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gohyuck · 4 years

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pairing: fratboy!lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader

genre: angst/fluff/suggestive (explicit allusions to/mentions of sex)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fwb relationship, general asshattery on hyuck’s part, explicit mentions of and allusions to sex, slight dom!hyuck

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 no shame - eric nam

☀️ sex isn’t sex for you without donghyuck

“you’re late.”

donghyuck’s tone is curt, clipped in a way that has no business within the four walls of a frat house, especially not during a thriving party. he has you cornered, one hand out on the wall beside you while his eyes run over your face. the other has a cup of some concoction dangling between his fingers, idle at his side. there’s a potted money plant on your left and a couple of boozed up party-goers mid-conversation to your right.

“and you’re evidently very observant.” you respond, tone dripping sarcasm. you’ve been at the Nu Kappa Theta house for less than five minutes and donghyuck - haechan to the campus, hyuck to those who know and love him - already has his lips inches from your own. you can smell the jungle juice on his breath, and it mixes sweetly with the cedar and orange blossom of his cologne.

it usually takes him at least ten minutes to get here. you consider yourself impressed.

“no bullshit today.” he murmurs, inching closer. donghyuck moves his hand from the wall, instead choosing to trace along the side of your face before placing his fingertips under your chin. he grabs your face lightly, forcing you gently to look him directly in his eyes. you can’t help but shiver under his gaze. the corner of his mouth quirks up at seeing this, and you realize that donghyuck - a stereotypical class clown if you’ve ever met one - is dead serious. he doesn’t want to play, not tonight.

you let your cockiness, your proud facade drop as you nod against his hand.

“okay,” you whisper, feeling small for the moment. “yeah, okay.”

donghyuck wastes no time in stepping back from you, his hand dropping to grasp one of yours. as he pulls you through the throng of partiers, he nimbly places his red solo cup on top of a counter, nodding to a nearby brother - jaemin, if you remember correctly - as he does so. you watch the blue-haired boy throw you and donghyuck a wolfish grin, and you can’t help the blush that rises to your face. you wonder what jaemin’s grinning about.

donghyuck doesn’t give you much time to ponder this as he drags you up the house’s main staircase quite swiftly, pulling you into his bedroom before caging you up against his wall. you lean forward, eager to meet his mouth with your own, but he pulls back before you can. the smirk he gives you infuriates you even more.

“you’re the worst-” you start, only for donghyuck to place his hand against the bottom of your throat, not pressing just yet. he pushes you back, flush against the door, before leaning in, reveling in how your breath audibly hitches once his face is right against yours, dark eyes roving your features.

“if you were good you wouldn’t say shit like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. he gives you no time to respond, surging forward and taking your lips for himself as he makes quick work of unbuttoning your jeans. you do the same with his shirt - silk, and far too expensive for a college party that’s likely to end in his clothes getting unidentifiable stains - though you’re far more careful with his clothes than he is with yours. he looks even cockier than before when he removes his mouth from your neck for air, and you’re sure it’s because you already look fucked out for him. he lets out a dry chuckle at how swollen your lips are and how unfocused your gaze is for the moment.

“i want you to be good for me, and i thought we agreed on no bullshit tonight, hm?”

“yes,” you say, words coming out in a whisper from the depths of your dry, now-scratchy throat. your swallow is audible.

“yes?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. your heartbeat stutters as you realize what you’ve forgotten, rushing as you hurry to rectify your mistake.

“yes, donghyuck.” you correct yourself, happy to receive a pleased nod from the man in front of you in response. you aren’t allowed to call him haechan, and you most certainly aren’t allowed to call him hyuck. he offers you no reasoning, and even though it stings you, cuts open your heart just slightly, you never ask.

“on your knees, darling. i’m not drunk enough to deny myself a blowjob, and i promise i’ll get on my knees for you too, but i don’t think you’d enjoy fucking me tonight.”

you blink at him in surprise, and he moves his hand from your neck to cup your face. if you hesitate any longer, you know he’ll yank you onto the floor, forcing you to your knees. you know your safe words, after all, and he’s never pushed or pulled you wrongly.

still, you need to make sure.

“donghyuck,” you start, and he softens slightly at your tone. you seem genuinely inquisitive, like you’re about to ask him something important instead of questioning him like a brat.

“hmm?”

“you’ve still had some things to drink and i barely had, like, a few sips of soju before you found me. are you- are you sure you want me to suck you off? i don’t want to... i don’t want to take advantage of you. that, and-” you interrupt yourself to glance down, only to glance but up at his eyes. “-you aren’t even hard yet. you said no bullshit, but i don’t think you meant it about sex. what’s wrong?”

“wh-” donghyuck looks almost affronted at your genuine line of questioning, his jaw clenching heavily as he looks at you. “when the fuck do we ever talk? if we aren’t going to do anything, we might as well go back out.” he emphasizes this by dropping his hand from your face, instead reaching to grab the doorknob of the door behind you. on impulse, you grab his wrist.

“we don’t,” you say, swallowing after you admit it. “we don’t ever talk and i- it’s obviously bothering you, whatever it is, and i think we need to talk it out. i’m not sucking your dick until we do.”

the pause after your words is... stifling, to say the least. you stare at him, searching his eyes for something, anything. he remains unreadable.

donghyuck’s shoulders stiffen for an imperceptible moment before relaxing entirely, and when he gently pushes you aside, you allow him to. you watch as he pulls the door open regardless, only letting his eyes find yours after.

“get out,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. “get out of my room, and it might be best if you just get out of the house.”

“donghyuck-”

“i’m serious.” he grits out, not meeting your eyes. the difference between the sultry, flirty donghyuck you’d had moments ago and the angry one in front of you now does not escape you. still, for the sake of the tears that are budding along your waterline, you clench you’re teeth together, not willing to let him have the last word.

“you have no fucking shame,” you manage to get out, glaring directly at him as you do. “you can fuck me but you can’t talk to me, huh? i’m just some whore for you to use and throw as you like? you don’t even let me call you fucking nicknames, and you think you have the right to be pissed at me for not doing you while you’re drunk? for caring about you? you make me fucking sick.” you spit out and storm out, not giving him the chance to react nor giving him a second glance, no matter how badly you want to hand him both.

as you rush down the stairs, not bothering to interact with anyone despite the ‘hey, (name)!’s and the ‘woah, slow down’s that you get, you can’t help but tell yourself that you’re done for good, this time. you’re doing sleeping around with donghyuck in the way you should’ve been done months ago. no amount of dick is good enough to keep around when the person attached to it keeps hurting you over, and over, and over. you’ve been mad at him before, but you usually let him fuck you roughly against a wall, bent over his desk, to get both yours and his frustrations out.

still, even then and during all those times, you’ve known it. you’ve known that you’re falling for him, and you’ve known that it isn’t reciprocated. tonight’s made it glaringly obvious that he only sees you as holes to fill, and you absolutely refuse to be an object, no matter how much it hurts to leave.

it’s only once you’re out of the NKT house that you realize your pants are still unbuttoned. the rage and embarrassment that engulf you as you tuck your shirt in properly and zip your jeans back up both have you pulling your phone out, typing, and hitting send before you even know what you’re doing.

the walk back to your place feels awful, but you hold your shoulders high. it isn’t a walk of shame, it’s a walk of relief.

at least, that’s what you tell your roommate, who inevitably questions you after seeing you walk in, slam the door shut, collapse on the couch, and whine for a bottle of straight vodka.

across campus, donghyuck is sitting on his bed, head in his hands, as he tries to tune out his thoughts by focusing on the pounding music he can still hear through his shut door. his phone lies face up and unlocked beside him, though the text that’s lighting up the screen is the very thing he’s doing is damnedest not to look at.

from (name) 😉: it’s over.

♕ ♕ ♕

you manage to go a full week without thinking about him.

it’s genuinely easier than you expect - he isn’t in any of your classes, and you don’t have any truly close friends in common, so you find that you don’t have any reason to see him. sure, you aren’t too thrilled about going from getting laid thrice a week to getting laid exactly 0 times in 7 days, but you'll be damned if you let good dick distract from how poorly you’d been treated by donghyuck.

and god, is it some insanely good dick.

still, you’re determined not to let it get to you, and for a short while, things work out in your favor. you’re busy with organization meetings, volunteering projects, classwork, and spending time with your friends.

disaster strikes for the first time during an organic chemistry study group meeting on day 8.

“(name)? (name)- earth to (name)? hello?”

“huh? wh- yes,” you blink rapidly, pulling yourself back into reality. something’s in your mouth - you realize belatedly that you’re chewing on the already-crushed end of your pen. the daydream you’d been having floods back to you, forcing heat to rise into your cheeks as your friends stare on, mild concern and confusion scrawled across all of their faces.

it’s always been his hands. his fingers, his palms, the way he cups your cheek and the way he kneads at your thighs while they shake around his head. in the world inside your head, you’d practically been able to feel his fingers tracing your skin, hovering over where you needed him the most, giving you exactly what you’d needed.

you might not see his face in your daydreams, but donghyuck’s hands will never be disembodied for you. they carry the weight of his words, the curve of his signature smirk, the sharp edges of his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. you shake your head, forcing yourself out of your reverie.

your friends are still staring at you. at seeing just how flushed and disoriented you are, you practically see realization dawn simultaneously on each of them.

pity joins concern and confusion.

“(name), if it’s hyuck you can talk to us-”

the sound of his name - no, his nickname, the one you’ve always been forbidden from calling him - is what truly forces you back into the truth of the situations both in your heart and between your legs. your friends’ stares start to suffocate you, and you suddenly want nothing more than to be at home.

“i have to go,” you interrupt soobin, standing up as you speak. they all watch, speechless, as you shovel your things into your backpack. “i just- i have to leave. i’ll see you guys later.”

you rush back to your apartment, tossing your bag onto the couch before you lock the front door. you’re thankful to find that your roommate is still in class, or at a club meeting, or wherever. you aren’t quite sure. it doesn’t matter to you - you’re only really looking for one thing, the one thing that you hope will draw your mind off of your aches and your hurt.

you almost cry when you find that your vibrator has no charge on it, and you really do cry when you find that your own fingers, your own hands aren’t enough anymore. it takes a long, long while of imagining that it’s donghyuck touching you, donghyuck who’s giving you the pleasure you deserve, before you can finally properly come after two whole weeks.

after that, it just keeps getting worse.

♕ ♕ ♕

it’s day 11 when you catch sight of him across the dining hall.

he doesn’t see you - you make sure of that when you walk back out immediately after having walked in. it isn’t a big loss - you’ll just go ahead and pay at a nearby foodtruck for once. you’ve been meaning to taste test from the new shawarma truck for a while anyways.

still, the glimpse of him sitting, laughing at something one of his friends has said right before taking a bite of what you believe is a burrito haunts you. more specifically, the image of him nonchalantly licking sauce off his tan skin, swirling his tongue around his thumb and index fingers to make sure it’s all off, is immediately burned into the space behind your eyelids.

even as you sit on a park bench, taking bites of your pita bread while intermittently scrolling through your phone, you can’t shove donghyuck out of your mind. his tongue terrorizes you, flashes of your past trysts with him running through your mind even as you’re determined to focus on your bread and your bread only.

it doesn’t work.

he might be godly with his fingers, but it isn’t as if his tongue isn’t skilled, either. donghyuck has stamina for days, and you attribute it to both youth and the fact that he’s in a frat. you assume sex is some kind of competition for the brothers, although you hope donghyuck doesn’t just see you - hadn’t just seen you - as a conquest, another tally mark. you don’t know if you’d put it past him, though.

after all, if there’s anything donghyuck hates, it’s losing.

and he’d never lost with you. no matter how much you tried to gain control, tried to keep yourself from reacting in the ways he wanted just for the sake of being a brat, donghyuck always won. you can’t even count the number of times he’d eaten you out quickly, sloppily, smirking against your skin in a way that has your nerves on fire. he’d kissed you with everything he’d had, bruised your collarbone and laved his tongue over it like you were his lifeline. his mouth is just as heaven-sent as the rest of him.

you find yourself squirming on the park bench, annoyingly familiar with the tightening in your stomach. donghyuck has a hold on your heart, yes, but you think you hate the hold he has on your underwear even more.

that night, while you dream, you dream of his lips, his tongue. you dream of his smiles and his smirks, the way his mouth looks falling open as you run your own tongue over the head of his cock. you can’t get enough of him, even when you’re asleep.

you wake up sweating.

♕ ♕ ♕

your roommate wakes you up at 2 am on day 14 by loudly and angrily knocking on your bedroom door. before you can even open it, a shout of ‘don’t fuck too loudly’ hits your ears, and you hear the door of the other bedroom in your apartment slam shut. you’re barely out of bed when there’s even more knocking, though, this time, it’s far softer.

“can i come in? can we talk?”

your breath hitches, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’re only wearing skimpy underwear and an oversized t-shirt. still, against the ongoing war inside your head, you find yourself turning your door handle and pulling it open.

donghyuck, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a neon yellow shirt that’s definitely from some volunteering organization or the other, looks positively forlorn. even worse than than, he looks completely hopeful. you doubt he’s aware of this dichotomy as you step aside, letting him walk in before closing the door behind him.

“before you - fuck, if you were even going to say anything, honestly - let me explain myself. let me explain myself, and then i’ll fuck off again, and we don’t - we don’t ever have to even see each other again, yeah?”

you’re still groggy, but just seeing him both saddens and enrages you. luckily for donghyuck, you’re far too tired to kick him out, so all you do is nod before gesturing for him to sit down on your bed. for your part, you settle down at your desk chair, pulling it so it’s near the foot of your bed.

“i never had a problem with emotionless sex before i met you,” he starts out, and your mind is working at a mile a minute trying to process what he’s saying. donghyuck, lost in his own thoughts, doesn’t notice this, only forging ahead.

“at first, i just thought you were a good fuck, i- i just figured we were having some fun, you know? but then i started... i started letting you stay nights, and you woke me up with breakfast that one time, and... and it just felt right, you know? i didn’t let you call me haechan because it felt too formal, and hyuck just doesn’t carry the weight your words have for me. that, and i was worried that if i let you call me the same thing everyone who loves me calls me, then it would be true, and it would be real.” he finally pauses in his ramblings, taking a deep breath at the end as if it’s the first one he’s taken in a while. donghyuck looks at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to talk or ask or do anything, but he finds that your mouth is just slightly open, your eyes wide as you try and puzzle together what he means.

you’re lucky he’s feeling patient. his eyes light up slightly once you finally respond after what feels like eons.

“... what would be real?”

donghyuck’s budding smile disappears as quickly as it had grown, and he suddenly can’t look at you. he busies himself in roving his eyes around your bedroom, swallowing before he can reply to your question.

“the fact that i was falling for you. it wasn’t just sex, anymore. i- i wanted to... i want to cuddle with you, watch godawful movies with you, go iceskating and drink hot chocolate with you. i don’t just want to fuck you, i... as goddamn cheesy and sappy and awful as it sounds, i want to make love. the thing i was so worked up about that day was that i’d seen you laughing and talking with some other guy when you’d first gotten to the party, and it made me ache on the inside in ways i didn’t know i could. i might just be in love with you, and it freaked me out, so i hurt you. i’m sorry for it, but nothing’s changed other than the fact that i’m not afraid of my own feelings anymore.”

his declaration - his spiel - hits you in the heart, and you’re so stricken in the moment that it must show across your face. donghyuck’s eyes flit to yours, and whatever he sees in them must hurt him immensely, because he allows himself the saddest smile you’ve ever seen on anyone before he pushes himself off your bed.

“i, uh, i know you don’t feel the same way. i just figured i should tell you,” he says, words coming out softer than he means for them to. the smile he gives you is gentle and kind, and you can feel your eyes start to well as he turns around to open your door. he doesn’t look back at you as he speaks again while pulling it open.

“it was nice knowing you, (name). maybe we can be just friends one day.”

you can’t sit by anymore - your thoughts are done forming. without thinking, you lunge out of your chair, grasping onto donghyuck’s shirt.

“i might be in love with you too, you absolute fucking idiot,” you gasp out once you’ve forced him to turn around and face you. “and i asked if you wanted to talk that night because i might love you. i asked because i care, and because i wanted to be more than just a fuckbuddy. god, we’re both stupid as hell.”

“you...” donghyuck manages to get out, his hands finding your waist automatically after he gently kicks your door closed. “you want to be more than what we are too?”

“yes!” you cry out, reaching up to cup his face. “yes. i mean, i miss getting laid, too, and i’ve been dreaming of you, i won’t lie, but yes, i want to hold your hand and go on coffee runs and make you my phone wallpaper and do other gross, couple-y shit with you. i have for a while. i’m still a little mad at how you handled that last night, but i- yes, i want you to be my boyfriend.”

“seriously? really? like really, seriously?” donghyuck asks, the situation at hand finally dawning on him. his eyes are alight with new fire, and as you nod vivaciously he can’t help but laugh and pull you into his chest.

“then it’s settled,” he says, once you both finally pull apart. “we’ll go out and watch a movie or something tomorrow - or, i guess today - night. yeah?”

“yeah.” you agree, smiling genuinely at him. as you look into his eyes, you see them shift slowly from their soft gaze to having a slightly darker, harder edge. his fingers tighten against the cloth of your shirt, and you swallow under his hot stare. you’re guessing that he missed being inside of you just as much as you missed having him inside of you.

“you also mentioned dreaming of me,” he mutters, leaning close to speak directly into your ear. you can’t help the shiver the runs through your body, and donghyuck doesn’t try to hide the low laugh he has at your expense. you don’t trust yourself to speak, not at 2 am while cornered by the one you love, so you just nod, your hair tickling the side of his face.

“no bullshit tonight?” he asks, one hand already coming up to trace what’s showing of your collarbone. you whimper out a ‘yes’, and he walks you backwards until you’re forced to sit down on your bed, forced to stare up at him.

he smiles down at you, and to your surprise, it isn’t hardened or full of command. it’s soft, and real, and you can tell that it’s meant just for you. you smile sweetly back up at him, and he runs a thumb over your cheekbone.

“show me what i did in your dream,” he finally says, sinking to the floor on his knees in front of you. you must look both incredulous and inquisitive, because he takes both of your hands in his, intertwining his fingers with yours before looking up at you. when he finally speaks again, your heart flutters, and you know that maybe, just maybe, the two of you will be alright.

“show me what i did in your dream. tonight, it’s all about you.”

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cina-full-moon-xanadium · 3 years

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Kamen Rider.

The original show that started an ever-expanding series of stories; an icon so popular and beloved across Japan; a show that struck such a chord with audiences that it ultimately went on for 98 episodes, the longest a single full-length Tokusatsu show has ever run for.

A show about love, and fighting fascism wherever it may try to harm the human life that is so inherently important and sacred, and the tragedy of being distanced from the very humanity you cherish and fight to protect.

Can I say it fully lives up to that description? ... Not honestly, no. If someone were to come in blindly and say “hey I heard this is a pretty anti-fascist show, do you think I should watch it??”, I couldn’t genuinely recommend more than a handful of episodes and then to just say ‘go read the manga’. I think too often the fandom will elevate the original show so highly as to avoid stating the obvious and what may disappoint a lot of viewers going into it -- all these ideals are indeed there, but it’s through the lens of a 1971 kid’s TV show; one that had to dumb down those elements in order to fit the confines of the time. Furthermore, it is one that exploded in popularity; causing many extensions of the show that had the showrunners constantly coming up with new ideas to revitalise it in a way that was exciting, but not necessarily completely true to its values -- watching a large chunk of the Rider #2 or Ambassador Hell eras will lay that pretty bare. Surprise surprise, the most popular enduring superhero TV icon is not exactly a comprehensive diatribe on the dangers of fascism and the trauma it inflicts!

But that perhaps makes it all the more impressive for what it is able to do? I have gone on at length so many times about how incredible it is that Kamen Rider’s origin comes down to a man fighting a lone battle against fascism; against the organisation that stripped him of his humanity; about a monster who decided to be good fighting against what is essentially his own kind or those stuck in the same situation. And while that backstory isn’t exactly elaborated on a lot past the first 13 episodes, it’s still there! It is, in fact, repeated every single episode at the end of the opening credits! So even when the show is being a lot more generic and used as a sort of depository for whatever monster plot would seem scary or impressive this week, this tragedy still feels present and a part of what drives Kamen Rider’s fight, to me. This is what Goranger was missing for me -- a real message, a real thing the creators were passionate about and wanted to say, no matter how buried or ignored; still shining through the seams. Hongou and Ichimonji’s backstory; the secrecy yet reach of Shocker as a terrifying fascist organisation; the constant kidnapping and remodelling of normal people living in society; the fact that at one point the show had a goddamn Nazi in an eyepatch as the main villain! I can’t claim to know everything Ishinomori was thinking of when he originally wrote Kamen Rider or everything that inspired him, I would feel like a disingenuous liar to claim any motivations; but it all feels like such a real drive someone deeply effected or horrified by these things would want to reach out and warn about and talk about.

In my opinion, there are two stretches of the show that stand out to me more than any other; and if anyone was asking for a condensed idea of what Kamen Rider stands for or just a good idea of the show would be the two stretches (alongside a few other individual episodes) I would personally recommend: the first 15 episodes, and the final fifth of the show from 80-98 that introduces the threat of Gel-Shocker.

Of those first 15 episodes, the first 13 are Kamen Rider at its most absolute raw and truest state. It’s also one where it feels like no-one really knew how to tell a story or make a show -- any criticism you could lobby at Showa Rider about how it lacks subtlety or doesn’t know how to show instead of tell or how the suits don’t feel well-constructed are ramped up to not just 11 but probably, like, 21 or 31 or 1001; it is a pretty hastily constructed thing of a show... but it just makes the passion scream LOUDER. It’s almost like a personal project, something that someone makes at school! This is Shocker at its most threatening and overbearing and Kamen Rider at his most desperate; the story at its most scrambled yet focused. Every line of dialogue leads nothing to the imagination; you are told exactly what is going on and what characters are thinking and feeling with little room for interpretation and janky, lumbering steps into each development. And it’s what most highlights the narrative of what Kamen Rider was made to say? When Ishinomori was finally able to make his manga adaption which goes in a wildly different direction to the show in order to truly say what he wanted, he adapts these first 13 episodes more or less verbatim and I think that says more than I ever could on the subject. As for episode 14 and 15, these are the first episodes of Hayato Ichimonji; Rider #2 and the first in a new era of a show. I’m not the biggest fan of the period this leads into, but the original 2-parter is a very fun time with a lingering sense of desperation to it that also shows for the first time the scale of Shocker’s operations around the world. All in all, the first 15 episodes of Kamen Rider slowly drew me into the show and captured my heart in a way that few Showa Toku have been able to do.

The other period of the show I recommend is Episode 80 onwards -- in other words, the dawn of Gel-Shocker. Up until this point Kamen Rider had slowly but surely devolved into being a pretty basic show; with Shocker in particular going pretty over-the-top with their MOTW plots involving whatever the writers could think of first and wild characters like Ambassador Hell at the helm (he’s seemingly well-remembered but VERY stupid and goofy. It makes him a joy to watch, mind!). I was still enjoying it and was still very much ready to consider it a show I had a lot of love for, and one where the ideals as I said still shone through the darkness; but overall something that wasn’t the best. And then, after a couple ominous allusions to the future; Shocker announces its partnership to Geldam and Gel-Shocker is born. And very much instantly Kamen Rider goes back to its roots in how threatening and dangerous the people Kamen Rider is fighting are; with a far more serious general, plots that seek to strike deep into the heart of Kamen Rider’s life and friends, the downright brutal destruction and killing of every trace of the old Shocker; and a newly refound focus of its infiltration into society and the lives it can ruin. A few episodes aside which still resembled the old show it is very much the Kamen Rider I had heard about and the type of fascist organisation I thought of when I see its reimaginings over the years; and only 10 episodes in begins a tense serialised arc of Kamen Rider having everything stripped away from him as Gel-Shocker not only focuses their efforts on his allies, but introduces the Shocker Riders as a threat beyond anything else that brings excitement beyond anything I’ve seen in this era of television for Tokusatsu. It ultimately all culminates in the final episode, where Great Leader is finally brought to his knees and ends in a sad, suicidal attempt to take out his enemies when everything else has failed; showing how for all his mystery and power, that’s what he amounts to.

There is so much more I could say. There’s so much more I could say about what this original chapter of Kamen Rider means to me on a deeper spiritual level; about the love and respect for life inherent to it; about so many amazing lines like the infamous “Human Life is more important than Peace and Justice”; heck, even about how future movies like Let’s Go Kamen Riders or Kamen Rider 1 make wonderful companion pieces to it and make me love it even more -- but not because of what they add, but because of how they expand on what was there all along. But this piece has already gone on for so long, and I’ve got plenty of nights left in my life to talk about it. Ultimately, it’s a show that’s left with me with so much and has become more important to me than I could imagine.

Thank you, Kamen Rider.

#Riders will always be by your side

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lorei-writes · 3 years

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Sparring Match

Masamune x MC Gen Fic (mostly) Fluff (?) Family AU

Don’t mind me, writing a mild family fluff at an unholy hour. I will just leave it here. I don’t know if it’s worth anything. It’s just sorta...Here.

Warnings: mentions of toxic (extended) family

The truth was, it was always too early for some days to come, even for Masamune. He didn’t know when the time passed, various ceremonies and such taking place in a blink of an eye – and before he even realised, his son was old enough for a new name, his hands becoming more adept at wielding the practise sword. Of course, children grew, he was aware… Yet somehow, it seemed almost too soon, too fast and too harsh to bear, the reality of the chaotic world sneaking on him and tempting him to hurry, to try harder so that they’d live their adult lives in a different place. Somehow, he sincerely doubted much from the old order would remain.

