing to let go, refusing to let this be the end.
End of the world sex, Steve thinks and he almost wants to laugh at that except there isn't anything to laugh at left.
“What's up”, he asks, half propped up on his elbow, staring openly at your naked form, sitting on the edge of the bed. Your head is buried in your hands and your back is turned towards him and you are so, so beautiful.
You lift your head up at his question and look at him for a long time with a look in your eyes Steve doesn't recognize. You kiss him then.
The third time is for saying goodbye.
It's slow and feverish until it's fast and soft. You kiss him, god, you kiss him and he can't get enough, he can't get enough, it will never be enough except this time, it has to be. This time might just be the last time he'll feel you shaking apart in his arms.
He remembers when he longed for something like this, something, anything, that would make him feel.
Back when he still felt so stuck in a time he didn´t belong, felt so stuck that he couldn´t breathe; back in his apartment in D.C. and with this job at SHIELD that wasn´t really anything but better than nothing and instant noodles for dinner.
Back when he had this life that wasn´t much of a life; but at least he still could believe that what he was doing what was right, at least he could still fill his days with dreams about Peggy, a matching gold band on her finger and Bucky living next door. A distant ache, bearable, at least, and just enough to make him feel something.
He looks at your sleeping form now, brows still furrowed in your sleep and he thinks his heart might just shut down. Now, Steve feels and he feels so much that he almost wishes it would just stop again.
Someone should have told Steve Rogers to be careful what he wished for.
***
Maybe it would have worked with the two of you, Steve remembers thinking, lying in that bed in Wakanda, your warm body pressed into his side.
If things wouldn't have turned out the way they did, if you hadn't hurt, hadn't damaged each other this much.
Maybe it would work now, he had thought, if you both made it out of here alive, maybe it would work then.
***
Half of earth´s population is gone and Steve Rogers has lost Bucky Barnes yet another time.
You are descending from the Quinjet, bruised and broken, all hope drained out of you.
You haven't looked each other in the eyes since it's all been done. The dust, your friends, are still stuck in your hair and Steve feels sick.
You are descending off the quinjet and there's a guy running towards you. Steve's confused for a moment but then he wraps you into a bruising hug. He pulls away a little, says something that makes you nod and slips his arm around your waist, gripping your hip in a way that Steve doesn't like.
“This is Jonathan”, you say and Steve feels like he is falling.
***
The four years are long.
At first he doesn't even try. Gives in to his grief, his self-pity, Natasha only puts a stop to it when he starts growing out his beard again.
They lost. He lost Bucky, he lost Sam, he lost Tony. He lost and half the universe died.
He lost you, too. Except that's the one thing Steve doesn't blame himself for, not when he can blame you, not when he can be angry at someone else.
Steve Rogers is a lot of things and he doesn´t like all of them, but he is not a cheater. He is honest and good, if flawed, but he is not a cheater and you made him one.
(He doesn't know how to forgive you for that)
(Most of all, it hurts that you took something, that night, that had been something so precious, almost sacred to Steve, to you, too, he had thought, and turned it into something dirty, something to regret)
He runs. He founds a self-help group. He moves into a place downtown because he can't look at Sam's old coffee cups every morning. He talks about Peggy because people want him to talk and Peggy's an old ache, painful but manageable, not the flaming white pain Steve feels when he thinks about anything else these days.
Natasha sometimes drops your name in conversations, saying something like “She and Jonathan broke up”, almost as if she was testing the waters, as if she was provoking him a little, gauging his reaction.
Truth is, he doesn´t know how to react. There are feelings over feelings in his chest when he hears your name and he doesn´t know what do with them.
***
You do not apologize.
Steve doesn´t see you for two years after the day on the platform (after you left with Jonathan, fucking Jonathan, who had his arm slung around your waist)
You are somewhere in Europe and he doesn't know what you are doing because the last time Natasha told him something about you, in that not-so-subtle-casually-dropping-your-name-way (She bought brown curtains last week as well and-).
And Steve really doesn't want to think about you or your stupid curtains that you probably hung up in your living room in a small house with an open kitchen and a front yard somewhere in fucking Europe, while Jonathan cooks you dinner.
The curtains in your old room were red.
You show up in April.
You are standing in the middle of the room, leaning against the table, arms crossed in front of your chest, casually conversing with Rhodey like you hadn't been gone for two years.
Steve can feel the anger in his chest rising just looking at you. You are wearing black boots and a blouse and your hair is pulled back neatly and you do not look like you've been depressed or sleep-deprived or affected in any way, of course.
You are living somewhere in France or Austria or the Netherlands with your boyfriend and two dogs and your fucking brown curtains (he knows you like cats more, he knows that you and Jonathan broke up, but still) and you are fine, while all of them are struggling, suffering, barely making it through the day, but still trying to hold everything upright.
You just upped and left without a single care in the world about, oh, you know, half of earth's deceased population, all of its consequences, the Avengers, all of the dead Avengers (about Steve).
Steve knows that maybe his isn't being entirely fair, but maybe he also doesn't give a single shit about fair and right at the moment. At the moment, he's just angry.
He's still standing in the door, watching you, ignoring Natasha's prying gaze burning through him.
You still haven't seen him yet.
(He wonders if you ever really will)
You do not apologize.
Not in the weeks to come, probably won't ever. You stay at the Compound, help Natasha out, try to settle in a new routine. You're back, just like that.
As if the world didn't end and you just left all of them without a second thought, as if you didn't use Steve, didn't cheat on someone with him, as if nothing had ever happened.
You're indifferent to him. You're polite but don't seek out conversation, you ignore his jabs and offer him dinner when he comes to do his laundry.
You're real mature about all of this and it pisses Steve off to no end because he's the mature one, he's the one who usually knows better.
It pisses him off because he's in pieces while you don't care.
It pisses him off because you hurt him, he let you in and you hurt him and now you pretend nothing ever happened.
Maybe you figured it didn't count, on the verge of death. Maybe you thought you'd die anyways so you wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath. Maybe you figured Steve would die and never find out.
Or maybe, maybe you just didn't think, like you always do, maybe you were just reckless for a moment and now Steve's paying for it (like he always does).
