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robinofgothamcity · 3 years

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♡ starting prompt: based off a tweet i saw that said ‘we always kinda shipped them together. he kept scoffing that he didn’t like her and yet he always look at her first when someone made a joke to see if she was laughing too’.

♡ pairing: walter hahn (WWE / NXT) x fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination. take a look and you’ll see into your imagination. i’ll be begin with a spin....”

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes

"who’s that?” Walter asked his blond friend. Marcel looked up to see you, headphones in and blaring music so loud that everyone was able to hear. “oh, that’s ( your name ). she’s Timothy’s-,” before he could finish the sentence, Timothy came up to you and gave you a quick hug, “that’s his manager. she also works in the front office,” he continued.

Walter’s eyebrows went down in confusion. never in the time that they were together in RingKampf had he ever took interest in having a manager and from the looks of it, you were the exact opposite of Tim. from afar, you were bubbly, excitable, and cute.

Tim was nothing of the sort. polar opposites one might say.

you were sitting in your seat as Tim was eating lunch. dancing to whatever you were listening, Walter couldn’t help but laugh at your antics. he knew Tim like the back of his hand so the decision to make you his manager was either his doing or something that was out of his hand.

“she’s....interesting,” he said under his breath, making Marcel look at him for a moment, “any particular reason why you’re so interested in her? she’s been his manager for a while now,” Marcel put in. Walter shook his head, deciding not to respond.

you were Tim, watching as he scarfed down his dinner while you finished up a few papers that needed to get done for next weeks taping. you were supposed to be dressed and ready to go by six but because of Tim’s new storyline with the boys from Imperium, you had to figure out a few things before the match.

Timothy was a bit hard headed at first, stating that he didn’t need a manager but after a while, he got used to having you around. you were almost like a pest that he cared about like a sister.

“hey, your friends are over there! why don’t you say hi!” you exclaimed, seeing Walter, Fabian, and Marcel in a corner, speaking to each other, “no. we’re not supposed to be speaking with each other,” was all he said before continuing to eat.

you huffed before scooting out of your chair, “well, I’m going to say hello. since we’re going to be working with each other, I guess it’s only right to get formalities out of the way,” you stated, making Tim’s eyes go wide in panic.

he instantly tried to get you to come back but by the time he tried to reach for you to come back, you were already prancing over to them.

“hi!” you exclaimed happily. Fabian, the friendliest of the bunch gave you a smile, “i’m ( your name )! Tim’s manager. it’s nice to meet all of you!” you introduced yourself, giving them your hand to shake.

Fabian introduced himself, giving you a hug instead. Marcel on the other hand just took the handshake and murmured his name to you. Walter remained looking at you, not bothering to say anything outside of giving you a simple head nod.

to the untrained eye, like yourself and others, Walter’s reaction was a given. he was never a man of many words yet to the boys and Tim, they could see that Walter was holding himself back. almost like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

you giving Walter a smile, one that would’ve made anyone fall for you but he just turned his head to another direction and started to speak to Marcel in German. you gave Fabian a confused look, wondering why he didn’t tell you much but you felt a hand clasp onto your shoulder a second after.

“evening boys,” Tim’s voice spoke from behind you. you gave him another look, wondering why he went back on his word from earlier, “they’re looking for you in makeup and they’re pissed,” he whispered into your ear.

your eyes widened, realizing you were beyond late to get your makeup done. you gave them a quick goodbye, shoving your work into Tim’s hands and screaming at him to put it into your office before basically darting off to the makeup station.

Tim, Fabian, Marcel, and now Alex who had shown up looked at Walter with suspecting eyes. no one said a word but Tim could sense Walter had taken an infatuation with you.

a few weeks passed since your encounter with Walter and the rest of Imperium. since you were working 'against’ them now, outside of the ring, you got a bit close to Marcel and Alex. they would invite you to sit next to them when Tim wasn’t with you.

you tried to get closer with Walter but he always closed you off. he would say absolutely nothing to you and when had too, it wasn’t anything besides a few words. at first you thought that maybe you just annoyed him to the point where he didn’t like you but eventually, Tim told you that he was just that way with anyone that didn’t know him.

“good morning to my favorite Germans!” you said, running up to Marcel and Alex, engulfing them into a forced hug. they stood stiff, basically embracing the forced hug, “and Walter!” you added on, giving him a brief wave.

“where’s your boyfriend?” Alex asked, looking around. you fluttered your eyebrows in confusion, “boyfriend? wanna tell me who that is?” you asked. Marcel gave you a hearty laugh, “Tim. he’s asking for Timothy,” he stated.

you let out a laugh, louder than you intended as you sat down next to Walter and Alex, “Tim? my boyfriend? that’s like saying it’s gonna snow in Florida. never going to happen,” you joked, trying to calm down your giggles. “very defensive about it, aren’t ya?” Alex added on.

“people love the idea that we’re secretly together but Timothy is like an annoying brother. I love him but I wanna kick his ass 90% of the time. the other 10 is caring that he doesn’t get killed by you guys.”

before you could continue, you heard a producer call your name, telling you that you were needed to clear up a few things for Hunter. you told them goodbye and went over to the producer.

“so she’s single, huh?” Alex said, tapping his chin. Marcel looked at him, “why do you care?” he asked. Alex shrugged, “now that we know maybe this idiot will ask her out,” he mentioned.

Marcel let out a laugh as Walter stared at him annoyed, “yeah right. he actually has to make conversation first and he can’t even do that with her. I’ve been hearing a few people have been interested in asking her out. not that she knows or anything,” Marcel said quietly.

he actually had no idea if anyone was interested in you or not. personally, he could have cared less but he knew his best friend better than anyone else. Walter liked you, he was just too much of a chicken shit to actually admit to it.

“who?” Walter asked almost immediately. Marcel closed the circle in, “for starters, in the NXT roster is Jordan Devlin and Sami Zayn from Smackdown has been rumored to have gotten her number,” Marcel lied. Alex perked at the names, “and how did you find out?” he asked, a bit suspicious that he knew.

Marcel shrugged, not bothering to say anything for a moment, “oh, just heard a few of the girls talking yesterday while I was working out,” Walter stared at the table, his mind racing with thoughts. he never knew others actually had taken an interest in you, not that it was wrong to do as such but he was taken back that it was more than one person.

“what has you so quiet all of a sudden?” Walter shook his head, not responding as he got up, taking his jacket with him and leaving the table. “I wonder what his problem is,” Alex murmured. Marcel laughed, “he’s finally going to grow a pair and ask her out,” Marcel stated.

you were working in your office, sorting through a few different files you needed for a storyline in the women’s division. it was already late into the night as you filed the sheets away and started to get your things ready to leave.

“of course this week had to be my busiest week, now I have to call an Uber home,” you groaned. you had put your car in the shop because of a few issues it had and it wasn’t expected to get finished until at least Monday, “god damn it Tim, you just had to leave,” you huffed.

just as you pulled your phone out, you saw Walter walking out of the locker room, “hey Walter! what are you doing here so late?” you asked, trying not to make it awkward, “I stayed working out late,” he said.

you nodded, “ah, don’t overwork yourself now,” you mentioned, “but give me a second? I need to call an Uber home. my car is stuck at the mechanics until Monday and Tim already left,” Walter’s eyes widened, realizing this was his chance.