Another strike, the sword being knocked out of Tadamune’s grip. The boy hissed, his older sister cheering yet once again. Masamune chuckled to himself. Advantage of the age, he reckoned, although Iroha did have a talent for weaponry plenty would crave in vain. Nevertheless, he was content, the progress he witnessed being quite a feat to accomplish by itself, even if futile against a more practised opponent – and most importantly, it didn’t change much, Tadamune still taking Iroha’s hand whenever she offered to help him up. The siblings clashed again a couple more times, the girl gradually turning more lax, almost encouraging… Or perhaps daring, testing how far she could go before the bamboo grazed her. It was just a game, after all, and it was Masamune’s most earnest wish it would always remain one, the very thought of his family being threatened by the cursed schemes of his clan boiling his blood. The clan… The clan was vicious at times, spinning lies and conspiring behind his back, the extended family proving to be rather troublesome.

He knew, certain things were indisputable – what he referred to as his family was not a common phenomenon, he and Mai having waited four years before trying for another child, even though their first was a girl. It was not entirely usual for girls to be educated in all spheres of life, from arts to war – and much less for them not to be seen as tools, Iroha always being free to choose her own path. He surely caused some eyebrows to raise when tending to his children, both Tadamune and Iroha pulling him out of councils more than once. After all, why couldn’t it always be Mai, why couldn’t she bear the burden of bringing up a human on her own? A wet-nurse even, perhaps? Truly, unexpected, although not unwelcome. He wanted it, so he wanted to work for it as well – despite the clear disapproval of his clan.

His muscles tensed at the very memory, his extended family attempting to pressure them into producing a male heir – as fast as possible, at any cost. Iroha was barely even born, Mai only slowly returning back to strength, and hideous letters began to litter his desk. He burned them all, some without even reading them. And yet? And yet when they had a son, he wasn’t enough just either way, each sign of him being just a child having been considered a weakness at his very core. A boy who cries? Unthinkable. A boy who needs attention? Who needs to learn? Oh heavens, if only Iroha was born a male…

“Dad!” his children called in unison, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Huh?” Masamune replied, mildly confused. “Iroha is cheating!” “I’m not cheating!” “You threw your sword like a gavelock!” Tadamune opposed. Masamune rose to his feet instantly, soon standing between the siblings.

***

The day ended, no blood being drawn – although Iroha certainly wasn’t happy to learn that indeed, throwing swords was off limits. Still somewhat bitter, she retreated to her room immediately after dinner, saying she needed some time by herself. Tadamune, on the other hand, stayed behind, going even as far as to clean the dishes even though it wasn’t his turn. The night being rather warm, they all sat on the veranda afterwards, Mai finishing up her sewing project. The boy sighed. “Will I ever be as good as Iroha?” he murmured, anchoring his gaze in the ground. “Silly, you were never worse to begin with,” Mai replied instantly. “Not like this, mom,” he groaned. “With the sword.” “Mai’s not off, cub. You’re just a different person than Iroha. You have your own strong sides.” “The clan won’t be happy.” Masamune winced internally. “The clan can be as unhappy as they want to be. We’re proud of you. Whatever they think, it’s their problem.” Tadamune didn’t reply, only sniffling quietly. Perhaps somewhat shy – as surely, he was almost an adult after reaching the eleventh spring of his life – he sat between his parents, rubbing onto his eyes. A shove to his shoulder – he looked up, Iroha standing behind him. “Move it,” she grumbled, yet still took the place next to him, Mai setting her work aside. “I still haven’t forgotten you that last jab.” “Rematch?” “Rematch.”

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @rikumorimachisgirl If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me. If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

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thepetulantpen · 4 years

Text

(A short addition to my blind!Geralt AU! Bit of a sickfic, this time.)

“You’re sick.”

Jaskier startles at Geralt’s voice, bed creaking beneath him. He’d been writing in his notebook- hard at work with another song, if Geralt had to guess- apparently thinking Geralt was asleep.

“What? No, I’m not.”

Geralt sits up and thumps Jaskier lightly- though, not lightly enough judging by his responding grunt- on the back. The vibration rattles in Jaskier’s chest and reveals exactly what he’s already smelled.

“Yes, you are.”

Concentrating, Geralt can hear Jaskier’s mouth turn downward in a frown. It’s not very hard- he’s not sure whether the exaggeration is a product of Jaskier’s personality, or an attempt to make it easier for Geralt to “see”. More likely a healthy mix of both, coupled with Jaskier’s considerable need for attention.

“And how can you tell that?” Jaskier sounds genuinely curious, but doesn’t wait for an answer, “Can you hear the mucus? Smell it? Feel the tiny bacteria in the air?”

“Something like that.” Geralt smiles, hearing Jaskier’s heartbeat pick up in a way he’s taken to interpreting as indignant.

“I won’t stand for this blatant invasion of my privacy. Keep your witcher-y senses to yourself, you-”

Geralt hums and pulls Jaskier towards him, against his chest, making him interrupt himself with a surprised yelp. He bats at Geralt’s hands weakly, laughing as they trace up his doublet, feeling for the pattern.

“I’m not exactly reading your diary, Jaskier. I’d find out later, with or without your confession.”

“I’m not convinced you wouldn’t read my diary, if you could.” Jaskier shifts Geralt’s hand slightly, moving it to an embroidered flower. “It’s gold, by the way.”

Geralt nods, satisfied he’s solved the mystery of Jaskier’s fashion choices for the day, and gets up, using one hand to push Jaskier back down when he tries to follow. “You’ll stay here and rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“For now, maybe. We’ll see how you feel tonight.”

Jaskier groans and falls back against his pillow, the thump echoing through their small room. He grumbles under his breath about boredom, but he may as well have said it out loud- it’s all the same to Geralt.

Convinced that Jaskier isn’t an immediate flight risk, Geralt turns to pack up his bag, running his hands over everything to double check. It’s well-organized, which he can thank Jaskier for. He wouldn’t have thought to rearrange it with a less visually dependent system- he hadn’t changed much, in recent years, figuring his senses would compensate.

Jaskier, to put it lightly, had thought this was lunatic.

“Why not give yourself shortcuts? You’re taking an extra minute to do something when you could just help yourself out beforehand.”

“I don’t need-“

“It’s not about need, Geralt. Let me show you.”

One of many instances of Jaskier improving Geralt’s life through sheer force of will. He’s adopted an insistence on convenience and efficiency that Geralt can’t- or won’t, to save himself the indignity- argue with.

He’ll be able to return the favor by taking care of Jaskier today. With any luck, it’ll be a simple cold, cleared up with rest before it truly sets in. He’s going to run errands, pick up human medicine, and be back by midday to check on him. His hunt can wait until the afternoon, once he’s confident Jaskier will be alright.

“Think about it as a chance to rest your voice.”

Jaskier flicks him off and Geralt doesn’t bother letting him know that he can sense that.

…

Before he even enters the room, Geralt can tell Jaskier’s gotten worse. The scent of sickness is stronger, his breathing worse. He’ll need to check Jaskier’s temperature, and make sure he hasn’t taken a drastic turn for the worse.

It’s challenging, between the barrier of the door and the relative lack of sound in the room, but Geralt focuses on the draft as it bounces against things, outlining the scene and giving him an idea of what he’s walking into. Jaskier is curled up on the bed, writing quietly in his journal- slower than the fast, presumably messy, scratches Geralt is used to.

Jaskier must hear him step up to the door because he tenses, writing coming to an abrupt stop. Geralt opens the door before he can worry and starts pulling out what he’s bought, kicking the door shut to keep his hands free.

“Geralt,” Jaskier greets, voice more hoarse than it was this morning, “how’d it go?”

“I’ve got stuff for tea.”

He has... something for tea. The store had been so packed with herbs it was difficult to distinguish between them, and he didn’t want to sniff every ingredient with the owner watching. He thinks he’s found the right things, more or less.

Jaskier pulls back the covers and climbs out of bed, crouching beside Geralt and his bag to supervise. “Your tea is always nasty.”

“My tea is healthy.” He pushes Jaskier’s hand away, knowing he’s just going to complain about whatever he ends up putting in.

“For someone with a great nose, you really haven’t grasped human taste buds. Would it kill you to add some honey, once in a while?”

“Well,” Geralt tries not to smile, turning away to start mixing, “I was going to use a little of this fresh honey I bought, but I think I’ll have to save it for someone more grateful.”

“Geralt-“ Jaskier starts, but breaks off with a cough, ending his whine before it can reach the truly annoying, high-pitched range. It would be a blessing- if the coughing stopped.

Geralt pats Jaskier on the back through the coughing fit, fumbling for his water-skin with his other hand. Jaskier finds it first, unscrewing the cap with shaking hands and almost choking from drinking too fast.

When he’s done, Jaskier pauses to regain his breath and goes quiet- it takes a second for Geralt to concentrate enough to realize he’s smiling, trying to reassure Geralt.

Geralt frowns and puts the tea aside to face Jaskier- for all the good that’ll do. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“No, no,” Jaskier coughs again, and clears his throat, forcing his voice to sound almost normal, “Your hunt is more important. It’s just a cold.”

“Jaskier-“

Jaskier puts his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and leans on, so their foreheads touch. “Geralt. The people here need you more than me, right now.”

He takes Geralt’s hand and places it on his chest, under his shirt. The skin is warmer- slightly hotter than it should be- and the rhythm of his breathing isn’t great, but it’s steady. It’s a cold, nothing that Jaskier can’t handle, after these years of travel.

“I’m still going to make you tea.”

Jaskier laughs, the sound broken up by his sore throat. “I suppose it wouldn’t be that easy to get out of, would it?”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just adds a more generous dollop of honey.

...

It’s a miracle that the hunt ends successfully at all- he’s distracted the whole time, thinking about Jaskier. He gets lucky with a few strikes, more reckless than wise, and ends it quickly, collecting his coin without counting it.

The smell of sickness is obvious at the top of the stairs, from the opposite end of the hallway.

Jaskier is in bed, under the blankets, and shivering, despite the heat of his skin. It permeates the air around him; Geralt doesn’t even have to touch him to feel the temperature. He puts a hand to Jaskier’s forehead anyway- running a fever, but not a dangerous one, yet. Any higher and he’ll have to seek out a healer, but there’s no point dragging Jaskier out of bed for the same tea they can make here, where he’s relatively comfortable.

His teacup sits empty at his bedside, and Geralt picks it up to fill it again, mixing stronger herbs, this time. Jaskier stirs and props himself up as Geralt works, blinking slowly, blearily.

“Ger-“

He cuts off with a cough, a deep, harsh sound. It makes Geralt’s ears ring, and he almost doesn’t notice Jaskier waving, gesturing for something.

“What is it?” He hates to make him talk, when his voice is clearly shot, but he can’t tell what he’s pointing at.

“Candle.” Jaskier clears his throat, trying again, with more success, “Some light, please.”

He spends a second debating whether Igni is too dangerous for a small target, then another fumbling with a match. He’s pretty sure he’s lit it, based on the heat around the wick, but Jaskier makes a low hum, confirming.

Once the candle is placed on the bedside table, next to a new cup of tea, Geralt sits at the edge of the bed, all his senses focused on Jaskier. He helps Jaskier sit up and drink, then goes still as Jaskier leans against him, under Geralt’s arm.

“I’d read you a bedtime story, but,” Geralt waves, vaguely in the direction of Jaskier’s notebook, now abandoned, “well, that’s usually your job.”

“Next time, I’ll slay the drowners, and you write the story,” Jaskier rasps and laughs, a breathy exhale.

They fall into silence for a few minutes, none of Jaskier’s usual chatter to fill it. He’s still awake- Geralt can tell from the pattern of his breathing- probably too uncomfortable to fall asleep. In the meantime, he’s making a valiant effort to drain the teacup. No amount of honey disguises the bitter medicinal herbs, and Jaskier’s sore throat makes him wince with every swallow, so it’s slow going.

“I’ll tell you a story, anyway,” Geralt offers, before he can second guess himself, “Of one my older hunts. Before I was blinded.”

It’s a strange memory to relive- the details are fuzzier than he thought they’d be. He’s struggling to recall the visual elements that Jaskier tends to prioritize when describing things, by habit. He does his best, and decides the color of the monster doesn’t actually make a difference. Jaskier has never been picky- always happy to know how things sounded, how they smelled, how they felt.

“Your world,” Jaskier told him, once, “is so vivid. I can’t even imagine it.”

“It’s missing a little something, too,” Geralt joked, only half-kidding.

“No,” Jaskier insisted, “it’s all of mine and more. Sounds and smells and textures I’ll never experience, except through you. Thank you, for sharing it with me.”

Jaskier hums contentedly now, starting to nod off halfway through the third story. His hands twitch, as if aching to take notes, but sleep finds him before he can fidget too much.

Geralt sits by him all night, carefully monitoring his breathing, heartbeat and temperature. He’s listening carefully for any change for the worse, but the medicine in the tea takes hold and Jaskier only improves as he sleeps.

(In the morning, Jaskier uses his newly healed voice to yell at Geralt for staying up all night, lecturing him again on taking care of himself.

It’s worth it, just to hear his voice again.)

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #blind!geralt #ive got at least one more of these in my drafts #been kind of burned out lately after i finished a long personal project

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diagnosed-by-doyle · 4 years

Text

MC who doesn’t speak much

“Scenario- Ikevamp Scenario with an MC that often holds their tongue when they speak because they’re use to being around people tell them what they say is irrelevant and so they’re either soft spoken or silent but often have a lot on their mind.”

I’m sorry this took me a few days to get to, anon. One of my professors moved up a due date by a week and a half.

Before I get started, I just want to say that you’re not alone in this. I’m always happy to lend an ear to you.

