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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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cadomoisspokenfor · 3 years

Text

Legion Rewatch Notes,

Chapter 8:

The Revolution

Aw man, how unfortunate what’s happened to Clark. I feel soooooooo bad. I mean he was just humble div 3 agent, doing his job, gaslighting marginalized individuals, participating in a genocide. How cruel of those bad bad mutants to injure him so badly. He was only actively about to kill David. What could he possibly have done to deserve any of this?

In other words, the Clark propaganda is not working on me this time. At all.

Maybe don’t participate in a genocide? Idk :/

I normally hate when people type in the passive aggressive way I have been for the past few paragraphs, but goddamn, Clark deserves it.

He’s not quite as damaged... but he’s kind’ve like old David here, from the over-medicated living with Amy timeline. Again, not quite as damaged as that though.

Clark considers mutants a “threat to democracy.” 🙄 “Moral panic” I guess?

“The second I walk outta this room, i’m going to war.” There’s that word again. Clark could just... not, and they’d probably have more time to figure out how to safely eradicate Farouk. But because he doesn’t and David busies himself with peace treaties, Farouk escapes and continues to be a problem for the next year. Clark has a family. A husband and child who love him to death. And he chooses war over them. This pattern will repeat in other character. Technically this isn’t even the start of it.

Suit change, new cane, same Clark. This really doesn’t change anything, does it? He could go through the rest of the series in the suit he wore before and it wouldn’t make difference. The valiant hero dressing for an expected victory over their long time (relatively) rival, only to be stopped immediately by an unforeseen development. This pattern will repeat... tragically.

Considering Farouk!David woulda just dusted them, it’s probably nice for his friends to see the real him is much less violent. He just stacks em like a Jenga Tower, no need for anything more.

Also, Wilhelm scream from one of the soldiers.

He’s also talking strangely. In an almost too calm voice. Measured. He talks like this a few other times, but I think those times have sadder context. Maybe they reflect on this moment. He talks like how he talked when Farouk was mind-melded with him, but his intentions aren’t evil this time around. I guess this is just his “fully in control” voice.

Clark’s literally shaking where he stands.

The zoom in to Clark’s blind eye is reminiscent to previous zoom in’s to Walter’s foggy eye. I guess Clark has taken on the role of Walter, artificially. Makes sense since he’s now the main D3 representative/antagonist like Walter was before.

“I don’t care if you save me, or the world, if you don’t save yourself.” David will eventually choose himself over the world, and Syd. And Syd will hunt him for it. Goes to show how much things change in s2.

“You know the most dangerous thing about schizophrenia?”

“You’re not-“

“The most dangerous thing is believing... you don’t have it! That’s the trick, the mind killer, your disease convinces you you don’t have it. So, for example, one day in the hospital you meet a girl and she has some friends, and they tell you you’re not sick. You have superpowers. And more than anything you wanna believe it because that means you’re not crazy! That means you can fall in love and live happily ever after. But you know if you believe it, if you surrender to the hope and you’re wrong, then... you’re never coming back.”

“I’m here. I’m real. The power is real. You gotta accept it, otherwise we can’t move on.”

“I was in Clockworks for six years. Drugged, doing nothing. Contributing nothing. And now, finally I can be useful! I can help! Don’t you get it? I am so sick of myself. This only works if it’s not about me.”

“David...”

So... that’s a lot. David believes being crazy means he’s not allowed to fall in love, or be happy. He said the same sentiment to Amy before Clockworks. This whole season and this episode especially push David into his full “I’m not insane, I won’t believe you if you tell me otherwise” mindset. At the very least that’s the stakes we’re playing with. If David fully gives into the hope, even for a moment, he believes there’s no possibility for recovery. No possibility for love or happiness. Why even try after that? It’s life or death for him. “If the choice is between life and death, I choose life.”

I know this is all already known and talked about and circulated 100’s of times over in various fan circles, but it’s probably the most important line for David’s character (the speech, not the Farouk quote). It’s very ableist, yes, but at least in the moment it’s coming from someone who’s just being too hard on themselves, and not ya know, being actively validated by the show.

2 episodes ago David talked about being worried about an “invincible” feeling. The dangers of mania.