“I have a car, I can take you home?” he asked, trying not to come off as intimidating. you perked up in relief, “really? that would be so amazing!” you said happily. he grabbed his keys and jiggled them, “my cars on the other side of the building,” he said.

you followed behind, trying to make conversation and interestingly enough, he was actually responding to you like a normal person would. not those snippets of conversations he would say around the others.

the entire ride home, you were trying to crack jokes, seemingly trying to make him laugh which ended in you making an idiot out of yourself and making him laugh that way instead. Walter had never realized he actually liked you as much as the others would joke he did but now that it was just the two of you, he could sense the feelings were there.

the ride to your house was a bit on the shorter side. you lived in a small two bedroom house, closer to Full-Sail than he thought. just as he put the car into park to let you get out, you turned around and gave him a smile, making Walter glad that it dark outside and you weren’t able to see his sudden red face.

“I know this is weird but would you like to come in? I have food I made for myself this morning after I came from work and I’m sure there’s enough for you.”

Walter sighed in relief.

“I would love too.”

#wwe #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #nxt #nxt uk #nxt imagine #wrestling #wrestling imagine #walter #walter hahn #walter hahn imagine #walter x reader #nxt uk imagine #imperium #marcel barthel #timothy thatcher #fabian aichner #alexander wolfe

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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helloooo i saw u were accepting drabble requests and i just want to request a little side story based on this tweet i found for han + whispers of nature. that's all thank youuu <3

My god this is just so sweet... thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy the outcome :)

(Find the original work, Bloom, here!)

Stray Kids drabble game: send me a Stray Kids member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

Title: Tiny Steps (I’ll Hold Your Hand)

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Triggers: implied death

(Inclusivity note: reader has green eyes in this fic as a plot point explained in the original scenario!)

"You’re back.”

Jisung doesn’t startle at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice. It hasn’t changed much since he was last here maybe a hundred years ago. A little deeper, maybe, though that could just be because it’s morning and the water nymph hasn't quite woken up just yet.

He turns around to face Hyunjin. Just like his voice hasn’t changed, his looks haven’t either - still the long flowing hair, the handsome face. Hyunjin’s skin has tanned a little, but that’s all Jisung can see is different. The love for the mute willow has not left his eyes, the willow whose branches still extend of the cool pond, shading it from the rising sun.

A tinge of bitterness coats Jisung’s tongue. It isn’t fair that he fell in love with a mortal, while Hyunjin will have his lover for as long as the forest stays under the protection of a guardian. And Changbin, they all know, will be around for a long time.

But it also isn’t fair that Jisung took Hyunjin’s first love away for nothing other than a prank of spite. So he swallows the bitterness away and nods, trying to smile. “Yeah.”

Hyunjin’s expression doesn’t register pity, only understanding. “Hurt too much?”

How could it not, when all Jisung ever sees in the expanse of the Earth Mother are your eyes, emerald in the grass, verdant in the trees? Everywhere he looks he hears your laugh, sees your smile, feels the phantom warmth of your skin brushing against his hand. If he were to come back here when the grief was still fresh, the forest where you met and made memories and fell in love, Jisung would have broken down.

Now, though, the grief is a dull throb and even if it hurts, Jisung can find it in himself to return to your final resting place, where you asked him to bury you once your mortal life came to an end. He extended it as long as he could - you lived a century longer, at least, than your peers - but in the end, Death came for your soul, and Jisung laid you to rest.

He’s already visited your grave, dug into the old faerie ring where he promised you protection for the rest of your days. The grass is overgrown, the flowers and mushrooms wild with color. It would have made you smile, Jisung thinks, to see the ring grown as the Earth Mother had wanted before it was turned into his prison for centuries.

Remembering the grave makes the pain ring fresh and Jisung winces. “Yeah.”

If Hyunjin is bothered by Jisung’s monosyllabic answers, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he only jerks his head deeper into the forest, a little way past his pond. “The creek is still there, if you haven’t seen it yet.”

You loved the creek when you were alive. It hadn’t formed a consciousness then, the waters slow to manifest a nymph, but you liked to watch the clear water run over the rocks, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Jisung, in turn, liked to kiss you then as the sun gleamed over your body, painting a portrait of you that couldn’t possibly be equalled by even the greatest artists in the land.

“Anyone there?” Jisung asks.

“Not yet.” Hyunjin shrugs. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

With that, Jisung walks past the pond, placing a greeting hand on the trunk of the still-sleeping willow at Hyunjin’s side. He feels the nymph’s eyes follow him across the grass until he’s out of sight.

The sound of running water grows louder the closer he gets until Jisung stands at the edge of the creek. Here, he can almost hear your laugh in the splash of water around the rocks, feel your warmth in the sunshine that beams around his figure. It’s a beautiful day and a beautiful sight, and Jisung’s heart aches with the wish that you were here to see it.

But there is no lovely figure standing next to him whose lips he can kiss, no sparkling eyes that will meet his when he holds out a hand to help you cross. There is no lady who will take the step onto the first rock, carefully balancing on the uneven surface before leaping to the next rock, letting Jisung take your space on the first. There is no laugh that will intertwine with his, little squeals at splashes of water that sound like music in his ears.

Jisung stares at the churning water, foam rising around the rocks. From here, he can map out the exact path you two would take to cross the little creek. The smaller rocks have changed, smoothed and eroded or replaced altogether, but the larger ones, the rocks you used as stepping stones, are still there, wet and shiny in the sunlight.

He takes a step to the very edge of the creek. A bit of water splashes onto his feet and he jerks reflexively in surprise, a sound rising from his throat that you would have laughed at, definitely, before kissing his pout away. Jisung can almost feel it, the soft pressure of your mouth against his, your laugh still hanging on your lips.

More water splashes his legs as he steps forward onto the first rock. It doesn’t wobble, stays strong as he carefully places his foot where you would have, clutching tightly onto his hand as you found your balance. There is no one here to hold his hand now, but Jisung manages to balance anyway, wobbling slightly on the water-slick surface for a moment before he can stand.

Another step to the next rock, a short leap from the first. It’s almost as though your hand tugs him forward in the practiced stride. He barely wobbles on the slippery surface as he prepares for the third.

Jisung hops over the path of rocks, pausing at moments to watch the water, to feel it splash over the tops of his feet as it churns its cheerful way downstream. Merry, just like you, clear green eyes sparkling even on rainy days, and as Jisung reaches the last stone, an unconscious smile lifts the corners of his lips.

You’re here, still here. Physically, your body lies beneath the overgrown flowers of his former faerie ring, but the color of your eyes lies in the grass and the leaves, the sound of your laugh in the chirping birds and rushing water. No matter where Jisung goes, he will feel your warmth in the air, your presence by his side, because nothing, not even Death, could break the bond you made so long ago between the trees of this very forest.