I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~

None of these sweet boys would ever tell you that what you have to say isn’t important, and they’re always happy to hear what’s on your mind.

~~~~~

Arthur:

With one look at you, he can tell that there’s something wrong. One way or another, he’ll get you to tell him.

When he finally does get you to tell him, he makes it a point to ask for your opinion on everything you do together.

He will try his hardest to get you to see that you can be yourself with him.

With his vampiric hearing, he can hear you even though you’re speaking quietly. But he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to be reserved with him. He’ll work with you to boost your self-confidence.

Comte:

At first, he thinks that being quiet and reserved may just be your personality. He quickly realizes that that isn’t the case when he’s talking with Leonardo about a ball and you look like you want to say something.

He encourages you to speak your mind whenever he sees you wearing that expression.

He’ll set aside some time every day for you and him to talk and have tea. He genuinely enjoys these times with you, so he wants you to relax and be yourself so that you can enjoy them too.

Dazai:

Your expression is familiar to him, so he has a good idea of what you’re feeling. He doesn’t need to coax you into talking about it since he already understands.

He’ll keep doing things that make less and less sense (i.e. appearing with a chicken in his arms). Eventually, he’ll do something so strange that you can’t help but comment--from confusion to laughter, he’ll take anything. It’s his way of getting your attention.

He’ll randomly appear next to you and tease a resident in hearing range. When he’s certain he has your full attention, he’ll ask you how your day has been and make conversation with you. As you start opening up, he will ask questions that require some thought instead of just pleasantries.

Once you realize that he hasn’t once told you that what you think doesn’t matter, you slowly begin to get more comfortable with the other residents.

Isaac:

He thinks that you’re shy just like him. When he sees you deep in thought one day, he will ask you what’s wrong. He finally catches on when you tell him it’s nothing. Anyone could see that there was certainly something wrong.

He’ll put his shyness aside to talk to you.

Your quiet, short conversations together are awkward at first, but you soon grow more comfortable with each other.

Since he spends a good bit of time teaching the children in the city, he asks you to come along. The children have lots of questions. “Is she your girlfriend? She’s pretty!” They bring you out of your shell when they start asking you questions instead.

Jean:

He doesn’t really go out in search of conversation, but he doesn’t mind talking to you. He intrigued by your soft-spoken words and can tell that you’re uncomfortable.

At first, he thinks that you just don’t feel comfortable around him. After living with you for some time and observing your behavior around the other residents, he realizes that your behavior with him is the same as with everyone.

From time to time, he’ll play cards with you in an attempt to get you to talk. When he finally feels that you are comfortable with him, he starts approaching you more often when he notices you doing work around the mansion.

Eventually, the two of you have lengthy conversations. He’s happy when he feels like you’re enjoying yourself around him.

Since you know that he isn’t particularly outspoken, it warms your heart to know that he talks to you more than anyone.

Leonardo:

He notices that you won’t say much unless you’re asked a direct question. This happens while he’s doing research in the library while you’re cleaning. Your eyes locked with his a couple times, yet you never said anything. You were about to leave when he asked you how you were enjoying your time at the mansion. Your answer was very quiet, leaving him wondering if you’re upset about something.

Sometimes he pretends to be asleep so he can learn if that’s your usual behavior or if something is actually wrong. He peeks at you when you’re not looking, and he can tell that you never really say what you want to say.

He comes to visit you in your room one day. He wants to get to know you, and he teases you some in hopes that it will get you to be more easygoing and tease him back.

You frequently find him asleep outside your room. Maybe you’re afraid of living with vampires?

He soon proves to you through his caring actions that you can talk to him without fear of being told that your opinions don’t matter.

Mozart:

He rarely converses with the other residents, so he doesn’t usually see you unless you come to bring him Rouge or Blanc. He finds it a bit strange that you leave him with a quiet “You’re welcome” when he thanks you for the drink.

When you bring him his drink one random day, he asks you to sit next to him on the piano bench. After taking your seat, he’ll play for you the piece he recently finished composing. Once he’s done, he’ll ask you what you thought of it. An answer such as “It was nice” will not satisfy him. He’ll press you for details until you give him a satisfactory answer.

He starts to do this so often that you come to expect it once a week or so. You build up a mutual understanding with each other. Your opinion has become valuable to him. He finds that he wants to please you with each piece he creates.

Sebastian is surprised when he comes in search of you after you took such a long time and sees you talking to Mozart. Your closeness with Mozart leads Sebastian to ask you for details (He’s eager to write what you tell him in his journal.). Thanks to Mozart, you little by little become more confident with speaking your opinion to others.

Napoleon:

You’re assigned to wake him up after a few days of staying in the mansion. Needless to say, you’re shocked when he kisses you. After he finally wakes up enough to realize what he’s done and to who, he ask if you’re alright. After a simple “I’m fine,” he knows that you are, in fact, not fine.

Throughout the day, he tries to talk to you about it whenever he bumps into you. Finally, he tells you that you don’t have to pretend. You can say what you’d like with him.

After you finally give him an answer, he’ll take you for a ride on his horse as an apology.

From then on, he always makes an effort to talk to you and make you feel comfortable with him and everyone else.

Sebastion:

From the very beginning, he’s asking you about your interactions with the mansion’s residents.

He’ll accept your quiet, short answers at first. As time goes on, however, he’ll want more detailed answers. He believed you to just be shy.

Realizing that shyness isn’t the case, he makes time for daily “staff meetings”. These “meetings” exist so that he can get to know you. It’s hard to be in a new place without truly knowing anyone.

While talking to you, the two of you bond over experiences you had in your time (the future). He’s eager to know what your favorite things were and are. As you grow closer, the two of you start working on tasks together so that they can be completed faster. While you’re working the two of you talk to each other.

When the other residents appear, they’ll join your conversation. This is how you become more comfortable with everyone.

Shakespeare:

He finally gets to meet you at one of Comte’s balls. He wants a chance to get to know you, so he invites you to his house for tea and sweets.

He’s intrigued by you. You’re adorable in every sense of the word. He finds your soft voice endearing.

He’ll be a perfect gentleman when you come to visit. He’ll ask you questions about yourself and how you’re enjoying Paris and life in the mansion. He also asks for your opinion on his plays. He doesn’t push you for more answers, but you can tell he’s always happy when you give him some detail or start a new topic on your own.

He introduces you to his shady acquaintances. The introductions he gives of you show his admiration.

Once you realize that he’s nothing but kind to you, you’re more open to being yourself with him.

Theo:

His initial harsh behavior toward you only makes things worse. When you quickly leave the room without a word, he feels a bit confused. He’s used to people biting back at him whether they know him or not.

Comte and Vincent have to have a talk with him and explain that you’re sensitive. After that long talk, he comes to apologize to you. It’s a brief apology, but still an apology--something you’re not used to receiving.

He talks to you every morning at breakfast. He’ll even ask what you think about a couple of the articles he’d read in the paper that morning.

You notice that he’s a lot nicer to you than a lot of the other residents. He’s almost put you on the same level as his brother. Because of that, you decide that not everyone is like the people you’ve encountered in your past.

Vincent:

He always has some words of gratitude for you whenever he sees you. You work so hard that he feels it’s only right for him to show his appreciation.

His calming aura makes it easy to talk to him once he strikes up a conversation with you. He’s saddened that you don’t seem to say what’s on your mind, though. He can tell that something’s wrong.

He doesn’t feel like he should pry, but he lets you know that he’d love to listen to anything you have to say. He always shows you his finished paintings and asks what you think. If there’s a painting you really like, he’s more than happy to give it to you.

Every time he needs more supplies, he asks you to accompany him. While in town, the two of you stop take a break at a cafe that has the loveliest sweets. His smile is contagious.

He doesn’t say anything since he doesn’t want you to be surprised, but he’s genuinely thrilled about how happy you seem when you’re with him. He’s even more overjoyed when you start coming to him on your own once you’ve become comfortable with him.

#sorry that they're all sort of similar #writing for all 12 at once is difficult #Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp headcanon #ikemen vampire headcanon

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lady-plantagenet · 3 years

Note

♦▼ for clarence and ☼☯ for anthony woodville!

Asked via the Headcanon Meme: https://lady-plantagenet.tumblr.com/post/634584063141920769/headcanon-meme. Thank you darling! X (at least I sprinkled a bit of history in all this).

George Duke of Clarence

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

- One Hobby/Quirk headcanon -

According to household accounts and information about his education, George knew how to play the harp and the lute. I headcanon him as continuing with those hobbies well into his adulthood. I don’t know if it’s maybe the fact that George had far less presence in the battlefield than his brothers - only Barnet and Tewksbury he actually fought in and his troops are never on the main battle charts which indicates they were not the most important, he was given the largest retinue to lead to France but as we know, there was rather more talking than bloodshed there ahasjd. Or if it’s maybe the fact that his actions and phrases denote an unusually emotional man... but I always saw him as rather sensitive and that also reflecting in his hobbies. I also headcanon him as being rather particular with his clothing (exposed to great finery since the age of 12), and so relished spending hours badgering his tailor over the smallest details regarding colours, designs, patterns etc. At some points even Isabel gets a headache ahashj.

He also had great taste for elaborate architecture (historically, there were many designs he had in mind and renovations for Tutbury and Warwick castle, to make them less fortressy and more palatial but died before they could be completed), so I think that links. As for the harp and lute, I headcanon him as having great proefficiency in them but not interested in showing that off and so just playing when in his own homes and heard by very few people there. Not because he was modest or something (quite the contrary) but because he did not like to do anything competitively because he did not like being seen as bested by others, or worse being seen to fail because well.. pride and self-importance. He never participated in jousting for example, because he knew he could not handle the shame if he were beaten by the likes of Richard Woodville or Anthony or the score of prominent jousters. Also as a typical aristocrat, he never saw the point of having to ‘prove’ his gifts, nor work at them enough to be truly talented.

▼ - childhood headcanon

I’ve had this discussion at some point with a mutual about when George left Ireland, I think the conclusion was that he may have very well stayed there quite a bit, at least maybe until Richard III was born in Fotheringhay in 1452, or even later (for his own protection or as an enduring symbol of his father’s importance there and piece between Earls Ormond and Desmond, as his baptism was all about uniting those two godfathers). I have to look deeper into this but the truth is next to nothing is known of George’s life pre-1460.

I see his sister Margaret being with him until 1452 or so (I think Ashdowne-Hill put the possibility that Margaret accompanied their mother to Ireland), and treating him as her baby as four + year olds have been known to do, creating the link. But while she returned to England (most likely), he would stay there for a one more year or so, with the occasional visits from the godfathers for goodwill. And goodness, both James Butler 5th earl Ormond & Wiltshire and Thomas FitzGerald 7th Earl Desmond had something of a similar spirit to their godson: always up for a gallantry whether that be rebellion (a contemporary saying something similar regarding gallantry about pre-1469 George - I think it was Crowland), reputed handsomeness (with some vanity):

“Gregory records, at the First Battle of St Albans in 1455, Wiltshire "fought mainly with the heels, for he was frightened of losing his beauty" ahahaha idk why gives me some Clarence vibes

or personalities that attracted support, eager patrons. With the facts of an absent real father this headcanon, just sort of clicks whether it has any bearing in reality (yet I recall an Irish castle where he spent his early years in being mentioned, but forgot the name). I also headcanon him as having spent a part of his infant years with James FitzGerald around, though, he may have been a couple years older (birthdate not given). As they were god brothers and both from Yorkist families, of course this is the same James that gets executed under Edward’s name in 1467 (godfather Ormond gets executed after the battle of Towton). In addition to him, many other companions that were relatives and nephews of his godfathers I suppose would have been selected as the 5/6 year olds’ companions. I headcanon George as charming them all, leading to him being remembered fondly by the Irish because though records of his going there in his adult life contradict each other, he seemed to have left an impression somehow. Of course, all this attention and preening has contributed to his deluded self-image as a very very important man. I also headcanon him as picking up quite a bit of the native tongue, but like most young children, what is quickly learned is quickly forgotten.

Anthony Earl Rivers

☼ - appearance headcanon

When it comes to my story, I’m tempted to make him the ‘golden-haired’ knight that he tends to get depicted in fiction because thematically it drives home the whole George/Anthony foil thing we spoke about and intend to hint at.

But for me, this will always be my mental image of Anthony. With a very kind yet clever looking face, like in here. I also always headcanoned him as heavily resembling his sister, perhaps, because of their strong sibling bond (this depiction capture that too with the heart-shaped face, small thin nose, round eyes and cheekbones (come to think of it also the mouth) .

Like in his contemporary depiction [Him presenting the Dictes and Saying of the Philosophers] I see him as having a warm brown eyes and light brown hair, but with a twinge of auburn (whereas Elizabeth Woodville is more full on red-gold). Because of his keeping with a hair-shirt underneath, I tend to see him as rather thin and tall (nearer to Edward and Margaret’s height than Richard or George’s).

࿊ - likes/dislikes headcanon

- Likes - (aside from what we know: philosophy, poetry, literature, religion, tournaments)

As a result of: That bit in one of his works where he (with great wit and subtlety) calls Plato out for his misogyny, him being a reader of Christine de Pizan (the only man at that time who I can recall), his strong relationship with his mother, sister and friendship with Margaret of Burgundy... I’ve headcanoned him as having a deeper appreciation and ‘like’ (more like respect) for womenhood than most of the others. And with an interest in the discourse that must have been going on post-De Pizan and Joan of Arc.

I also have this weird headcanon of him getting an insane fascination with Wales, the people, the Celtic remnants in its folklore - that is, once he establishes there with his nephew. And tried to absorb as much of it as possible. Particularly because he strikes me as one who though a great appreciator of beauty, is more attached to the natural, less ornate rather than the florid and goldeness of the london courts. As he was a well-traveled man this isn’t so far-fetched I suppose. I also headcanon him as a massive fan of Arthuriana (he did after all have all the features of chivalry) and would see himself as a Merlin to Prince Edward’s Arthur.

- Dislikes - (aside from war apparently)

I always saw him as taking a profound dislike to Edward’s debauchery later in his reign, especially, when it pertained infidelity to his sister. As somewhat of a stoic (not to say emotionless or robotic), he obviously did not say anything about it, but the disillusionment welled up in him, and he would find any excuse to not have to deal with it. By the time it came to leave for his guardianship, he was grateful for not having to see it. Of course, there remains mutual respect between him and Edward, during his pilgrimage I headcanon him as praying for Edward’s soul and for him to be guided back.

I always headcanoned him as never quite clicking with his wife. For some unknown reason e.g. perhaps she was a bit ignorant, dull or cold? We know very little about that marriage and it was quite brief nonetheless. There were no children and we never hear of them ever being in the same place, or references to mourning etc. Of course, since marriage is a sacrament and a way to connect with god, he feels a bit regretful about it, only in later life to realise, that some men are like Gawain, better suited to bachelorhood. But while respectful of women, few attain to his marianistic expectations (partly stemming from the image his sister projects). Overall, a dislike for this sort of inner-conflict.

#🍷❤️#to everyone: this meme is still open ☺️☺️#and here you have it somehow I ended up writing you a novel #can you tell how much I feel the need to write something #masters apps and schoolwork begone #george of clarence #anthony woodville #I profusely apologise #I’ll add the read more function tommorow #and grammar check

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typewriterghcst · 3 years

Text

Title: The Willow Bud Processional

Fandom: The Cat Returns

Characters: The Cat King, Natori, brief mentions of others

Summary: The Cat King discovers that in all his time in court, Natori has never learned to dance, and heroically takes up the position of dance instructor for himself. It’s about damn time he got to feel like the smart one.

Notes: hi i’m here to regale you all with a tale of two old dumb cats interacting with each other like they think the other one will spontaneously combust at some point even tho they know each other so gd well they could probably quote each other word by word :v

i will say this one is Unfinished, but the missing parts are explained orz i’ve honestly just run out of steam on this one. me writing this was like ‘oh two characters dancing together in a casual setting? excellent my favorite’ and then the slow, sad realization that i’d have to actually write The Dancing and slowly losing that motivation until i was a dehydrated husk lying on the floor

i also listened to this song like. Way Too Much while writing this

[ insert a beginning Narration detailing that this is some nice party probably celebrating lune and yuki’s wedding or something SHHH the king is feeling weirdly down, lacks the emotional intelligence to put a word to What He’s Feeling, so wanders out onto a balcony to sulk, and is eventually followed by natori jfjfkd; ]

It doesn’t take long at all for him to be followed, of course. He hears Natori’s arrival not as a patter of careful footsteps, but as a slight, brief increase in the music volume through an opened door, one that is just as quickly diminished. And he knows his visitor must be Natori— no one else will so consistently come looking for him.

“Did you find yourself needing some fresh air, sire?”

“Yeh,” the king decides to agree, turning to look at his new companion. Natori almost always appears quite polished, those moments he’s comically caught off-guard aside, but there’s something implicitly different about him when he’s clad not in his usual dark linen, but what looks to be plum-colored silk. Were he feeling slightly more charitable, he’d most likely mention to his advisor that the color was appealing on him.

Instead, the indistinct melody he catches from indoors hogs all his attention.

“...eh? Is that the Willow Bud Procession they’re starting up again? They already did that one tonight.”

Natori, surreptitiously glancing back through the glass doors to the dancing pairs inside, responds, “Yes, but I’m led to believe a striking number of the courtiers are quite proud of their costumes tonight. I assume they all wished for another opportunity to show them off.”

“Oh, yeah? If that’s the case, I’m surprised you’re not out there with them— that shiny stuff you’re wearing had to set you back a pretty penny.” It comes out perhaps more sullen than he’d intended, and he can’t quite place why.

Regardless, he makes no move to amend his tone.

Natori turns a studying look to him, one paw still on the frame of the door. The king shares his gaze for only a few seconds before he hastily looks away, back out into the sun-drenched hills of the Cat Kingdom, where his attention falls on Little Sister Lake. There’s birds there now, cranes— tall, white. Formless. Hm, he thinks then, perhaps they’re not birds, after all. They’re occasional visitors, but no cat in the kingdom has yet been stealthy enough to see them up close.

Natori has remained silent for so long, he’d almost forgotten his advisor had joined him. Nevertheless, he eventually says, “...I might say the same for you, sire. You seemed quite enthused about your crown’s replacement earlier tonight.”

The reminder brightens the king’s mood a little.

“Yeh— Natoru did a top-notch job on it, didn’t she? I’d give her a promotion if I could remember what her position actually was. An’... you know, if I wasn’t retired.” And there, remembering what the original topic was, he follows that up with a more subdued, “Eh, but everyone’s already seen it. Also, I never liked that stuffy procession, to tell you the truth. ‘Willow Bud Processional’ is a pretty whimsical name for what amounts to shuffling rhythmically around the dance floor. Drove me up a wall having to practice it all the time as a kitten.”

Were he facing Natori, he’d see the other cat visibly relax. Alas, he only turns to face his advisor after the revelation Natori sees fit to offhandedly drop on him.

“I’ve never actually learned the steps to it, myself.”

He turns back to survey Natori with some measure of disbelief. “You don’t know how to do the Willow Bud Procession? How have you survived all the parties without knowing?”

Natori hesitates here, and the king reads a definite embarrassment in it, as if the other cat is uncertain what he should admit to. It seems he does settle on honesty, however, as he soon after offers the king a rueful smile and an apologetic tilt of his head.

“I’m afraid I don’t often do much dancing during them, ha.” Too focused on keeping you out of trouble, he doesn’t say, but they both know.

The Cat King thinks on this for a long moment or two, gaze drawn back out to the distant white birds bathing in the kingdom’s cherished lake, the Not-Cranes. In silence, casually, Natori joins him there at the balustrade, and the air is distinctly companionable until the king speaks up again, distracted.

“It’s not hard. You’d probably pick it up in no time, babe.”

“Perhaps you might teach me, then, sire? It sounds as if you’re quite the expert.”

The king pauses, trying to ignore the bloom of smug delight that comes with being referred to as an expert of anything, but, of course, not very diligently. It’s not like he’ll correct anyone who wishes to feed his ego, least of all Natori.

He looks to Natori and finds that his advisor is regarding him with an expression he can’t quite define. Concerned? Affable? Sly? It’s somehow all of them. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering if Natori has some obtuse plan he’s orchestrating in subtle ways the king himself can’t quite catch. He’s been proven wrong in this line of thinking so many times before and yet still can’t shake its occasional return in those times when his advisor seems particularly unreachable.

“Hmm. Yeah, babe, I can do that.” The idea of teaching his ostensibly better-read advisor anything is perhaps unsurprisingly enticing. He gives the empty balcony behind them a cursory inspection. “We can have a lesson here. There’s space.”

[ insert the cat king teaching the steps to the ‘willow bud processional.’ if you’re really curious what this might look like, pls feel free to look up ‘pavane’ on youtube. at some point, the king still feels Ignored (or, more accurately, like he’s not Truly Connecting and Socializing with someone), so like a sullen two-year-old he gets natori’s attention by tossing a wrench into his plan ]

“I want to hear a story,” the king says airily.

Natori, who had been gazing down at his feet with a faraway stare, looks back up to him with a raised eyebrow, and somewhere inside, the king whoops at his tiny victory. “Now..?”

“Yeh. Now.” The Cat King takes Natori’s apparent break in concentration as an opportunity to spin the two of them across the balcony, as if they were hapless passengers on a carnival ride as opposed to two old friends trying to have an impromptu dance lesson. Natori stumbles but doesn’t fall, righting himself with a deceptively practiced air, even if his grip is noticeably tighter than before. “Tell me a story, Natty.”

Natori, feeling the situation so characteristically slip from his grasp, glances down to his feet again to gather his thoughts.

“Well…” He eventually starts. “What kind of a story, sire?”

“Hmm. I dunno.” Another too-fast spin. He’s fairly certain he’d seen both Natori’s feet leave the ground for a fleeting second. The other cat definitely looks a touch aggravated now, though he’s trying bravely to hide it. “Tell me one you might have told to your sisters once upon a time.”

It isn’t often the topic of Natori’s family arises between them. The boundary between his advisor’s working family and his personal one often feels like an insurmountable wall at times, one which he doesn’t always possess the interest or fortitude to scale. The oddness of it seems to add only more tinder to Natori’s uncertainty, but in his usual way, he manages to sidle past it. In the meantime, also, the king slows their pace, this time only holding their joined paws in the air and waiting (Natori seems to twirl under their ‘canopy’ without thinking, still too engrossed in choosing a suitable story.)

After a long couple of moments waiting, the king finally speaks up again. “There were that many?”

Natori laughs, genuinely (the king can tell by the way it —). “It’s been a long time since I was the storyteller, sire. Lune always did prefer Natoru’s stories to mine.”

“Hers always involved more explosions and punching. You were outgunned.”

The king watches Natori’s eyelids flutter slightly from long-cold exasperation. “...Indeed.”

“So tell me one of your favorites. One you never did get to tell Lune.”

Natori doesn’t say that he has the less-than-flattering suspicion the king’s attention span and his appreciation for fairy tales are about on par with his son’s as a restless, curious child, but he’s certainly thinking it quite loudly. If the Cat King has even an inkling of the same thought, he’s for once discreet enough not to mention it.

Natori blows out a breath and an uncomfortable laugh with it, and starts. “...I suppose my favorite was always the one that explained why the sun lived in the sky.”

The faint strings of the Willow Bud Processional from the open door leading onto the balcony begin to fade, and instead revive themselves as another familiar dance, a much slower, more intimate one (one Natori recognizes as the charmingly-named Lilycat Waltz). The king wonders if perhaps the bride and groom had requested a quiet moment. He and Natori move away from each other, standing across from the other in apparent uncertainty over what to do next.

“...You know how to do a waltz?” The king finally asks Natori, though he’s already guessed what the answer will be.

“You’ll have to show me, sire.” As expected. Yet with a bit of good humor mixed in. The king thinks to himself that the two of them are sharing an inside joke neither has yet spoken aloud, and it’s a familiar and comfortable nook they’ve settled into.

“Alright, babe, alright. So stand here— give me your paw—”

Natori complies with both directions with little hesitation, and he raises no protests when he’s pulled close or when he’s otherwise (perhaps less-than-gently at some points) guided into the right stance and position.

And when they’ve gotten situated into another habitual nook, this time closer together in the easy, thoughtless way only the oldest of friends can manage, the king speaks up again.

“You took right to it, babe. Said you’d be a fast study— didn’t I tell you so?”

“You did tell me so, sire,” Natori replies indulgently. Seemingly as a consolatory afterthought, he then adds, “Are my feet in the right position? It feels off.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re new to it.”

Their words, now, feel like a recital, a carefully-rehearsed script. The king thinks it’s about time they broke away from it.

“I have a question for you, Natori.”

“Oh? If it’s important, there’s no need to keep it to yourself, then, Your Majesty.”

“Why does the sun live in the sky?”

Natori laughs. Surprised, perhaps, self-effacing, because he’d been waiting for the question on both their minds, not a request for the continuation of a story he’d assumed had been forgotten.

“His Majesty has a long memory.”

“But you already knew that about me, babe.”

"So I did." Yet Natori continues where he left off readily enough. “The story goes that once, long before the world as we know it was formed, the sun and the water were close friends. Inseparable, one might say— and both lived on the earth, of course. The sun would make frequent visits to his friend, but the water never once returned the favor.”

“Hmph.” The king sounds somewhat discomfited by this beginning, and the intense contemplation Natori spies in his expression tugs at an unexplained apprehension within him. He doesn’t otherwise respond, however. Natori continues, perhaps more gingerly than before.

“Well, of course the sun would find himself curious, if… ah, perhaps suspicious, over this odd discrepancy. He finally saw fit to go to the water themselves for an explanation.”

“That was an awkward conversation.”

“Ha— I always thought so, too, as a child. When my—” Here Natori stumbles just slightly, and the king has little reason to wonder why. “--my mother used to tell the story to me, I always thought of it as the worst part. I always thought… well, if I ever did end up in the same situation, then nothing in all of the kingdom could get me to approach this friend of mine.”

“Were you expecting to make friends with the lake, or…”

“I was five, sire,” Natori deadpans in response to the king’s jest seamlessly.

“Oh, so you definitely were.”

Natori doesn’t answer— he’s too distracted by the faint increase in pressure where the king’s paw is holding his waist, and how the cat suddenly spins them around and then leans the both of them forward, to the degree that Natori’s balance is compromised. In the heat of the moment, he can’t decide whether crashing to the floor or clinging to his self-proclaimed teacher will prove to be the most embarrassing option, and in the end is relegated only to grasping his partner by the arms, stiffly holding one leg outwards in a weak attempt at a counterbalance. (He does not have the core strength to keep this up for long, he can tell that already.)

He’s been exceedingly patient before now, Natori thinks, in dealing with the king’s antics, but this finally proves too much.

When he speaks, it’s softly, but there’s an undercurrent of resigned exasperation, and his expression, he knows, must fail to belie his chagrin. “...sire, I’m not certain how being tossed across the, er, balcony like a bag of rice is going to teach me any of these dances.”

The king snorts in apparent amusement as he pulls the two of them back upright, much to Natori’s relief. “What’s the matter? You don’t trust me to hold you up..?”

You don’t have the most promising track record runs through Natori’s mind, but it’s gone so quickly it might as well have stayed obscured, he thinks in light resentment.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” is what he says, but his grip hasn’t yet slackened.