***
“I can't forgive you”, he whispers against your lips and you probably know that already because you don't react, don't flinch, don't answer, just pull him into an even harder kiss.
His words don't sting and he's starting to think maybe he wants them to.
Wants to hurt you, a little bit. Not physically, Steve isn't that low of a man, but maybe he wishes his words would sting, would hurt you, haunt you, like every syllable from your lips does with him.
(maybe he just wants to see that you care)
***
Perhaps he hates you, Steve thinks, while he is swivelling the drink in his hands, and he almost wants to laugh at the irony. You've come a full circle now, he's hated you, then he's loved you and now he hates you again (only that he hasn't stopped loving you either and he hasn't entirely worked out how that is supposed to be possible, how his heart is supposed to take that).
Someone else's hands are tracing over his chest, someone else's body is lying on his mattress, in his bed and he can almost feel you.
He hopes that you can hear him fucking another girl.
He imagines you lying on the other side of the wall, listening to her moans, his grunts, his name rolling off her lips, all breathy and high on pleasure.
He hopes there's anger and regret cursing through you, eating you up and the thought of it is enough for him to get it up. (No, he has no interest in exploring that thought further)
He says your name when he comes.
(And it hurts, it hurts that he still loves you despite it all)
***
He misses Bucky.
That's what the Snap did, he thinks bitterly, it took away half of the people he loved and made him hate the rest.
***
Steve looks at you smiling at Natasha, cutting up onions, half-heartedly trying to get back into meal prepping and he wants to say fuck you. He wants to scream it off the rooftops, in your face, in front of the whole team. Fuck you, he wants to say, fuck you for using him, for doing this to him and still claiming his heart. The words taste bitter when he swallows them down.
You are staring at the file lying on the table and he is staring at you.
You huff, shaking your head a little in frustration before you meet his eyes again and Steve wants to say kiss me, please, please, kiss him, kiss him so you can forget, kiss him so you can make everything alright again but he doesn't, he won't and the words are eating him up alive.
You are looking at the photos of Morgan Pepper sent and your lips in curve in a funny way and your eyes crinkle and Steve's not sure whether you're holding back tears or laughter and it's right there on the tip of his tongue, because most of all, most of all he wants to say I forgive you, you're not sorry but I still forgive you.
***
He's punishing you.
Except that you don't care and he's really just punishing himself.
***
“This needs to stop”, Natasha says three months after you moved back into the Compound.
He just snorts in return, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers in front of him.
“Steve”, he hears her sigh, feels her settle next to him on the couch, “you know this isn't helping anyone.”
“What? You're on her side now?”
“No, I'm on no one's side, Steve. I'm just saying the shit you're pulling right now is hurting you, the both of you.”
He thinks about your cold, neutral demeanour, you not looking at him
“It doesn't”, he retorts without missing a beat.
“It does”
“What do you even know about any of this”, he hisses, but then he thinks of all of the voice mails he's heard Natasha leave on Clint's phone late at night and he wishes he could take it back.
Natasha huffs, “Just... Just don't do something you'll regret”, she says in the end and Steve thinks it's much too late for that.
***
He finds you crying. Curled up on the gym floor, knuckles bleeding, sandbag ripped open.
You flinch away from his touch, finally meeting his eyes. Your eyes are watery, cheeks tear stained and Steve's has never seen you looking so vulnerable, so hurt (so beautiful).
Maybe he isn't the only one who is suffering after all.
He doesn't feel the satisfaction he thought he would upon that realisation.
“Are you content now?”, you snap, as if reading his thoughts.
Steve finds he can't bring himself to say yes, wonders what he is even doing all of this for then.
***
“You used me!”, he yells, his voice echoing off the empty walls.
“I didn't” You are not loud but there is so much venom in your voice that it silences Steve all the same, chest heaving, jaw clenched.
“I didn't”, you repeat, “but you are too full of yourself to ever stop for a moment and think that maybe you aren't right”
“Oh, enlighten me then! Enlighten me on how you could possibly be the victim here again!”
You open your mouth and he could scream at your self-rightousness after all of this you still can't admit that you fucked up.
“You know what, don't. Don't even try to talk yourself out of this, I don't even wanna hear it.”
Rhodey's phone rings, cutting through the deafening silence.
You are gone the next morning.
***
You're back together with Jonathan. He overheard phone calls and there's a sinking feeling in his chest he has no right to feel but it's okay because Steve has a lot of other neglected grief and emotions to deal with in an unhealthy manner first.
Natasha doesn't want to tell him anything this time around and it's probably for the better.
“You don't wanna do that to yourself again, Steve”, she sighs and starts cutting up sandwiches because Steve is way too old to have that big of a food-equals-happiness-reaction but he does and she's smart like that.
***
“I do not owe you anything”, you say out of the blue, as you stripe on your suit, “after all of this I really don't.”
Your hair is much shorter now, too short to pull it back.
Steve hasn't seen you since he yelled at you two years ago, didn't think he would ever again, but then time travel was a real thing and Tony gave him his shield back and you were leaning against the countertops, talking to Bruce.
You look tired. There are the faintest wrinkles around your eyes now and you are tired to your bones but you are doing this anyway.
He opens his mouth, snarky remark on his tongue, when you speak again.
“Jonathan was never really something before Wakanda.” You meet his eyes, almost as if challenging him and Steve can't think of a single thing to say.
All this time, all this missed time, spent hating you, when he could have just loved you.
He knows then that this, whatever this is between the two of you, is done. It should have been for a very long time now, but truth is, it never was.
Even when he hated you, hated you with all of his being, it was always you Steve Rogers imagined whispering dirty things in his ear. Even when he didn't want to, hated himself for it, would have denied it to his last breath, he loved you.
And god, he still does and maybe you do, too, but Steve knows in this very moment that you will never, ever want to again, not after all of the hurt he's caused you, not after he's crucified you for nothing for all of these years. He feels sick to his stomach, with the finality of it all.
It takes him a moment to regain his voice, it's hoarse and rough, when he speaks, “not really something?”
“I'm not saying I'm innocent – but I sure as hell didn't deserve all of that shit.”, you say, shrugging.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Would you have listened?”, you retort and he hates that he knows the answer.