The smile is no longer unconscious as Jisung closes his eyes, letting his lips curve as wide as they wish. Sunlight spills on his body from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes and he can feel the warmth of your hand, brushing against his, as you tug him forward to the other side.

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years

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The Ocean On His Shoulders (2/2)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 4,321

Summary: She’s been waiting for him for so many years. When he finally sees her, Terra realizes that instead of saving her from the Realm of Darkness, he must save her from herself.

Read on AO3

A/N: Based on @steadyknight‘s prompt of Terra saving Anti-Aqua from darkness by breaking his heart into pieces. WHICH IS SUCH A SAD CONCEPT TO ME. I took the opportunity to explore the consequences of losing one’s memory, which is something brushed aside so often in the games. I completely feel that the consequences of this action are sadder than the action itself. And if you saw my tweet about how I write notes on my outlines and how I had no idea why I wrote down “potatoes” in one of them - this was the chapter I was talking about. I never figured it out, but I improvised, lmao.

It was absolutely imperative that she covered the table in mounds of food. A full basket of toast, a pile of sausages, a stack of pancakes, eggs ready on demand – it was enough to feed a miracle. And she needed it.

All she really wanted, after all, was the right to enjoy breakfast with her family, just like every other normal person.

Terra was happy to sit with them, gleefully accepting more meat when he wiped his plate clean. He repeated five times too many that she was a perfect cook, who had this magical ability to know precisely how to please his stomach.

It wasn’t magic. She had about ten years’ worth of trial and error in understanding what made him tick. Yet this didn’t really dawn on him.

To him, they only just met three weeks ago.

Maybe she thought that feeding him everything he loved would finally make him remember. He never did, and so breakfast continued to make her feel alone.

The only appropriate response to his praise was to accept it, and keep the mood uplifting. Was it to save face? Perhaps. There wasn’t a point in making him feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

“I’ll be steaming rice with coconut syrup for dessert tonight,” she said as she sat down to take her rations. Her smile felt nothing but forced. “Served with mango.”

He stumbled with his words at first, in awe. The Terra she knew would have seen through her façade. Would see she was in pain. “See, you’re a genius.”

If only she could say how much hearing that stung.

“We’ll see if I can cook a decent dinner. As long as someone remembers to bring the potatoes.” She leaned over to Ventus, the exact person who was tasked at supplying her with the ingredients. He was stuffing his face with an entire pancake.

“I’ll bring them, don’t worry,” he said, his words muffled by all the baked flour. “You can store your wrath for a later time.”

“Her wrath?” Terra asked skeptically. He leaned an elbow on the table, his grin hiding behind his fingers as he eyed her, like a sheepish boy watching the girl he had a crush on. “I don’t think you’re intimidating.”

This was probably one of the more surprising effects she discovered: this Terra was pretty open about his attraction toward her. Something stopped him from wearing his heart this much on his sleeve before… he was probably scared of ruining their friendship, since it was also the same reason why she never initiated anything. Now, he had nothing to lose.

And she used to assume he really didn’t reciprocate her feelings. How stupid was she that she scared herself into thinking it would have gone nowhere. How she wished she had done something about it before their Mark of Mastery.

“Oh boy,” Ventus said, swallowing a mouthful. “One day, he’s going to regret saying that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said.

“You’re only the worst person in the world to pull a prank on.” He shrugged, his grin twisting.

She snorted, because it was true. She was at least grateful she could rely on him to make her smile – these days, Ventus was really the only one who could help her. And he needed the laugh, too.

But that was the thing about inside jokes. They were a highly classified language, shared only with those who were invited.

The only thing Terra could do at a time like this was smile politely, like someone who understood he didn’t belong but it wasn’t appropriate to make it obvious.

It wasn’t that he was a complete stranger. He wore his usual sheepish smile, and bore his usual sincerity when it mattered. There still existed certain mannerisms that were so Terra – the way he held his chin when he contemplated, the shrug of his shoulders when he teased. The kindness in his eyes.

She didn’t want him to pick up his plate to rinse off, and to leave the room when he felt he wasn’t wanted.

At least he left with an act Terra would actually do – ruffle through Ventus’ hair.

He nearly forgot to do that, stopping himself at the doorway before coming back to reach over from behind the chair and sifting his fingers vigorously through the blond hair.

Ventus was displeased, staring up at the clumps of hair now flattened in front of his eyes. When he knew Terra was out of earshot, he dropped his fork and rested his head into his arms with an exasperated sigh. “I hate this.”

“I know,” she said, picking at her food. She hadn’t eaten a single thing all morning.

He took out his frustration on his hair, fixing it back up the way he liked it. “The real Terra would know when to play with my hair – and he wouldn’t mess it up!”

It was a ridiculous excuse for him to get upset about. “What’s really bugging you?”

Ventus sighed, dragging it out as much as possible while averting her eyes. His unique look of shame. She prepared for the worst.

“That mission he and I went on together the other day?” he started. “I kind of snapped at him. I felt unsure if I could handle fighting these large Heartless, and I talked to him about it but… The real Terra always knew the right words. He’d say something like ‘you got this’ and pat my head. And I got angry when he didn’t do that – I did apologize to him later, so you don’t have to tell me to do anything.”

He still avoided her eyes. “But now he follows me around and rubs my hair any chance he gets.”

“He’s just compensating,” she said. It had to be so hard on Ventus. Only the stars knew how often she stopped herself from begging Terra to please come back.

“I know…” He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, eyes darting around like he was afraid to say more. “Something else happened, too… he stopped everything and went really rigid.”

She inhaled sharply, remembering that Master Yen Sid had mentioned to expect strange occurrences. “What do you mean?”

“Like he became a statue and he stopped breathing. He didn’t talk to me about it, or tell me if he remembered anything.” He rubbed the back of his hand, finally looking into her eyes for some solace. “I don’t know what I said to make him do that.”

On instinct, she reached over to gently squeeze his forearm, lending him a warm smile. “We’ll be okay. I know it’s hard, but we just have to be patient and wait this out. He’s not going to stay like this forever, I won’t let it.”

She wouldn’t let it.

Those words sounded like something she would say, but they were foreign. She didn’t know where they came from, as she had no idea how to fix any of this. It was natural for her to put on a brave face – after all, she relied on it for thirteen years in the dark. Lying to herself that she was going to be fine.

Here she was lying again, acting like everything was going to be fine. But she couldn’t allow herself to fall apart in front of Ventus. She only did that alone.

And she was alone now after he finished his meal, with her food cold and untouched.

The sausage tasted like nothing, her sinuses clogged up from her dry sobs.

Master Yen Sid examined Terra shortly after he woke up. The diagnosis was that he had split his heart into two pieces, and gave one to her as a shield to protect her from the darkness. His memories of course had no choice but to scatter, the chains that linked them together completely broken.

What went through his damn mind to inspire him to do that, she had no idea.