The king doesn’t respond for a concerningly long time, staring at Natori for so long, and in such a sour manner that speaks of stewing rumination, that the other cat finds himself feeling distantly nervous. Yet, ultimately, he seems to decide against speaking entirely, gently prying Natori’s paws away and back into the air beside them (the other resting quite naturally along the king’s arm).

Without another word on the matter, he compels the two of them to start the dance all over again. And Natori lets him. After a lengthy minute of this loaded silence, the king’s gaze distant from morose thought and Natori’s eyes averted elsewhere, Claudius finally speaks up again.

“So, the sun went to bug the water about the situation. What was the water’s excuse?”

Natori appears surprised, but duly grateful, to be given this escape from the awkward energy that now smolders between them. Given time and distraction, it will die back down again, as it always does. He clears his throat.

“The water’s excuse— y-yes. The water... expressed their sincerest apologies, but explained also that the sun’s house was not big enough for them and all their people to visit, and to do so without heeding that fact would be to drive the sun from his own home. ‘If you do so truly wish for me to visit, then you must build a house large enough to hold me,’ in the water’s own words. But, they warned also, it must be quite substantial, as the water was immense and their people were many.”

“Sounds like too much work if you ask me. Might as well just keep the same old setup.” Seems the king is still feeling a touch cross.

“To travel a great distance, and to always be the one to make that trip, might prove tiring after so many times, as well, sire. Don’t you think?”

The Cat King frowns, more pensive deliberation, but this time he speaks up. “...I don’t think it would.” Then, in a lighter, more promising manner, “He’s gonna do it, though, isn’t he? The sun?”

Natori nods once with a permissive blink.

“Indeed. The sun agreed to the challenge and waved off his friend’s warnings.”

“Think I see where this is going, babe,” the king says lowly as they spin lazy circles across the balcony.

Natori laughs again. “It’s not quite a mystery epic, is it?”

“Alright, so how does the sun mess this up?”

“Well. The sun built himself an enormously vast house. There’s no telling how long it took him. But when it stood finally finished, he invited the water to tea and waited. And when the water arrived, one of their people called up to the sun— ‘We are here! Is there room for us all?’ Of course, the sun, being the passionate host he was, again told his friend not to worry and invited them in.”

The king snorts. “Here we go.”

Natori smiles. His eyes are still closed. The king thinks he looks oddly content like that. He scarcely remembers the frustrated betrayal he’d been afflicted with just moments earlier, and the abrupt, brisk spin he’d been on the verge of executing also fades before it’d even legitimately formulated.

“The water began to flow in, of course, and with them, all the creatures of the seas and the rivers and the lakes. It didn’t take long, now, for the water to fill the sun’s great house to a depth that would easily surge far over a cat’s head.”

“And the sun just let it keep happening without a word, I’m guessing.”

“He didn’t know any better,” Natori attempts to clarify, eyes opening now to fix his companion with a rueful look, one side of his muzzle quirked so that he looks vaguely hapless. “His assumptions were woefully imprecise because of it. It’s a misfortune.”

“Hmm. Up for another spin, babe? They’re my favorite part.”

Natori’s startled confusion is evident, but the sudden change in subject registers soon enough. Something else lingers, though, echoes of a rapt surprise.

“I don’t mind, sire.”

“Good, ‘cause I was gonna do it no matter what, heh.”

“Hm. I appreciate the considerate word of warning, then.” Spoken dryly, but it lacks the exasperation the Cat King had been expecting.

Natori is clearly preparing for the breakneck whirlwinds he’d endured earlier in their ‘lesson’, but it’s not what he receives— the king is sure of that this time. The music which had begun as an overtly intimate, if not downright romantic, waltz now boasts a noticeable bounce and pep in its tempo, and to himself Natori gives some silent thanks for the shift. This soft, slow dance would be quite hard to justify were he still hearing those faint notes of sweetness from the barely-open door.

He’s struggling already to justify the warmth of his companion’s paw, again settled loosely at his waist, and the perfect fit of the king’s other paw which folds mildly, tenderly, over his own— all have been present for some time now, since they began their so-called waltz, yet Natori is only just now noticing them.

Staring up at the sun-streaked sky of their kingdom, swaying idly side to side under the king’s lead, he continues then, unprompted. “...To the water’s credit, they did ask for reassurance that the situation was still acceptable time and time again. But even by the time the house was crowded with so much of the water and their people that he was forced to sit on the roof of his own home, the sun refused to withdraw his invitation.”

“Why would he do that?” The king sounds baffled.

“I don’t know,” Natori admits. Then, gently, thoughtfully, “...I suppose if one truly wants something, and has their heart set on it, they might be quite amenable to bearing more hardship for it than others might feel is strictly necessary or appropriate…”

The king doesn’t respond to that, and Natori feels perhaps rather oddly like he’s crossed too far over an invisible line, and nervously, resolutely, says no more. What had been a companionable air now lies stretched too thin over the pair, teeming with uneasiness. Eventually, the king does speak up again, and his voice is too low for Natori to discern his mood with any measure of accuracy.

“Gonna take a stab at guessing the ending to this one, babe.”

“...please do, sire.” It’s a near whisper.

“The sun never told his friend ‘no, that’s enough’, so the water never stopped, and the house flooded so much the sun had nowhere left to sit. So he went up into the sky and never came back down. And I guess never did speak up, either.”

Natori smiles, weakly. “You guessed it.”

“The water, too, never put two and two together, huh..? I’m not the most sensitive of the bunch, but I think even I’d know something was up by the time a friend of mine had to hang around in the sky because I was taking up too much space.” The king snorts.

“Do you?” Natori’s voice remains faint, timid, even; he feels still like he stands at the edge of a great crevice, and he’s not yet sure what lies at the bottom. The king seems also surprisingly fazed or rattled by the further, simple question.

Gently, so much so Natori almost doesn’t notice, he rests his chin on his companion’s shoulder.

“...well. Maybe not,” he eventually says, nonplussed.

They lapse into another silence, then, one that doesn’t quite recapture their earlier easy comfort, but neither does it feel intrinsically charged, either. Natori finally turns his gaze from the unchanging sky to their other surroundings. They’ve been out here together, away from the other guests, for some time now. He’s surprised no one else has come searching for the two of them yet.

He’s just about to echo the king’s movement and lay his head down when the other cat suddenly speaks up again.

“I’ll tell you one thing I do notice, babe.”

“Mm? What’s that?”

“When someone who obviously knows how to dance says they can’t.”

[ and here we see that i ran out of steam before writing the ending rip natori admits he already knew the steps to the dances, the cat king has long since come to the conclusion that natori lied in order to have this long dance together (also briefly joking that natori clearly just wanted a romantic moment, which natori will vehemently deny) and that it speaks to a kind of comforting Idea that natori knows him Very Well, being aware that the easiest way to cheer him up would have been to Make Him Feel Smart ]

#the cat returns #this honestly feels like it's All Over The Place but i'm so out of steam i'm sorry lies down

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havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

O Genji, Meet Your Death

The Caster of Chaldea — a new force, but unrecognizable. Unwilling to reveal their name, they journey as an unknown ally.

An Avenger, a Caster, a Shielder — and two Masters left among the wreckage of a city that once was.

Certainly, it were only a matter of time before things got worse.

—

“...Are we supposed to trust a Servant that won’t even reveal their True Name?! We just got a name out of Cadence’s Avenger, and now we have another Servant who won’t squeak!”

Olga made some sort of noise best described as ‘an exhausted, angry and terrified bear snarl,’ and placed her face into her hands for a fair few moments.

It’d been around an hour or so since our latest member was summoned. For lack of a better term, the young Servant was simply nicknamed ‘Caster’ — and unfortunately for Olga Marie, even now, nothing really stuck out that could give a clue to his identity.

‘...He’s still damp.’

It was hard not to notice that he was still dripping wet. Beads of water fell off the ends of his hair now and then, and his clothes remained a slightly darker colour from what seemed to be water that remained. In the vast heat caused by Fuyuki’s flames, he seemed almost unaffected — if anything, I could see him shiver a little bit, now and then.

‘...But that still answers nothing.’

...Still no answers. There was no point, I felt, in trying to pursue it — it’d only be a waste of energy, and one I couldn’t afford to think about where I was right now. It took ample effort alone just to maneuver this wasteland — and a lapse in my focus couldn’t spell anything good.

...At the very least — Kagekiyo, preferring to be incorporeal, remained nearby. I could still hear her, even though it were hardly more than a whisper.

“...Master. Do you trust them? This... Caster.”

...The voice sharpened, a bit. The being paused for a moment, before continuing.

“This Servant may be on our side, but...”

“...We’ve got reason to be suspicious, but we don’t have any other options.”

...I piped up, though keeping my voice down so Olga and Ritsuka couldn’t overhear me. Breathing out a sigh, and moving my foot out of the way of a burning wooden plank, I kept moving forward. Kagekiyo, likely not seeing the point of pushing forth, quieted for the moment.

Just in time for something to be heard — a shuffling amongst the flames.

Only for a moment — but enough to set all of us on edge.

...Something.

A black, bleeding something—

—Bleeding wasn’t the word. It held a shape, even clearly only a shadow of what it should’ve been.

...Mana spewed from it, yet reconvened immediately.

...A mysterious being, armed with a shadowy lance, that turned its head and faced us.

“...Damn.”

Ritsuka was the first to speak, and the first to take a step forward.

“Cadence! It looks like we don’t have to wait long for our next fight. Me and Mash will cover all of us — so get your Servants into the fray!”

As if the two were perfectly synced, in an instant, Mash was already in front of us — her shield raised to hide us from what fate assuredly awaited us. A soft, blue glow emitted from it, but little more.

A few footsteps behind me could be heard as Kagekiyo manifested — followed by a wordless nod, before the woman shot towards the lancebearing foe.

The Caster stayed back, with us — I could only assume he were to prepare something.

The lancebearer, turned to face us, showcased silently the massive array of weapons on their back — spears of every possible sort, halberds, pikes, all of which it seemed intent on using. Answering Kagekiyo’s approach with a stab forward, the shadowed being forced Kagekiyo to a halt before it.

...

...There was a palpable silence, where neither party moved. Kagekiyo stared down the shadowy Servant, and gritted their teeth — I could swear I heard a curse under their breath, even this far away.

But this silent moment didn’t last long. In mere moments, the being launched themselves at the Lancer — dual blades at the ready, they attempted to catch the Servant’s blade...

...And, as they stood still as stone, the shadowy Servant’s spear made its move — the Lancer forcing its weapon forth, only for Kagekiyo to slap it aside with their left blade — following that up with an overhead strike with their right blade, intent on a simple bisection.

Unfortunately — this Servant stood dead still where they were, taking Kagekiyo’s blade as if it were little more than a strike of bamboo against a pillar of steel.

The being cursed under their breath—

...Something was off, about the Avenger’s voice, in that moment — yet in a moment’s notice, Kagekiyo had returned to normal, attempting a sideways slash that was promptly deflected by the strange being.

...

“...Genji.”

...Kagekiyo could be heard louder, now. Compared to that momentary burst of strange words, their normal voice now felt off. A sharp, venomous tone, yet corrupt and angered at every step.

Comparatively, that curse was...

“Kagekiyo! Have you found out their identity?!”

I yelled out, hoping the Avenger could hear me — even as the shadowed Lancer’s gaze turned to me, Kagekiyo blocked it off.

“It matters not, Master. Their name tells me all I, and you, need to know!”

...Their shoulders raised, grew tense, and their stance widened slightly. A guttural sound began to envelope her voice, holding it hostage like a parasite wrapping itself around its host.

“—Is he—?!”

...A Genji. Kagekiyo knew this being all too well. That distinctive anger, the fury building in their muscles and bones, told me everything I had to know.

...Even if we wanted to retreat, she wouldn’t allow it any longer.

“A Genji! He... He is a Genji! MASTER!”

A call for permission from the Avenger — one I knew was a rhetorical question. No matter my answer, with a stance like that...

‘...She’s intent on killing this being.’

“End this fight here, Kagekiyo!”

A beast from beyond gripped my neck ever-so-tightly, the Lancer now turning its gaze to me, rushing for the shield that only barely kept me alive.

The Caster beside me slipped behind Ritsuka — whispering something underneath his breath which could only barely be heard.

“There was a couple whose son’s name meant limitless life...”

—An incantation, surely — the Lancer coming to a halt.

...Yet, not from the words that the Caster spoke — from the intervention of the Avenger, almost the moment their foot first touched the ground, using the weight of their body and armour to fling themselves at the being like a battering ram.

The Lancer, in return, simply widened its stance and turned to face Kagekiyo — as they bounced off the shadowy Servant, like a bouncing ball off a brick wall.

Another strike — and another deflected attack. The Lancer kept striding towards me, even as Kagekiyo slashed at the being, only the sound of metal clanging against something remaining as proof the Avenger had done anything at all.

“...Curse... You..!”

...An enveloping hatred, not unlike a beast — a person — unto itself. Pure rage, a burning flame of vengeance and passion, consuming the being standing between me and the Lancer.

One who, as the Lancer performed a simple strike, piercing their heart like a kabob, simply grinned.

“...The everyday, now, is only a dream.”

...A being of pure malice, anger, suppressing a cackling laugh under a voice snapping and burning with rage, gripped the very spear that was slung through their side — and, kicking the Lancer back, allowed the blade to tear directly through their chest.

...I could feel it now — a heat unlike any other, unlike even the burning fires around me. A heat that I, too, could now feel deep in my bones — as if my very own anger was being set ablaze, as fuel for the Avenger that stood strong before me.

“...Yes — everything in this world, all the Genji reaches, must burn!”

Their blades, now manipulated to trace a circle with their edges, aligned before me, the mask snapping clean in half to reveal glowing, purple eyes — fiery, filled with enough rage to burn to dust even just what they laid their gaze upon.

A face somehow familiar and separate — yet, fleeting, as the Avenger was off in a moment, hopping back and forth between the environment — marked only by a purple flash of flame, and a rise in temperature enough to induce nausea.

“...After all this time, I finally have my shot—”

The being’s blade fused into one ‘whole’ —

“Shogyomujo — Joshahissui!”

...

A flash of light, bright purple, dyed the atmosphere.

A gust of wind blew back wooden supports, crumbled the nearby buildings — put out, and spread, the flames around us in equal measure.

All the human eye could see was a single slash. A single slice, eloquently performed, by the Avenger. Even a swordsman may not understand such a maneuver, much less the normal man — all one could do was attempt to fill in the blanks that the mind could not truly perceive.

Even a shadowy Servant, the Lancer this being seemed to so certainly despise, stood nary a chance to its strength.

How could it?

In the wreckage, sat a bleeding, yet standing Avenger — laughing maniacally, their voices of concern, sadness, rage, and fury mixing together to form a horrible, amalgamate whole.

The face of the Avenger, their eyes leaking with tears, yet their voice cackled, and their eyes wrinkled from the fullness, the sincerity, of their smile. Even as their mask reconvened, and covered their face again, the image would remain — burned into my retinas, then my brain, like a photograph developed in mere moments under the stress of its surroundings.

My cheeks, surely dampened, grew hot even to me — almost instinctively, I wiped my face with my left hand before running to my teammate.

“...Kagekiyo, are you okay..?!”

...A moment passed, where their laughing remained, even before their gaze seemed to turn to me.

“...Master. Master, you would do well to remember the feeling of wiping a Genji from this world.”

...Caught off guard, my vocal chords failed me — the Avenger stood, the bleeding halting, and their hand rested itself on my chin — forcing my gaze up towards theirs.

“...It is a feeling of wonder. Of limitless joy — to wipe out the one thing you want gone. Master, remember this day, and remember it well — remember the satisfaction that makes my flame of vengeance grow hotter still.”

...Surely, my heart was racing — surely, I could feel my body shivering.

They could tell, full well, that I was not a combatant — I was never made for the field. Surely, even now, I could understand that.

...And yet — their gaze was not one of scorn, and their crazed smile not one of anger.

Only confidence — in themselves, and in their Master.

“...You’ll recover from these fights, right?”

...I tried to answer properly — but all that came out was the worry of seeing their heart pierced yet again.

“Kagekiyo never dies, Master. Not until the Genji, and everything they reached, has burned to the ground.”

...

“...You’re not unlike me, Master. In your eyes, I see a hatred for those that have wronged you. Remember how it feels to defeat them — and you will never fall.”

...With that, the being let me go, and walked to Mash and the rest of our team. As I desperately attempted to cool off, while running to the others to ensure they were safe, Kagekiyo began to speak to them.

“...Our goal here is to remove this world, correct?”

...The Avenger appeared, now, to be inquiring to our mission — as Ritsuka stood up, breathing out a long, shaky sigh of relief, Olga took over.

“Y-Yes! Your defeat of the S—“

“—Genji—”

“—The Genji, right — has helped us, but we still need to find the Holy Grail and put an end to this Singularity.”

...The Caster listened in, curiously, as I finally caught my breath. Before I could add anything, the Avenger smirked, and began speaking once more.

“...Then the Genji control a place like this, too.”

“Avenger, we don’t ac—“

“If they rule unfairly, and cause only suffering, they are Genji. If they are my target, they are Genji.”

...Olga Marie found herself at a bit of a loss — the Avenger only responding to the woman’s confused gaze with a straight, calm stare.

So, I decided to speak up instead.

“...Kagekiyo, our goal is to defeat the Genji, if that’s how the Genji works. You could probably think of it as a much larger Genji — something that, if not outright worse, is easily similar enough to have allied and shared ideals with them.”

As Ritsuka listened carefully — giving me a thumbs-up from behind Mash’s shield — the Avenger waited a few precious moments, before nodding.

“...Then they are the Genji — and I will slaughter them, as I had the Genji before me.”

...As Olga stepped back, appearing to realize the futility of arguing semantics with an Avenger, my gaze turned to Kagekiyo — the visual of the crying, laughing being again coming into mind.

...The being now stood a resolute warrior once more, as if that burst of emotion had never even once occurred — like a switch was flipped, only for a moment. Like a pressurized pipe, being opened to release the fumes before it burst.

Comparing the two, without the mask and with it, they seemed fundamentally different —

...As if there were something more to the mask than simple decor.

#fgo #mastersona #gudasona #l o r e #cadenceloreposting

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turquoise-stones · 4 years

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Attention Just From You

Tokoyami x fem!reader

Artist Link

A/N: Okay you know those self indulgent fics where the reader is hella beautiful and popular and everyone wants her? well this is it. you know why? Cause you’re hella beautiful and popular and everyone wants you ;)

. . .

"(Y/n), your hair looks lovely today." A voice of a general studies boy rang through your ears. His fingers rang softly through your locks as he walked past you, giving you a flirty wink before rounding be a corner, causing a blush to flush across your face.

"I-I, erm... u-uh, thanks!" You stuttered out, hiding your face in your hands as your friends both snickered and sympathized with you.

You were gorgeous, both inside and out. You had a stunning personality that easily singled you out as the flawless beauty of class 1-A. While you would never admit it, everyone had already accepted it as fact.

And of course, the compliments that came with such popularity was embarrassing but guaranteed. While those nice words would make you blush and feel happy inside, there was nothing that made you want to curl up and die more than flirting. The awkward way you had to reject many hopeful boys... it made you feel awful and guilty, but what could you do?

You never said yes, because your heart was already in the hands of a certain feathered hero.

His mysterious demeanor had instantly charmed you, and unlike the rest of the boys, he didn't try to win your heart with a lame pick up line. Instead, his deep thoughts and hidden caring personality truly made you fall for him.

If he asked you out, you would certainly say yes. But he never approached you, never complimented you. In that way, he stood out more than everyone else. It made you rather sad, but you would definitely hold on to the hope that he liked you back. You decided to never say yes to anyone else, and keep on waiting for him.

. . .

"(Y-y/n), can we plan a study session t-together?" Your nervous green headed classmate asked sweetly one day after class.

"O-oh well, I'm..." You quickly glanced over at Tokoyami, hoping he would take the chance to swiftly pull you aside. But he was just sitting there, seemingly staring at his book.

"Back off fucker, she obviously doesn't wanna hang out with a shrimp like you." A sudden booming voice sounded in your ear, causing you to wince as your explosive classmate appeared next to you, roughly tugging you to his side.

"B-bakugou! That's mea-" You whined, pushing him away a bit. Sadly, this was a daily occurrence, where the boys all seemed to try to tug you to their side.

"Watch your tongue Bakugou. (Y/n) shouldn't be exposed to such language." A smooth voice came. Relief washed through you. Finally, a voice of reason that didn't have flirting on his mind...

"Why don't you come home with me? I can take care of you, better than they can." He said imploringly, firmly tugging at your hand. You groaned inwardly, Todoroki you too?

The tugging and bantering continued, with you being pulled this way and that, the guys throwing insults and compliments towards you and the others.

It was all too much. Everyone in the class was staring. Sure, the boys in your class were all attractive and appealing in their own ways, but none of them was the boy who's attention you wanted the most.

In fact, Tokoyami was still sitting there, seemingly glaring at his book. Strangely, you noticed that he didn't seem to be flipping the pages. You sighed. Maybe there was a chance that he'll notice you tomorrow.

"I'm sorry Todoroki, I'm not inters-"

"Yeah, shut the fuck up half n' half, she's mine." Your cheeks burned at how direct they were being, as you tried to squirm out of Bakugou's death grip.

"W-wait Bakug-" you stuttered.

"Shut up and come with me." He growled, nipping at your ear, causing a small shriek and a flush of embarrassment to run through you. You glanced over at Tokoyami, he was glaring very intently at the commotion happening, not even trying to disguise his eavesdropping anymore.

"(Y-y/n), I know Kacchan interrupted you earlier but do you still want to go?" Midoriya piped up hopefully, only to meet the glares of the other boys.

Suddenly, the loud squeaking of a chair being pushed back was heard. At last, Tokoyami stood up and faced the gaggle of boys surrounding you. His arms were crossed and he gave off a murderous glare.

Meeting your gaze, he tilted his head towards the door, before swiftly walking out, Dark Shadow floating behind him. You stared after him, not really believing that he was actually paying attention to you, much less telling you to follow him. Glancing at the three boys around you, you wiggled out of their grasp.

"Listen... you're all attractive in your own ways... but I'm interested in someone else. I'm sorry, but I have somewhere to be!"

And with that, you turned on your heel and quickly walked out the door, away from the staring onlookers.

. . .

You found him around the corner, leaning coolly against the wall, black feathers looking striking against the white walls.

"W-well... I'm here..." you stuttered out, stopping in front of him with a light blush on your cheeks. You were never alone with him before. Dang it, you felt like a stupid girl from some shoujo manga. But that was simply the effect Tokoyami had on you, he made you all warm and gushy inside.

"I'm sure you know why we're out here," he said with a sigh as he pushed himself up. "I'm getting kind of tired of seeing you flocked by guys all the time."

Your eyes blinked at how straight up he was being. You had expected a couple poetic lines, but you had never seen him so serious before.

"O-oh... well, it just kinda happens, I guess..." you muttered, twiddling with your thumbs. It really wasn't your fault, and it took a lot of effort to tell them to go away.

"Why don't you just reject them? They say rejection makes people stronger, anyways." He frowned, clearly a little upset.

"I did! I told them no after you left..."

"You did?" He asked in surprise. "Actually, like once and for all?"

You nodded reassuringly. After he let it sink in, a smirk of victory crossed his face, a gleeful gleam in his eyes. You suddenly noticed how close he was getting towards you, his beak closer to your face than you had realized.

"Cause they would always chase me... but I never got attention from the guy I really wanted..." you said shyly, looking down as you tried to confess your feelings.

"He's very mysterious and I can't really tell how he feels about me." You mumbled out.

"I think he'd like you to know," Tokoyami said, quickly catching on to your game. "that he'd be really angry if he ever saw you with someone else."

Your cheeks flushed darkly. He placed his hands on your wrists, effectively keeping you in place to look you in the eyes. You realized, that all this time, Tokoyami had been watching them flirt with you, his jealous feelings slowly accumulating, until they finally overflowed today.

"Then tell him... that I'm waiting for his confession." You whispered.

A moment passed, as the two of you gazed at each other, taking in the other's features up close for once. And at last, he uttered those beautiful words.

"(Y/n), will you go out with me?"

You looked into his red eyes, bursts of happiness exploding in your chest as a wide smile split your face. You had waited forever for this moment, and you nodded excitedly. He squeezed your wrists a bit tighter.

"Say it..." he murmured. "I want to hear you say yes..."

Giving him a sincere smile, you planted a swift kiss on the side of his beak, giddy at how wonderful it felt.

"Of course I'll say yes to you!"

#tokoyamifumikage #tokoyami fukimage #tokoyami x reader #bnha tokoyami #mha tokoyami #bnha fluff #bnha x reader #reader insert #mha x reader #mha #bnha #fluff

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for-ests · 4 years

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Falling For You- Tom Holland x Reader (Part 1)

Word count: 2, 463

Summary: Two high school friends reconnect after years spent apart. And once they are alone, they can't deny the impassioned feelings they've always had for one another.

Warnings: none :’)

✭♡✭♡✭♡✭

The bell clanged against the door as you made your way into a dimly lit street-side pub.

The frigid London air lofted into the once cozy atmosphere, sweeping your hair violently over your shoulders even though you attempted to keep it at bay. You sighed deeply, making sure the door closed behind you. Frustrated, cold, and grumpy—was your mood. You were a usually timid and shy girl, but right then it took all of your willpower to not slam the door and vigorously demand the bartender to pour you four vodka shots. Nothing was going your way. Your usual Friday night for as far as you were concerned.

You slipped out of your coat and hung it up on the rack, knowing you would need to down a couple of shots if you were going to survive the night. "Aye sweetheart." The bartender glanced your way, gesturing for you to sit down and get comfortable. "Evening." You acknowledged. "I'd like two shots of gin please, and rum with coke.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded, even a stranger could sense your foul mood. Or maybe that was because it came with a bartender’s job description, knowing when and when not to bother someone. "Everything alright miss?"

"I'm okay." You rubbed her eyes in discomfort. "Just some college drama that I'd like to stay out of."

The bartender was most likely wondering why you chose to stop into his bar. The college bars were a couple blocks north, a surpassingly far walk from this facility. "You got a ride home?" He asked, sliding you two shots filled to the rim. You stared down at them and grinned sheepishly. This would definitely help you forget, sooner rather than later. "Yeah." You sighed, watching him mix the rest of your order. "I'll take an Uber." "Sounds fine with me." He set the glass in front of you. "It's getting pretty late so I'm going to clean up a bit, I'll leave you be. If you need anything just holler." "Thanks." You smiled, bringing the liquor to your lips and tilting your head back.

Visiting local and less trafficked bars like this one was a habit you found yourself regularly in. It was a great way to get wasted while not having to interact with your peers. It was also a great way of avoiding any temptations that came with following and getting drunk with a group of college boys.

This place was quiet. You could nurse your drinks in peace and leave without feeling guilty of ignoring people. The vibe was always low key, and the older Victorian architecture was something that pleased your eyes. Smooth wooden bars and chairs with cushioned stools, you might have to become a regular customer.

Your attention turned to the football match replaying from earlier in the evening. But your mind could not focus, it was racing with all the responsibilities you were temporarily avoiding. You groaned and took the second shot of gin, this one hitting you a lot harder than the first. You quickly held the mixed drink to your lips in attempts to chase the shot down easier. The coke settled your stomach.

You held the glass by your fingertips, and swirled the ice around for amusement. You felt like you were in a trance, sitting in a pub all alone. You could not help but feel that something important in your life was missing. It was midnight, and the bar was pretty much empty except for a group of rowdy men in a back booth. The stereotypical British night was unfolding around you. The same old and boring routine.

An evening like this was never going to be fun if you didn’t drown yourself in booze. The thought caused sadness and self pity to seep into your mind. You honestly thought things would be different. At least that was you hoped when you were in grade school. But now, you were 21 and still hadn't finished nursing school. You had one year left and it was killing you. You had the most boring office job in the world to help you get by and pay off the debt. It was beyond stressful. All you wanted to do was think of something comforting. And attempt you did, but nothing came. You kept drinking into the night, ordering a few more shots to keep you busy. The alcohol tasted less and less appealing the more you drank. You were about to raise your hand for another, but you were cut off by the door bursting open. The cold air came in a rush, an equivalent to the feeling of someone striking you across the face. A group of attractive young men swarmed inside, all of them laughing and talking. The bar soon filled with an exciting buzz that wasn't there before. Great. You thought, knowing it was time you took your leave. You reached for your purse that was nestled in the seat beside you, knowing you had been there for over an hour. But as soon as you lifted your head, you felt every negative emotion melt away. You almost gasped, eyes widening as you spotted the last person you ever thought you would see. Tommy? What was he doing back in London? "This is insane." You mumbled, turning back to the counter and confiding in the alcohol. You must be seeing things. There was no way he would be back here.