“You could have tried harder”, he says then, voice still hoarse, because he's still not entirely done with not taking any of the blame.
You zip up the rest of your suit. You are going to travel in time. It doesn't sound right, no matter how many times you repeat it.
“Yeah”, you say, a strange look crossing your features and he knows you're not just talking about Jonathan anymore, “we both could have.”
***
“He loved you in every single one of them”, Strange says and Pepper smiles and Steve thinks he´d be content if he´d get just one of them, if he could just love you in this one.
***
Steve knows he´s too late when he starts running.
He watches you fall, blood splattering and he can feel the vomit coming up his throat. He can hear someone screaming and it takes him a moment to realise that it's him.
There's smoke everywhere, bodies everywhere and his lungs are burning, his feet stumbling, almost giving out from under him.
He's almost there, almost there and still not close enough, when your limp body hits the ground.
There's blood, so much blood and Steve is too late.
How comforting it is, Steve thinks, to know that there are 14 million universes out there. How comforting it is to know that there must be a universe where he gets to love you.
He closes his eyes and lets his knees give in.
(The moral of the story is that they loved and it didn´t matter)
#Steve Rogers#steve rogers fic#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers smut#steve x reader#steve rogers angst#steve rogers reader insert#clintasha#writing#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers fanfiction#endgame#infinity war
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you know, the worst fucking thing about it is she almost doesn’t. jester almost checks in time.
—
there’s a funny swirl of sensation— she thought the hand would be cold, clammy or oily, like the hair or just otherwise filthy, the kind of hand only a desperate man would shake, the kind of hand that feels like it’s knitted together with sorrow, but it’s not. the fingers are really long, but that’s about it.
the door is opening behind her, that predictable witch-y creak, and isharnai’s grin isn’t as evil as she thought it would be. her eyes dart towards the door, and back to beau, and when jester calls to her, something curiously mundane, she sinks in this huge, satisfied exhale. like she’s done. like she’s settling in to watch.
“beau, are you done yet, we—“
isharnai lets her go and she falls backward onto the floor.
—
there’s a distant yelp, and the sound of feet. isharnai is perfectly still above her, perfectly silent, her work done.
jester’s hands cradle her face, lift her up, like she had back in the cathedral.
this will be the last time, beau thinks. tries to drink everything about it in.
jester’s eyes, big and deep and purple. her mouth opens— she’s saying something, shouting something, her hands cold and curiously shaky against her cheeks, but beau can’t hear it. so pretty, she thinks, should’ve told her again. just to say it. just to know she knows.
—
“beau? beau, what happened, what did you do—”
beau smiles at her, a loose and open thing. her mouth opens and shuts again, and the look in her eyes is so warm it almost makes her forget the sight of isharnai letting go, long fingers unwinding from beau’s wrist like threads. almost makes her forget that beau’d been gripping back.
isharnai drifts over her so smoothly, like shadows drawing forward with the sunset, and she reaches for jester’s face. there’s not much she can do to fight the pull as isharnai twists her, peering down into her face with that serpentine curve to her spine, looking somehow sleepy, sated.
she’s starting to cry, and isharnai’s eyes glitter at the sight of it. she looks between them, at jester’s tail still wound around beau’s wrist, at the way beau’s hand twitches, tries to close around it, and falls slack again.
“oh,” she says. “oh, i see.”
her long, too long, unsettlingly long thumb swipes under jester’s eye, and the shadows spread from her like long hair in water. when she lets go of jester she falls, too, and the darkness creeps up from the corners of her eyes.
—
“i have to say,” isharnai says. “i did not expect this.”
—
sitting up is like pulling herself through molasses. she clutches at her head— breathing feels like fog is pouring from her nose, her mouth.
“beau?” jester stirs from beside her— she’d been on the floor when beau had fallen asleep, she remembers, the bed was gross and she’d said something stupid about the poison not being able to hurt her, but it’s not the first time she’s gone to sleep alone and woken up to jester next to her. “what’s happenin’—?”
“i—” she says. “where are we?”
jester’s eyes are open for only a second. they don’t glow so bright as molly’s used to in the dark, but she can feel them on her face before they close again and jester pulls herself further into beau’s side. her horn digs a little at her ribs.
“we’re in the inn,” she says happily, “in kamordah.” like all is well. “we’re going to mount menteri tomorrow.”
“no, i—” she pauses. “we already did that. we were just there, i—”
“yup.” jester’s voice is muffled where her face presses into beau’s back. “you messed up, didn’t you.”
it’s not a question.
“yeah.” beau laughs, pulls a hand backward through her hair. “just like always. what’s— why are we back?”
“you’re doing what you said you would. giving it up.”
“huh.” beau lays back down. she and jester don’t fit together perfectly, like the people in jester’s books probably do. she’s a bit too small in jester’s arms, gets swallowed just so if one of them rolls in their sleep. jester’s horns wake her up sometimes, sometimes she elbows jester in the stomach and jester wakes with an oof— she sees it all happening in a blur, a montage of fond imperfection. of things to miss.
“you know, you kinda sound like isharnai.”
she falls asleep again to the sound of laughter.
—
she opens her eyes in nicodranas to the sound of water on the rocks by the chateau— she’s been wading in from further out in the ocean. on the sand, jester is standing, holding a big floppy hat down over her hair with one hand and waving furiously with the other.
it’s foggy out, but she can still see jester’s cheeks scrunched up towards her eyes with her grin, the ribbons of her dress catching the breeze. the chateau’s secret little beach is boxed in by low cliffs and crawling coast plants— everything is still except for this, the others are back inside still. asleep, or preparing breakfast. they’d left this moment for just the two of them.
they did that a lot, she thinks. even nott. there are so many of these she still has to remember, still has to wade backward through.
she makes for shore, but with each step the water drags heavier and heavier at her legs, refusing to get shallower. nugget is barking and barking— he runs out toward her, into the water, but the fog is drawing down to meet the ocean until she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
—
“love you, jes.”
jester’s tears bleed into her vestiges— funny, how she can feel it even with the rain.
“it’s not that i don’t believe you, you know,” she says, “but do you really believe me?”