The team at Radiant Garden couldn’t help, either. Wielding a Keyblade against a heart was forbidden and dangerous – Terra’s condition being a prime example of the consequences. Forcefully removing his piece from her body could be permanently damaging, and who knew what scars were already there.

They knew a witch who could re-link those memories, and his heart would grow to fill the whole left behind.

But they had to find a way to make her exist again. Or something.

She wasn’t going to pretend to understand exactly what that meant. Only that they were alone in their predicament.

If only she was strong enough to keep herself up when she was hurting, strong enough not to fall to darkness. If only she didn’t attack him like a beast. If only he had traded something else instead of his heart, like his Keyblade or a limb to save her.

Maybe she was a horrible person for even entertaining the thought.

It was hard not to. She endured the Realm of Darkness to give him a chance. What was the point of surviving if she didn’t have her family back? Was there a meaning or a life lesson behind her having to say good-bye to everything she knew?

Master Yen Sid had warned her against saying too much to Terra, or forcing him to remember things. It could be throttling. Or painful. It was best to let go and let any traces come to him naturally.

Which was easy for Yen Sid to say. He wasn’t losing anyone. Painful indeed – she dealt with it when she remembered that Terra was with her the very first time she ever saw snow. That they knew every good hiding place in the castle back in the Land of Departure – some of which they never shared with Ventus.

She questioned whether it was the right approach.

But observing Terra sometimes made her realize why it might be. Without any memories, Terra didn’t know the meaning of terror anymore. No Mark of Mastery to beat himself up over. No Xehanort. He was cheerier now, so much like how he used to be long ago before the stress of becoming a Keyblade Master took a toll. Before they were separated. And he deserved to be this happy and worry-free.

She still questioned whether she was doing the right thing.

The only thing that stopped her tears from falling each night was a warmth in her chest. Terra – the one she knew, the one who left a part of himself inside – heard her. And the stir in her heart would lull her to sleep, like he was hugging her from wherever he was, to remind her that she was never alone.

She placed her hands on her chest after dropping her fork, feeling him again. “I’m trying, Terra,” she said out loud. She spent so many years talking to herself in the dark, and being in the light was no different. “It’s so hard.”

A moment passed before she calmed down. It was still the beginning of a new day, and it will be long. Days in Disney Castle lasted far longer than any world she had ever visited before. But it was the best place for Terra to recover, she believed. He was surrounded by inhabitants who were jovial, trusting, and kind. They lived in the moment, completely undisturbed by the wars with darkness outside. They looked for reasons to stay positive.

She found him in the library - which was considered a lucky event being that it was so huge, numerous civilians have reported getting lost in there for days. He was escorting Queen Minnie, reaching up to a high shelf to fetch her a book. A grin on his face, he lived for any chance to be helpful, especially to a Queen who only stood as tall as his knee.

But it was when he was thanked and left behind that it hit her. Sitting by himself in a busy library the size of their academy with a small stack of books to keep occupied – he, too, must be lonely.

… When he leaned forward to hold his chin with one hand while reading the book with the other, he looked so much like Terra.

He glanced up when she approached him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Don’t be,” he said, waving to the lounge chair across from him. “I’d rather talk to you, anyway.”

She took a mental note to be this forward with him if he ever got his memories back. The stack of books next to him was a pile of heroic epics. One of them was The Adventures of Robin Hood, his absolute favorite growing up.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He furrowed his brow, inspecting the words on the open pages in his hand. “A love story.”

“A love story?” Not something he’d usually be interested in.

“I didn’t think it was at first. It’s about these two flames. One of them started to overburn its wick, and was going to flicker out. It was too dark to be the only candle, so the other gave its blue core away,” he said, each word making her realize that she knew this story. “This would give power to its friend, making it last longer. You’d think it would die afterward, but now they are blended together, making the room shine brighter. And they never separated again. Sacrificing its blue core… that’s love.”

He showed her the book, and the illustrations are exactly the way she remembered them from childhood. The Tale of Two Lights. Two flames with eyes, and one of pictures showed a flame pulling its blue core out from the inside, like it had reached into its mouth.

Their Master used to read it to them to teach them about the nature of being a Keybearer. To protect others from darkness meant to be willing to utilize their own hearts as a weapon. Bonds kept light alive, and so it was important that Keyblade Wielders were always supportive of one another, for the darkness will try and snuff out a single light.

But he made sure to teach them to never underestimate the power of one’s own personal shine – the blue core didn’t burn like the tip of the orange flame, but its warmth was the most important.

Not once did she ever consider it a love story. Most of the ones she read were stupid and shallow. The prince kissed the princess and the happy-ever-after was given easily like free candy at a festival.

Nothing she read taught her the meaning of it, or prepared her for the choice of jumping into the dark abyss after a possessed Terra.

“That’s an… interesting interpretation,” she said.

“You know it?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. The Master used to read it to us when we were kids.”

“What was he like?” He leaned forward, his eyes asking more than his voice.

She wondered if refusing to answer him was infantilizing or rude. If he deserved to know despite that she might trigger an attack.

“He was strict,” she said, her eyes searching the floor. She couldn’t help the smile pulling at her lips as she ventured into her memories. “He made us run laps if we woke up too late. And he gave us extra assignments if we weren’t listening to his lectures.”

But Terra deserved something nice to hold onto, too.

“He thought our birthdays were the most important days of the year,” she continued, “and he never missed them. He liked his coffee black in the morning, and sipped red wine before he went to bed.”

The more she spoke of Eraqus, the more she could visualize him, enough that it pained her to remember she’ll never make him coffee again.

Terra rested back into his chair, his gaze downcast and sullen.

“I remember him.” At the sight of her piqued interest, he corrected himself. “Just a small vision. There are only feelings… I saw him die in front of me. I don’t know why, and that scares me.” His voice lowered significantly. “I think I might have done something horrible.”

“Terra, you were only trying to save Ven-”

“Were you there?”

“No…” Not even Ventus saw what happened exactly, and this wasn’t a conversation they finished before the catastrophe happened.

It was a conversation she needed to have, but now that it wasn’t possible, she only had her beliefs to hold onto.

“You’re the kindest person I will ever meet,” she finally said. “There is no better word out there to describe you, Terra. You could never even think of harming the Master.”

She had to believe it. If she was going to be honest, Terra was always the favorite student. The Master was often way harsher on him as a result, expecting too much. It was to his detriment at the Mark of Mastery, and it was unfair.

But the bond they had was unique, and there wasn’t a way – a single, damn way – that Terra would have a sinister inkling to hurt the man who raised him, even if he was resentful. Even if he had darkness and it was as black as ink. This was Terra, after all.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling to find a tissue. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for.” She quickly dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “You know, death and all. It happens.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, a nervous sigh leaving his lips. “Death and all.”

Like two strangers surviving awkward small talk.

Terra was fine, though – no attacks coming to threaten him. But it was so unlike him to be unbothered by the Master’s death, like he never had a father, and she couldn’t bear to think about it. So she sparred with him to take her mind off of these things.

She was the type to prepare for the future, and they were going to have a rocky one. The final battle with Xehanort loomed over them still, and with no memory, Terra was at worst defenseless.