Normally, you would have stared straight ahead and pretended to not have noticed his presence. But your inebriated state gave you a boost of whirly confidence. Gaining the courage, you peered over again and winced. It was him, and he looked wonderful. His curly brown hair had finally grown out to the length you had always urged him to make it. It suited him well, a little too well. You found yourself gawking. You had said goodbye to a boy, but now you were staring at a man. All the memories the two of you shared clouded your mind before you could stop them. You hadn't realized how much you missed him. When Tom left, you suppressed those exhilarating memories. That was the only way you could move on. Though there were dozens of people surrounding him, your eyes focused on him alone. He looked so handsome that it took your breath away. Your eyes met shortly after, and you watched his expression light up when he realized it was you. Your heart began to beat faster as Tom whispered something in Harrison's ear. Harrison smiled and waved at you. He looked great as well. Tom excused himself and walked to your side, a little too quickly to remain unsuspicious. "Y/N..." He breathed in disbelief, a soft smile appearing on his lips. "You look amazing, darling." He complimented, causing you to blush a deep shade of red. His voice had gotten much deeper since the last time you chatted. "I can say the same about you." You chuckled, setting aside your last shot glass to face him completely. "It's been years." He continued, staring at you as if you were fragile. You most definitely looked the part. Tom may of changed, but his warm and kind brown eyes stayed the same. You had stared into them so many times before, but tonight was different. They were filled with an unspoken attraction that you tried so hard to deny when you were younger. The nostalgia was hitting you right where it hurt you the most. Tom’s gaze was pulling relentlessly at your heartstrings, reminding you that you had never truly moved on from him. But then you remembered how abruptly he left, how he hardly mustered a meaningful goodbye. Those memories still stung, even if you claimed they didn't. That's why this hello was so bittersweet. You lowered your gaze, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah, I thought I'd never see you again." "Why do you say that?" Tom made himself comfortable on the stool beside you, moving your purse onto the counter. "You have my number darling." He said nonchalantly, raising his hand and asking for a beer. "And you have mine." You scoffed, finishing off your glass and asking for another one. Tom was quiet as he watched you take the shot. You took a sip of water to wash the liquor down. You tried to not show how badly it was burning your throat. "I couldn't just text you, Tom. You went to America.... we drifted apart." Tom grew silent for a long moment, and eventually he nodded with affirmation. "You're right." He admitted, realizing how careless he must have sounded. You shrugged, keeping your gaze on the television. You really didn't know what to say, or how to say it. Would he even want to know how you felt back when you were teenagers? Would it even matter? "How was America?" You asked, attempting to keep the conversation on something besides the pain you felt when he left. He never noticed and you planned to keep it that way. "It was amazing, but it's nothing like home." He reached his hand out as the bartender passed him a beer. You were far past tipsy, and his words sounded like music to your ears. You wanted to keep him talking, to make you feel like you were not alone. “I missed everyone here too much to stay.” You smiled at his conviction. It was nice to see that the fame hadn’t reached his head. “So the movie went well?" You tilted your head, finding yourself swooning all over again. You just couldn't help it. Tom's eyes sparkled at the mention of it. "Perfect, I still can't believe it happened. We just finished filming so I got to come home. Only for a few weeks though." "That's awesome." You grinned, catching his gaze before flickering your eyes away in embarrassment. Your cheeks started to flush from the liquor. Maybe that's why you felt like you were floating. There was no way you could still have feelings for him after all these years. "You're a star now, what you always wanted." You added, the comment coming out more hostile than you intended. Alcohol was notorious for its uncensorship. Tom raised his eyebrows. "What have you been up to?" He asked curiously. "Nothing." You felt tears stinging your eyes. Why were you crying? Were you jealous that he was living out his dream, while you still hadn't reached your potential? "I'm still in school. I have one more year before I'm registered." "That's great," Tom assured. "Not even close to nothing." "I'm sorry." You apologized, sniffing quietly. "You caught me at a bad time." Tom leaned in closer, and you could smell the alcohol in his breath. He genuinely seemed concerned by the expression you were making. "Are you really okay?" "I'm drunk," You reminded him. "and stressed...Seeing you again made me want to cry. You should probably leave before I say something weird." His jaw clenched. "Do you not want me to be here?" "I'm overjoyed that you're here, Tommy." You whispered. "I didn't mean it like that." "I know, I know." He sighed, licking his lips nervously. Though he seemed to relax when you called him by his childhood nickname. "I've just been hoping to see you since I came back. I missed you." "I missed you too." You smiled, a tear dripping down your cheek. How pathetic. Tom's eyes widened. "Please don't cry...what did I say?" "N-nothing." You chuckled, shooing his hand away as he tried to dry your cheek with his sweater sleeve. "It’s the alcohol. I wasn’t expecting to see you." He laughed. "I couldn't tell, you're beautiful either way." You rolled your eyes. "Still a Casanova aren't we?" "Only for you."

Those words caused your stomach to flip in a way you had not experienced in far too long. Silence then consumed you, afraid to speak on anything more.

Tom’s phone buzzed next to him, you assumed his friends, who were still eyeing him suspiciously from the other side of the bar.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two £20 bills. "It was nice to see you again Y/N. But the mates are calling. Do you need me to call you a taxi?" He asked, seemingly reluctant to go. Tom’s eyes twinkled with concern. You knew if he had the option to drive you home himself, he would. You glanced over to the door and noticed his mate’s were all gathering their things and grabbing their drinks. "I’m alright." You mumbled. "I want to catch you at a better time, yeah?" You nodded, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "I would love that." "I will call you tomorrow." He handed you the money. "For mine and yours." "Tom, my drink wasn't that much!" You looked confused as he curled your fingers around the bills. Yet his gentle touch soothed your precarious thoughts. "You've had three drinks since I've been here darling." He chuckled. "Keep it okay? For all the birthdays I missed." The thought was sorrowful, but you accepted the gift. "Thanks." Tom scratched the back of his neck, seeming nervous for what he was about to admit. He leaned down to whisper quietly in your ear. "The thing I regret most is leaving you behind, Y/N. I hope I can make it up to you." You were speechless as you gazed up at him. Did you hear that correctly? "Tom—" His hand lingered on your shoulder for a moment, but before you could process what was happening, you felt his lips against your forehead. The sweetest, most charming gesture you could have ever hoped for. "I'll see you soon." Tom parted, letting his hand fall away from your flustered stature. You felt the promise in his stare. You would see him again, and fairly soon. "Bye." You managed to whisper, watching him slip back into his coat and laugh with his friends. Tom glanced over at you one last time, his lips curving into a heartwarming smile. Yet there was still a sadness behind it, an unspoken regret. You started to believe that everything he said was true. He really did miss you. You slipped the bills onto the counter and left in a hurry. The group was already gone but you didn't mind. You needed to be alone after what just happened. You may be drunk but you could still think straight. Tom really said those things. He was really there. Tears started to pour down your cheeks as you stood outside on the curb, trying your best to make sense of it all. Were you possibly getting a second chance to be with Tom?

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland #peter parker x reader #tom holland imagine

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writingwife-83 · 4 years

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Accidental Research, ch 1- A Study in Sleep

(Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020, Day 1- There’s only one bed?!)

At @thisisartbylexie’s suggestion, I decided to take on this entire week of trope prompts as a 7 chapter fic set in TAB universe. Excited to kick off this fun week and share a new chapter every day! ❤️

Molly sighed to herself for about the tenth time, eyes wide open as she lay in the darkened little hotel room in Paris.

This had quickly become nothing short of preposterous.

Five days ago, Sherlock Holmes had barged into Bart’s hospital, rambling on about the exciting but rather inconvenient news. Namely, that the Watsons were newly expecting their first child, but that it put the detective in a rather difficult position, having recently accepted a case abroad which would require an assistant. Apparently the new baby was not yet agreeing with Mrs Watson’s stomach, and the good doctor felt she needed him to be a more constant presence.

Sherlock had then informed Hooper that his expertise would fill the void nicely.

Molly, possibly against her better judgement, accepted his request. She’d convinced herself that they were both adults, well aware of the truth of the matter, and seeing as nobody else was there was little chance at causing offense.

While her time with the brides was over, she managed to come out unscathed, thanks in no small part to Mycroft Holmes. Molly recognized how lucky she had been and the need to be gracious, even if that meant indulging the whims of the more volatile of the Holmes brothers from time to time.

And now, here they both were, spending their third night in this hotel which apparently couldn’t give them two rooms or, indeed, two beds. She’d seem Holmes bristle slightly when the clerk at the front desk informed him that there was no added vacancy and that they could only provide his initial reservation of a standard, one bed, room.

No matter, he’d assured her as they climbed the steps with their bags in hand, explaining that he rarely slept anyway.

His pacing was becoming truly maddening.

Molly turned over, trying to eliminate the view of his back and forth from her peripheral, but she could still hear his soft steps and the words he spoke under his breath.

The first two nights had been tolerable. He’d insisted she take the bed and she’d managed to sleep for some hours uninterrupted. But something changed on the third day and Molly was becoming more keenly aware of the true state of things.

She heard the grandfather clock in the hallway outside their room strike the hour, making it two in the morning now. That did it.

Molly threw the covers off her, sitting up to lock eyes with him as he spun at seeing her sudden movement.

“When was the last time you slept?” she questioned sternly.

She couldn’t see his confused frown in the dark, but she could practically feel it.

“Miss Hooper, do not concern yourself with how much-“

“Would you please do me the courtesy of simply answering the question?”

He paused.

“I...dozed off a bit in the chair last night. A couple of times I believe.”

Molly nodded to herself. “Yes, just as I suspected. Well then...get in.”

This prompted a lengthier pause.

“As I believe I already stated, insomnia does not hold the negative effects for me that it does for most people, particularly when I’m on a case, therefore I am far more capable of-“

“You were not so capable today, Mr. Holmes.”

His indignance shone through, even in the dark.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, you heard me,” Molly sighed. “Mr. Holmes, three times today you were incapable of conjuring the correct word when speaking to the client, which I had to fill in for you. Twice you began to fall asleep during a carriage ride, and then when pouring your tea you nearly dropped the pot, a lack in dexterity which is wholly uncharacteristic for you.”

Sherlock cleared his throat after hearing her list of evidence and replied, his tone notably sheepish.

“Even in the event of a need for rest, I imagine that you see the predicament we find ourselves in to be...less than ideal.”

“Oh for pity sake,” Molly groaned. “I said get in! As a doctor, I cannot allow this foolishness to continue. Furthermore, while I can appreciate your frankly overdeveloped sense of chivalry, I consider my virtue to be in no immediate danger and will feel quite free to inform you if that circumstance should change, though I imagine it unlikely as you will be asleep before your head meets the pillow!”

“Miss Hooper, honestly-“

“Holmes!”

Her louder, slightly lower, and more authoritative use of his name seemed to do the trick.

Molly watched as Sherlock made somewhat irritated movements, shrugging off his jacket and waistcoat and then kicking off his shoes before finally crashing into the bed next to her.

Right next to her, considering the size of the bed.

“There,” she said, lying back against her pillow and exhaling contentedly. “Now go to sleep and I feel sure you’ll thank me in the morning.”

Sherlock let out a slow sigh, his reply a bit petulant. “You’re terribly sure of yourself.”

“Yes, occasionally someone other than yourself is,” she said softly, closing her eyes as she noted the smell of his particular brand of soap. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”

She felt him shift slightly, getting comfortable, and could hear the lull in his voice when he finally answered.

“Goodnight, Miss Hooper.”

~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sat in the little armchair at the opposite side of the room, legs crossed neatly and fingers steepled against his lips...his eyes fixed, unmovable, on the bed across from him.

Her arm was still draped across the vacant side of the bed, which was where he had been lying less than an hour earlier. It was the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes. That pale, delicate little arm across his chest, the nightdress sleeve having bunched up above her elbow.

Sherlock hadn’t wanted to touch it, for fear of waking her. And so the painstaking process of extricating himself from that bed turned into quite a project over the next five minutes. Moving himself without disturbing another person was quite a new way to wake in the morning.

Feeling her hand slide across his chest over his shirt as he moved was also rather new.

The fan of dark hair that surrounded her now, her arm still stretched out somehow gracefully while still being haphazard, and the partially visible white cotton of her nightdress around her shoulders brought him to a somewhat shocking conclusion.

She was a woman.

No, he was not still in the dark about the very basic truth of her sex. But the evident reality of it hadn’t truly hit him until then. Up to last night, he’d been opting not to share a bed with her on general principle alone. Rules of proprietary that existed on paper, but certainly not for his own personal boundaries.

In the light of day, literally and figuratively, he felt somewhat differently.

Not thirty seconds later, Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he jumped excitedly from his chair, which prompted Molly to wake suddenly from her peaceful slumber.

“Ah good, you‘re awake!”

Sherlock began hurrying about the room, gathering things and stuffing them into his leather satchel while Molly rubbed her eyes and muttered some sort of question of what he was doing.

“Pack your things, Hooper,” he explained excitedly. “We shall be traveling back to London today, for this case is solved!”

“What...just now?”

“Just now, precisely.”

“Right,” she said softly. “Well then, I suppose I should begin dressing.”

Sherlock paused for a breath, noting her exit from the bed and the way she quickly straightened the nightdress to cover her legs. He frowned to himself, then continued in his chosen area of focus- packing! Though he did pause for one more moment.

“Oh and Hooper?”

She turned, smoothing some tousled locks aside to look at him as she gathered her clothing and wig to prepare for the exit of their room.

“It pains me a great deal to admit when I am wrong,” he said with a little smirk. “But I find myself compelled to give you exactly what you predicted I would last night.”

Molly’s lips lifted proudly even before the gift he verbally bestowed.

“Thank you.”

#sherlolly #sherlollyweek2020 #SAW day 1 #this is going to be a 7 chapter fic #tab au #victorian au #I continued to be unhappy with this title #but honestly I can’t come up with anything else #lol

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Text

Just Crash, It’s Our Time Now

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Notes: I’m here for all the au’s, y’all. Warnings: there’s a little handjob action, but not much else. Word Count: ~12k Summary:

Peter Parker is a med school student with very little time on his hands. He’s set up on a blind date by Nat and it’s fucking awful. Good thing he caught eyes with the cute bartender who’s quick on his feet and steps in when Peter need s it the most.

Doctor!Peter, Bartender&Teacher!Tony

There is lots of cuteness & some dodgeball action - hope you enjoy!

Read it on AO3 here -

“Hey dude, get the fuck out of the way!”

Peter took a step to the right just in time – the bike rushing by barely missing him. Pulling his AirPod from his ear, he blinked a few times to reorient himself. It was his own fault; he knew listening to his textbook on the way back to his apartment wasn’t the safest option. Especially in a place like New York. Despite being there for almost four years, Peter wasn’t anywhere close to being used to how fast everything moved.

His little hometown in Colorado didn’t have near the amount of people running by him, let alone the pace of the never sleeping city.

The reading expectations in his Clinical Oncology class didn’t seem to be possible – there were 5 chapters to cover before the next cohort meeting in a couple of days. Between his last ever class of medical school and the rotation that went with it, there wasn’t too much time for anything else.

Luckily, Peter’s plan for the rest of the night consisted of sitting on his couch, eating way too much food, and finishing his readings – the time truly bound to be incredibly magical. Regardless – this was the life Peter chose for himself. It was way too late in the game to find himself too bored with it all to actually get to the finish line. He’d put a lot of his life on hold to make sure he succeeded in the goals he set out for himself all that time ago.

There were people his age settling down and having families, enjoying the best time of their lives. Peter tried not to feel jealous, he really did. He loved where his life was headed and couldn’t imagine doing anything else – yet, he wanted other things, too. Simple things like warmth, a person to call his own, hell – a man to share his bed with on a consistent occasion.

Maybe one day.

The rest of the walk went quickly – Peter now on his toes, keeping himself completely in the moment. He escaped tragedy once – the probability of missing it again not nearly as high. His rotation in the ER proved that random accidents and pedestrian collisions were some of the main issues in the city – he treated enough road rash to know. Brushing the thought aside, Peter felt a breath of relief leave his lungs – his apartment finally in sight.

Stopping at the door, Peter keyed in the code to get into his building, grabbed his mail, and trudged up to his fifth-floor apartment. The key sliding into the lock brought a smile to his face and kicking off his shoes when he finally got the door open – that was the best feeling of the day.

Luxury did not last long – less than a minute later, there was a knock on the door. There were only four people in the world who knew the entry code to get into his building – and he wondered briefly which one of them it could be. Sighing, Peter dropped his backpack and shrugged out of his hoodie before even thinking about answering the door. Truthfully, he wanted to retreat into his room to strip out of the scrubs he’d been in for more hours than he cared to admit – but he couldn’t, not when one of his friends was out there waiting for him. Peter pulled the door open and smiled – the flash of Nat’s red hair making his heart feel a little warmer. Suddenly, the knock didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all.

“Nat – how the hell are you?” Peter questioned, his arms opening to pull her into a hug. He gave her a tight squeeze, a sigh leaving his lips. Maybe it had been too long since he last saw people outside the norm – having Nat so close made that pretty easy to see.

“Peter Parker – you’ve been holed up here too long,” Nat exclaimed, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking.” Her fingers dug in when she pressed forward to place a kiss to his cheek. “I’m here to force you to be social. Don’t try and argue.”

With wide eyes, Peter watched her brush by him, a mischievous grin on her face. Peter loved the fuck out of Nat – they’d been friends since undergrad at Colorado State. Growing up with someone sealed a sort of bond, he figured. What he didn’t love was her inability to stop fucking around with his personal life. Her many attempts to set him up were always terrible and always ended very badly – especially for him. Regardless, Peter already knew he’d go along with her plans. He always did. Though her taste was goddamn awful, he liked knowing that Nat had his best interest at heart – that she cared about him enough to want to see him happy.

Closing the door, Peter turned and pressed his back against it, a curious look in his eye. “Well, who is it this time? And, honestly, where do you keep getting these guys? Sure, I like older guys – but that doesn’t mean everyone qualifies,” Peter gestured with his hands the entire time he spoke, the habit one he’d never been able to break.

He laughed out right at the slightest hint of red on Nat’s cheeks, her eyes peeking out from under her long dark lashes – chagrin written into her facial expression.

“I swear – every time I think it’s going to be perfect. I think you’re just picky,” Nat answered back, her shoulders shrugging. “I think you’ll actually like this one, though. I met him when I pretended to be a secretary in a law office. When I served the guy I was actually there for, Eli and I got to talking – and he seems right up your alley. Smart, cute – older.” She slapped a hand to his cheek softly – “give it a chance, maybe? For me?”

Peter shook his head, a hand coming to press against his forehead in mock frustration. There were so many unaccounted-for variables in his life – it was difficult to explain that he wasn’t really looking for just anyone. There needed to be a connection and a certain level of understanding right off the bat – he didn’t have time to waste.

May always told him to go with his gut and most of the time, his gut didn’t want anything to do with the dating scene at all. His priorities were so different than most people’s – Peter needed someone to match that with their own uniqueness. How to get that across, though – he hadn’t figured that out. So, he smiled at her, surrender evident in his expression. “I always give it a chance. I’ll do that this time, too.”

The hug he got from her almost made up for the disaster he would eventually find out she was sending him into.

Instead of stepping into the Adidas joggers that were calling his name from the edge of the bed, Peter pulled a pair of jeans on – his body not used to the rigidity of the fabric after camping in scrubs for most of his life lately. He did a couple squats to get them stretched out, then slipped on a blue t-shirt and a jean jacket over that. The little bar she told him to head to looked pretty casual when he Googled the place – so he tried to take in what little comfort he could from the clothes on his body. He took one last look in the mirror before backing out of his room. If he didn’t get his ass in gear, he’d never leave the house. The couch called to him, the pull almost enough to keep him there. The look of disappointment he’d see in Nat’s eyes kept him walking, though – the date couldn’t be that bad.

Life always had a way of proving him wrong, though.

The bar wasn’t too far from his apartment, so he stepped out on foot. The night was really nice – it was closing in on May in New York City, so the temperature was perfect. There weren’t many clouds in the sky, either – the view absolutely stunning. Sucking in a deep breath, Peter told himself to focus on just enjoying the evening and whatever came from it. No use being nervous when there was nothing at stake. That thought brought a grin to his face – there weren’t a lot of things in his life that didn’t come with costly consequences. A little break in that monotony would probably help with the run-down feeling – at least, he hoped that was the case.

Walking into the bar, Peter was surprised to instantly feel comfortable. There were a good number of tables scattered around the space – each one thankfully within a decent distance of the other and not crowded together. The bar was wood, stained a dark brown, the accent of it matching all of the tables and chairs. He smiled at the high-backed chairs butted up to the bar top – he hated the places that didn’t provide proper back support. Peter climbed into one of them at the corner of the bar and knew he might make this a regular place. Comfort was of the utmost importance when the idea of being drunk came to pass – he couldn’t count the amount of times he’d fallen off of chairs in under grad. Being conscious of his terrible drinking habits brought down the embarrassing encounters – he at least looked like he could handle his liquor.

A coaster was placed down in front of him – the fingers he just barely managed to catch a glance at long and covered in ink, the knuckles dusted with the slightest bit of hair. Intrigued, Peter glanced up and instantly felt a blush overtake his cheeks. The bartender was striking – his angular jaw and well-kept facial hair demanded his eyes attention at first glance. Letting his eyes roam, Peter noticed the man’s heterochromia – the brown flecks in whiskey smooth eyes making his breath catch a bit. The man’s dark hair was a little on the longer side, the style of it seemingly unkempt – yet, probably done so on purpose. Peter felt his tongue slip out against his lower lip – the skin there suddenly dry as the desert. Even the elegant brow he quirked in Peter’s direction made him feel a little crazy.

“What can I get you?” Peter heard – his gaze finally trailing away, eyes focusing on the liquor on the shelf behind the gorgeous man. The last time he drank alcohol, it came from a red solo cup that was dipped into a cooler filled with fruit and various high-proof alcohols – he couldn’t remember a single drink to save his life. The man must’ve caught on to that because he spoke again – “do you like Sprite?” Peter couldn’t help but smile at that, his head nodding.

“I do. Anything lime,” Peter finally uttered, his brain slowly but surely starting to catch up to the here and now.

The older man nodded, a determined look on his face. “I’ve got just the thing, then,” he mumbled, a bit of his tongue sticking out as he grabbed a couple of bottles, his hands pouring like it was second nature. The man was slipping a drink before him a couple of minutes later, a fresh lime pressed against the rim of the glass and a couple actually in the drink. “Vodka-Sprite with lime – lots of it,” the words accompanied by a wink. He leaned forward on his arms, the smell of whiskey and cedarwood invading Peter’s senses.

As subtly as he could, Peter drew in a deep breath – the smell even better the more he pulled it in. He wrapped his fingers around the glass and brought it to his lips, Peter’s eyes catching the bartender’s over the rim of the glass. The kick of lime right off the bat made the drink more than tolerable – the nail polish remover taste of the vodka delightfully masked. He took a couple more sips before even thinking to acknowledge the unspoken question. It felt nice to have those eyes on him – so he took in a little bit longer.

“You’re pretty good. You can’t taste the booze in there at all. Thank you, handsome stranger,” Peter said, a saucy grin on his face. It didn’t make a lot of sense, this ruthless flirting – he didn’t partake in it often, if ever at all. Yet, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face or the blush from invading his cheeks – and there wasn’t even the ability to blame the booze. His fingers played with the little stir stick in the drink in hopes of calming himself down, the smile on his face was way too big.

In the way he ducked his head, Peter missed the big grin spread across the man’s face, his eyes twinkling in the low overhead light. “That’s usually the objective. Glad to have been of service, equally gorgeous customer.” The smile on his face that time was hard to miss, and Peter found himself leaning on the bar – desperate to get a little bit closer.

Peter would have been happy to continue flirting with the bartender – his hopes of being stood up increasing by the second. It seemed like he was destined to be thwarted all day long, though – a man about twenty years older than him was looking in his direction. Nat must have shown the guy his picture. Taking one last peek at the gorgeous human behind the bar, Peter collected himself and turned in his seat, a painted-on smile sliding across his cheeks.

“Are you Peter?” his date for the night asked, a hand coming between them. “I’m Eli.”

Peter took the hand offered to him, the palm against his a little sweaty in his grasp. “I am, yeah. Nice to meet you, Eli,” he gave him a brief smile and settled back into his chair. Whiskey barrel eyes caught his, the bartender smirking at him. Rolling his own, Peter stuck out his tongue and tried to focus.

----

It’d been a pretty average day for Tony – the weekend was finally upon them, he’d finished all of his grading for the week, and his shifts at the bar were the best for tips. He assumed the rest of the day would remain as such, too. There weren’t a lot of interesting things happening in his life at the moment – though, he didn’t really mind. Tony was a self-proclaimed opportunist – there wasn’t a lot of seeking out, but he wasn’t opposed to whatever came his way. So far, his robotic adventures and never-ending entertainment at the bar felt like more than enough.

Then, he walked in. For whatever reason, Tony looked up when the door opened – he’d been pretty idle at the bar, anyway. A quick glance was the intention, but what he found there stopped him in his tracks. The guy was young – right in the age range where he could be anywhere between 20 and 30. The jean jacket sitting on his shoulders made his mouth water, the tone of it meshing so well with tawny looks and pale skin. And boy – that skin. Tony figured it went on for miles, never ending amounts of it covering those long limbs. Blinking, Tony got his bearings – the last thing he needed was to be caught out staring at someone.

He felt a little more himself when the guy sat down at the bar, his hands were moving over the counter, the wash rag dragging back and forth over the surface. The key was to never go idle – an idle mind was never good for anyone. When the man spoke, his attractiveness quotient went up a couple of notches, Tony enamored by the pitch of his voice, the way he looked around and took everything in. When the opportunity to show off a little showed itself, Tony snatched it up and set about making one of his personal favorite drinks. He was more of a whiskey straight kind of guy, but where mixed drinks were involved, vodka soda was always a hit.

The roll of satisfaction washing over him brought a smile to his face – Tony couldn’t keep his eyes away while the other took tentative sips, the look on his face never straying from curious. Then, that very voice was calling him a handsome stranger – oh how he wanted to combust right on the spot. Instead, he kept the smile on his face and hoped the look in his eye was unreadable. Not for the first time, Tony felt grateful that direct access into his brain was unavailable. The guy leaning in his direction pushed the thoughts he was trying to hold back into overdrive – his neck flushing just slightly.

The universe always had a way of making things right, though – a man around Tony’s own age walked in and took the seat next to the cutie he hoped to find out more about. Shrugging, he clenched the glass he pulled from further down the bar in his hand. Their eyes met for a brief second; uncertainty evident in the younger man’s eyes. Despite knowing the guy was on a date, Tony felt obligated to keep an eye on him. Everyone needed a wing man, every now and again.