“i—”
“it’s how you show it, too.” she squeezes tight around beau’s waist, and lets her go. “it’s whether or not you act like the other person loves you, too.”
beau turns. lightning breaks the sky at last, and the thunder rattles something deep in her chest. jester seems so far away all of a sudden, tears still rolling warm and unabashed down her face. “i’m gonna try,” she says, has to raise her voice over the storm. she’s crying, too. “i’ll try to remember.”
“me, too,” jester wraps her arms around herself, preserving. “i love you.”
the storm carries the sound of it to her, even as the sky swirls black and endless overhead.
—
“i don’t think i’m forgetting everyone else,” she says, miserably. “just you.”
they’re in the cart, and jester has her eyes closed— it’s a pretty good facsimile of sleep, she’s even remembering to breathe like it, but beau knows she’s awake, knows the inside of the cart is too familiar for her to look at. a stray tear curls into the hollow under her chin.
“it’s funny, you know. i didn’t get it until just now. why it would just be you.”
“yeah?” jester’s voice scratches with disuse, with tears from earlier.
“yeah. you were what i thought of when i said i’d give it up— i thought it was the traveling part, but it was the traveling with you part all along.”
“you should have told me.”
“yeah.”
“i’m gonna forget, too, you know.” jester opens one eye. the purple is so deep it’s almost black. “i’m forgetting right now.”
“i’m sorry.”
“we will still do it, you know. what we planned. but none of us want to. something isn’t the right way, or what was supposed to happen, just because you can survive it.”
“when’d you get so damn smart, jes?”
jester laughs— a sudden bark— if beau didn’t know better, she’d think it loud enough, harsh enough to alert everyone else, but the magic on the cart keeps it in. anchors them in this sad little nest, together still for a moment. “it’s you,” she says. “this is what you know.”
“oh.”
jester’s eye closes again. the uneven rattle of pebbles under the wheels of the cart grows smoother, less distinct, a falling away of sensation.
“dairon’s not gonna know how to braid the circlet into my hair as nice as you do, huh?”
“no.” it’s a whisper.
“i hope she doesn’t get too offended when i talk about you in my sleep while we’re traveling.”
“she already knew, i think. that night in rosohna.”
“yeah, probably. i was never too subtle, was i?”
“only for me.”
“funny how that works,” and it doesn’t feel funny at all.
—
it’s getting dizzying, faster and faster— isharnai must be bored, she thinks. so many nights of them crowded together and whispering, the next little bit of one long conversation, one they never quite finished.
she sees, for the first time, the funny look jester gives her when she sneaks back into caleb’s hut after keg leaves, wary of the magic— it had been the first night they spent in the hut, and she left them. keg was lovely— is lovely, flushing bright red when she puts her armor back on and beau stirs— but peering into her face again beau thinks that she looks an awful lot like herself. sharp-edged in strange places, snapping like the baby dragon turtles the shop in kamordah somehow got their hands on when she was little, and without someone to worry her into something softer in their embrace.
—
jester beams when beau blows her a kiss in the victory pit— “this is the first time you said you loved me!” she shouts across to beau, and beau’s grin slides off her face into something brackish and cloying at her feet.
—
jester traces the blackened veins in beau’s neck when they embrace, crushingly, on the ground in the evening nip. “i wouldn’t have done this with anyone else, you know,” she whispers.
—
they’re face to face in the shitty little trostenwald inn, heads on the same pillow. jester looks so deep into her eyes she feels pinned there like an insect; she shifts, and her hips bump sleepily into beau’s.
“you’re almost done,” she breathes, sweet and damp. “one more. what are you going to do?”
beau reaches for her hand and lets the nebulousness of the memory shift to create the sensation of jester’s grip. “my job,” she says. “i’m gonna keep working. the soul needs at least one expositor on the dynasty’s side.”
“i’m gonna be so proud of you, still,” jester whispers. tears blot the rough fabric of the pillow. “even if i don’t know it.” she shakes a little.
“yeah.” beau pulls the dreamy rendition of jester’s hand up to her mouth, presses a kiss to the cold center of her palm. “me, too.”
—
jester spins her in a dizzy, joyous circle and she tries to catch her breath, afraid to hold on since her hands are still slick with snake blood. fjord pulls his falchion out of the thing’s head— the blade is almost unrecognizable, a solid, single-edged blade with no accents, no golden tinge. he can’t even un-summon it, has to sheathe it like a regular mercenary and everything.
she wants to laugh, but there’s this sick, rotten feeling in her chest. the death of something final.
“jester,” she says. “can you help me do something?”
“sure,” jester says, voice too serious for the smile on her face.
—
they kneel right there in the mud— the farmer hasn’t even come to check on them yet, and fjord just stands there next to the snake’s body, looking on.
jester folds her hands around beau’s.
“okay,” she whispers. “no promises, but he’s listening.”
she’s quiet for a few seconds.
“uh, hey. traveler. the traveler? whatever jester calls you—” she scratches the back of her neck, the unadorned back of her neck.
“i don’t know if you can even answer prayers— jester says you’re a god, though, so— but anyway. i’m scared. for me and her, and i get if you don’t care about me, but i don’t think she wants to forget me either.”
she screws her eyes further shut. “no, fuck— i know she doesn’t want to forget me, because that’s not what people who love each other want, i know— i just. if there’s anything you can do, if you can save anything, can you at least try? i want to see her again, even if i think it’s for the first time. please.”
jester squeezes her hands. “okay.”
“okay.”
“are you ready?” she opens her eyes and jester’s looking at her like she did on the floor of isharnai’s, watery and afraid and raw.
“no,” her voice is like a kick of gravel, like the backwards sandpapery drag of frumpkin’s tongue. “i’m so sorry.”
jester lets her hands go. “i know.”
and beau falls back, again, spread-eagled in the mud. the morning mist swirls heavy and fathomless overhead, and on the other side of her next blink is dairon’s face, huge and worried.
—
she turns the sending stone over in one hand and strolls off the plank, head on a swivel.