We also know from that episode that David is more at peace in a calm, responsibilityless setting (with Syd) than he is out in the real world. David’s gonna take on a ton of responsibility, some of it’s gonna draw him away from Syd. At multiple moments throughout the show David has known his own mental health better than any of the others, and even warned them about potentially dangerous slopes he could fall down without their help. Despite this, David is pushed further down a path he tells them is dangerous and is still blamed for what happens in the end. I feel like Oliver’s line from ep4 is relevant here again, “We are the root of all our problems. Our anger, our confusion, our fear of things we don’t understand.” Everyone wants David to be something other than... David. A hero, a god, there projected image of a perfect partner. Not just... David.

Man, the more I realize about David’s self-awareness in s1 the madder I am at Syd for saying all that ableist stuff to him in s2 as if he wasn’t already down on himself 24/7. “It never occurred to you that you’re the problem not the solution?” It’s occurred to him like 5 times by now and has been shut down by you at least 3 of those times. I don’t understand.

What’s strange is... to my recollection David doesn’t believe he’s invincible at the end of s2. Or that he’s not sick.

“Saint David.”

“I’m not saying that. I make mistakes.”

“Say you’re gonna let them kill me if I don’t let them turn me into something different. Something easy. Something clean.” He sounds sinister here, but it is an indication that he knows he’s not perfect. In fact it sounds like he’s trying to appeal to Chap 1 Syd’s mentality. Your disorder is what “makes you you.”

So what’s the message here?

“We can’t just kill people. Or is that who we are now?”

“That’s who they are.”

The justification for killing here is that they’ll kill them if they don’t. Div 3 will kill Summerland if Summerland doesn’t kill Div 3, is what I meant. David has a similar justification for killing Shadow King in s2. Well, he has a LOT of justifications for it, but that’s one of them. Syd doesn’t hear it then either. She does attempt to kill David herself though. I don’t quite understand where the line is.

“He was gonna kill you, twice.”

“With that kind of thinking wars would never end.”

So... he shoulda just talked to The Shadow King when they were both powerless? Talking is what ultimately ends their fight in s3... hmm...

Cary is more humane to their POW than Melanie and Ptonomy are.

The show doesn’t necessarily say it was Cary’s fault for leaving Kerry. Either way though, Kerry needs some space.

Melanie calls David a “world breaker” and outright says now that he knows that’s what he is, div 3 doesn’t stand a chance. I suppose... knowing that... is why they so readily team with Farouk. They stood no chance otherwise. Even then, at least hide him away till after the intervention.

David’s floating meditation pose is seen more in s2 and A LOT more in s3.

He puts the onus of ending the war on Div 3. As if to say, “If things get violent again, it’ll be on you, not us.”

People keep talking about “gods” “waking up” and “realizing they don’t have to listen to us/them anymore.”

When Clark says it David’s first response is, “Isn’t that the history of the world?” But it’s a red herring (or something else) cause he follows it up with, “People of different nations, different languages, learning to live together?”

Clark is afraid if mutants gain power they won’t show humans mercy or equality. This is a common belief among fascist. The “they’ll treat us like we treat them” argument. Only it’s rarely self-aware, and it isn’t here either. Clark genuinely believes he’s not doing anything wrong. It’s all somehow in “self defense.”

Ah, so Farouk and Syd are connected psychically. He entered her mind whenever she entered David’s. He psychically affects her at multiple points throughout the series.

Syd here is convinced to help The Shadow King by The Shadow King. And while he’s wearing a mask at that. Yeah yeah, this pattern will repeat. But still, Syd gives in relatively quickly here. Perhaps she just... doesn’t fully trust Summerlands capabilities? They are legitimately trying to get rid of Farouk, but Farouk has proven time and time again how dangerous he is. Or maybe the “unmake soup” thing is just that convincing to Syd.

Clark’s still standoffish, but he’s slowly becoming more cooperative.

Syd rolled a 4 on that hero speech. She needed at least a 7.

I legitimately NEVER noticed before that Syd secretly turns on the lab camera feed for Clark to watch. They weren’t trying to show him that.

David gets a chance to look back at his whole life and recontextualize everything.

David straight up halts Farouk’s theme. If Clockworks Podcast is right and he can hear that whenever Farouk shows up, this would be evidence of it. Alternatively, he was halting Farouk, and the music halting was for the audience. A fun subversion of expectations.

David describes him and Farouk as, “The Sun and Moon.”

Division 3 sees it. The monster they saw on infrared. Clearly a separate entity from David Haller. Clearly of a different disposition than David Haller as David Haller has acted very differently and non-hostile compared to when they saw him roaming those HQ halls. The monster and David are not the same. They see who their real enemy is now.

