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#tiny trooper fives
theartgremlin2 · 1 year
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You’re supposed to be helping!
Fives: I am helping! See? I’m modeling these spiffy new cases for you! Don’t they look nice!
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Very helpful. Thank you 🙄
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(He actually did help, btw. He’s a good guy like that)
Though he did get stuck in the spring-loaded rosin pocket and decided to just lurk in there the rest of the time XD
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stormyblue90 · 3 months
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The Tiny Troopers have Valentines to give! Do you accept?
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treasureplcnet · 1 year
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watched tbb FINALLY so here is a sketchdump of my favorite clones of all time (tho it’s mostly rex my forever clone <3)
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mwolf0epsilon · 4 months
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Eps's Advent Crimbo: Day 22
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"I missed you..."
"Eh, can't get rid of me THAT easily..."
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"So, uh... Who's the big guy?
"It's... A long story.
"I figured. And the massiff?"
"That's the mutt our hostess opted to free before you..."
"... I mean, that is a pretty cool massiff."
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"Uh... Yeah I guess he's pretty cool."
"Look at him wagging his lil toochie. Holding that blaster like he means business..."
"I kind of want to keep him."
"Same. We should name him Gunner!"
"Fives, we have a vod named Gunner..."
"Fine. Gunner Junior."
"No."
"Yes."
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Welcome home Fives, and happy christening Gunner Junior!
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ollikah · 1 year
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In Echo's defence, he just wanted to help with the brownies...I guess I shouldn't have said "get cracking" 😂
He was, however, excellent help with greasing the pan!
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corruptedmaiawrites · 9 months
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Condemned to Jealousy
Fandom: Star Wars, but where Fives was listened to, Palpatine is gone and the Republic is winning the war once and for all.
Pairing: Fives x Reader, unrequited Crosshair x Reader
Content: Angst and a little bit of fluff.
Warnings: Mentions of blood.
Word Count: 1642
A/N: Mando'a translations are 'mesh'la' = beautiful, and 'ner kar'ta' = my love. I wrote this in an evening so it's rather messy, but I've had this idea on my mind for a couple of days and actually wrote it for once.
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When he hears that the 501st are on shore leave too, Crosshair bristles. All he wants is some quality time away from the front lines with you, and now he knows that his chance is squandered. Whilst you had been working with Clone Force 99 since Echo joined, as his personal medic (keeping his biomechanics running smooth, as well as helping with the trauma of Skako Minor), you were previously assigned with the 501st. That meant that you were going to meet up with Troopers that you had once served with and Crosshair would be deprived of your presence. He tried to push down his annoyance at the fact, but the sniper barely lasted an hour pretending to be fine. The grumpiness of his amplified over the days before their shore leave, culminating to the present moment: sitting with his brothers in a booth at 79s, brooding over a glass of whiskey and staring daggers into the table surface.
The music around the bar pulsed with energy, the floor filled with various clones who were moving with the steady beat – either with each other or with a nat-born who’d taken interest. Some clones still wore their plastoid, some wore their blacks, or a mix of the two. Some clones even wore civ clothes, although it was somewhat rare. Most of the colour adorned by the clones here tonight was, of course, blue. Too much blue, Crosshair thought to himself as his eyes shifted over the crowd, looking for you.
It took him a while to find you, for you and those you were currently with were hidden by the throng. By then he saw you; the first glimpse he saw was of you with a wide grin spread across your features, eyes crinkled slightly, laughing at something one of the clones around you said. There are three of them with you, Crosshair identifies. Two of them are bald and tattooed, the other with slicked back hair, a vaguely anchor shaped beard, and a tattoo upon his temple. Crosshair narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the tattoos. Bald Trooper No.1 has blue lines wrapping around his scalp and onto his face; he is dancing near you, shimmying quickly and with no rhythm. The sniper actually recognised Bald Trooper No.2: Jesse. He was on Anaxes and they had a mutual dislike of each other, making Crosshair wrinkle his nose as he observes the close proximity of the clone to you… Even if Jesse is laughing at Bald Trooper No.1 and now seeking to playfully tackle him. However, Crosshair’s distaste at Jesse’s presence quickly diminishes as Bearded Trooper wraps his arm around your shoulders, turning his head to reveal his tattoo in greater detail to Crosshair – an aurbesh five. He knew this clone too, but had met him only briefly after the rescue of Echo, for he was his batch-mate, Fives…
The ARC Trooper with aurbesh tattoo looks down at you, a toothy smirk spreading across his features. His honey hued irises sparkle in the throbbing lights and you realise as your eyes lock that you have missed this man so much.