Sparring with him was like teaching someone who had forgotten to practice for years. Most times, he had the right instinct, his muscle memory kicking in to get him into the correct stance. But gone was his knowledge of the way she moved, and it was too easy to dance around him and clobber him to the ground. And this Terra moved in ways she never expected, like he grew up fighting someone else.

The other Keyblade wielders would come over and teach him, as well. The more practice he received, the better.

He didn’t have the drive to be a Master anymore, but when he wiped his Keyblade clean, he asked, so I get to help people?

There were minutes when she couldn’t let go of how worried she was about the ordeal, so she busied herself with other, more menial things. She refused the Queen’s offer in using her animated broom servants, and did most of the cooking herself. The smell of food was intoxicating and a reliable distraction, and since she was preparing a huge feast today, it swallowed hours from her that would otherwise be thrown away to anxiety.

Ventus helped her cut the venison, and she looked around the large kitchen (four times the size of her bedroom back home) for ingredients.

No potatoes.

And she had to worry about feeding Sora, Riku, Kairi, and Lea tonight. Donald and Goofy were also coming. The King and his wife… it was going to take forever to prepare.

“You forgot the potatoes,” she spat.

He waved his hand like it was no big deal – clearly he didn’t know how long it took to boil them. “I’ll get ‘em, don’t worry.”

She was going to bark some more when Terra arrived at the doorway. He held his fingers to his temple like he was taming a headache, and his orange Wayfinder found a place in his other hand.

They froze as they watched him, too eager to interrupt whatever he was going to say about that trinket.

“There was…” he started. “We were standing together, under the stars one night.”

It was all he said. It could have been any night, but he held that Wayfinder like it mattered and it had to be one specific night above all.

Ventus saw this opportunity and took it like a landslide, running up to his friend while pulling out his green Wayfinder out of his pocket. “Yeah! She made these for us that night so we always stayed connected.”

She joined them, comparing her blue counterpart with theirs.

Terra was impressed. “You made these?” He inspected his, slowly taking in all the details of metal and glass. “They’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t something he’d normally say – beautiful just wasn’t a word he would use to describe anything related to her. But apparently he hid quite a lot when he told her things like Oy, you’re such a girl sometimes as he held his Wayfinder for the first time long ago.

“Thank you.” It was the most polite thing to say. “Was there anything else you remembered?” She held her breath, not expecting much.

“No,” he said, rubbing his neck like he knew he disappointed her. But he still smiled. It was pleasant at least.

Even Ventus’ grin fell some. He really had to learn not to get his hopes up too high.

What she really didn’t need was to have the other wielders barge in on them like this. A feast wasn’t the place to witness letdowns.

“Well, the smaller things are worth celebrating, right?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron out of nervousness and putting her Wayfinder away. She looked around for something to change the subject. “Ven… the potatoes.”

He nearly snarled at her, but he was terrible at rebelling. “Fine, I’ll go get them now, your Highness.”

“I could help you carry them,” Terra offered.

Ventus looked as though someone just slapped him across the face. “I’m strong enough to carry them on my own.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She knew that wasn’t what Ventus wanted to hear. He was expecting Terra to tease him further about it, maybe even strike up a competition to see who could carry the most potatoes. Ventus would lose every time of course, but it was the bonding that counted. Disappointment sunk again.

To make up for it, Terra ruffled thoroughly through blond hair, and Ventus grimaced to save face when he fixed it. She wondered if he understood that Terra was sincerely trying so hard.

She decided it was a good idea to help him out, at least this one time.

When Ventus was out of earshot, she said, “I’ll make another potato stew, and you should stuff the sack with bricks next time. He’ll never talk back to you, again.”

Terra snorted. “That’s hilarious, you think he’ll be offended?”

“Nah, he likes pranks.”

“I’ll definitely do it, thanks.” He sounded like he was desperate for a way to break the ice with Ventus, and she gave him all the relief he needed. He hovered around the kitchen counter, watching her cut into vegetables. “Do you need help?”

She was going to reject his offer, yet she’d hate to see him left out again.

But she stopped herself from handing him a knife.

He froze.

Completely.

Staring off into her like he couldn’t see her anymore, his eyes fixated with a look of sheer horror, like whatever he was witnessing was disgusting and it frightened him so much that he was about to beg for mercy. He shuddered furiously. He didn’t allow himself to breathe at all, and tears gathered so much in his eyes that they fell without waiting for him to blink.

“Terra,” she called, but he didn’t respond. He wouldn’t breathe.

“I’m here, Terra,” she said, dropping the knife and reaching for his face. “You’re safe.”

He didn’t respond to her touch either. She nearly called for Ventus’ help when he took a large, sharp inhale like he’d been drowning, and he rubbed his face as he drew deep, heavy breaths. The movement scared her, and she jumped back to clutch her beating chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

At the sound of her voice, he grabbed her wrist and looked right into her eyes. This time, he was looking at her. Like he discovered something he lost.

“You’re Aqua,” he said.

He knew her name as a stranger’s, but now it was like he knew exactly what it meant. He smiled widely, the tears falling right into his mouth but he was too busy at the brink of laughter to taste them. He searched her eyes as though he was examining something precious.

“Did I give you my blue core?” he asked.

It was futile to stop her tears, and she nodded, her own smile drawing out like it needed to be seen. It was more natural to hug him than to reply, and his embrace was tight, like holding her was a necessity to live.

“What do you remember?” she asked into his shoulder, making it wet with all her tears and snot.

“Not much.” His voice chocked, half in laugher. “Just that you were so stubborn, and I needed to beat you on the head with some common sense.”

She laughed, something that sounded like crying but it was all molded together in a heap of nonsense. He held her tighter, making sure she kept standing as he rocked her back and forth. She was finally home in a world where light burned brightly enough that she was sure her transgressions were all exposed.

To hear him define her fall to darkness, her feral beast, as simply stubbornness made her feel forgiven. Even if he didn’t know what her mistakes really were, yet.

It was such a Terra thing to say.

A/N: So a lot of the concepts in this are inspired by Joshua's words in DDD:

"By ourselves we're no one. It's when other people look at us and see someone... that's the moment we each start to exist."

I don't normally nerd over the writing process in these notes, but to illustrate this, I actually made it purposeful not to name Aqua at all in this chapter except for one time - when Terra names her. Just a little something I wanted to experiment with, which was tricky in narration, having to do all of this without naming her XDD.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #anti-aqua #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #dark aqua #ventus #AHHHH i finally finished this #i'm so glad to do so as well #i have enough wips right now #but i hope you guys love it #i put a lot of love into it #it gets sad before it gets better i promise #my fic

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cassercole · 5 years

Text

the one where someone else snaps

SHIP: MOLLY PROCTOR / PETER PARKER ( PETOLLY ) RATING: TEEN WORD COUNT: 1,728 PROMPT: BASED OFF THIS TWEET TAGGING: (permanent tag list): @whindsor @fraysquake @sgtbuckyybarnes @elenacarinandherfandoms @peplumsandpitches @editsbyjenny @chuck-hansens @luucypevensie @mystic-scripture @perfectlystiles @allaboutocs @ocappreciation (molly proctor tag list): @fiercefray (WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?)