It seems evident there was no chance of David beating Farouk on his own here. I wonder why? Was it true? Is Farouk just too ingrained in his mind? Cary said he was like a, “Computer virus. Learning his systems, bypassing his defenses.” Maybe Syd remembered that, and that’s why she believed Farouk. Cause Cary had already said something similar before.

Clark could've escaped, but he stayed, then tried to help fight Farouk.

I feel really sad Oliver got possessed. It never occurred to me before he could even tell Melanie he remembered her. Melanie’ll just go on thinking he never remembered her for a year.

And thus it’s established. There are “good mutants” and there are “bad mutants.”

No one checks on Ptonomy :(

The Lenny that’s talking to Oliver here is still just Farouk.

Did the orb go back as far as it could? Or was this time specifically chosen? If it was chosen, it was probably because it’s very soon after Farouk had been expelled from David’s head, and before the big race for his body starts.

#legion fx

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mxvladdy · 4 years

Text

Single Dads- Overwatch Prt.1 Headcannons

Jesse McCree

His two little girls have him wrapped around their fingers. Jesse can be seen on base entertaining his twins with games, tea parties, and piggyback rides. They both inherited their father's love of western flair and aesthetic much to his delight. Yes, they all have matching boots for special occasions. Their favorite thing to play with when Jesse is away is their play-dough sets and easy bake oven (with supervision from grandpa Rein). When they are old enough to cook with him though he has so many ideas of what to teach them. Grandma’s recipes won’t die out with him.

When Jesse gets back from a long mission all he wants is to cuddle up, it warms his heart when they snuggle up during their favorite Disney movie and nod off. Over the years he has let his hair grow longer than he normally liked just so his girls could play with it (Instead of touching their own. He had a heart attack when the girls had found his electric razor. Aunty Olivia had a field day fixing that mess)

He likes to take them to the gun range when he has time to practice, making sure they have proper safety gear. Don’t need to turn out like their daddy, deaf in one ear, and ringing in the other. He hopes that they will never have to raise a weapon of their own but knows with his line of work and who he is it’s a possibility. If they want to learn how to hold a gun he is probably going to beg Ana to teach them. He doesn’t want them in close combat, that’s an absolute nope.

Hanzo Shimada

Whenever he sees his son his face splits into the most brilliant smile. His infant son squirms in Ana’s arms, trying to get to his dad as he steps off the dropship. Chubby baby arms wave excitedly, impatient to be back in his father's embrace. As he grows he turns into a very giggly and chatty baby who babbles to anyone in a mix of English, Japanese, and Tibetan (thanks to Genji and Zenyatta babysitting). Hanzo adores his son and strives to be a better father than his ever was to him. He’s strict, but never overbearing.

He loves to read to his son whatever he can find, though his favorite is Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? Which he reads in English and Japanese till his little one is asleep. When his son can’t sleep he will read it over and over again while his dragons rocking him to sleep.

He encourages his son’s interests whatever they may be at the time. He has saved up a lot of money from mercenary work and what he could take before he fled his home. So he can spend all the money he needs to help fuel his son’s interest.

He regrets that he hadn’t taken more family heirlooms to pass down to his son. Genji often jokes about a bonding trip when his son is older and trained to the old estate. A right of passage taking back what was rightfully theirs. It is a tempting idea… But even without the family trinkets, he will pass down Storm bow, whether his son uses it or not he doesn’t care. The biggest inheritance will be his dragon when the time comes.

Genji Shimada His eldest child is a spitfire, very much like he was in his youth. Thankfully, he tempers it much better than his parents ever did, finding an equal balance between friend and father. He respects her boundaries and she respects his wishes. Whenever she is feeling down she always finds little origami figures all over her room just like when she was little. Really into textiles and engineering. While never admitting it to her father but she one day wants to design him a better, slicker, and lighter body. One as close to flesh as possible. Till then she flourishes with Gabe learning how to sew and make patterns. The holidays are always filled with new custom clothes for the Overwatch members. She is found in the frequent company of Zenyatta. She wants to travel with him one day, to gather inspiration for her fashion and to see what her father saw to make him into the man he is today.