Before being assigned to the Bad Batch, before the rescue of Echo, you had served with the 501st. You got on with all of them, Rex, Jesse, Tup, Hardcase, Kix, and even Dogma, who was a little hard to like at times. But Fives… On your first day with the legion, and after being introduced to Rex’s squad as their non-combat doctor, Fives had come up to you with that smirk of his and hit you with the cheesiest pick-up line you’d ever heard. Yet, you still blushed. Not because of the line, but because of the one who’d delivered it. From then on, you’d harboured a small crush on the ARC Trooper, who flirted with you any chance he got. He visited your medbay upon the Resolute often – most clones tended to stay away, save for their regular health check-ups, but Fives seemed to like the place more than Kix. It was through these visits that you began to get an inkling that you were not the only with a slight infatuation. It lead to the moment, in the middle of Fives’ routine health check after some time in the front line, where you both ended up acting on those feelings towards each other. From then on, the pair of you had been together, in secret, not because of some rule against clones and nat-borns being together, but due to violating the rules of the workplace. Yet, now that you served with the Bad Batch, not with Fives and the 501st, it was becoming more and more tempting to be not so secret about your relationship.
That is why, as you look into Fives’ eyes, his arm about your shoulders, you decide to raise a hand to loop around to the back of his head, your fingers slipping between his brunet locks. He raises a brow slightly, although as his eyes become hooded it is clear that he is having similar thoughts to yours.
“Mesh’la,” he mutters in his deep baritone, “I don’t want to keep this secret anymore.”
“Fives… Neither do I.”
In that moment, Fives pulls you in for a kiss, his lips encompassing yours softly. In that moment too, you hear the smashing of glass. You break away from Fives, who groans with frustration, yet too looks towards the source of the noise. You both expect it to be nothing much, maybe overly drunk patrons. It’s not nothing, as the table where your current squad sits is now in disarray and a certain member of Clone Force 99 is staring deadly daggers at Fives. The said clone makes an awkward sound in confusion, eyes flicking towards you with a hint of panic within them as he whispers in your ear, “Ner kar’ta, why is he glaring at me?”
You shake your head slightly, partially in disbelief, but also to indicate to Fives that you don’t know. “He’s usually grumpy, but I’ve never seen him like… this. Let me deal with this.”
As you talk with Fives, Crosshair is swiftly stomping over. Before Fives gets a chance to respond to you, a fist lands directly in the side of his nose, causing him to stumble and nearly pull you over with him. You untangle yourself from Fives, seeing red in the corners of your eyes as you turn to face the assailant, Crosshair. He looks enraged. However, your expression gives him a run for his credits.
“Crosshair! What the kriff was that?!” The entirety of the bar has their eyes on you as you shout, many of the 501st in the bar moving to gather around. Jesse and Hardcase, who were with you in the moments before the incident, have stepped in to check on Fives, who is holding his nose that gushes with his own crimson blood. Rex, who was sitting with the Commanders, has stood up and approached slowly, ready to step in to be the mediator, and alongside him is Cody too, the pair ready to work the dynamic duo as always. Kix is currently pushing his way through the crowd towards you as well, seeming to go full combat medic mode at the commotion. The Bad Batch have reacted too, all slightly differently. Wrecker has leapt from his seat, ready to fight. Echo has quickly moved to grab the oversized clone, and Hunter too has stopped his brother from starting a whirlwind of chaos, although seems to be more relaxed about potentially letting Wrecker off the leash if there is good reason to. Tech still sits in the back of the booth, awkwardly looking over his datapad at the situation. All of them wait, however, to see how Crosshair responds.
The silver haired sniper hisses an exhale, before snarling his words, “The reg kissed you!”
In your eyes, it is a pretty poor excuse. “So?!” You call out, your anger bubbling up with the increasing heat.
Crosshair narrows his eyes, taken aback by the question, yet this time he has a better response, spoken quietly this time, his words now laced with venom, “It looks like you’re being taken advantage of…”
If you hadn’t been drinking then maybe you would have said something better, but what comes out of you is spat that the sniper with frustration at his apparent blunder.
“I’m dating Fives, I ain’t being kriffing taken advantage of!”