“hey, just made anchor. i’ll check back in when this stupid thing reloads, but i’m gonna take your advice and do some sight-seeing. we’ve earned it, right?”
the first thing she hears is dairon’s sigh. “beauregard, it cut out again. you have to count, remember? anyway, that’s a good idea. if i were you, i’d check out the, uh, the—” the message cuts out, and she huffs out a laugh.
then there’s a weird scuffly sound and dairon’s voice comes back. “sorry, had to steal someone’s— it’s the lavish chateau, beau, the lavish chateau. you should really go there first. like, today.”
“uh, okay?” she waits a few seconds to let the spell end, so she can mutter only to herself instead. “lavish chateau, huh, sounds kinda—”
and then this funny thing happens— it’s like getting kicked right in the solar plexus, the first place dairon taught her to stun someone. she almost pitches forward off the deck and into the shallow water of the quay.
something blurs behind her eyes— a whirl of color, the sound of the ocean, a woman singing, a room covered wall to wall in children’s scribbles. it’s like in her dreams— everything is tinged green, just so, and she just sits right down when it ends, lets her boots dip into the water.
—
the lavish chateau looks a little different than she expects— blue, almost the same color as the sky, and there are no guards out front. she stands there with the map clutched in her hands, feeling the odd need to hold tight to something, and a figure ducks out of the front doorway, leaning down to avoid hitting his head and straightening up.
there’s a long second where he and beau just look at each other, and then—
“caduceus,” she breathes, and goes running.
—
caduceus doesn’t run, but he spreads his arms out wide— still wearing that shirt with the one stupid sleeve, she sees— and lets her bull up into him.
he’s stronger than she remembers, grunts and manages to lift her off her feet, and his laugh rumbles, honey-warm, in her ear.
“beau,” he says. just “beau.”
—
he tows her inside under his arm, her head ducked low and sheepish, and she’s barely back through the door when they all swarm her.
everyone’s hair is so long— they all seem to have the same funny little crown braided into it. everyone except caleb and nott takes a turn crushing her half to death, though for their part they try their best.
“we have not seen you since the ceremony, beauregard,” caleb says. “you should have told us you were coming!”
“yeah, well,” she scratches at her neck, uses the buzz that touching the tattoo always gives her to center herself. “no magic, remember?”
“lousy excuse.” fjord elbows her. “like the soul doesn’t have a million people who could do it for you.”
“i, uh, didn’t know you guys would be here.” which is true, why the chains of tharizdun are milling around in the lobby of the menagerie coast’s most famous courtesan, she can’t quite fathom, imagines it’s for something stupid. “i’m just being a tourist, y’know? never been here before.”
everyone stops talking at once. caleb’s face sinks into its old scowl, and they sort of all collectively sink into their chairs at the first big table.
the synchronicity of it hurts— she used to feel it, too, but it’s her own damn fault, right? she gave it up. nott looks fucking stunning, though— halfling and happy and resplendent, resplendent as a dress stitched full of buttons can possibly be. she’d do it again, maybe not in a heartbeat, but again all the same.
“ah,” caleb says, suddenly gravelly. “yes.”
“hey,” she panics a little. “it’s okay, i’m here now, right?”
they exchange looks— simultaneous, again, and she aches to trade expressions in kind. to be on the same page.
“beau,” caduceus stands, puts a massive hand on her shoulder. “i think you should see the beach.”
“what? i’ve seen the beach before. i still remember being here with you guys, you know—”
“the chateau has a private beach,” fjord says. “it’s really something special. why don’t you check it out, and we can catch up when you get back?”
“uh—”
“i’ll come with you,” yasha says, and stands. “i would like to see this as well.”
“okay?” it does sound nice, a walk on the beach with yasha. they never really got around to talking, beau thinks, after they got yasha back, just sort of danced around each other. broken people broken differently, magnetized towards each other a little but never enough.
“let’s go.”
yasha links her arm in beau’s and near-marches her down the hall, to the little back door.
—
it’s weirdly foggy when they step outside— the sun doesn’t usually take long to burn off the morning sea chill, but it’s still early, she supposes.
they walk in silence, not uncomfortable but not especially calm. there’s this weird anticipatory buzz she can feel from yasha that’s passing into her.
the path is laid with this colorful little stones, flat pieces of sea glass. it’s almost childish— not in the bad way, just something she wouldn’t expect from a place like this. it reminds her of the path into a family’s backyard garden, something a child would walk with wonder.
she has the image of a little girl running, full-tilt down to the water. she’s seen portraits of the ruby of the sea, and there’s a familiar curl to the girl’s horns, the heart-shape of the tail.
“here,” yasha says, and the vision is banished. the fog is thicker still here, clinging to the sand and spreading out across the water.
there’s a dim shadow a ways away, and wouldn’t you know it, beau’s heart starts in this messy gallop that steals her breath. “i—”
she has the vague sensation of yasha pushing her forward, and she half-runs down to the water on fawn legs, suddenly wobbly.
the fog feels thicker, and thicker, until suddenly it clears.
and she’s there.
heaving with breath, the little bells dangling from her horns jingling. cheeks flushed purple almost deep enough to match her eyes.
the fog is pushed out from behind beau in this impossibly strong rush of wind, and when she closes her eyes it’s like all her dreams superimposed.
crowding together on a narrow inn bed, blowing kisses, trading i love you in the rain, tearing out onto this same beach in ribbony dresses, waking up with the slick crunching of broken glass in the belly of a cathedral and hands on her face. lying on the floor of isharnai’s hut, limbs heavy with misery and magic.
jester rushes into her like the tide, none too gentle, fully bowling her back over into the sand. before her body warms with the returned memories, before her hands can reach for jester’s face, jester’s mouth is on hers.
it’s not a particularly skillful thing— their teeth jar for a moment, and they’re both still out of breath, but the first desperate second passes and then jester’s arms slide around her waist and she sighs happily and it’s perfect, really, just perfect.
distantly, she can hear barking— nugget recognizing her, no doubt— and the crash of the waves on the chateau’s private beach, but everything beyond this feels as far and unimportant as the fog.
i remember you, she thinks, i remember i remember, i love you i love you i love you, and jester’s tears run into their kiss and they break apart so she can say it for real, so she can clear her head just enough to hear jester saying it, too.