Tony got swept in a wave of people at the other end of the bar, so he only caught small glances of the cute brunette and his date – and the tension he felt from the get-go didn’t seem to be going anywhere. While the older man was leaning closer, the other was pressing into the back of his chair, a grimace on his face. Tilting his head, he caught the man’s eye again – a roll of them evident a second later. A soft chuckle escaped his chest, he got to witness lots of dates gone wrong, but this one seemed to take the cake. Softening his features, Tony tried to display as much empathy as he could – he felt bad for the guy. Though, there was also a part of him that felt a little excited by the failure of it. That greedy, greedy part of him.

There was a pretty decent ebb and flow of people for the next thirty minutes or so – Tony always kept count of the people sitting around his area. He learned early on that keeping ahead of the tide made his job a little easier – anticipation of people’s needs was like a game to him. One he’d gotten pretty good at, he liked to think, anyway. The shatter of a glass pulled him from his thoughts – the guy he’d been catching eyes with all night was off his chair, a sour look on his face. Tony watched closely as the guy mouthed ‘help me’ at him, a pleading look in his eye. Whatever the fuck caused that glass to be dropped, it seemed the guy didn’t want any part of it, anymore.

Thinking on his feet, Tony pulled his phone out, keeping it on the counter out of sight. He quickly typed in the number of the bar, watching with satisfaction as the phone on the other side of the room started to ring. Attempting to stroll that direction casually, Tony shot a look over to the other man, his right eye closing in a quick wink. More than anything, he hoped he could go along with whatever Tony came up with on the spot. Grabbing it, he answered the phone with the typical spiel – “Lefty’s, this is Tony.” He nodded a bit, let it seem like someone was talking – then took the portable over to the brunette.

“I believe this is for you,” Tony said boldly, his hand thrusting the phone at him. There was a curious head tilt in his direction, then the man was taking the phone and pressing it to his ear. Tony held his breath, the thought that maybe he was being a little crazy rushing through him at the last minute. Thankfully, the guy was nodding his head – those gorgeous doe eyes opening wide, the look one Tony thought he might enjoy seeing from above him and below him – all the ways, really. Biting down on the side of his tongue, Tony let the pain force him back to the reality where he currently stood, watching the scene playout.

“Okay, MJ – I’ll be right there.” The guy finally spoke into the phone, a determined look crossing his face. Tony wanted to run his thumb across the little lines that appeared on the brunette’s forehead. His mind rushed with so many thoughts – the anxiety of what he did and what would happen next closing in on him a little. In the many times he’d worked in this bar, Tony never did anything like this. He pretended to be someone’s boyfriend once, but that was for someone he actually knew. This person was a random stranger – a hot one, he had to admit – yet, still a stranger.

He watched him slam down a few bills and make a halfhearted excuse to the guy who was looking at him with a mixture of irritation and empathy – it made Tony want to laugh in his face. Moving around the bar, Tony went to work on getting the glass picked up and by the time he looked up again, the spot the men were sitting was empty. It smarted a little, not getting to flirt a little more, maybe see where it could have gone. Yet, he felt good about it, too. He obviously helped someone out of a tight spot. What more could a person ask for? Laughing at himself, Tony finished his clean up and took his spot back behind the bar.

Not even twenty minutes later, the brunette was back, a soft smile on his face. He took the same place against the bar, his elbows pressing into it. “Hey,” he began, his fingers tapping against those gorgeously rosy cheeks. “Thanks for that. I don’t think I could have made it another minute without busting a glass over his head. You’re too kind. I’m Peter, by the way,” the man – Peter – concluded. He didn’t stick out a hand to shake, or anything like that, he simply leaned against his hands and looked Tony up and down. It would have been unsettling, if he didn’t appreciate the human doing the looking. Try as he might, he couldn’t find it in him to be too goddamn upset about it.

“You’re very welcome. Bartender code, or whatever,” Tony replied, his tone just shy of being smooth. Long fingers ran through his hair, the gentle tug of it somewhat grounding. “Peter. That’s fitting for you. Cute but smart and classy. I’m Tony – rugged and roguish, right?” His mouth started to spread into a smile on its own accord, the stretch of his lips tensile before he even finished speaking.

As if the guy couldn’t get any more attractive, Tony heard him laugh fully for the first time. The sound was elegant, from the pit of Peter’s stomach. His head tilted back a little, the length of his neck on display – the pale skin there begging to be touched, kissed, caressed with barely there pressure. Brown eyes were quickly overtaken by a dilating pupil. He crushed the side of his tongue with his teeth again, Tony struggling to keep his composure. To keep his hands busy, he went about making Peter the same drink as before, his fingers idly brushing lime to the lip of the glass.

“Right – absolutely right. I would also add handsome, but I’m pretty sure I brought that to the table earlier. I also love your hair, the salt and pepper at the temples – A+.” Tony sucked in a breath, his fingers moving to slip into the hair by his ears. A quick tug and he was smirking in the other’s direction, Peter’s eyes still firmly on him.

“It’s natural, too,” Tony avowed, one of his eyebrows quirking to match the grin on his face. “Thanks, though. Your curls aren’t half bad, either.” As he said it, Tony used every ounce of control within him not to reach out and touch – the length would be so easy to run his fingers through. He didn’t have any clue where all these thoughts were coming from – he was usually pretty good at keeping himself and the job separate. Being a teacher, he knew how important it was to keep perspective in the proper position – yet, he liked the guys smile and how his mouth looked making words. What could he do?

Besides, it seemed to be mutual – Peter’s cheeks were a beet red, eyes now squinty from the force of the muscular contraction of his face muscles to continue the beaming smile. Peter took the drink when Tony passed it to him, his lips wrapping around the lip without a second thought. “I usually keep it a little shorter, it’s easier to just roll out of bed and get going. I just – haven’t had time to get it cut. I just might agree with you, though. They do make me look nice.” Peter let his pointer finger trace the lip of the glass while he spoke, the motion just as distracting as the words slipping from beautiful lips.

Taking a look over his shoulder, Tony noticed the bar was on the emptier side. Lucky for him. He pressed both of his hands flat on the counter below him and let some of his weight shift forward – the space between himself and Peter narrowing down ever so slightly. From this angle, Tony could see a few freckles littering the other’s cheeks – the youthfulness of the beauty marks making him look so very young for a second. There seemed to be a direct map of the constellation clusters across the skin – the intrigue of it adding to the attraction.

“What keeps you so busy? Not that I’m not all for roll out of bed and get going. That’s my usual most of the time. I think you would look nice regardless of what you did with your hair,” Tony offered, a hand motioning in the direction of Peter’s face. “You’ve got all of that going on.”

It felt natural – the conversation they were having. Tony wasn’t the most sociable person. He didn’t shy away from it, or anything like that, there were just personal limits. Effort was applied long enough to engage and respond – then, he’d inconspicuously retreat. As the man slinging the drinks, it felt pretty easy to fit into the woodwork when he wanted to. The back and forth Tony felt compelled to have with this guy was already way more than usual – a thing of interest in and of itself.

“I’m in med school. In the process of getting my MD so I can get into oncological research. It’s my last semester, so its been a little hectic.” Just the thought of the man’s commitment made him look stressed, the small black circles under his eyes making a lot more sense now. “And thanks – that’s quite the compliment coming from you.” Peter stopped for a second, his bottom lip between his teeth. “Do you get off soon? I’ve got to buy you a drink or food or something for being an absolute life saver.”

The sound of the door opening had Tony looking over his shoulder, a slight frown forming on his brow when people sat down at the far side of the bar. Glancing down, he noticed there were only 20 minutes until 8 – his whole face lighting up. Things were turning out a lot better than he originally expected. “I’m off in twenty, actually. Let me get those guys over there started on a tab and then I’m all yours,” Tony responded, jittery excitement zapping along his skin – the feeling of it so very foreign and so exquisitely nice.

Tony didn’t move until he saw Peter nod, a matching smile on those delicately pale cheeks. Turning, the older man suddenly desperate to be done with his work, Tony finished up without another thought. When Clint came in to cover the next shift, Tony greeted him briefly and escaped before he could get roped into anything else.

Joining Peter on the other side of the bar, he rested a hand against the man’s chair – catching his attention without scaring the piss out of him.

“Ready whenever you are.”

----

Sitting in the same seat from before, Peter couldn’t believe the events of the last half an hour. Peter knew the date was doomed about a minute into it when Eli described Nat as his “hot friend”. There wasn’t a chance in hell – they hadn’t even started talking and Peter could already tell more misogynistic comments like that would come from the man’s mouth. There wasn’t any predicting how much worse it got, though. It’d been a long time since he was propositioned so quickly – and frankly, so out of the blue. They went from discussing Peter’s job to Eli wanting to take him home and get into his pants. What type of people was Nat surrounding herself with? And more importantly – why did she think this guy would be good for him?

The dam broke when the man tried to lay his hands on him. Their chairs were pushed close together, so he did the only thing he could think of – he dropped the drink from his fingers and stood up, the resounding smash of the glass breaking reassuring, hopefully a way out. Thankfully, he got the attention of the cute bartender and within a minute, he was back in front of them, a phone in his hand.

For a moment, Peter didn’t understand – his eyebrow quirking. The person he now knew as Tony looked at him, seemingly willing him to just go with the flow. He couldn’t even remember what came out of his mouth, but all of the sudden, he was free – Peter making his excuses and getting the fuck out of there as quickly as he could.

He almost continued his walk home, the adrenaline in his body telling him to keep listening to the flight reflex – the urge to go right there. Yet – it’d be pretty shitty of him if he didn’t at least thank the gorgeous man behind the bar for coming in clutch, so he walked across the street and lounged in the little café there – the view of the bar perfect.

Thankfully, Eli wasn’t stupid enough to wait around and he left about ten minutes later. Despite not being anywhere near him, Peter let out a caught-up breath – his entire chest felt tight since he made his narrow escape. Giving it another couple minutes to make sure the man didn’t return, Peter pulled out his phone and dialed Nat’s number, many not nice things sitting on the tip of his tongue.

When she did pick up, Peter didn’t give her a chance to reply to his nonexistent greeting – he simply barreled ahead and started talking. “You’re officially banned from setting me up. That guy was an absolute douche, Nat! He didn’t even make it a whole hour before he tried to start feeling me up. No more, okay? No more.” Peter stopped then, his chest heaving a little bit. “That shit was awful. If you’re my friend, you won’t do it again.”

“Shit, Pete – I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. He seemed okay. Older the way you enjoy them. I just – well, I’m not very good at this setting up thing.” Nat broke off, a chuckle in the back of her throat sounding across the line. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He kept her on the line for a couple more minutes, the conversation gentling before they hung up. She was only trying to help, he understood that. Nat had been trying to help since they first met all that time ago. At least he got her to admit that she was bad at it. And maybe, she’d actually listen to his plea and ease up the meddling. For all it was worth, Peter didn’t feel dissatisfied – a part of him couldn’t understand why she felt so adamant about it to begin with. Either way, he put his foot down and wouldn’t budge. Sparing her feelings wasn’t worth having to deal with shitty people, no matter how much he hated thinking about hurting her in any way at all.

Shaking his head, Peter pocketed his phone and left the café, his feet carrying him back across the street. The bar didn’t look any different, although the place next to his seat from before was blessedly empty. He walked back over to that same spot and leaned against the bar – the bartender’s attention already on him. Hell – most people’s attention was probably on him. The dramatic exit didn’t go unnoticed, Peter felt pretty sure about that. Crowd watching was one of the best parts of being in a bar and he provided some of the night’s entertainment.

Throughout the exchange with Tony, Peter felt more and more glad that he didn’t just skip out. Not only was the older man extremely good-looking, he came with a biting wit and interesting conversational style. It felt like the ultimate tease, waiting to hear what the guy was going to say next. The flirting came naturally, too. For whatever reason, there was an innate feeling of trust alive and well in Peter’s chest – the man’s actions speaking so loudly to the part of him that was so selective and choosy. It took a particular type of person to simply help a stranger – to provide aid for no other reason other than the fact that someone was in need.

Peter recognized that trait within himself, too – that similarity between them probably the most important one he could think of. Which is why he let himself invite Tony out and why he felt comfortable enough to actually see where the night could lead him. He watched with an unfamiliar feeling in his chest and a soft smile on his face – Tony worked diligently and efficiently. The man was good with the customers, too. He had a natural charm that Peter wanted to learn more about – wanted to see how it felt to be used in his direction.

So lost in his thoughts, the older man’s words had him jumping, a sharp blush hitting his cheeks almost instantly. Looking sheepish, Peter slid a hand through his hair, a small smile slipping across his lips. “I’m ready right now. I hope you don’t mind walking – the place I’m thinking is right around the corner,” Peter got himself back together quickly, his composure something he’d been working on since being around patients. People needed a poker face from someone delivering shitty news to them – someone had to give them hope.

Shaking the thought away, Peter felt his smile grow wider – Tony was leading them out of the bar without another word.

A little more relaxed, Peter took a second to notice the air outside, the temperature moderate, less stuffy than the enclosure of the bar packed full of people. He took a deep breath, his eyes slipping shut for a second. The sound of Tony’s voice wasn’t surprising this time, the warm tone of it slipping over him pleasant, comforting. “I’m glad to be out of there, the late Friday night gig is too crazy,” Tony spoke softly but clear, like he was used to talking in front of people – the confidence in his presentation present, out in the open.

He smiled in response and started walking, Tony moving to join him, keeping up effortlessly.

Boldly, Peter grabbed Tony’s elbow at the end of the sidewalk, the man trying to continue walking straight when they needed to turn. “I’m taking you somewhere, remember?” Peter questioned, his voice on the right side of teasing.

Tony didn’t answer, he simply nodded and followed his lead, absolutely no resistance in the arm still settled in Peter’s grip. It took more effort than it should have to drop Tony’s arm – but he kept up the contact in their closeness, each step caused the older man’s shoulder to brush against his own.

“So, is bartending your full-time gig? You’ve got excellent taste in your drink suggestions – but something tells me there’s more to you.” They’d been walking for a minute or two in silence, the lack of conversation surprisingly comfortable despite not really knowing one another. The start of the conversation wasn’t forced, Peter was just curious – interested in finding out more about his handsome hero.

The longer they walked, the more it seemed like Tony was leaning into him, so Peter let it happen – his fingers brushed against Tony’s whenever he could reach them. Neither gave into the temptation to hold hands – the tease of not knowing, of the journey of finding out more – that was the game at the moment. Peter bit his bottom lip, his head turning ever so slightly. It wouldn’t do to give away just how enamored he was, not yet, anyway.

“It’s not. I actually teach high school physics. Over at Midtown Science and Tech. I’ve got a Master’s in Mechatronics Engineering, so I use it building robots with my students and talking about gas laws and thermodynamics. It’s great,” Tony didn’t sound like he was joking, either – his eyes were vivid, the brightness in them genuine.

Peter would have never pegged the guy as a teacher, but now that he knew – it made sense. The immediate way he rushed in to help, to provide support – that’s what teachers did, every day, for all the students they came into contact with. If it weren’t for the eyes watching his every move and the rather hungry look Tony couldn’t seem to hide – he might have questioned the man’s interest. He couldn’t, though – coffee-colored eyes trailed over him like they wanted to undress him one article of clothing by the next. The gaze was intense and sent little shocks of excitement all around.

“My initial thought did not stray anywhere near teacher. I can see it, though. I bet you’re the teacher that everyone likes, too. You’re teaching thermodynamics, so you’re dealing with smart kids. I’d go so far as to say that you’re the nerdy hot teacher everyone’s lusting after.” Peter blushed at that, the thought of his younger self walking into his own AP Physics class to see Tony standing there – he would have crushed on him for sure. He could honestly say he might be there already, anyway. Tony’s snort in response had him blushing harder, his face so warm from the flush of blood pressing against his cheeks.

“I try not to think about it, Pete. Makes the job a little easier, you know?”

And he did know – perfectly well. There’d been just as many legal and ethics classes throughout his med school journey to understand that concept intimately. Better for him, anyway. He wanted Tony’s attention on him. With each second that past, the want for it only increased – that thought substantial in and of itself.

It took a couple more minutes to end up outside Del Mar’s – his favorite bodega in the city. Rotations at the hospital didn’t pay well, and for a few months during his first year navigating the inability to carry more than one job, Peter had to be very, very smart about his money. It didn’t take a genius to understand that good food at a cheap price couldn’t be beat – so he kept Del Mar’s on his always list and went there as often as his wallet allowed him. By that point, the owner knew who he was, how he liked his sandwich, and would usually slip him a discount. Besides – it was one of the best meals in this part of Queen’s.

Tony spoke up when he saw the sign, a look of recognition on his face. “I love Del Mar’s. The number four with extra pickles got me through finals week last semester.” His face was pulled into a light grin, the man’s arm already extending to open the door, holding it for Peter. “Nice choice. I’ll gladly take this as a thank you meal,” Tony shot him a wink, the look making Peter’s head swim slightly. How the hell did someone make that look so good?

----

The coincidence of being led to one of his favorite bodegas wasn’t missed – Tony didn’t really know what to do with it, but he noticed. He also noticed how much they touched throughout the walk from the bar. Tony wasn’t very good about being inconspicuous unless he was trying to, and he certainly wasn’t trying to in this instance. The fact that Peter reciprocated, pushed himself into Tony’s space – that spoke volumes, too. Watching him walk through the door, Tony also knew how much he wanted to get to know Peter – in all the ways that were possible.

It didn’t take them long to get situated with their sandwiches, Mr. Del Mar recognized them both and set his son to making their food. Peter’s added “can you squish down the bread?” made Tony turn his head, a laugh leaving his lips.

“Squish down the bread? Only you,” Tony mumbled, the words probably not even loud enough for the other man to hear him. It felt good, though – the easy camaraderie between them just as nice as the sight of the beautiful man before him. He felt an elbow in his side and a head leaning in close, like he was trying to whisper in Tony’s ear.

“Don’t knock it before you try it.” Peter hummed, the gust of his breath sending an army of gooseflesh rushing along his skin.

Tony worked hard to hold the groan that threatened to escape him down – Del Mar surely didn’t need to hear anything like that coming from his mouth. When their sandwiches were ready, Tony made a hasty retreat – Peter thankfully following behind him. The night air broke up the last of the noise and the ability to breath made his head a little clearer. What a fucking rush.

“Do you trust me?” Peter asked, his head tilted in question. His grip on the sandwich bag made Tony happy that they were dangling from his hand, not clenched in the other’s fist. Without thought, Tony knew the answer.

“Yeah, I do, actually. What did you have in mind?” Tony asked, his senses on alert and running on overdrive from all the conflicting things coursing through him.

Peter didn’t verbally answer, instead, he turned around and started to walk down the sidewalk again. The unpredictability of the arresting man only increased his interest and he followed along – no worries or cares in the world. They didn’t walk for very long, Peter stopped them in front of a building fire escape, a roguish grin on his face. Tony’s eyes were glued to the flash of skin that appeared when Peter jumped to grab the folded-up ladder – the movement smooth, like Peter was an athlete in another life.

They climbed the stairs quickly, the stability of them surprisingly sturdy. Peter kept their sandwiches out to the side the entire time, the care he was taking with them so, so endearing. Tony could picture that same care being applied to Peter’s patients and immediately knew the man would be a good doctor – no other details needed. When they eventually settled on the roof – Tony let out a low whistle, the view of the night’s sky a little weakening. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked up and saw such clarity. “Pete, this view is ridiculous,” Tony gasped out, the awe evident in his voice.

Peter nodded, his eyes alight – mile long legs carried him until the younger man plopped down against the raised edge, his back pressing against it. “I know – it’s probably my favorite in the city. A couple of years ago, I was still living with a roommate. One that liked to have loud sex pretty much all the time. I don’t think he ever went to class. Anyway – I was studying for an Immunology final and couldn’t focus, so I came for a sandwich. On my wanderings while eating, I noticed the stairs were down on the fire escape, so I sort of just – climbed them. When I got up here, I felt the first sense of peace since coming to the city. I come up here all the time now,” Peter finished with a shrug, his hands already fumbling with the bag.

Tony plopped himself down next to the other and relaxed back, the view even better from this angle. He took the sandwich when Peter handed it to him, his soft smile growing a little bit. Their fingers brushed in the hand off, the delicate brush of skin to skin so fucking powerful. Sucking in a breath, he fiddled with the paper covering his sandwich to distract himself for a second. “It’s nice – being so close to the sky. The clarity up here makes the world look a little different. Thanks for sharing it,” Tony finally murmured, his shoulder shifting until it pressed against Peter’s side briefly.

The man’s blush was the only answer he got.

They made idle chatter while they ate, Tony talking about his latest robotics project – the group of kids on the team some of his best yet. Peter listened so adamantly, his head nodding every now and again while he chomped down on his flattened sandwich. In turn, Peter told Tony more about med school, about how he hoped to find a lab that would let him get lost in groundbreaking research. It was fascinating, to watch someone so empowered talk about their desires. Tony found himself hanging on every word, his sandwich long gone by the time they resurfaced from the conversation.

There weren’t a lot of times when Tony felt like he was standing near someone who could keep up with him. It wasn’t cocky, either – he understood how his brain worked and knew there were few people like him roaming the world. And without trying, he walked into someone exactly like him. Peter wanted to use his brain for good – he wanted to help people. There was something to be said for a person like that. Regardless of the man’s bad luck with his date earlier in the evening, Tony couldn’t deny how happy it made him – the way everything worked out.

They chatted for a little while longer, neither man in any hurry to be anywhere or part from the other. It was Peter’s “I should probably head home,” that brought Tony out of the daze he’d been in since sitting down next to the younger man. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that it was approaching midnight. The last few hours flew by – it didn’t seem nearly as late as it actually was. It took him a minute to nod, Tony wanting to soak up this moment just a little longer. Tony got up and dusted his hands and jeans off before holding a hand down for Peter to grab.

Long arms wrapped around his shoulders, the tug of Tony’s grip pulling Peter from the ground and up onto his feet. He thought for a second that he made Peter lose his balance – but then the arms around him tightened and the other’s face was pressing into the length of his neck. Tony let his own arms embrace Peter around the waist, his grip tightening to bring their bodies closer together. A soft nose brushed against his collar bone and under his chin – the touch innocent and tender. His arms squeezed on their own accord, the hold on Peter getting a little cozier.

The next thing Tony knew, lips were caressing his cheek, the barely there kiss fleeting and absolutely perfect. “Thanks for tonight, Tony.”

Tony pressed the side of his head against Peter’s and kept him there, the clutch of his arms the only thing he could think of to response with. There wasn’t anything to say. He helped because he could – there weren’t any other motives. The end result, well – that was just a happy accident. Turning his head, Tony slipped his nose into Peter’s hair, lips glancing against his head.

They parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, Peter grabbing Tony’s phone from his hand before he could even think to ask for his number. Later, when he finally let himself look, he grinned at the new name in his contacts – ‘Peter Parker’. It had a nice ring to it and totally fit the man attached to it. He sent off a quick text to make sure the younger man had his number and went about his way – the walk home one of the most peaceful ones he’d experienced in a long time.

Things stayed pretty casual between them for a while after that. It felt easy to simply chat about things that happened throughout the day – Peter did a good job describing the nicer parts of his job and strayed away from the heavier stuff. There were sometimes descriptions of co-worker drama, or the stupidity of professors waiting for him when Tony got a chance to take a look at his phone.

The rest of the day always went a little quicker when he got to have a couple exchanges with the man, his own stories about failing students and the many times one of his student’s grandmother passed away in attempts to get out of assignments. The uncomplicated way Tony could just be with Peter kept him from being bored and feeling an iota of loneliness.

They occasional met for low key dates, Peter’s schedule was so hectic, they usually ended up in one of their apartments eating take out and watching whatever they found interesting on Hulu. Tony helped Peter study on the night’s when the other was too exhausted to do much of anything – and they necked on the couch like teenagers when the doctor in training had more energy to spare or had the next day off.

It felt good to be restrained – getting to know Peter made the anticipation for the physical shit to come thrum with life, each little detail like a small secret to add to the growing list Tony kept in the back of his mind. In forty years of life, Tony hadn’t ever had a relationship like this – one that took the time to grow and evolve, to actually be nurtured before shit became too complicated.

So, it made sense – how uncomplicated their first encounter turned out to be. A little while into things, Peter introduced him to one of his hobbies. There weren’t many things Peter devoted his time to, so Tony was excited to hear all about the dodgeball team the younger man put together with a few of his coworkers. The invite to his game later that weekend was immediately accepted – Tony couldn’t wait to see Peter in action. In their time together, Tony wasn’t any closer to understanding the mystery of one Peter Parker – and he liked it that way.

The most surprising thing about it ended up being just how much Tony liked the sight of Peter in a cut off blue shirt with a Rambo style headband tied around his head. The muscles of his arms were trim, a little on the thin side, though the definition of each muscle was absolutely there. The black-out under his eyes brought a new dimension to the look – Tony suddenly so very taken by the whole situation. A twitch in his pants told him just how taken he really was, the jeans he was excited to wear suddenly a lot tighter – a lot more uncomfortable.

The feeling didn’t ease, either. Peter played dodgeball the same way he did everything – knowledgably, intensely, and with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Every time he threw the ball, the muscles in Pete’s arms tensed, the definition becoming even more refined. The celebratory high fives and fist pumps took home the gold, though – Tony never wanted to lose the image of pure excitement on Peter’s face. He hoped that it might come in handy a little later on.

Tony forgot about the heat for a little while – the man so into the game, he didn’t know how loud he was cheering until the person next to him shot a look. Smirking, Tony shot out of his seat the next time Peter got someone out, his hands clapping together loudly. “Way to go, Petey!” Tony exclaimed, his eyes trained on the lady next to him.

It got a little better when Peter’s eyes caught his from across the court, a small smile on his face. In the end, Peter’s team ended up winning and Tony pissed that lady off a whole lot more than he initially set out to – which he wasn’t all that mad about.

The energized Peter that slammed into his arms a little while later was something new. There was sweat still clinging to his brow and a little bit of the black-out still smudged under his eyes – that much was recognizable. The simmering look that sat right at the surface, that was something Tony didn’t recognize. It became rather clear what it was, though – Peter’s lips caressing his in the next moment directive enough. Tony thrust his hands into the other’s sweaty locks and pulled him closer, his head tilting ever so slightly to fix the angle, to deepen the kiss.

A round of cheers was the only thing that brought them out of the passionate embrace. Tony looked over Peter’s shoulder to see the rest of the team approaching them. Peter rested his head on Tony’s chest, the huff of a sigh evidenced in the warm gust of air leaking through his shirt to grace his skin. Peter turned and introduced him to everyone, the collective welcoming him with open arms. They’d been keeping things on the low, just to have some time enjoying the thing between them while it was still just that – between them. It felt good, though – to be acknowledge by Peter as someone important to him.