Crosshair’s expression falls for a moment, a look of abject horror upon his features. Yet it disappears as quickly as it appears. He seems done, done with everything now. Turning around, to head towards the exit of the bar, he growls, “Kriff you…” He leaves then, storming out. Hunter drags Wrecker along with him after their brother, whilst Echo lets go to rush across to you and Fives, whose nose is now clogged up with napkins from the bar to stop the bleeding.
It is as Echo comes towards you and Crosshair steps out the door of the bar that the realisation of what truly happened hits you. All those around you disappear as your entire focus turns to Fives. You rush over towards him, the shouts of the clones about you trying to disperse the crowd falling on deaf ears as you throw yourself against Fives, wrapping your arms around him.
“I’m sorry, Fives-“
“Ssssh, ner kar’ta, not your fault. He was just jealous.” Fives wraps his arms about you, engulfing you in his warmth and comfort, placing a gentle kiss atop the crown of your head.
Meanwhile, Crosshair storms away from 79s and into the night of Coruscant, he realises that he will always be jealous in regard to you. Jealous because you are the one thing he cannot have, for Fives has already claimed you.
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Thanks for reading!
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totes-tubulardude · 2 months
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I was having some post Padawan Lost and Wookie Hunt feels so I decided to give a lil snippet from the after math in my au :)
Ahsoka felt Fives’ bright and ecstatic presence before she saw him. By the time he shoved through the blast doors to the hangar he already had to duck to avoid the ceiling. Upon laying eyes on her he let out a cheer and charged towards her.
With each step he seemed to grow taller until he was right in front of her. He crashed down to his knees to hug her, lifting her off the ground completely. 
She let out a breathless laugh as he squeezed her, she was grateful for the pain medication the Jedi healers had given her for her bruised ribs and claw marks.
“You scared the osik out of us commander.” He told her. “If you ever do that again I swear to the Maker.” 
Ahsoka huffed a laugh as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I don’t plan on it any time soon.”
“Alright, Fives let her down so the rest of us can see her.” Jesse barked.
Fives lifted one hand to flip his brother off but gently set her back down onto the floor. She was quickly swept up into another embrace by the scout. Over Jesse’s shoulder she saw that Rex had taken up a place beside her master. He was standing formally but had a small smile on his face as he watched her. She also noted that he was currently a couple inches taller than Anakin. 
Fives hadn’t regained enough control to fully shrink back down to his regular size so he stayed seated on the floor as she recounted what had happened to her. 
-
Ahsoka followed Rex to his office and private bunk, occasionally stopping to greet a trooper as they went. The force rang with happiness and relief throughout the barracks, they really had missed her after she’d been taken. That knowledge made her warm inside. 
Rex palmed the door open, quickly shucking off his vambraces and chestplate as she leaned out to wave to Ridge. 
As soon as she stepped into the room and shut the door, she was swiftly swept up into another embrace. The sound of a desk sliding across the floor and the clang of something heavy hitting the durasteel wall filled the room as Rex’s oversized knees shoved furniture out of the way. One arm supported her while his other hand was wrapped around her middle as he clutched her to his chest. Only now did she see how tightly he’d been keeping his emotions under control seeing as he was large enough to completely fill the room now that they were alone. 
She flung her arms across his chest. 
“I’m alright Rex, I’m here.”
She felt his head shake next to her. 
“We looked for you for days vod’ika, but all we found were your kriffing lightsabers. We didn’t know where you were or what had happened or if you were even still…” his voice faltered and his hand around her clenched. 
She pushed back enough to see his face. 
“I survived. Thanks to Anakin and to you all, if you hadn’t trained with me as much as you all have, I don’t think I would have made it. But I did and I helped two other padawans make it home to.” Ahsoka attempted to keep her face straight as Kalifah’s face flashed to the front of her mind. “So thank you Rex, for all you’ve done for me.”
The captains force signature sang as he tucked her back against his shoulder.
Ahsoka let the the warmth around her seep into her mind and calm her, the part of her brain that had been on survival mode finally relaxed and a bone-deep tired took its place. 
“Are you going to let go anytime soon?” She asked around a yawn.
“No.” Rex answered. “Not after that karkshow.”
“Good because I think I’m too tired to stand.”
His chuckle rumbled through her whole body. 
Slowly the ache in her middle began to make itself present again. She winced when Rex’s thumb ran over her side, right over a couple of claw marks courtesy of the trandoshans. 