#i'm SOFT#listen it is 7:30 am#i have been writing this for three hours#but it's WORTH IT#i even made a playlist for this#my writing#critical role#beaujester#beauregard lionett#jester lavorre#the mighty nein#isharnai#misery loves company#long post#based on a) me yelling at fiovske in messages at like 3 am#and b) eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
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Just wondering, what's OPM characters' favorite season or the kind of weather they enjoy the most? And why?
Thanks for your ask, anon! It’s been a hot minute since I did one of these. :] ❤️
Tornado of Terror: Stormy days or nights of any kind because she’s a bit of a workaholic and the rampant downpour gives her a good reason to stay inside and relax for once. She’s mildly scared of thunder so she likes to drown out the noise by blasting romcoms on her TV.
Silverfang: Hot, humid days because it eases his arthritis pain and the humidity makes for good character-building when training his disciples! Ain’t nothing like running laps on a hot day after rainfall; it’s guaranteed to make anyone wish they were dead.
Atomic Samurai: Windy days because, and he would never admit this, but the wind makes his hair look marvelous. He’ll only ever wear his hair down in public when there’s a breeze outside. Nobody has noticed he does this, everyone just thinks he picks random days to do it.
Child Emperor: Literally wtf is the outside world. I hc that he has some sort of white noise machine to emulate rainfall and other sounds of nature, because he’s always cooped up in the lab and if he didn’t hear a frog croak or a breeze rustle through the trees every once and a while, he would go absolutely insane. His favorite setting is a hot summer day by the beach, where he listens to the waves lap against the shore.
Metal Knight: same as Child Emperor except he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about going insane or not, so minus the sound machine. His favorite weather is probably violent storms because it’s the perfect brooding atmosphere and it makes him feel like a tacky-ass supervillain.
King: He’s not really an outdoorsy person so he doesn’t care too much about the weather, but he does like it overcast. Mainly because he doesn’t have to put so much effort into blocking out the sunlight so he can play videogames without that annoying glare on his TV screen.
Zombieman: I’ve said this in a previous hc, but his pale/blue-ish skin indicates that his blood flow is absolute ass, which means he’s got to get cold easily. He’s got to be cold all the time. Which I why I propose that his favorite weather is when it’s unbearably hot for the average person (around room temperature for him). He doesn’t even sweat under the heat, only when he exercises. So, while everyone seeks solace in indoor air conditioning and ice packets in 100-degree weather, he’ll be outside in a sweater saying “Hm, it’s a little chilly. Good for a jog.”
Drive Knight: Cold. Unbearably cold. The reason being that he has a lot of firepower, right? And I doubt he’s got a ton of wiggle room for any cooling mechanisms (it’s not like Drive Knight [Señor Robocop] is out here carrying a giant canister of water), so he mostly relies on the temperature of the air around him to cool down. When it’s super cold, he doesn’t have to worry about overheating. It’s not like he can really feel the temperature anyway, it’s strictly for practical purposes.
Pig God: Cold. Super duper cold the way Drive Knight likes it because my boy Pig God is perpetually on the brink of heat stroke 24/7. The reason: he is morbidly obese. Fat acts as insulation to keep heat inside our bodies, and he’s got so much of it that his body is always working overtime to make sure he doesn’t fucking die. So, on cold days, he likes to rest and give his body a break. Below zero like room temperature for him, because room temperature for the average person makes him feel as if he’s standing on the sun.
Superalloy Darkshine: Bright and sunny, baby! Perfect weather, not a single cloud in the sky and not a one raindrop. He’s super outdoorsy. He practically lives outside. His favorite activity is, of course, exercising, and he much prefers when the weather is nice so he can better focus on getting those gains.
Watchdog Man: He prefers the weather to be nice and warm with absolutely 0 wind and 0 rain. His suit soaks up liquid like a goddamned sponge and gets a hell of a lot heavier, so he absolutely HATES the rain for that reason. Wind messes up his “fur” and he ends up looking like a cumulonimbus cloud after a long day of patrol, so that’s out of the question as well.
Flashy Flash: Hail. His training regime is brutal and he prefers to do it whenever it hails, because he believes being battered by falling ice makes him grow stronger. A large portion of the scars on his body were caused by the golf ball-sized pebbles of hail that fell on one particular storm.
Genos: Bitter cold, same as Drive Knight and with a similar reason as well. I imagine Kuseno had mercy when programming how Genos’ cybernetic body would react to things like temperature and pain, so he doesn’t really mind the weather no matter it’s highs or lows. He likes the cold because, like I said previously with Señor Robocop, it aides his weaponry when cooling down and he doesn’t need to waste time worrying if he’s gonna overheat or not because he has faith that air around him will take care of it.
Metal Bat: Snow days! He and Zenko used to love to play together in the snow as kids and they still fucking do it every year because time is an illusion and fun is eternal. His favorite thing to do is build very gruesome and horrific snowmen. Like, snowmen without heads, snowmen that look like they’ve been run over, snowmen that have purposefully been built to look like they’re melting and they’re in pain. That sort of stuff. He and Zenko also have snowball fights (because of COURSE) and Badd has to try his best to not hurl the ball too hard and accidentally give her a concussion.
Tanktop Master: Same as Superalloy. He prefers the weather to be picturesque perfect. I hardcore hc that they’re workout buds and that they often go on outdoor rendezvous together, whatever that may be. His favorite thing to do (besides hanging out with the homies, obviously) is to go on long hikes. He’s actually a pretty big nature lover and WILL shed manly tears if he ever sees a deer. God forbid a baby one.
Puri-Puri Prisoner: Well, he doesn’t get as much outdoor time as he would like on account of being in literal prison and whatnot but he REALLY loves a very specific time of year just at the beginning of summer when all the bugs come out and the air is breezy but still warm. His loves to look at those bigass yellow butterflies and have picnics on the green tallgrass just before it’s been dried out by the summer heat. Oh yeah, and he’ll totally be doing this with his boyfriend. That’s the dream, baby.