All bets were off the second they walked into Tony’s apartment, however. Peter ripped off his shirt without a second thought – his arms pulling Tony in until their lips were on each other, the other’s tongue insistent, searching – yearning for Tony. Overwhelmed for a second, Tony focused on the lips on his first. He returned the kiss with equal measure. His hands joined the party next, desperate palms finally getting to press against smooth skin, the feel of it so goddamn soft. A moan ripped from Tony’s throat, effectively breaking the kiss. Peter didn’t miss a beat, he tugged at the hem of Tony’s shirt until the offensive article of clothing was on the floor, joining his own.

Tony couldn’t stand the distance between them and closed it, his being eager to be sealed at the lips with Peter again. He let his hands wrap around the man’s lower back, hands slipping under the damp waistband of Peter’s shorts – fingertips brushing against the round globes of flesh there. Tony pushed his hands as far as they could go, eager palms filling with the fullness of Peter’s cheeks. Their lips stayed busy, the hum of approval on his lips enough to know the other didn’t mind his wandering hands.

They made it as far as the couch before Tony got impatient and pushed Peter down onto it. His hands worked to take off shoes, socks, and shorts – the man on the couch cushions now encased in only his spandex boxer briefs, the black a solid contrast to the pale flesh underneath. Tony made quick work of his own get up until he was as equally undressed as Peter.

A palm pressed down on the bulge in his underwear, the damp spot causing his eyes to slam shut – the bite of his teeth in his bottom lip stopping a moan from shooting from his lips. Looking up, Tony had to catch his breath – Peter followed suit, his hand gripped himself over top of the fabric keeping him clothed. This time, the moan fell straight from his lips – their eyes connecting as the sound radiated around the otherwise quiet room.

Taking that leap, Tony kicked out of his underwear before joining Peter on the couch, his eager fingers already working to pull the sexy black fabric from the younger man’s skin. As he pulled them down, Tony pressed his fingertips into muscled thigs, across ticklish knees, and down over hairy shins – the soft fur on top of Peter’s feet brushing his skin tantalizingly. Now naked, Tony took his time to stare down at the beautiful body spread out before him – the lengthy limbs covered in unmarred skin, his cock nestled in the v of his thighs, the flesh thick and the head already glistening with want.

“Fucking finally,” Peter gasped out when Tony pressed in and gave them the first taste of fully naked flesh on flesh. Tony tucked his head into the gap of Peter’s neck – his chuckle quickly turning into a moan vibrated into the skin. Peter’s impatience reared its head, the younger man’s hips pressing against him – the fluid he so steadily leaked smearing on Tony’s cock, his pubes, even the skin of his stomach.

Tony pressed a swift kiss to Peter’s neck, his hips dropping and finally pressing their lengths together. “Fuck,” Tony babbled, his head moving until he could see Peter, their eyes catching, gaze hot. “I’m not going to last long,” he admitted, the feeling of heat creeping from his toes, up his legs, and into the middle of his core was persistent – it’d been a long time since someone this beautiful graced his bed. And it felt like forever since he’d been wanting Peter. The touch of his skin made him feel crazy – absolutely out of his head.

Desperate to distract himself, Tony sealed his lips over Peter’s, the kiss hard and oh so sloppy.

“Touch me, please. I want your hands on me – on us. Please, baby. Please – “ Peter panted out, his head turning to the side to catch some air. The usually pale skin was covered in a flush – the blood rushing in all different directions making his skin a rosy color and completely covered in sweat. It was beautiful – Peter was beautiful, in all the ways – all the personifications of it, too.

Unwilling to anything other than comply, Tony wiggled his hand down between their chests, fingers wrapping around the both of them – their lengths clenched in his grip in the most perfect of ways. The slippery nature of Peter’s slick made the pass of his hand over the sensitive skin of both their cocks deliciously sweet – the glide smooth, hypnotic. The combined keens and whimpers leaving both men’s lips played as the soundtrack of their coupling – Peter’s repeated ‘yes, yes, yes’ just about enough to push Tony over the edge right then and there.

The shooting wave of heat increased when Peter added his pumping hips to the mix. Tony’s hand was already stroking them with quick wrist movements, his wrist turning a little bit the closer he got to the tip – the drips of glorious precum from both their cocks a steady lubricant and delectably succulent. “I’m close, I’m close,” Peter babbled, his hand slipping between them to join Tony’s in the tight squeeze around their cocks.

The tangling of their fingers increased the pressure and the subtle lift of Peter’s hips was too much – too fucking delectable to hang onto any longer.

“Oh, god – Tony!” Peter shouted first – his cum striping both their stomachs, each pulse of it warm – succulent.

Tony bit into his lip, the pain mixing perfectly with the pleasure – the combination enough to barrel the orgasm right out of him. “Pete, baby… fuck – “ Tony added to the mess lingering between them, the stickiness on his hands and chest pulling a shudder from him. The lingering aftereffects of his orgasm blanked out everything but the rise and fall of Pete’s chest against his own.

----

The very next morning, Peter woke to the press of lips against the side of his head and a hand tangling in his curls, the touch light. “I’ve got to get to work, Pete. There’s a key on the counter by the coffee machine. Lock up when you leave – and keep it. See you later,” Tony’s voice was light, the man’s obvious attempt at not waking Peter up for good. He was thankful – the pull of his heavy eyes was already trying to tug him back under.

Reaching up, Peter grabbed Tony’s cheeks and pulled him down until they were kissing. His lips felt a little raw from the night before, the burn from Tony’s mustache and goatee luscious – the right side of painfully delectable. When he pulled back, Peter let their noses brush for a second, the gesture intimate. He felt a little more tied to the other man now – the physicality between them enough to cement a lot of things. It felt odd, to have waited so long. Yet, the outcome felt better than any other sexual experience he ever shared with someone. And they hadn’t even fucked yet.

“I’ll see you later. Have a good day at work, Mr. Stark.” Peter chuckled at the look of surprise on Tony’s face. Then, he smirked, Tony’s hand coming up to brush against the hair on his chin. Peter saw that gesture enough to know that was Tony’s thinking pose. Grinning, Peter used a sleepy hand to gesture him out the door. “Go, go. Don’t be late for class.”

Peter felt another kiss pressed to his head, then the smell of Tony’s cologne retreated – the thought dissatisfying for about a second. Snuggling back into the pillow, he quickly forgot about any sort of disappointment he might have felt trying to bubble up.

A couple hours later, Peter woke up to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He grabbed it, his sleepy eyes checking out the screen. Seeing Tony’s name had him waking up a little more thoroughly, the sleepiness drifting away as he swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the call. “Tony – everything okay? Free period isn’t until after lunch, right?” Peter spoke worriedly, his body now completely upright – the cobwebs of sleep now completely gone.

“Hey, Pete. Sorry to wake you up, baby. I left my file folder on the kitchen table and I have a test next period – which the copies of are in that folder. Would it be possible for you to bring it to me? I wouldn’t ask, but if I postpone this test, we’ll be a whole week behind – we’re too close to AP exams for that.” Tony’s tone of voice didn’t broker any arguments – Peter knew he wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Grinning at the thought, he started to climb out of bed.

“It would be possible. How much time do I have? I can just leave for my rounds when I’m finished,” Peter replied, his feet hitting the cold floor for the first time that day – a sigh leaving his lips at the feeling.

He could hear some rustling, then a door opening and shutting. “My next class is in an hour. I’ve got robotics doing a write up today. I’ll owe you, Pete.” Tony’s voice dropped an octave with that last bit – Peter imagining that the man’s eyebrows rose and fell with the words, too.

Knowing he could be showered and ready in less than half an hour, Peter stood up and made his way to the front room. If he was going to take the damn thing, he needed to make sure he knew what it was. The folder was easy to spot – the bulkiness of it a Tonyism, the lack of organization stupidly endearing. “Blue folder, right?”

“Blue folder. Pete, you’re the best. Thank you.” Tony sounded sincere, like Peter was really doing him a solid. He had to admit, being appreciated for the little things wasn’t the worst. The whole being in a relationship wasn’t the worst, either, if he were being honest with himself.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before answering, the need to damper his smile there – despite the fact that it was quickly becoming difficult to do so. “It’s the least I can do. I’ll shoot you a text and let you know when I get to Midtown. Go back and keep your kids in order.” Tony chuckled on the other side of the phone and Peter joined him, the action making him feel light – floaty.

Kicking himself into gear, Peter stripped off the sleep pants he borrowed from Tony and stepped into the shower – this stall much bigger than the one in his tiny apartment. He indulged a little, washing his skin and hair with Tony’s body wash and shampoo – smelling like him for the rest of the day sounded pretty nice. Especially during rotations, one sniff and the soothing reminder of Tony and the comfort he brought would make it all better.

It felt nice to luxuriate in the first sleep over moment, too. Every breath that picked up the distinct Tony Stark scent would be a reminder of their time together, of the way Tony pulled pleasure from him like it was what he’d been made to do.

A little bit of forethought meant Peter had an extra pair of scrubs in the backpack he brought with him to the game the day before – so he slipped them on, the light blue pair one of his favorite sets. Letting his hair dry a little, Peter put a piece of bread in Tony’s high-tech toaster and ate it sitting on the counter – the fancy strawberry jelly in the fridge some of the best he’d ever had. Licking his fingers, Peter cleaned up after himself and finished getting ready.

His heart pounded double time for the first couple seconds after picking up the house key. It was solid black and matched with Tony’s sleek aesthetic – and it fit perfectly on his carabiner, the sight of it making his breath hitch. No matter how sleepy Peter was that morning, he understood the immensity of the gesture. Tony was letting him into his life in a more permanent manner. Though they’d been inseparable for a few months now, they never talked about it. He should have known Tony would find a subtle way to get his point across.

After forcing himself to pocket the key, Peter grabbed the file folder, pressing it into his backpack with the rest of his study material. He took another look around the room, a warm feeling washing over him – though he’d been here more than a few times, it felt a little different now. He’d probably never be able to look at the couch without thinking about the way Tony stroked him off, the way he came so hard because of the man. Wetting his lips, Peter backed out of the room and exited the house, his shiny key fitting into the lock easily.

Midtown was only a ten-minute walk from Tony’s house – the very adult decision to live close was beneficial and cut down on the amount of effort Peter needed to put forth to get there. Lots of time, he told himself – lots of time. There weren’t too many people out at this time of the morning, so he got to be a little leisurely about it. His entire body felt buoyant, lighter than air – and he knew it was because of Tony and the way things were slowly starting to knit together for them. He was about to walk into the man’s school for fucks sake!

Pulling out his phone, Peter sent off a quick text.

Peter Parker [10:40AM]: I’m here – what’s next?

Tony Stark [10:42AM]: You need to check in at the office. Stacy at the front desk knows to look out for you. She’ll direct you back to my classroom. Tony Stark [10:42AM]: Thanks again, Pete.

Smiling, Peter walking in through the front doors and right into the office, the place thankfully not a complicated maze. Stacy was a nice older woman who wore bright red lipstick and smiled widely. She looked at him for a couple extra seconds when he handed over his ID – a knowing sort of glimmer in her eyes. For the first time, Peter thought that maybe Tony did not have anyone bring him things like this – especially a younger person like himself. He just smiled and let her give him directions to the science hall – she told him that Tony’s door would be recognizable.

And it was – it so was. There was a 2D robot plastered to the door, the cutout surrounded by science quotes and a cute handmade Stark Industries sign – the man telling Peter that his robotics team deemed themselves that during one of their competitions a few years ago. He knocked on the door lightly, his head peeking through the window for a second – his eyes widening when he noticed a whole lot of eyes looking over at him. Tony caught his eye and smiled – the look grateful and excited and happy all at once.

Peter took a step back when Tony opened the door and stepped out – the anti-slam mechanism on the door making it shut slowly. Tony’s arm wrapped around him and tugged him into a one arm hug – his lips pressing against Peter’s cheek. “Thanks for coming. I was so wrapped up in you and us and how fucking happy I am that I totally forgot. You’re a lifesaver.” Tony’s smile was soft, his eyes a bit gooey – his happiness radiating.

He slipped one of the straps off his shoulders and brought the backpack around, his fingers working the zippers easily. “I’m liking the sound of that. And I’m happy to help. I like being able to see where you work. Mr. Stark has a new meaning for me now,” Peter replied coyly. Handing over the folder, Tony let his fingers linger on Peter’s skin for a moment, the two sharing a look – the soft smile on Pete’s lips reflected right back at him.

A noise had Peter looking up – his eyes widening when he saw a couple of the students from the front row pressed up against the door, watching their interaction. “I think we’ve got an audience,” Peter whispered, his hand coming to the side of his mouth to make it look a little sneakier. He felt Tony’s snort against his cheek, the gust of air warm.

“Sneaky shits can’t mind their own business.” Tony murmured back, his free hand reaching up to rest on the soft skin of Peter’s cheek. “You and I will be the gossip of the school for the next few weeks, so we might as well give them something to talk about.” Peter got what he meant about a second before Tony’s lips touched his own – his eyes slipping shut at the touch, regardless. The kiss was soft and chaste, barely there – yet one of the best they’d shared yet.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Tony asked pulling back, his hands once again in his own space – the toasty warmth on Peter’s skin the only reminder of the touch being there.

Peter nodded, his hand reaching out to brush along Tony’s lip – the slightest bit of shiny spit lingering there. “I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be done with my shift around 8.” He shouldered his backpack, preparing himself to leave. “Text me when you’re done for the day.” Peter shot him a wink and took another step back – the distance between them just enough for Tony to break from the haze of their connection and step back into the classroom.

He was about to walk away when he heard a voice through the wall – “Mr. Stark, was that your boyfriend?”

His stomach clenched; ears peeled to hear the response.

“Yeah, it was. Now stop gawking over how cute he is and let’s get back to thermodynamic equilibrium.”

Grinning, Peter hoped this floaty feeling of being so in love would never leave.

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #doctor peter parker #au #bartender tony stark #teacher tony stark #alternate universe #marvel fanfiction #fan fics #ao3 fan fiction #ao3 #bobbie writes #ironspider

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hibibun · 4 years

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A Series of Wagers (2/3)

Series: The Magnus Archives Pairing: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas Summary: "An interesting gamble for one who consorts with The One Alone… up to something are we?”

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He throws back, face contorting into a facsimile smile that rings hollow despite the amusement that has to be there ghosting his lips.

Peter was right though. He did want to know. He always did. And if it weren’t for the mirage now obscuring that information from him, it wouldn’t be necessary at all. Frankly, it was interesting enough on its own that he was finding himself getting the attention now when this was hardly the first time they had met. It’s been a good night overall though, and he isn’t complaining about the game. There’s something surprisingly lively in the pale sea weathered man across the table he hasn’t seen from any of his family in a long time.

"And if I win?" Elias asks, even though he is already picking his cards from the deck.

Notes/Warnings: Canon Compliant, Time Skips, Mind Games, Canon-Typical Behavior, Blindfolds, Mentioned Past Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Bondage, Unhealthy Relationship AO3 CH1 - CH2 - CH3

Chapter 2: 2002 - 2011

DECEMBER 2002

While normally Elias has no issues in, and even to a degree, enjoys planning events it came as a relief to not be in charge of it this year. The end of the year is always a busy time between responsibilities to the Institute, its employees, planning the usual office party, and making sure every loose end was knotted off—nothing left lingering on his check list.

So it’s a bit of a reward when all is said and done. And despite their disposition, the Lukas family threw a good party. The venue contained plenty of spots to hide away, and after giving the necessary greetings to donors also attending, he’s able to find a nice view point from one of the tables at the top of the staircase, and comfortably watch the night unfold.

With the amount of catching up between those attending, it’s easy to glean a succinct summary of how everyone else spent the year. The things they admit, the things they think they should keep as a card up their sleeves. The tentative boundaries they draw around each other and where those alliances overlap or remain prickly as ever. Elias sits and watches them all, sipping at a flute of champagne.

It’s no surprise when Peter finds him, as usual not caring to properly announce his presence.

“Being a nosy voyeur again?”

“I believe I am allowed to enjoy a party in my preferred method. I don’t see you out there mingling either, dear,” Elias retorts, turning his gaze away from the crowds flittering down below to watch his partner steal a swig of his drink.

“That’s Nate’s job. Company head and all that—I’d rather be out on the water again, but…” He does a shrugging motion both in reference to statement’s obviousness, as well as a vague indication he was supposed to be here doing… something. Given his family was hosting, putting in an appearance that he promptly turned away from most likely.

Elias is already accustomed to this and only makes a mild noise of understanding without vocalizing that the concept didn’t seem so bad at the moment. He was feeling rather weary and in desperate need of a vacation himself, though with the length that the captain preferred to be out on the water, he doesn’t think that would be enjoyable. A weekend sounded nice though.

“I take that it was another year spent well isolated then? Certainly sounded like you had little to report.” There’s a thread of humor unsaid in how quite a few of his calls went unanswered, which spoke for itself well enough.

“Oh, nothing too strenuous, no. Did some spring cleaning of the crew; spent a couple months in València,” Peter looks wistful as he recalls it. As if by imagining it, he’ll be back in that Spanish seaside losing himself in crowds and drawing others to become just as lost. Not that Elias was peeking, much.

“Ah yes, I received your ‘care package’. Can’t say I’m too fond of potentially disease causing artifacts, but the Cuva Vella was nice to see.”

“I don’t have the same skill sets as your lot, so there’s no knowing if it’s really from the hospital they claimed, but it looked like a nice vase either way.”

“Well it’s in Artifacts now so…” Elias responds hiding how distrusting he feels in regards to the man’s true intentions, knowing for a fact it did have something attached to it. He, of course, is going to continue to feign disinterest—something he’s seemed to pick up as a reflexive instinct to match Peter.

“And here I was going to get you flowers,” The captain laments, though the sincerity of it is muddled behind a grin which appears to contradict his words. Elias doesn’t care to look to clarify for himself, and only answers him with an eye roll.

They stay the remainder of the party, out of sight and catching up themselves. Elias shares what gossip he feels like discussing, despite knowing Peter likely only cared to the extent of using the information to avoid as many extra conversations or meetings of his own. At some point, he must get sick of hearing about it though, and abruptly raises his head from the perch of his palm and suggests they leave.

It’s the free time Elias has to spare, he tells himself, beckoning him to follow Peter out into the night, leaving his own car to be picked up in the morning. The venue is closer to Kent and he knows they aren’t too far from the Moorland House, but isn’t surprised when it’s that same building Peter sometimes calls a home they arrive at instead.

They exchange coats and a chill settling in the room, an imitation of the past times they’ve been here—along with it, there’s an underlying hunger, once more waiting to spring free. He hadn’t been looking or expecting a longing to be there, and yet, after so many, many months apart, why wouldn’t it be?

They follow similar, yet different steps this time. Elias is more familiar with this place now despite only having been in it a handful of times before physically. He is a detail-oriented man. The model ships and carved wooden birds are still tucked away in corners meant to be dismissed. No new paintings aside from the empty coastlines he’s already seen—no doubt a gift from Simon if he detects something else alongside the strokes of that vast ocean captured in the frame.

It’s pleasant, the way Peter stares at him. Equally ravenous for what they no doubt came here for and for attention he doesn’t want to admit, all wrapped up with a lovely sheen of genuine discomfort at how deeply Elias is seeking out the person hiding behind this farce of a home. This room is nothing like the cabin he has never actually set foot into on the Tundra, and it is a place he doubts he will ever be allowed to visit.

No, this place is nothing to Peter. Merely, a place to sleep when he’s forced to anchor. A reluctant tie to society and its dregs, which Elias has happily helped wrap around his legs.

Something in his expression must have changed for Peter reaches out to him, a cold embrace at his back and an even colder kiss at his nape. He doesn’t turn to face him right away, enjoying the strange pleasantry. If he gets his way tonight, giving Peter this now is only fair.

“For a moment, I thought you were taking us back to the Moorland. Though, we are still a little ways off from an actual holiday aren’t we? You will take me there sometime, won’t you?” Elias asks, placing a hand over the one holding his side. They both know he isn’t talking about the house itself. Peter may not know it, but he remembers visiting Mordechai there—truly, it had more to do with that basement and what Peter felt about it than anything else.

“That eager to see? I keep telling you, if you accept my proposal—” He breathes, by his ear, amused until Elias twists around and cuts him off.

“And when exactly would we fit in this ‘wedding’? You’re hardly moored for long and I have an Institute to run. You always struck me as the type to remain engaged for as long as you could, so I would think this arrangement is far better than the alternative.”

Peter’s eyes darken, and it strikes Elias for the first time how deep those still waters really run.

“You… actually like the thought of it. You’d like to call me your husband,” He moves his hands up to cup the man’s cheeks, before delicately moving them down along Peter’s beard to play along his neck. His fingers trace down his pulse enjoying the rapid thoughts accompanying it.

“A connection of your own definition, but one none the less… Are you that worried I’ll leave you behind? Bit hypocritical don’t you think?” The smile he directs isn’t necessarily meant to be cold, but it is piercing in a way he knows is uncomfortable.

“Not really. I’m aware it wasn’t as common in your day, but anyone can get a divorce rather easily now. Marriage isn’t the contract you’re imagining it to be.”

“No, maybe not, but that’s all the more reason for me to wonder what it is you imagine it to be. You can ignore it all you want later, but right now you will look at me and tell me,” Elias starts, stilling his hand to hold at the back of Peter’s neck, keeping him in place to meet his eyes. He doesn’t have an Archivist’s compulsion, but he has intimidation and the invasive, burning reminder gripping tight into the pale man beside him that he cannot run right now.

“Peter Lukas, do you really want to marry me?”

For a man capable of having almost anything he could desire, arranging his life to be as self-indulgent as possible, it’s uncommon those desires ever actualize in the form of wanting another person. Someone so used to the world around him rejecting his existence that he’s learned to soak in it, and pretend he loves it, wearing it as a second skin. And maybe, to a degree he does actually love it. The utter and unabashed way you can love yourself when there isn’t a need to think about another soul in the world.

And that is why at the root of it someone like Elias is both perfect and terrible for him. Because he’s so afraid of being seen, it’s only natural the Eye would show interest. And Elias wishes to know him so intimately exactly because he hides. All the while, he can know with certainty that such a fascination is surface level, having very little to do with the fact it is Peter specifically he is showing interest towards.

It is why Peter spells all the justifications in the world for their relationship. It is why he can indulge in the easy nature of being seen, but not being cared for, until sometimes, it feels like he is wanted—like he wants and wants and will be denied. Abandoned once he’s been found because he knows Elias doesn’t hold on to anything for long. Besides bones that is.

“Yes,” is all Peter will admit to, impossibly small, but it reaches Elias and warms him in a way that he knows is more than just affection. He rewards the admission, stroking his cheek before learning up to kiss him properly. It doesn’t even occur to him immediately the words were never actually spoken, but plucked from the captain’s head.

There will be many nights where this doesn’t mean anything, but for tonight, there is a vulnerability Elias doesn’t know when or if he’ll have the pleasure of seeing again. In truth, there isn’t really a way they could right now, and he had never imagined himself a married man. Defining what they have would be too much for both of them, but making it a comfortable illusion confined to a ring that he doesn’t have to think about if he doesn’t want to is a preferable solution.

The kiss is chaste, and this time, it is him breaking away and walking to the bedroom, removing his clothes with a practiced patience, expecting Peter to follow suit. Peter flips from fidgety to irritated, finally catching onto what was just discussed, and Elias soaks in the emotions radiating off him hidden in the rustle of clothing. Without a word, he retrieves some coils of rope and lubricant from the bedside drawer, and simply waits and watches.

Peter’s second guessing why he brought him here and Elias is patient—the captain will come to his own conclusions in the end. Either way, Elias knows he will play into the game set up tonight and he only smiles when Peter finally lies on the bed. After a beat, he resigns and raises his arms to the headboard.

Methodically, Elias twines the rope around those presented wrists, and prompts Peter to test the tightness.

“Comfortable?” He asks, looking down. It’s just the ropes he is referring to here, and the flicker of a scowl he receives is indicative that at least Peter has accepted how things will go.

“They’re fine,” He answers him, muted and tense. It pleases him to see him restricted like that, such an easygoing man who usually was so fond of startling others looking instead so impossibly small for someone of his stature.

“Excellent,” Elias murmurs, tone light and notably excited. He stays on top of him, and resumes the languid kisses he’d intended to give before their conversation began. While Peter had been annoyed minutes prior, he can feel the interest in his prick as it hardens, bumping into his backside. He bites the pale man’s lower lip, feeling all at once a rush of cold air exhaled with a moan.

Elias begins to trail those kisses south. Unlike his partner, he prefers to not only take his time, but leave a lasting imprint. There isn’t any doubt who he’s with when it comes to Peter, no, but the man is so obsessed with giving just enough to make a person want more. A lingering note of dissatisfaction, enough to draw in that hungry voracious need for contact he feeds on.

For Beholding though, it is about the experience. About learning and cataloguing all those little things, people don’t even know about themselves necessarily until they’re in the act. Especially the things they don’t know—don’t want to show.

It’s unavoidable like this for Elias not to look. Once the captain is drawn in, feeling really comfortable, he opens that eye and takes a gander at just what marriage means for a Lukas like him.

When he looks, he sees shadows of people. More like impressions or ghosts really, and yet, all come together to welcome a new member. The Moorland House from the outside is about the same as he remembers it. A foggy almost forgotten place that only served as a temple and a tomb.

He sees dances where there is no feeling, stilted haunting music, and tables so far apart from one another that you’d think the room was empty even with the party clearly going on around them. Even the couple in question, once their vows and first dance finished are far apart from each other. As if they were strangers on separate sides of a dance hall—which perhaps, they were.

And that was the problem though wasn’t it? Elias isn’t meant for the Lonely—isn’t willing to truly join that family. Peter knows this. He knew it from the beginning and knew what he was getting into when approaching Elias with even the semi-serious notion of a date, but he’s comfortable with it. With maintaining the distance they already have, only with the facsimile promise of belonging that he could and would never truly have.

Truly what a heartbreaking notion that is so very pitiful and suiting of the situation. Something finally that Elias understands.

As he comes away from that, it’s written across Peter’s face with trails of unwanted salty tears, and etched into his heart. All Elias is doing is plucking away at scabs, poking at a raw gaping sore he never had any intention of soothing.

“Oh Peter,” Elias says softly, no real sense of comfort in his voice. He’s enjoying how far he can stretch this, and it’s with a reluctant, rare mercy he withdraws from the other place he wanted to see in that house. If he tries to look anymore, well, there won’t be anything left—and that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

DECEMBER 2005

They never do marry. Even when a legal approximation could be considered, there are too many things, and good reasons, that stop it from ever happening. Still, in the end, Elias goes far enough to accept an engagement ring and they make believe it is real, knowing it isn’t just him who often removes it. Honestly, he’s more surprised Peter didn’t take this as a proper sign to simply end the game, not that he’s seen him for longer than necessary the past couple years. Whether that’s his attempt to instill that loneliness he’s so craving or… something else, Elias is too busy to care.

How do you love a man who has no ability to perceive it? Who, in fact, reflexively rejects every attempt at genuine affection?

Elias even hesitates to necessarily ascribe that much feeling to whatever it is their relationship has become. It has enough characteristics for the applicable term of lovers, but there is a history Jonah holds with that word, which has always had an underlying cruelty he can never seem to shake. The both of them do really.

He’s had lovers in the past. Strings of men who’d sing his praises until they saw the depths of him and either were in too deep to get away, or ran as far as they could. Peter was neither of these types of men. They were similar in such a way that it was both a relief and irritating. Men of their nature can attribute as many pretty words and intentions as they want to the way they treat each other, and he knows for as much as Peter can feel for him, what they share is mutual. Perhaps, it’d be better to say they tolerate each other.