Everything happened so fast. Captain Marvel was struck back by a large purple blast, leaving Thanos open to another attack. She watched Mr. Stark hesitate for a split second before lunging for the Titan. He grabbed the gauntlet with all his strength, preventing the inevitable snap that was about to happen.

Molly slid to a stop a few feet behind Mr. Stark. A part of her wanted to dive in and help. Another bigger part of her was loudly reminding her of how much it hurt the first time she got bitch slapped by the Titan. She didn’t need that to happen again.

But there wasn’t time to make a decision; Thanos flicked Mr. Stark off of him like he was a bug on a windshield. He went rolling backward, away from the Titan who raised his gloved hand in the air. Once again, he had succeeded. Once again, they were all royally fucked.

The last time, five years prior, she had to sit and watch her classmates turn to dust right in front of her eyes. She couldn’t even imagine what she would witness this time. Or if she would even survive it.

Metal scraping against metal made her wince, holding her breath for a long moment as she waited for the consequences of the snap. Yet, nothing happened. The battle around them still raged on.

Her eyes shifted away from a confused Thanos to where Mr. Stark was kneeling on the ground. Somehow, someway, he had gotten the stones. Relief flooded her system as the nano tech of his Iron Man suit wrapped around his hand and the stones. A gauntlet that rivaled Thanos’ first, gaudy, golden one appeared around his hand as he stared down the Titan with five years of anger that would’ve been more than enough to send anyone running.

Before he could deliver the final snap, a web shot out from the sky above them. It wrapped itself around the gauntlet and yanked it from Mr. Stark’s hand. Molly’s eyes followed it as it flew through the air, only to land a few feet away with Peter at the other end of it.

Her stomach immediately tightened at the look of determination on his face. She took off in a quick sprint to get to where he was, hands moving to stop his as he pulled on the gauntlet.

“What are you doing?” she panicked, eyes wide as both of them scrambled to get the upper hand. As much as she wanted to save the world and end this thing, she saw how it affected Dr. Hulk -- and he was a fucking beast. She couldn’t let Peter risk it. At least with Mr. Stark, he had his Iron Man armor to protect him! Still, Peter’s eyes met hers and he gave her one of his infamous lopsided smiles that looked wrong on the otherwise beaten, bruised and dirty face of his.

“Saving the world.” he answered simply, almost breathlessly. Then with a flick of his wrist, he shot out enough webbing to tightly wrap her hands together so that she couldn’t try and stop him.

“Peter, no.” she struggled against the webbing. It was like fighting to get out of one of those fucking Chinese finger traps, but ten times worse. Peter clicked the gauntlet into place -- the glove forming with the nano tech of his Spidey suit. Lightening bolts of energy slid down his arm, strong enough to make him grit his teeth and groan in a lot of pain.

Her eyes went wide at the look of his hand in the gauntlet and her attempts to break free became more desperate. He flexed his hand a couple times, almost like he was getting adjusted to all the power he held. He kept her eyes on her the entire time, that smile never leaving his face.

“Kid, what are you --” Mr. Stark didn’t even get the chance to finish his question because in that moment, Peter snapped his fingers.

The sound was deafening. And yet, if she was being honest, also a bit anticlimactic. She expected some sort of energy wave. Something to send her flying back and let her know that this massive thing just happened. But instead, Peter just fell to his knees in front of her. And the rest of the battle continued on.

Lifting her arms up and then bringing them down hard and fast between her knees, while pushing her elbows out, Molly was able to break the webbing after a few strong tries. She knelt down next to Peter, who had managed to crawl over to a large slab of debris that was propping him up as he sat there. When she got next to him, he let his head fall onto her shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.

“Karen?” Molly asked out, knowing the AI would recognize her voice even though it had been five years.

“Life functions critical.” the AI responded, sounding almost sad about what it had to report.

The stones’ power was too much for his tiny, skinny, stupid body to handle. That much was obviously clear even without Karen’s confirmation. His entire right arm was burnt to a crisp. Unusable as it laid limply by his side. The black marks traveled up to the side of his face, clearly showcasing the toll the snap had on him. He looked like a marshmallow that had been left in the fire a bit too long.

His breaths were shallow with long pauses between every one. Those pauses seemed to get longer the more breaths he took in. He was shivering a bit against her, like he was cold despite the season and despite the endless fires around them.

Wanting nothing more but to cry, she tried to focus on the positives of what just happened -- watching as all of their enemies turned to dust around them. Her eyes fell on Mr. Stark, who was gazing upon them with a look of realization that was colored with heartbreak. His words echoed around her, something he had said so long ago when they were only children who had chosen to get involved in an adult war: If something happens to you, either of you, -- if you die...that’s on me.

Still, he made his way over to the two of them. He knelt down in front of Peter’s eye-line, gracing them both with a proud smile. There was a sadness behind his eyes though, that made Molly’s heart clench; he knew just as she that Peter wasn’t going to make it much longer.

“I just...wanted to be...like you.” Peter managed out softly. Soft enough to where if Molly wasn’t sitting right there, she wouldn’t have heard what he said. Mr. Stark’s smile falter for a half a second at the statement. Enough to show her that it got to him -- hell, it got to her too.

“Well, ya did it, kid.” Mr. Stark tilted his head to the side, hand reaching out to clasp against Peter’s un-scorched shoulder, “We won, Pete. You saved the world.” his eyebrows rose a bit, making it the weight of Peter’s accomplishment known. Peter lifted his head up from Molly’s shoulder to respond with a weak smile, eyes fluttering shut a bit as he took in another one of his final breaths.

“Molls, I...” he breathed out, eyes still closed. At the sound of her name, Molly moved around a bit so she could look at Peter fully. Mr. Stark shifted out of the way, giving her enough space to be with Peter in his final moments.

“Yeah, Peter?” she asked a bit breathlessly, wondering what he was going to tell her in his last moments. Hoping for something romantic, like in the movies, but knowing it probably wouldn’t make any sense because this wasn’t the movies. The villain may have been defeated, but the hero still dies.

Opening his eyes a bit, he reached out and weakly placed his uninjured hand over her hand. He squeezed it ever so gently, but with probably all the strength he had left. Eyes finding hers, he gave her one of those half smiles she loved so much, even though she pretended to hate them.

“I...” he breathed out again, like he was struggling to find the words.

“I know.” she ended up saying, not wanting the moment to pass them by. A lazy grin tugged at his lips, almost amused by her response to something he hadn’t said,

“Star Wars.” he muttered, making her laugh through her tears. (She hadn’t even realized she started crying).

“God, you’re such a dweeb.” she wiped her eyes with her hand though she was strangely smiling at the reference.

“Yeah...you love...it.” his blink was a bit slower on the uptake, which reminded her what she was about to lose. Him.