Amai Mask: Clear nights just after rainfall. He loves the way streetlights reflect on the wet asphalt. This is also the weather he prefers to hold concerts in because the air is humid and cool and he doesn’t get as sweaty when he’s dancing or singing. The petrichor is nice too. If someone managed to bottle and sell it as perfume, he would be the first buyer.
Iaian: Overcast. When the sun is blocked out, he doesn’t have to worry too much about getting a heat stroke while wearing his armor during training. He also appreciates how dim it is. It’s easy for him to get lost in thought and he often finds himself standing still just to look up to at the clouds. He and Kama sometimes find shapes in them for fun between training sessions.
Okamaitachi: They really love quiet rainstorms. No thunder, no lightning, just the steady pattern of rainfall. This is the perfect time for them to relax, curl up with a good book, maybe knit a sweater, and just forget about everything that’s going on. They usually use this time to update their self care regime, like doing their hair or tidying up their nails. Overall, just a great time to chill out and keep up to date with loving themselves.
Bushidrill: He loves violent rainstorms. I hc that he’s had a pretty tumultuous life, so the havoc of loud thunder doesn’t faze him at all. He actually finds it quite nice. He’s the type of old guy that keeps a door open during rainfall just to let the smell in, or walk outside with no umbrella just for the fuck of it. He’s not terribly old, but he’s old enough to not give a rat’s ass about what other people (especially Kama or Iaian) think about his weird habits. He also likes all the nature that comes out after rainfall, too. Frogs and dragonflies are some of his favorite animals.
Fubuki: Barking hot. Unbearable. Like her sister, she’s a bit of a workaholic and finds it difficult to take a day off every once and while; but once that temperature hits the nineties? Oh shit. Fubuki Gang, pack your shit because it’s beach time baby. She absolutely LOVES the beach and actively anticipates the time of year when it becomes hot enough to bask in the sun. Going to the beach with her family was one of the few enjoyable things that came from her childhood, and she still finds comfort in it.
Saitama: He doesn’t really give too much of a shit about the weather as long as no roads are closed. The reason for this is: if there’s a sale, he wants to get there ASAFP. But, like I said, he really doesn’t give a shit either way because he can be both an outdoorsy and indoors kind of person without making any major changes to his life.
Mumen Rider: Sunny and clear! He loves to have picnics and watch the fluffy clouds! It’s also the perfect weather to go on long, recreational bike rides, which he almost never gets to do anymore. He’s also a bit of a nature lover and, like Tanktop Master, WILL cry if he sees a cute animal. Rainy and overcast days make him a little sad because he doesn’t like the gloomy feel, even if it is calming at times.
Sonic: Hail. Same as Flashy Flash, since they basically grew up on the same bullshit training regime together. The Ninja Village and everything connected to it is overall a total shitstorm, but he can’t argue with the results that made him a killer speed demon. So yeah, the breakneck training persists. And he does it while enduring the incessant pummeling of some fucking ice cubes falling from the sky. Like a weirdo.
Garou: Anything extreme. From blizzards to sandstorms, he’ll take it all, baby. Bang used to train him when the weather was especially bad to strengthen his spirit, and now that same violent weather has become sort of a comfort place. He things violent thunderstorms are calming and blizzards are like a warm blanket that take him back to the few rays of sunshine that came from his absolute clusterfuck of a childhood. He also likes to train during this sort of weather for the same reason Sonic and Flashy Flash like to train during hail: he believes it makes him stronger.
#one punch man#opm#asks#headcanon#opm headcanons#tatsumaki#silverfang#atomic samurai#iaian#okamaitachi#bushidrill#child emperor#drive knight#metal knight#zombieman#pig god#superalloy darkshine#tanktop master#watchdog man#flashy flash#genos#metal bat#garou#saitama#puri puri prisoner#amai mask#fubuki#mumen rider#king#speed of sound sonic
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Hard Waves At Dawn
A random snapshot with the reader from You Send Me and Freddie. Blame me listening to the album Goths by The Mountain Goats for the first time tonight for this one. I try and save certain albums until the right moment, and it seems this was the right one for it. Listen to it, in order, to get the vibe of this fic. Title comes from the song on there titled ‘Wear Black.’
Ngl, very deep in my own mind and thoughts of the future as I wrote this. It probably shows, but that’s par the course for my writing now I fear lol.
My love to all who read/like/reblog!
“I won’t make you come home.”
The rain poured, and you jumped at the loudness of the thunder. “You shouldn’t have to.”
Freddie shrugged, and scooted closer to you on the stone bench. The park was empty except for the two of you; everyone else had run home as soon as the rain had started to come down fast enough to hurt.
“That’s it?”
He nodded. “I know that, and you know it. What more is there to say about it?”
“Maybe not more to say about that,” you replied. “But what about everything else?”
You let his arm slip around you and pull you close. “I think you need to talk about that. Or you wouldn’t have gone running out here before I was even awake.”
You had left the flat you shared with Freddie at five in the morning, in a daze. You weren’t sure exactly what had set it off this time, and it was an impulse you usually ignored or were able to repress. The one that made you panic for the future, left you pacing the flat over things that were arguably not worth worrying about as much as you did, made you feel like taking night walks that never ended, not caring where you might end up or if you’d make your way back home again.
You were in clothes that normally never left the house, clothes that were Lounge About the House and Do Nothing category. You didn’t look wildly out of place to anyone else, but you knew it was a sign to Freddie.
He didn’t indulge these moments, exactly. He accepted them, and rode them out with you, and occasionally gave advice or distractions if you requested or seemed to need it. But most of the time, it was this. Finally prompting that vat of nonsense and fear and pain and sadness that had settled into some sort of aching black hole in your chest before you could recall knowing what depression even was, to spill.
“It’s stupid,” you muttered, and he chuckled.
“Good start.”
“It is though,” you protested. “This is what I’ve wanted. Stability. I’ve worked towards it since I was like...fourteen. And never had it, never had it, couldn’t reach it, wasn’t qualified for it, couldn’t afford it, all that. And now here it is, and it’s fine, and my dumb fucking head is still like this.”
He didn’t speak, but took your hand in his, rubbing gently at it with his thumb.