Even if there are times that Elias wants to bridge that narrowing gap and see what else is lurking under the surface, he knows such a reality would never exist. And further that he cannot describe the feeling which draws him into wanting that as anything but the endless need to unravel that which does not want to be seen. An itch caused by mere fascination that could and would only end in painful tragedy. If he were a kinder man, maybe he could see himself comforting what he found behind that empty smile, but he knows himself too well. If he had his way, he would utterly destroy Peter and maybe regret it, but he knows he would still do so.

That is why he does not entirely begrudge the man his fleeing and disguises. The way he will run hot and cold and pretend so frequently that he could drift away at any moment, leaving Elias a forgotten memory. It’s his own way of dealing with it, and it’s fitting payback to only scratch at wounds Elias himself pretends don’t exist.

They don’t love each other so much as the idea of what it would be like to be with each other. A thing that in practice never quite turns out the way it’s played out in the imagination. A momentary lapse where it’s easy to pretend that affection is real, a relationship forged on understanding unperceivable to anyone else around them.

Someday, it’s going to destroy one of them—and Elias does not plan on it being him.

MARCH 2006

“Yes, Peter? I do believe this is the first time that you’ve actually been early to an appointment,” Elias addresses the now sudden form of his partner in the chair across his desk. He doesn’t look up from the stacks of department expenses he’s trying to catalogue and update to a budget’s spreadsheet, also laid out on the desk.

“I’m here to cash in a favor.”

“Right, my unfortunate guess regarding Mr. Rayner last year,” he starts, waiting on the captain to prod the conversation along.

“I’m not asking for much, just to give a little back you could say for a project of mine. Requires some specific construction, placing and people in mind, which that eye of yours would be just great for,” Peter explains, laughing at his own joke.

“Your project, yet my work, I see. I wasn’t aware you were looking for a secretary,” He muses, reading over the budget expenses from the research department as he listens. He had hoped to have this aspect of his day squared away before dealing with whatever it was his ‘husband’ wanted to talk about.

“Real estate agents and contractors are so annoying. You love talking to people though, so you’ll probably have a blast. And it’s not like I won’t be there—I have it all planned out, I just need to find the right people to do it. So all I’m asking is for you to do a little research, which is something this place does, is it not?”

“And will I be privy to this project, or will that be a secret for me to figure out?”

“Haven’t got a name for it yet, so no. It’ll be fun—certainly more so than the little experiment Fairchild’s gotten my family sucked into,” He sounds bored, maybe even a bit bitter at that.

“Oh? Right, I heard about that. Do wish I could see how well that will work, but with Mr. Rayner involved, it’s doubtful. Although, if they make it out, maybe I’ll see about them giving a statement.”

Peter shoots him a withering look over his priorities, but Elias ignores it. Luckily, the whole thing has nothing to do with him.

“It just seems like a waste overall.”

“Sometimes it’s about the quality, not the quantity.”

“Say that when you can fund your own Institute,” Peter quips back. There’s no arguing with that necessarily, but it is funny enough that Elias gives him a bemused smile not deeming it with a response.

“Well, I’ll let you know how thoroughly afraid whoever gets stuck up there is and we’ll decide on it later. Now, is there any sort of time table for this other juncture of yours?”

Peter hums, deciding finally to give Elias just a few more pieces to work with.

“Soon as possible, I’ll send over what I have in mind. I’m sure you’ve already heard the rumors, but a supposed extinction might be coming, so the sooner the better. While I’m at it, I’m also including that you won’t interfere when things kick off, but that’s to be assumed, of course.”

For all the rituals attempted over the years that Elias has witnessed, none of them—including his own first attempt—completely worked, so he really doesn’t have any intention of trying to ruin things. However, he also has been paying a little attention to what his current Archivist has been up to and knows that there’s always the chance she will do something. In that regard, perhaps it would be kind of him to give Peter a warning, but he doesn’t control and can’t consistently predict the things Gertrude Robinson deems necessary to handle. She appears to have her hands quite full with stopping other rituals, so for all he knows it will slip under the radar.

“Well, if it comes, it comes. You know I’d much rather watch and see what happens than make any effort to stop either you or any new power emerging. I’m simply curious as to whether it’ll be enough to do anything.”

“Right. Of course, you would say that.” Peter says, and it should bother him that he can’t quite tell what he means by it. Though, from the stare Elias is receiving that feeling is mutual. He has his own pieces being moved along right now and the coming of another power matters very little in regards to what he’s attempting to do. He, unfortunately, also just hasn’t found the right person for it, yet.

SEPTEMBER 2007

Time and technology has diluted it, but there is nothing quite like starlight on an open deck far, far away from any overpopulated, glaringly bright city. Such a sight almost makes Peter understand what it is that Simon sees, but it isn’t the Vast, which is capturing him right now.

It has been a rather bad year for Peter Lukas.

While he hadn’t done much more than provide resources and keep an ear out, the Daedalus experiment had eaten up a chunk of time and money that he couldn’t even feel arrogant about. His bet with Elias on that may have been won, but the man had seemed oh so indifferent to his other little project being ruined. They’ve spoken before about Gertrude and the type of woman she is—still the thought of having all his work tossed away over a newspaper article is infuriating and humiliating.

The waves of the Atlantic can never disappoint him, and for Peter that is a relief beyond measure right now.

There was no need to ask Elias if he knew. If Gertrude was set on it, she would have done it just based on the rumors being passed around, and of the indistinct and few impressions he’d garnered, even he likely couldn’t have done anything. No, what Peter really didn’t want to see was the absence of interest—a blank gaze, perhaps with a hint of that smile he always held, which further spelled dubiousness. He isn’t even sure why it feels vaguely like a betrayal on Elias’s part when technically he hadn’t done anything. When did that start to bother him though? It should be a comfort, a reminder.

Peter watches the waves idly lap at the side of the Tundra and wonders what changed. Moonlight faintly glints off the ring on his finger, and he imagines throwing it into the ocean.

Alone, he can gaze at the stars and the moon and feel at peace knowing there is no one else to share this sight with. No one else he would want to share this sight with. He sailed over eight thousand kilometers away from the one person who he might have considered wanting to share it with, and he’s not entirely sure just when it will be that he returns.

JULY 2011

Vardø, Norway

Peter stares at the phone buzzing on the hotel’s nightstand, wondering once again what possessed him into getting one, let alone keeping it on his person. Convenience in this era often requires time specific urgency, he supposes, but it still didn’t have to be something he liked, let alone abided. As such, when he sees the caller ID as none other than Elias Bouchard, he has half a mind to ignore it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and whatever it was he wanted to talk about could easily be contained to a voice mail.

So he lets it ring. He turns another page in his book, but instead of the notification of a waiting voicemail, the phone lights up once more. Elias is still calling and that is new.

With a sigh, he picks up. Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t start with any pleasantries. He must know that since Peter has actually decided to answer, he doesn’t have long.

“You’ll still be in Vardø for a few more days correct? I need a favor.”

“Maybe. Depends on exactly what you’re asking for?” Peter complains, shuffling the phone to better squeeze between his ear and shoulder. If he can tune his sometimes husband out well enough, maybe he can still focus on his book. He’d long stopped bothering to chide the other man for keeping an eye on where he is, so he wasn’t planning to even ask how he knew.

“I need you to pick up Ms. Robinson and one of her assistants in Dikson. They need a lift to Zemlya Sannikova, and I figured you would be in the area and have a working vessel.”

He barks a laugh because while he understands, the request is ridiculous.

“Oh you are something else, Elias. Exactly why should I do this favor for you, let alone her? You’ve already racked up quite a debt with me already.”

“Because dearest, you might also want to ensure that the Distortion doesn’t get its way. Of course, if you’d like to exist in that kind of world, who am I to stop you? I’m sure knowing her, there’s another plan up her sleeve, but I figured why pay the extra expenses for a ship when I have you.”

He frowns reflexively at that wording. It isn’t necessarily that he doesn’t like the notion—the implicit possession they both hold of each other and the ease with which that label doesn’t have to mean anything. Peter himself was a firm believer of absence making the heart grow fonder and steadfastly pushes that to its brink, finding the delightful way Elias tries to pretend like he didn’t miss him at all when they next meet. He also ignores the fact that sometimes it was actually true.

“Hm, so you won’t be paying for the fuel needed to get there and back? What payment should I expect then?” Peter’s voice dips at that, finally finding some ground in this conversation that feels comfortable.

There’s a shift of clothing barely audible on the other side of the phone. A pause and he can almost see the calculating and playful smile on Elias’s face.

“Hurry back and you’ll find out.”

The phone call ends before he can answer, and it’s a strange, vaguely defeated sensation caving into his chest at the prospect of returning. Of seeing whether Elias felt anything by his absence and if that will sustain him or preparing for Elias to try and take something else from him.

Doing what he does best, Peter simply shuts the phone off entirely and returns to his novel.

Dikson, Russia – Arctic Sea

A few days later, he finds himself docking at the port town Dikson. Gertrude is waiting with someone who must be the assistant Elias mentioned, flitting and looming around her as if he can keep the blustering winds from reaching her. What really gets Peter about the sight is that he is the one who looks like he could be flattened at any moment, wild blonde hair lashing about almost as bad as his fretting. He doesn’t make an effort to greet either of them though, and merely goes as far as indicating the Tundra is here and ready. He leaves the settling of their new cargo to his crew and returns to his cabin.

Gertrude surely knew where they were heading as that had been another aspect to the fun chat he’d had with Elias, which hadn’t come up. Zemlya Sannikova doesn’t actually exist.

It isn’t until they’re further out to sea, still at least another day away from nearing their supposed destination, does he take to checking in. Night has fallen and everyone is either where they’re supposed to be or trying to fade into the background as best they can. Neither of these things concern Peter as he walks the deck of his ship. The ends of his navy scarf are trying to whip away from him and absentmindedly, he considers replacing it soon. Another gift from Elias that he didn’t actually dislike, but it was getting old.

The cold of the Arctic is familiar, albeit bordering the edge of just too much. Certainly, too much for anyone else on board, which makes it regretful he can’t stay there himself. He doesn’t remain above deck as long as he might if they were anywhere else, and instead hides himself back below.

Despite all the maps stored in Peter’s cabin, sure enough when they reach the spot Gertrude directed them to, there is an impossible island in front of them. He idly watches the pair bundle up twice as much, her assistant fails in trying to take the backpack’s weight for Gertrude and Gertrude… she simply looks at him with those eyes again. They’re worse than Elias’s stare, he decides.

“We won’t be long,” she assures, voice hard. And soon enough, he can’t see either of them anymore.

The perverse urge to abandon her here hits him, but he had already agreed to the favor and heads back to his cabin to wait out however long her business will last. One or two of his crew express interest in looking for themselves and he has to send them off to do something else, wondering if he misread them that badly. No one aboard should care about what’s happening on that island that cannot and yet does exist.

He waits in his cabin and scratches down on one of the maps about where they must be. It isn’t really with any intention of returning—he has no interest in the Spiral.

Eventually, Peter directs his gaze to the necklace he’d received almost a decade ago, hanging on his cabin's wall and left uncovered for their little trip. He assumes Elias would want to watch—be there in his own way. Yet, as he always knows, the captain remains alone. He is intimately aware of how Elias's eyes feel when weighing upon him, and as such hates that he is relieved and disappointed when it is missing.

London, United Kingdom

Elias is distracted. He had every intention of watching while going through the motions of interviewing new employees, but he is floored by the young man taking the seat across his desk. It is not so much that he finds himself incapable of multitasking like he usually would, but oddly that he doesn’t want to.

A gift dropped right in his office is very hard to ignore. And he is a gentleman first and foremost, knowing that the Mother takes priority over his passing fancy and wayward Archivist. Someone already marked by the Web and yet still just as painfully curious despite the event. He observes it all and hopes this one works out. That he has finally found his Archivist.

“I think you’ll fit in quite well here at the Institute, Jon.”

By the time he looks back to the Tundra, it’s over. Gertrude has returned to the ship leaving another assistant to an unfortunate end, and Peter is engrossed in a book, looking utterly indifferent even with the eyes he must feel directed on him now.

Reluctant as the captain was initially, the favor is done. And after Gertrude is dropped off back in England, their meeting is brief. He doesn’t join him this time or take Elias up on what he’d had in mind, however vulgar he had implied it over the phone. Truly, Peter doesn’t really want to be there at all. There’s a hollow smile in the way he says perhaps next time, and leaves again. The lingering chill eats away at him more than he expects, but at the same time, it feels different.

He wonders if his husband will ask why he wasn’t watching earlier, or if he even noticed. He wonders with all that heavy, cold nothingness expanding ever so slowly between them, if Peter has taken his ring off.

He wonders why he doesn’t check. END NOTE: entirely want to give inspiration credit to the imagery of the wedding scene and the moorland house in particular to a Very lovely fic a glass essay which made me realize how much i actually like peter? if you are reading this and have not read it i Highly recommend it, the characterization and atmosphere are absolutely incredible.

#writing #writing: tma #pairing: lonelyeyes #character: elias bouchard #character: jonah magnus #character: peter lukas #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #peter lukas #lonelyeyes #peterelias #pt 3 will come sometime soon!!! busy w some other projects but \ o /

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valkyrieofthehighfae · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2

Warnings: Language, canon typical violence, eventual smut Link to the High Fae language Sylvarus Join my taglist here Tagging: @miss-spixx

I stood outside the room Wolffe was staying in here at the palace, staring at the brilliantly hand carved door like it was a rasfald waiting to strike at my hand the moment I’d reach for the door. I’d been so confident on the way here, but now that I was actually standing outside the room, my stomach felt as if it were dropping to the floor and my heart was beating so quickly in my chest.

“Come on, you can do this.” I took a deep breath and knocked with a trembling hand, waiting with baited breath. The door swung open, that now oh so familiar scowl softening immediately upon realizing who was standing here.

“Danica, I wasn’t expecting to see you again tonight.” He stepped aside, allowing me to enter.

“The talk with my mother went quicker than expected, so I thought I’d swing by to bring you something,” I set the basket down on the black cherrywood desk. “It’s not much, just some pastries and a couple different, ah, ciders and spiced wines.” I stumbled over my words, almost forgetting what cider and spiced wine was called for a brief moment. He strode over to the desk, taking up one of the starfruit and shimmer nectar cider bottles, inspecting it closely.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“Oh it’s no trouble at all. I wanted to do something to make you feel welcome considering my attitude this morning.” I gave him a quick grin as I fished one of my favorite treats out. “Here, try this. It’s a dark chocolate and salted caramel ma’assoa. These are my favorites.” I handed him the nicely wrapped pastry, eager to hear what he thought about it.

Calm yourself, my goddess you are acting like a lovesick teenager. I had to fight back the urge to groan out loud, irritated with how silly I was acting. Honestly, what was wrong with me? Meanwhile, Wolffe hadn’t moved, his jaw slightly dropped in surprise, pastry held limply in hand.

“You’re Commander Reid?” He practically spat the words out, jaw clenching tight enough that I could see a vein in his forehead protruding slightly.

“Yes, I am. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t figure it out in the garden earlier while we were talking. I truly do apologize for this morning. You must understand that with all the troubles we’ve had recently, it was only natural for me to be suspicious of your arrival in our territory unannounced.” I reached out, laying a hand on his forearm gently. “Please, accept my humblest of apologies.” My heart was racing again at our close proximity and I was acutely aware of just how closely he was staring at me.

“I had my suspicions, but your voice is far more… melodic without that bucket on.” Wolffe had finally found his voice again. “What’s a princess doing as a commander in the military?”

“It’s part of my duties as princess of the Court of Stars to help run our military. I’m a good strategist, I lead my own regiment, in fact the only person higher in rank than I am is my father. He runs the entire military, making sure that we’re doing our jobs properly. I have a mind for tactics and battle plans, so it only made sense to put me in charge of my own regiment.” I shrugged as I stepped away from him, pulling a couple of glasses out of the basket and popped open the bottle of cider he’d been inspecting mere moments ago, pouring the bright blue liquid into the glasses. “Under normal circumstances I would be a diplomat, but I don’t have a head for politics and that sort of nonsense, so that position went to my uncle. He’s far more skilled at the job really. In fact, usually the only time I handle “normal” princess duties is during our holidays, the major ones anyway.”

Wolffe accepted the glass with a muttered thank you, his irritation becoming interest quickly. I could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he mulled over this information, processing everything while taking a sip of the cider.

“You mentioned that you have a war going on with the Night Court. Have you engaged them in battle?” He dropped down into one of the cushy, overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, careful not to spill his drink.

“A couple of times yes. It’s how I received these,” I ran a fingertip across the scars that decorated the left side of my face. “The Fae of the Court of Bones are vicious warriors and are more feral than most Fae. They prefer to physically fight over using blasters or other weapons. We’ve always won though, so these were worth it. Plus it makes for interesting conversation since it’s not exactly common to see a princess with battle scars.” Well, it wasn’t common in the Celestial Court anyway since the other princes and princesses were diplomats besides the Winter Court prince. It was far more common to see scars among those in the Night Court from fighting us and fighting each other. It was honestly a wonder they could even hold a war against us with just how much infighting there was between their courts. Queen Helena had managed to hold onto the throne in the Blood Court far longer than past rulers; she was vicious and calculating, using manipulation and fear to keep her subjects in line. After she took over, that’s when the war really began, her need to take vengeance upon my father in particular fueling the fire.

“Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss war and fights. I’m sure you see too much of that on a daily basis,” I set the glass down on the desk, glancing towards him with a faint smile. “I really just wanted to stop in and apologize. I won’t keep your attention much longer. You’d probably like the chance to rest and get some sleep and I still have last minute preparations for the first day of the harvest tomorrow. Good night, Commander Wolffe.” I took up the empty glass and made to leave when he gently grabbed my shoulder, stopping me.

“Don’t worry about this morning. You were only protecting your people from a perceived threat. Would have done the same thing in your shoes, princess,” His hand was warm and comforting where it rested on my shoulder. “Thank you for the food and drinks. I really do appreciate the gesture. Good night.” His hand lingered for a moment, the gesture sweet and a little surprising really, and I could feel my ears heating up at his intense gaze.

“Sleep well, Commander.” I swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry, and hurried out of his room, allowing the door to fall shut with a soft thud behind me. The minute I was out of his sight, I could breathe properly again, my chest less tight, and my heart slowed to a normal speed.

What is wrong with me? How can someone I barely know get under my skin so easily? I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a sharp huff of frustration. It was unbelievable that I was acting so irrational, not once had I ever been so emotionally charged over someone! Ever! I needed to distract myself, get my head on straight before I said or did something completely moronic. Losing my head over a man wasn’t like me at all; sure I’d had the occasional dalliance and I had some sort of… weird thing with Ragnar whenever his people would come here or we would go up there for Council meetings, but I was never invested in those past relationships and I certainly didn’t picture anything serious coming from the casual sex I would have with Ragnar. Just what made Wolffe so special?

“Ah there you are, my lady! We need you at the fairgrounds at once please! We need your keen eye to make sure we’ve done the proper set up!”

“Of course, let’s go.” Thank the goddess for distractions.

~*~*~

A crisp, cool breeze stirred the beautiful red and orange leaves of the various trees we passed, the sounds of children laughing, people talking animatedly, and lively music filling the air as I walked with Wolffe arm in arm down to where the festival was being held, smiling as a small group of young faelings went racing past us, screaming with laughter and pure joy. I loved the Harvest Celebration; three full days of being with friends and family, enjoying the fruits of our labors and giving thanks to the Gods for what we had was always so much fun. When we got closer to the fairgrounds, I could see some of the clones dressed in traditional Fae garments interacting with my people, talking and laughing as well, the sight of it bringing a slight smile to Wolffe’s face.

“This must be a nice change of pace,” I glanced up at him, smiling as well. “I truly hope you find some relaxation among us for the short time you’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Wolffe was still watching his men running around, getting the chance to actually goof off and have fun, the rest of his sentence trailing away into silence.

“Would you tell me about them?” I ventured after a moment of waiting to see if he’d pick back up on those now forgotten words. “Your squadmates, that is. You all seem to have such a close bond.”

“What? Really? You… want to hear about them?” He was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Yes, I do.” I was genuinely curious to know more about him, about his brothers. I could stand here for a century and just listen to him talk about something that made him happy. I listened to him tell stories about Plo Koon, about his brothers and their adventures as we walked through the fair, pausing every so often to greet my people or so he could converse with his brothers in between stories.

“Okay, so that’s Sinker and Boost then, right?” I pointed to two men who were being chased by a pack of small faelings who were little balls of pure joy. Little blurs over pearly gold all the way to the deepest midnight blue hues were flying past us to play with the two men who were having the utmost time of their lives tossing these faelings up into the air and catching them, squeals of excitement ringing out. Wolffe was full on grinning as we watched them get bombarded, laughing as Sinker and Boost were quickly outnumbered.

“Okay everyone, why don’t we give Sinker and Boost a moment of peace please! Go on, go play little ones.” I called out, stiffening when they turned to look at Wolffe and I. “Oh no. I’ve summoned their attention. Run!” I laughed, tugging him along as the faelings raced towards us with peals of laughter. “Oh no! You caught me!” I dropped to my knees, allowing them to pile on me, accepting the hugs with a laugh of my own.

“Princess!”

“Yay!”

“You’re so pretty!”

Multiple voices were talking over each other, the little ones all clamoring for attention, when various parents hurried over to gather them up, apologizing profusely for their children.

“Please, don’t apologize! I love this, you all have such delightful children. They’re welcome to come and go as they please.” I took Wolffe’s hand and got to my feet, brushing my dress off, beaming happily. The kids were herded off to do other activities while Sinker and Boost recovered from the excitement, the two of them grinning just as big as the kids had been.

“Sinker, Boost, this is Princess Danica.”

“Hi, it’s nice to put faces with the names. Wolffe’s told me quite a bit about you two. Thank you for your patience with the little ones, I know they can be a little overwhelming, especially with their magic still not completely under control.” I reached out to give the two a quick embrace.

“Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” Sinker returned my hug slowly, startled by the affection.

“It’s just Danica. Don’t worry about formalities, please. Are you enjoying yourselves?” I beamed up at the two, realizing just how small I was compared to these men with how my neck ached a little from the constant need to look up so I could look them in the eyes.

“It’s great, you Fae know how to have a good time.” Boost replied with a pleased look on his face, Sinker agreeing with an eager nod. “Food’s great, alcohol is damn good, and everyone’s been really welcoming. It’s… kind of odd really. They treat us like we’re equals.”

“Because you are? You’re people, too. Why wouldn’t you be treated as such?” I frowned at his words, looking between the three with a furrowed brow. “Do… do Republic citizens not…?” I was horrified when they traded knowing looks, all but confirming where I was going with my question. “That’s terrible! Surely not everyone feels that way?”

“No, not everyone Princess. But a good majority do.” Sinker murmured. I was aghast hearing this, rage quickly taking over.

“That’s unacceptable. You are fighting a war to keep them safe from those Separatists, the least they could do is treat you with respect and dignity.” I spat, hands curling into fists, my nails breaking the skin on my palms with how hard I was clenching them closed. “Do you earn wages? Hazard pay? Any sort of compensation for your sacrifices?” My anger only grew when Wolffe slowly shook his head, his eyebrows raising slightly. I unclenched my fists, resting a hand on my chest as I studied these men, taking in just how battle worn they were. They suffered losses and were expected to move on, to keep up the relentless pace and I could feel my heart breaking for them.

“You all deserve so much better. Please, go enjoy yourselves, take in the sights, just… take time for yourselves. You’ve more than earned that right.” It was hard to keep the emotional tremor out of my voice when I found the ability to speak again, a sadness gripping my heart tightly in its clawed grasp when I embraced the two again, watching as they went to catch up with some of the others.

“Your bleeding, princess. Let me take a look.” Wolffe wrapped a hand around my left wrist gently, lifting it to inspect the marks in my palms.

“Oh, that’s not a big deal. Guess I need to file my nails down again, it’s nothing to worry about.” I inspected the long, almost talon like nails on my right hand, making a face at them. “You’re sweet to worry, though. Thank you.” I ran a finger over the marks, humming softly and lifted my palm to show him it was okay. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m positively starving right now. Shall we go get something to eat? There’s a woman here who makes the best moonflower ma’assos. Oh! Speaking of food, did you enjoy the treats I brought over last night? I hadn’t had a chance to ask and I nearly forgot.”

“Yes, they were delicious. You made them yourself?”

“Oh good! I’m so glad! I love to bake, it’s relaxing. There’s just something about being in the kitchen, covered in flour and spices, the smell of freshly baked treats in the air that’s just peaceful.” I looped my arm through his again, leaning on him as we strolled through the marketplace, chatting softly as we took in the wares being sold around us, stopping at every booth so I could speak with the shopkeepers, actively including Wolffe in my royal duties. There was nothing that could beat this moment; the peacefulness of the market and walking with Wolffe, getting to know him on a more personal level was just… perfect.

“Wolffe? Can I ask… how did you get your scar?” I reached up, softly running a finger over the raised and puckered flesh, gasping softly when he grasped my hand tightly in his with a dark look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

“You didn’t know. It’s… a sensitive subject, and not one I care to talk about,” He cut me off, looking away after dropping my hand.

“I apologize, I overstepped.” Silence grew between us and I extracted my arm from his with a quiet sigh. I hadn’t meant to push any buttons, this was still something that really seemed to be bothering him. He reached out and took my arm back, pulling me back over to him without looking down at me, his gaze focused ahead at the jousting arena.

“What’s going on over there? I’ve never seen anything like it.” He was staring intently at some of our guard members who were with their ronki, getting ready.

“It’s called jousting. The goal is to knock your opponent off of their ronki,” It was a fairly straightforward explanation really. “If you want to try it, you’re welcome to borrow Sleipnir and some armor.” We had gotten closer and watched as Sif unseated Loghain with ease, the light purple and silver Fae woman crowing triumphantly as Loghain landed on the ground with a curse.

“Better luck next time, Loghain!” Sif called over to him from the other end of the list, grinning from ear to ear. Loghain grumbled at her, but returned her smile despite having lost, whistling for his mare to come back.

“I highly doubt this srula would be interested in our customs.”

I turned to see Tyr walking towards us, helmet tucked under one arm and a smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes at him, annoyed that he was going to try and goad Wolffe into a match by acting like an ass about it.

“Captain, I would respectfully ask you to shut your mouth.”

“Why, my lady? Do you think he can’t do it?” Tyr had a wicked gleam in his eyes as he attempted to twist my words.

“I don’t have time for this, Tyr. Your goading isn’t going to -”

“You said I could borrow Sleipnir? Let’s do it. Since your captain here seems so confident that I won’t be able to win, why don’t we put it to the test?” Wolffe cut in with a smile that had me wincing.

“Okay… if you’re sure. Let’s go get you set up then.”

#kat write #Wolffe X OC #Commander Wolffe #High Fae OC #tcw #Wolffe X Danica

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