He must have felt her tense because his grip quickly loosened. 
“Are you alright?” He asked, pulling her back a little bit. 
“I’m fine, just a few parting gifts from the Trandoshians.” She told him with a sheepish smile. 
His Force signature flashed with rage as he carefully set her back down onto the floor. When she stumbled he was quick to fit his hand back around her middle to keep her upright. 
“What happened?” He asked.
-
Mando’a trans:
Vod’ika: little sibling
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consularmain · 5 months
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"I can handle myself. Sir."
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thisbrilliantsky · 1 year
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pups got his shots and annual exam at the vet today and the good news is he the first cavalier (mix) that the vet had ever encountered that did NOT have a heart murmur and even tho he’s gained 2lb in the past year he’s actually at a healthy weight and his old man hips are still plenty flexible; the bad news is that his old man teeth are in bad shape and he needs surgery and possibly extractions preferably within the next 6-8months that would cost $500-$700 :\\ they don’t seem to be painful yet but they most probably will be before he gets much older :\\\
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theartgremlin2 · 1 year
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Okay guys, I gotta put the driftwood away now XD
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stormyblue90 · 6 months
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The Tiny Troopers are enjoying their Halloween candy spoils!
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However Fox is being indecisive…
And is that a little black Tooka wearing Fives’ helmet? 👀
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jgvfhl · 8 months
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I have achieved blorbo irl for my birthday 💙
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mwolf0epsilon · 2 months
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Taking a page out of @milfcutlawquane 's book and spinning the wheel on some clone trooper sizes. The results leaned more towards supersizing than diminishing. Also, for once, Rex is spared the indignity of getting his size tampered with! Joy!
— ☕️ Ko-fi | 🧡Commissions
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terapsina · 1 year
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Here's a funny idea for you. The Clone Troopers figure out they have chips in their heads and splice their way into the orders, and instead of trying to deal with it politically (and accidentally revealing themselves to whoever ordered them put there), or doing an army wide medical brain surgery procedure (and accidentally revealing themselves to whoever ordered them put there), or asking for help (and having the people who are trying to help, accidentally revealing themselves to whoever ordered them put there)...
...they just kidnap all their Jedi, and go dark.
It's all very polite and efficient. Some of the Jedi do need to get shot with stunner bolts until there's time for silly things like explanations (Rex is kinda mad he lost that bet to Cody, maybe once Commander Skywalker wakes up it's time to finally follow Kix's increasingly more weighted hints about the need for therapists aboard their ships), but there are a lot more clones than there are Jedi and anyway most of them trust their men far too much to do all that much arguing.
This doomed them all in a different world. It saves them in this one.
(Somewhere on Coruscant Sheev Palpatine gets a bad feeling and orders someone to check out the Jedi temple, - someone who's not a trooper, because there seems to be a very large absence of clones suddenly, not even CC-1010 can be gotten a hold of.)
(This is because a tiny little Twilek youngling is chewing on Fox's vambrace at the moment somewhere in hyperspace. Also, he smashed his comlink 238 galactic standard minutes ago).
The Jedi Temple is empty.
The Force is not screaming with the sound of thousands of lights being extinguished all across the galaxy. And Fives deserves a well earned nap.
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dystopicjumpsuit · 3 months
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Hey, Sunshine 💙
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A/N: Wishing the happiest birthday to my beloved @sunshinesdaydream!
Pairing: Hardcase x Reader (GN; Reader has a nickname)
Rating: T but minors DNI as always
Wordcount: 1.1k
Warnings and tags: fluff; kissing; Star Wars swearing
Summary: Hardcase has a birthday surprise for you.
Suggested listening:
Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list
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Three hours, twenty-two minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. 
That's how long you had left until you'd officially be on shore leave. A whole week off. No handing out uniforms; no listening to sheepish explanations about how exactly a trooper ended up with an undersuit three sizes too small (HOW?!); no defending your distribution numbers in pointless meetings with your supervisor. Just five days, all to yourself. You could do anything you wanted. 
Well. Almost anything.
You finished taking stock of the Resolute’s uniform inventory and sent a quick comm to the supply officer to let her know the ship was running low on socks—again—while you tried not to think about a certain heavy gunner with the sweetest eyes and the prettiest ink in the GAR. The truth, which you would never admit even under pain of torture, was that you'd happily skip shore leave if it meant you'd get to spend more time with him.