“What am I waiting for? Why do I feel like the other shoe is going to drop? The shoes are on and tied and I’m waiting to trip. And for what? Why? Why can’t I just be happy all the time? It isn’t always like this, it recedes like the tide but when it comes back I-”
The rain washes the tears off your face as fast as they can fall.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Freddie asked. “I think a lot of us are doing that, in one way or another.”
“But it’s like I’m doubting this good thing I have, from you to my job to everything-”
“Not on purpose,” he interrupted. “The mind clicks along, and doubt is a track it falls on from time to time. I know you don’t seriously doubt us, or your job with the band. Do you know how I know that?”
You shook your head.
“Because you don’t leap for things that feel like too big of a risk unless you see enough security available in the thing you’re leaping towards. You would never have so much as kept looking my way, or stayed on with us, if you didn’t feel secure despite any little doubts or fears that any rational person might have from time to time.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he shushed you softly.
“Y/N. You turned down an ice cream yesterday because you were afraid it might have something you were allergic to in it. We had a full list of ingredients, but because the shop couldn’t verify how current it was, you left without anything. If you can turn away from something that simple, don’t you think you would have been long gone by now, if you had true doubts about anything else in your life right now?”
“...you make a good point,” you acknowledged.
“Every now and again,” he smiled, the small shy smile that came around only when he was being vulnerable. He looked even more gorgeous than usual when he wore it. “And you know what?”
“You have doubts too?”
“All the fucking time,” he sighed. “The work on the next album alone! You’ve heard me, hell you’ve worked me through some of those fits-”
“Not fits, exactly,” you interrupted.
“Tantrums?” he asked with a grin.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said with a smile. “Or I’ll have to kiss you and replace them with something else.”
He kissed you anyway, and the scent of his usual cologne mixed with the rain smelled like the home you had always wanted, dreamed of, yearned for, worked so damn hard to get that you couldn’t believe you’d let your mind trap you into any worries about it.
You leaned into his embrace, wincing only a little as the rain somehow fell harder. “I’m sorry I left without leaving a note or anything. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Out of everyone,” Freddie said. “You are one of the few people I don’t worry about leaving me out of the blue. And I could tell last night you were feeling a bit...how to put it? Twitchy isn’t the right word-”
“Like there was an itch in my brain I couldn’t scratch,” you filled in.
“Exactly,” Freddie said, pushing his wet hair away from where it just barely touched his forehead. “Were we due for a storm?”
“Maybe,” you replied. “I certainly was, apparently.”
“It had been a couple of months,” Freddie nodded.
“God, you’ve got my depression cycle mapped. We’re domestic,” you laughed. “I love it, though I don’t love that I have something like that you have to keep track of.”
“Don’t have to keep track of it,” he said. “I do it because I want to make sure you’ve got support whenever it hits. How long did you deal with it alone, or with minimal support? You’ve got me, and the boys, and so many others now. It would be more than a shame, it would be a crime, to care about you and not be mindful of this.”
He held a hand up before you could speak. “And before you go on with that ‘but I can’t expect others to take care of me all the time’ talk, I know. That’s not our goal, and I think you know that. But I also think you’re afraid of it sometimes, because you’ve not had anything like it before. Support, not to hold you up 24/7, but to help carry you when you need it, and you do the same in return. Equal give and take.”
You nodded. “You are an exceptionally wise man, you know that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I try, same as anyone else.”
“You underestimate yourself with things like this,” you said. “You don’t do it with anything else. The rest of the persona the confidence flows, but you sell yourself short here. You shouldn’t.”
“You do the same thing,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t argue that anymore than I can, can you?”
“No wonder we get on so well,” you said. “Perfectly capable until we’re vulnerable in the rain, and then it all melts away.”
He nods. “It’s nice though, isn’t it? To have someone to let the mask down around so severely. No need to hang onto it, in case someone walks in the room that would make you bring it back up.”
“It really is,” you sighed. “I think it’s hailing a bit.”
He brushed a hand through his dampened curls, and melting pea-sized pebbles of ice shook out. “It is definitely hailing.”
“We should almost definitely go home,” you murmured. “I haven’t seen any lightening, but probably not safe all the same.”
“You can’t tell me that you’ve never wanted to be out in a storm like this, in one of these moments of yours,” Freddie said. “Why not give it five more minutes?”
“And if lightening shows up, and hits us?”
“Then I hope they leave the burned outline of our corpses here on this bench as a memorial,” Freddie said with a cheeky grin.
“Me too,” you said. “I wouldn’t mind a death and a memorial like that.”
“Better than some, and certainly as good as some others,” Freddie nodded. “You know you’re going to be fighting a cold off after this, right?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You’ve already bought me cans of my favorite soup, haven’t you?”
“Two days ago, had Brian pick them up and bring them by,” Freddie replied. “He asked how I could possibly know.”
“And you told him not to worry about it, and that he’d get it some day?”
“Bless, you’ve got my most cryptic answers down to a T,” he said. “That was exactly it. Bet you can’t guess the rest of my master plan though.”
“To make me soup for the next three days, and keep me sat resting on the couch, except for when we’re napping together in the bed?”
“Almost all of it,” he said. “You missed the bit where I make sure we get a walk outside in. The sun will help, and I know you won’t go out without me.”
“Thank you,” you said, jumping at an even louder clap of thunder. “There has got to be lightening nearby.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “And for what? The soup? That was nothing, really.”
“All of this,” you said, pressing your face into the wet material of his jacket near his neck. “Taking care of me. Being with me. Loving me despite this stupid shit my brain does, that I can’t always rein in as well as I’d like.”
“It’s good work,” he said. “Work I like. Because you do the same work for me. It’s steady, and it all evens out, even when everything else is...decidedly less so.”
“The ebb and flow of the tide, and the two of us as the typhoon,” you murmured.
“You should do something with that,” he said. “I like it.”
“You know I don’t write like that anymore.”
“But you could. Write it down when we get home, just in case. You never know what you’ll find to do on the side in between tours, after all,” he said, and stood slowly, only to duck down as larger hail started to drop hard and fast, as if someone in the sky had overturned a huge bucket of it. “Shall we go now, before you forget it?”
“I think better we leave so we don’t end up with bruises,” you laughed, taking his hand as you stood. “I’m ready to go home.”
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