“You.” she stressed, squeezing his hand a bit, “Always you.” Pausing for a moment to make sure he heard her, she then leaned forward, pressing a loving kiss to either cheek, then his forehead, then his nose, and then, finally, chastely, to his lips. He didn’t kiss her back. She didn’t expect him too, but she hoped he felt it. Understood it.

Molly could pinpoint the exact moment his heart stopped beating. Could see the final breath leaving his body. And felt his hand slip from hers, falling to the ground beside him.

It didn’t stop her from keeping her eyes on him, silently hoping for him to wake up and be okay. Begging to see that stupid smile on his face or see the way he looked at her with wonder and awe even though she was nothing special compared to him. But his face was blank. Staring off into an endless space.

She let her head fall to his shoulder, hands pressed against his chest in case his heart decided to start up again. Not so quiet sobs wracked through her body, her shoulders shaking with each broken breath she took in. If it were any other time, she’d be embarrassed about showing this much emotion -- hell crying, in public like this but fuck...Peter was dead. Dead.

Turned out she was right. She couldn’t have imagined what she would witness during the second snap. And she certainly wasn’t sure if she would survive it.

#ocappreciation #allaboutocs #peter parker fanfic #mcu fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #mcu oc #marvel oc #**writings #**#petolly #molly proctor #hctf #[unedited be nice]

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lazywriter7 · 6 years

Text

Blind date part 3

for @mega-mathi who inspired me to finally finish this, and @ishipallthings whose prompt it was originally based on: “you’re supposed to be on a blind date with someone but you sat down at the wrong table and i haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise to tell you that and it’s been thirty minutes” au

Read part one here

Read part two here

He caught her in an elevator.

Well, not quite. He was waiting on the ground floor, trying to remember how to whistle without his hands. It seemed like a whistling kind of moment. Or a whistling kind of day.

Tongue to the back of the throat, loosen the jaw… The elevator dinged quietly, steel doors opening with a swish. Steve did his best to straighten up whatever odd face he’d been pulling.

Judging from Natasha’s almost-expression, he didn’t quite succeed. She was in a dark green sweater that hung loosely on her frame, hair scooped on her neck in a side-bun. She was the loveliest, most generous angel to ever walk the face of this planet.

Oh Stevie.

They moved in synchrony, switching places smoothly as Steve stepped in and Natasha moved out. Steve turned around and shot what was probably the soppiest smile he’d ever sported in her direction. “Thanks. He was great.”

A tiny pause. “He.” Natasha repeated, with absolutely no inflection whatsoever.

The elevator doors closed.

(read more link below)

Any other person would have scrambled for the ‘open door’ button immediately. Steve had faster reflexes than most people.

He stood, motionless, staring at his discoloured reflection in the elevator doors as it began to rise.

Steady jazz started tinkling somewhere in the background – he remembered being…if not soothed, then touched by the thought the first time he’d taken the elevator in Avengers Tower.

“JARVIS, could you turn off the music please.”

The music subsided.

He watched it happen over seventy-one floors. Watched his expression waver, smile crumpling inwards, before his jaw took over and set itself – firm and brittle. Watched the thoughts and realisations track through his eyes, overcast blues turning leaden. It was a remarkable parallel of his thought processes down in the café, actually…before he’d sat down. Three minutes of mounting hope and epiphany, in exact reverse.

Tony Stark was in the café. Tony Stark owned the Tower the café was at, and even if he didn’t, was perfectly within his rights to be there. There was no logical explanation for Tony Stark to be hanging around at a sub-par café the afternoon of Steve’s date. Tony Stark had access to the common area feeds, and probably spied on Natasha persuading Steve into a blind date.

The data was all the same – Steve had just come to the utterly wrong conclusion. Because he was biased and blind. And stupid and lonely.

Tony Stark likes me and wants to date me.

– versus Tony Stark took an hour out of his extremely busy schedule to spy on Steve making a complete fool out of himself on a date with another woman.

Yeah. The winner was pretty clear on that one.

It was…funny, probably. That’s why Tony did it. It was funny, and Steve didn’t get it, because he didn’t get most jokes these days. Like those videos of men proposing to their da – girlfriends, and getting awkwardly rejected and people taping the whole thing and livestreaming and tweeting and whatever else they did these days, snarky commentary that got a thousand likes. He could hear it even now: here we can observe the dinosaur far removed from its natural habitat; a clumsy old drip tryna be smooth and thinking he’s got something to offer to a billionaire – except he couldn’t even fucking make fun of himself right because people in this century didn’t even say drip anymore.

The elevator dinged. The steel doors slid open, Steve staring beyond into the recesses of his darkened floor.

“Captain?” JARVIS prompted quietly.

Steve exited the elevator, moving on autopilot for a few paces before coming to a standstill. The entire place was ‘open plan’, nothing but shine and glass and a sense of uneasiness that burrowed itself deep into Steve’s spine. It had taken months upon months to get over, an inch of tension unscrewing with every day – until Steve had woken up to a sea of rose and gold one morning, a startlingly bright sunrise that seemed to bleach all the shadows away.

Now the sun had already dipped below the horizon, everything he could see tinted dusk-grey. Not that there was much to see – the whole point of this kind of design was to ‘declutter the space’, never mind that it just felt empty. He could…he could move towards the kitchenette, make himself a pot of tea; steam winding idly up, crockery clinking loudly in the silence. Or flip through channels on his television, or climb into bed and pull the covers over his head, staring at absolutely nothing.

His head was silent.

“Captain. Sir is requesting your presence in his workshop, if you would please.”

Fuck him, Steve thought, with absolutely no emotion left to muster. Except that didn’t…that wasn’t…

That wasn’t quite right.

Only to those who deserve it. And he’d been so sure about it too, felt it settle deep in his heart of cemented convictions. Yet it didn’t quite…line up with what Steve was feeling now: resentment broken apart, all raw and tender inside. It’s probably funny didn’t align with the phantom warmth of Tony’s hand for three hours straight, with his tiny, indrawn breath every time Steve called him by name.

It was hard. Hard to remember all the verbal blunders, the stammering, and not feel the sense of doomed certainty creeping on – it all just made so much sense, if it were a joke. If Steve was the butt of it all, the dope who got told ‘you just won a million dollars!’ and believed it while people snickered behind hidden cameras. If this was another rejection in a long line of rejections, for something Steve hadn’t even known he wanted until three hours ago.

Except…and this was the part he kept butting up against. The part where Steve was feeling absolutely miserable, and the idea that that had been Tony’s intention.

“Cap, I think there’s been a-”

“My fault entirely, shouldn’t have come here in the first place. You should probably look for the person you actually–”

“I vote both. Can we do both?”

“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

When he breathed next, it came a little lighter – anxiety loosening its hold on his chest. Maybe he was wrong and it was all just an elaborate construction of ridicule; but damn if Steve was going to be cowardly enough not to find out for sure.

“Tell him I’ll be there.”

He hadn’t realised until now, how different Tony had looked in the café.