But you couldn't, so you didn't.
Instead, you'd be spending the week on Coruscant, NOT with Hardc—your friends, which was FINE. It was absolutely FINE, and you were excited to finally have some free time, and maybe it sucked just a tiny bit that you'd be spending your birthday alone in a hotel room in the mid-levels, but it was FINE. There was plenty to do on Coruscant, after all. You were sure you'd be able to find something—
“Hey, Sunshine.”
You shrieked and jumped in surprise as the voice sounded close behind you.
“Hardcase, you scared the kark out of me!” you gasped, smacking him in the chest with a compression suit and doing your best to ignore the way the world suddenly seemed a little bit brighter. “What are you doing here? Don't tell me you lit your dress uniform on fire again.”
“That was two times!” he exclaimed, affronted. “It's not like I did it on purpose.”
“Then why are you here instead of getting ready to paint the Entertainment District red?”
He eyed the compression suit warily. “If I tell you, are you going to hit me with that thing again?”
“Depends on what you say,” you replied with a cheeky smile.
Apparently unwilling to take any chances, he took the suit from you and folded it neatly, then set it aside. When he turned back to you, he looked almost… nervous? That was new; you'd never seen him display anything less than well-deserved confidence. He licked his lips, and with an effort so heroic that you mentally awarded yourself a medal, you kept your gaze steadily on his eyes instead of staring at his mouth.
“I, uh, have something for you,” he said. He fumbled in one of his many pouches—why do they have so many pouches?—and produced a small box wrapped in colorful flimsi. “It's nothing much, just, er—happy birthday, Sunshine.”
He shoved the box toward you and looked away quickly. Surprised, you accepted the gift and examined it curiously as Hardcase watched out of the corner of his eye. On closer inspection, you saw that the flimsi was covered in hand-drawn geometric patterns in your favorite colors, and your heart gave a strange little thump at the thoughtfulness and effort he'd put in.
“How’d you know my birthday was coming up?” you asked.
“I have my ways,” he said in a dignified tone that was utterly subverted by the eager expression on his face.
“So mysterious!” you laughed.
He grinned. “A mystery, wrapped in an enigma—”
“Shrouded in flimsi,” you finished.
“Exactly. Now open it!”
“But the mystery!” you teased.
“Mysteries are meant to be solved. Open it!”
He was practically vibrating, his earlier jitters obliterated by anticipation. Unable to resist tormenting him (just a little, as a treat), you took your time to unwrap the box, painstakingly avoiding tearing the flimsi. Once you had it completely unwrapped, you held up the flimsi and admired the artwork.
“Hardcase, this really is gorgeous. I didn't know you could draw like this.”
“Kriff the flimsi, open the box! I know you're doing this on purpose.”
With one final, mischievous smile, you complied. Your breath caught when you saw what was inside: a simple cord necklace, and on it, a crystal pendant that flashed purple and green in the light, intricately wrapped in silver wire.
“It's beautiful,” you whispered. “Did you make this?”
He nodded. “I found the crystal on Saleucami. Reminded me of you.”
“Saleucami was months ago,” you replied, confused.
“I know.” 
Your eyes flitted from his face to the necklace and back again. On impulse, and before you could lose your nerve, you asked, “Can you help me put it on?”
He didn't reply, but he stepped closer to you and picked up the necklace. He fumbled with the clasp a bit and paused to tug off his gloves with his teeth. Once he got the clasp open, he lifted the necklace and fastened it gently around your neck, his calloused fingers ghosting lightly over your skin.
Maker, he smells so good, it's not kriffing fair, you mused, trying to refrain from huffing him like glue.
“Thanks.” Your voice sounded suspiciously hoarse, even to your own ears.
His thumb stroked softly down the side of your neck.
“Hey, Sunshine?” he whispered.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”
Your breath stuttered to a halt. “... Yeah.”
His eyes dropped to your lips, and he slowly closed the distance between the two of you. As his hand slid around to cup the back of your head, your heart hammered so hard you were sure he must be able to feel it. He glanced back up at your eyes, as though looking for confirmation that you wanted this, and whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. His lips touched yours softly, his kiss achingly tender at first. Then you brushed the tip of your tongue against his lips, and he drew in a sharp breath, pulling you tightly against himself.