It was probably the lighting. Everything about Tony’s face was sharp, deeply angular: the lines of his beard and the jut of his chin, and the penetrating, fluorescent light that Steve always saw him under only enhanced this effect. Iron Man was the one who flourished under the sun – swooping across blue skies in a swirl of fiery colour, bright enough to blind.

In the café, he’d looked…mellower, the golden rays of afternoon gentling his lines and edges; yet oddly still compelling. It was the difference, perhaps, between felt tip and oil paint – less polish, more intensity. Now, he was Tony Stark again – industrial-white bulbs overhead lighting his cheekbones in straight, unbroken lines. He was in the same t-shirt, hoodie out of sight, and his eyes appeared black enough to match.

(And yet, out of the corner of his eye, Steve could glimpse maroon wool – the scarf looped round and round what appeared to be a robotic arm.)

“I’m glad you came.” Tony started, words falling quick and efficient. His gaze was fixed just slightly off of Steve’s face, at some point beside his right ear. “There is something that I should’ve…something I need to tell you before you–”

“I spoke to Natasha.”

Tony fell silent. He blinked, thrice in rapid succession; nothing like the languid movements that had captivated Steve so only a couple of hours ago. He looked like he was trying to re-centre himself.

“I didn’t deserve it.” Steve said. “Not this time.”

Studied stillness, like the kind that came only by actively holding back a flinch. Steve watched Tony very carefully not react. Not argue, only dip his head after a second and quietly voice, “I’m sorry.”

Defend yourself you idiot.

But that was okay. That was okay, because Steve was here and he might be the actual worst at first date conversation, but this. This he knew how to do.

There were no rules to bravery, no ways to judge, no way to fuck it up. Just to take the leap.

“Peggy always used to say that nuance was lost on me.” He didn’t stutter over her name, linger on its ending consonants with bitterness at the back of his throat. He just sounded fond. “She and Colonel Phillips used to have these long-drawn discussions about the changing state of international politics – countries and diplomacies and agendas. I listened in, and I appreciated it but…sometimes it just seemed a step removed from relevance.”

“In the field, I have to keep every possible factor in mind before making a call. But at some point, that means to stop thinking and start doing.” Despite his words, he was fidgeting with the base of his thumb. Steve stilled his hands, straightened his shoulders. His heartbeat was kicking up in his ears. “Sometimes it’s easier to…let the overwhelming complexity of it slide away, and simply make a choice.”

“I know that this isn’t that simple.” Except for how it also is. Steve lifted his chin, felt the pulse leap and skitter in his throat like something terrified and utterly free. “But to me, today was one of two things.”

“Either Tony Stark liked me,” Tony stared back at him, dark eyes and trembling mouth and absolutely no doubt whatsoever, “or he was an asshole. And we both know how I feel about the second option.”

Moments trailed away, ears ringing and veins flushed with adrenaline. No matter what happened next, Steve would never forget how this felt. Breathing and speaking and being, without the weight of anxiety bending his head.

Tony stalked across the workshop floor, movements so decisive that Steve almost took a step back. For a second he expected to be gripped around the collar, jerked down to Tony’s level – but Tony stopped scant inches away, breaths controlled and eyes on fire. When he spoke, it was as direct and non-tangential as Steve had ever heard him.

“I knew you were on a blind date and when I heard you were planning to meet at the Tower itself, I couldn’t help myself. I never intended to take over the date. Or to hurt you in any way.”

“I know–”

“You still need to hear it.” Tony cut through, bluntly succinct. He’d never sounded sincerer. “Also you’re goddamn incredible.”

It wasn’t a joke. And Steve had already known – but it was the difference between closing your eyes and leaping without a parachute, and the moment you were caught. It was staring into Tony’s eyes, breaths ramping up together; like they were seventy feet in the air and still flying, and never wanting to come down.

Tony leaned up.

Steve’s hands spasmed by his side – oh god oh god oh god oh look my anxiety’s back – fingers flexing in imagined, desperate sense-memory: the worn cotton of Tony’s t-shirt, the stubbled underside of his jaw, the thin skin of his eyelids, the spiky softness of his hair. So many places to reach out towards, to touch and stroke and hold, and Steve couldn’t seem to bring himself to–

And then it didn’t matter, because Tony’s lips were right there and Steve closed his eyes. A feather-light touch, a single point of contact. Dry heat and absolute stillness – like they were balanced, perfectly, on the edge and neither wanted to move and break the spell. God, Tony could probably feel Steve’s cheeks blazing with heat from this distance – and it didn’t matter because Steve could feel Tony’s and this was–

Perfect.

Tony pulled away slowly, settling down on the balls of his feet. He seemed a little out of it, tone faintly starstruck. “I feel like I just got kissed by Prince Charming.”

“Oh. Um.” This was far from Steve’s first kiss since the forties, though some people might call this barely a kiss. It didn’t matter. It was perfect. “Sorry?”

“No no, it’s fine.” Tony batted his hands distractedly, still a little wondrous. “I like Disney movies better than pornos anyway.”

“We don’t have to choose.” Steve replied on autopilot – and Tony froze in place for a second, before swaying forward until his forehead hit Steve’s shoulder, hiding his snickers in Steve’s plaid shirt. Because somehow Steve had found a man who appreciated both his deeply visceral awkwardness, as well as his out-of-body sass.

Tony breathed warm and damp against Steve’s chest before tilting his head sideways, bristly beard hairs scraping distractingly over thin cloth. His resting cheek rose and fell with Steve’s breaths, and he glanced up in a smile that could wreck millions. “Blue.”

Steve, who was expecting some kind of devastating comeback/come-on, wrinkled his brows in confusion. Tony’s small, answering laugh vibrated against his chest. “My favourite colour.”

Right, right. First date conversation. Steve wracked his, admittedly slow-functioning brain for an appropriate follow up. Sue him, he had a Tony Stark in his arms. “What shade?”

Tony’s lips curved into something dreamy, taffy-sweet. “Steve-blue.”

Steve stared back, more than a little light in the head. His mouth was moving outside his volition, “That’s not a–”

Tony stretched up on his toes, pecked him again – a soft murmur to punctuate the motion. “Is to me.”

Steve shut his eyes. Waited, for reality to kick back in, for sanity to kick him in the head. Speaking of which –

You’ve been quiet.

You had it handled. Bucky’s voice replied in his head, wry and proud. Now go back to life, hotshot.

When Steve opened his eyes, Tony was still there. He didn’t teach kindergarten by day, or work in puppy shelters by night, though Steve was pretty sure that Tony did more humanitarian work than all the NYC charities combined. He’d probably laugh himself silly at all of Steve’s creased Pocono Mountains brochures, and drag him kicking and screaming to Hawaii in summer. He was an Avenger, and a good man, and…

Always think of the brightest outcome possible before entering a situation.

“I don’t think I could’ve imagined you if I had tried.”

“Well then.” Tony smiled slowly, like the start of a new day and the morning sunrise. “Suppose it’s a good thing you don’t have to.”

~fin

#ao3 link coming soon #fanfic #stony #avengers 1 era #angst and fluff #steve rogers #tony stark #complete

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