How many times had you imagined kissing Hardcase? Dozens? Hundreds? It didn't matter, because none of them even came close to the reality. He kissed you like you were the only being in the galaxy, like you were his entire world. When at last you drew away, breathless and dizzy, he whispered your name—your real name—like a plea, quiet and reverent.
His thumb traced around the shell of your ear. He nuzzled your cheek, then pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth one more time.
“Been wantin’ to do that forever,” he murmured against your skin.
“What took you so long?” you asked in a hushed tone.
“Didn't want to kark it up,” he replied. 
“Oh,” you whispered. “Well. You didn't.”
He held you close to him, his breath soft and warm across your face as his fingertips drew tiny circles in the downy hairs just where the back of your neck met your head. After a moment, he spoke quietly.
“Did you have plans for shore leave? Because if not, I have a few ideas.”
---
Looking for more Hardcase fluff? Check out my ficlet, “A Question of Seman-dicks.”
Taglist:
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mediumgayitalian · 2 months
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prev chapter
———
“Okay,” Will says, when they’re comfortably on the road. This early in the morning, Highway 17 is practically empty; nothing but sunny skies and clear air rushing through the open roof. The emptiness may also be attributed to the fact that it is a random Tuesday. “Pick a number between one and nine.”
“Uh, five.”
“Good choice, good choice.”
He opens the centre console, digging around Nico’s – well, and his, at this point – collection of CDs to find the right one. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finds it, blowing on the back and wiping it on his shirt before sliding it into the port.
“One half-assed polish isn’t gonna fix those scratches, Solace,” he teases.
“If you weren’t such an emo fuck, Playlist Five wouldn’t be so scratched.”
Nico laughs, conceding this round. Will looks inordinately pleased, nose scrunching along with his tiny smile even as Linkin Park starts blasting through the speakers, which he hates.
“Three songs ‘til Britney,” he grouches as Nico starts hollering along to Points of Authority. Nico shakes his head, still grinning – as if he didn’t make these playlists. If he is truly so miserable, he wouldn’t have put the song on at all.
(Nico knows, in the very back of his mind, that Will actually and truly cannot stand Linkin Park. To him, it’s not music at all. He has never been able to get into it, as much as he truly likes music of every genre. If Linkin Park is on this playlist, and they’re on more than one of the playlists Will has made specifically for their shared car rides, it’s because he cares about Nico more than he hates the band. Nico shoves this knowledge deep into the dustiest corners of his mind, because that’s more than he can afford to think about.)
The next couple hours pass by comfortably. There isn’t much to remark on the side of the road except the odd fruit stand, or farm advertising eggs and honey, so onward Nico drives. He keeps an eye on the odometer, but mostly trusts Will’s calculations. If he says they won’t need gas ‘til Anthony, wherever the hell that is, Nico believes him. 
“Highway changes to the 98 through here,” Will says, nodding to the tiny sign that boasts nothing except Ft. Meade CITY LIMITS, right next to the giant banner half the size of the church it's attached to that reads, REPENT OR BURN. 
Ah, Florida. Please one day change.
“Do I need to exit?”
“Nope, the road just changes to a different number.”
He eases off the gas as they approach the tiny town, watching carefully for state troopers. And, like, children, probably. So far he’s passed twelve gun ranges and one school, but whatever. He can have priorities, even if this garbage state doesn’t.
“Hm. 98 is a better number.”
“Absolutely not,” Will tells him, aghast. “17 is a prime number!”
“Ninety-eight is more fun to say. Also, prime numbers suck.”
“You take that back –”
Nico slides up his sunglasses, shaking his head fondly. Nerdiest nerd to ever nerd. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so endeared.
He presses back on the accelerator as they exit the town, turning up the music as Will’s rant ends. He shucks off his shoes – Feet off my goddamn dash, Solace – and curls up into his seat, burying himself in a book. Nico glances away from the road to try and read the title, but quickly gives up since the font is bright fucking purple, for some reason, and in some horrible looping shape that he knows will give him a migraine. All graphic designers should be in prison. 
“Hey, there’s apparently a gator reserve forty-five minutes ahead.” Nico squints again at the book. Barely, he can make out “roadside” and “weird”. “‘Weird American Roadside Attractions’,” Will reads aloud, noticing Nico looking. “Such as a very nice and highly rated gator reserve –”
“No.”
“Road trip, Nico. Adventure.”
“I’m super happy to adventure away from living fucking dinosaurs, Solace.”
“Aw, come on, they’re kinda cute –”
“Two thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength! You are the one who told me that!”
“You don’t think you could take one in a fight?”
Nico stares at his best friend incredulously. He’s got a thoughtful little frown on his face, looking at the sky as he contemplates. Nico notices, vaguely, that the shade of his irises is the exact same colour. 
“No, I do not. Obviously.” He pauses. “You think you could take a fuckin’ gator?”
“I think it’s possible.”
“See, that’s crazy, because fifteen seconds ago I genuinely believed you were an intelligent person.”
“Do not lie to me and tell me you don’t have a list of animals you know you could take in a fight,” Will says, instead of rising to the bait. He waits, meeting Nico’s glare, eyebrows raised.
“An ostrich,” Nico admits, begrudgingly. “I feel like – one good punch to the throat –”
Will smiles smugly at him. “That’s what I thought.” He turns back to his book, fiddling with the corner of a page. “Also, ostriches are more closely related to dinosaurs than alligators. So. Check and mate, motherfucker.”
They pull into Anthony at around eleven, at pretty much exactly a quarter tank – just like Will predicted. He looks inordinately pleased about it, so Nico shoots off a quick prayer to the karma gods. 
He trips on his way out of the Jeep. Nico smirks.
“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he says, unaware of Nico’s hand in his humbling. Nico waves him off, attention turned to the gas pump.
Annoyingly, as he pulls out his card and handles the pump, he remembers Will’s scrunched nose and pursed lips as he’d explained, when they were 16, how gas station pumps were frequently more germy than their toilets, and cleaned approximately one hundred percent less. Suddenly, his hand begins to feel grimey.
Twelve bags of chips, a gas station slushie, and a pair of clean hands later, Will is still nowhere to be found. Nico frowns, craning his neck to look around the tiny parking lot as if he somehow missed Will’s neon orange shirt the first time he looked. Still not catching sight of him, he walks hesitantly back to the Jeep, tucking his snacks away and biting his lip, contemplating. Will is both very fast and very easily distracted, but he has enough sense not to go too far in a random town five hours from home. If he sticks by the car and waits, Will’ll be back soon. 
But, on the other hand, waiting is torture.
Easy decision, really.
He locks the door, hopes that no one will show up with a pair of wire cutters and a flathead screw driver, and sets off. The first thing he notices, and he adds it to his mental list of things to loudly complain about when Will is locked in the car with him, is that it is fucking sweltering. In the hours approaching the afternoon, the day has gone to pleasantly warm to so hot the air is actually thick with it, and he doesn’t have wind ripping through the open windows to cool him down. Plus, he’s wearing jeans, and for the first, and hopefully only, time in his life, he envies his friend’s cargo shorts. 
The second thing he notices is that Anthony, Florida, is empty as shit. All the love in his heart to the people who call it home, but also, move, maybe. He’s hesitant to stray too far from the gas station, in case Will comes back and finds him gone, but there are no hills or anything. He can see quite far down the road. The only thing he sees is a possum starting a fight with a poor random guy – which, actually, is kind of fun to watch. 
Perhaps he has judged Anthony too harshly. 
“Nico!” shouts a voice, startling him. He whips around and finds Will, standing in the goddamn centre of the road, the dumbass, waving like a lunatic.
“There is no possible way I was going to miss you,” Nico informs him when he’s close enough. “You are approximately the height of the Washington monument. I could not miss you if I tried.”
“I wasn’t waving to get your attention, I was waving to shoo away the eagles that mistook you for a mouse.”
Nico kicks him in the shin. Will, well used to his violence, dodges, grinning, except in the act of hopping away from Nico’s dangerously hardy boots, he somehow wraps his foot around his own ankle and goes sprawling.
Nico smirks. “Who’s the short one now.”
Faster than he can even follow, Will’s hand darts out, wrapping around his ankle, and tugs, yanking him yelping on the asphalt next to him. 
“Foul!”
“All’s fair in love and war, Neeks.”
Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Nico screams at the alarm bells blaring in his brain, he doesn’t mean it like that and you know it oh shit he’s looking this way quick look normal look normal –
“I can do war if that’s what you want, Solace,” he manages, honestly quite proud of himself for managing speech with approximately fourteen percent of his brain still functioning. Damn.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.” He crawls to his feet, offering Nico a hand. He takes it, dutifully fighting the urge to pull Will down again, just to be an asshole. He’s cool like that, and most definitely being normal about the scrape of Will’s callused fingers against the inside of his forearm. “I found maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I need you to come look at it immediately.”
“Sick,” Nico says, immediately intrigued. He and Will have their differences, sure, but if there’s one thing they can agree on it’s their sense of humour. 
He follows will down the road, passing the gas station again. (His car, thankfully, remains in one piece and beautifully not-robbed.) They dark across an empty intersection, walking across a yellowed lawn as they approach a run-down, patchy, one-storey bungalow with a rusted sign that reads: The Iron Works.
“Behold,” says Will gleefully, “the Abstract Iron Centaur.”
And behold, Nico does.
Gaping, he observes the structure standing proudly under the sign. Striding proudly, rather, its front legs bent to simulate movement, its human arms poised as if ready to strike. It wears a medieval knight’s helmet, and holds a rusted axe. The entire structure is a little taller than Will, and made of, presumably, iron, rusted into a light roan red.
“Abstract Iron Centaur,” Nico repeats, after several minutes of silence.
Will still looks delighted. “It was in my book. I had no idea what to expect and also I didn’t believe it was real. Isn’t it the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“It’s…something.”
“We gotta take a picture, Neeks. I never want to forget this thing.”
Nico allows himself to be pulled, still somewhat bewildered. It’s not even the oddest thing he’s ever seen, it’s just – he has many questions, like, for example, why? How long has this creature existed? How long will it persist? Who created it? Why is it in Will’s dorky book? Does it house a soul?
“Okay, squish in, this camera is older than your elderly ass and doesn’t have a timer.”
The familiar jab breaks him out of his stupor. “Seven months older than you, fucker.”
“Geriatric.”
Without warning, Will crowds them under the Abstract Iron Centaur’s lifted arm, and then presses his widely grinning cheek right flush to Nico’s, raising his beat-up camera to the air.
Nico’s brain goes static.
“Say cheese!”
“Hnngh,” says Nico, as the camera blinds him.
Luckily for his continuously worsening blood pressure, Will pulls away the second he hears the click, shaking the ejected negative to help it develop, and Nico has a second to remind his lungs that they have a function, actually, get your shit together, I am not dying in fucking Anthony, Florida. 
“You look like a dork!” Will says, delighted. “Look!”
Blinking at the photo shoved one sixteenth of an inch from his eyeballs, Nico indeed looks. The Abstract Iron Centaur looks more foreboding on camera, somehow, but Nico barely notices it – instead, he finds his gaze drawn to the beam so wide it forces Will’s eyes shut, and the dazed, dopey look on his own face; eyes wide, mouth dropped, slightly, and posture undeniably leaning into Will’s magnetism. 
Humming to himself, Will slips his wallet out of (one of) the (many) pocket(s) of his shorts, tucking the photo inside it. Nico melts into a puddle of goo on the dead grass. His mortal soul escapes his body, descending rapidly. His atoms return to star dust. Et cetera.
“Oh, shit, we gotta go if we want to reach Georgia in good time.”
“Right,” says Nico, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Let’s go.”
He absolutely does not haul ass to his car. He walks at a normal pace, for normal reasons, thoughts in a normal place. 
“Back on the 75,” Will instructs as they peel out, sliding sunglasses on his nose. “We gotta scoot around town a bit to get to the entrance, but it won’t take long.”
“D’you know this place?” Nico asks, even though he doubts it. As far as he knows, Will was outside of Sarasota one time: in the move from Austin. He supposes his mother might have had a concert up here, or something, and unusually, let him tag along, but he doubts it.
“Nah, just memorised the map.”
Nico hides a smile. “Oh, of course.”
It’s all too easy to tease Will, but there was a reason he was valedictorian. There’s a reason for his many shining scholarship offers, his endless well of ridiculous facts pulled from nowhere. He is, genuinely, the smartest person Nico has ever met.
Even if he genuinely believes he can fight an alligator and win.
“Two hours ‘til we cross state lines,” Will says brightly, shouting slightly over the wind as they merge onto the highway. “And then on to infinity!”
“Onto infinity,” Nico agrees, matching his smile. 
Already, he’s proved Nico wrong. They’re farther now than Will has been since he was seven, and there’s nothing in his expression that suggests he wants to slow down. 
Privately, and quietly, Nico lets himself start to hope. 
———
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