His younger son though is very much like Hanzo when they were little. Reserved and resourceful he spends most of his time with Winston learning what he could from the scientist before dinner. Genji isn’t dull by any sense of the word but the stuff his boy was interested in was just over his head. Has a service dog named Totoro that is always there for him when things get too overwhelming. When things get too much or he is tired Genji loves that his son comes to him for help and advice. To him this is the ultimate show of trust, he wished he could have done this with his father. Normally they just meditate and talk. Other times they go find Satya, who his son loves to talk to.

Christmas and birthdays were always a fun challenge to find things that would keep him stimulated. Last year the highlight had been his very own personal telescope. Courtesy of the science department of Overwatch.

Gabriel Reyes (Pre-fall and After)

His princesa is his world. His crew likes to tease him about his phone usage. 99% of the time he is in the barracks he is glued to it, face-timing his daughter. During the original Overwatch years, his mother and grandmother raised her while he was on tour. It kills him looking back on how he had watched his daughter grow from the scene of his phone. But at the time he believed it was for the best. Now- now he would give anything to be the one to teach her how to walk, her first words, prom, and graduation.

The few times he could visit were glorious. Lots of home cooked meals made together and gifts from the places he had been around the world. Jack and Ana would drop by sometimes as well bringing with them stories and her father’s escapades and foolishness. As his daughter grew she picked up a passion for music and would send sound clips of her music lessons and compositions to him. No one was safe from him showing it off. After the fall and his resurrection, he stayed clear of her, keeping the pictures and recordings saved close to him at all times. Though the holidays are a hard time for him to stay away. Every year her family Christmas tree has a few more presents under it then she bought.

She knows he’s still around and is determined to find a way to bring her father back.

Jack Morrison

Twins are a handful. One he thought he was ready for. I mean, he was able to keep Lena and McCree inline (mostly -but not really). He is a nervous dad at first. Overly prepared, he read every book and online forum. But, self-doubt is a hell of a drug. He gets better over time and the motto of “fake it till ya make it” 100% applies to him.

As Strike-Commander he is in his office a lot. When the twins were newborns, he moved his work to his condo. As they got older he returned to his office and set up an area for the kids. When he is in conference calls it’s always funny to see the toddlers get into frame, or try to get his attention. His office is littered with scribbles and paintings the two did in daycare or while playing with Ana and Reinhardt.

The two have their dad whipped. He won’t admit it but he is wrapped around their fingers. It’s not that he showers them in gifts or lets them make trouble all the time. But he does turn a blind eye to the little things. Missing cookies, a little stain on his chair after he told them no food in his office. Ok, maybe one more scoop of ice cream, but promise me you’ll eat dinner alright? Most nights he can’t read them to sleep. It hurts, but they adjust. He does tuck them in and turns on some read-alongs for them before heading back into the office. The twins are out within minutes blessedly.

Jean-Baptiste Augustin

Twin girls, and he is on top of it. Ultimate chill dad. He gets it. Life is rough, and he is so proud that his girls feel safe coming to him for help. He teaches them how to handle their problems with words not violence. Papa and uncle Mako will take care of it.

Neither girls are interested in medicine, which hurts a little but it’s not his life and he’s proud regardless. He is great with letting them explore their dreams. The eldest follows Bridgette wanting to learn about armor and the youngest (much to his fear) really likes Fawkes and his innate skill with explosives. Praise the gods Athena kept a close eye one them when he had something to show her.

Both are close with Genji’s kids in age. It’s nice for them to have friends that aren’t a bunch of old soldiers. They all like to hang-out on the roof of the base to destress after a day of school or side projects. When the four are together there is a 90% chance the evening will end with a few more grey hairs on the father’s heads.

Cooking is a big part of their family ritual. Baptiste grew up rough and underfeed so there is no way he will ever let his girls feel the same way. He teaches them what few Haitian recipes he knows from heart. Then sometimes they will watch videos and read recipes online of other peoples to try and add to their own books. His paranoia gets the best of him sometimes and he teaches them basic survival skills. They appreciate it and understand his fears. He is open with them about his past and is unashamed to admit his faults.

#overwatch headcanons #Overwatch #fluff #because I can

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snkpolls · 4 years

Text

SnK Episode 70 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 170 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

RATE THE EPISODE 167 responses

This episode received good ratings, though it wasn’t as hype as previous episodes have been. We presume this is likely due to the primary focus on Gabi and Falco over the Survey Corps/Warriors. Overall, though, the episode was solid for most respondents.

Beautiful😍✨

MAPPAGOAT

Its pretty good

Alright for what it was.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING GABI AND FALCO MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 167 responses

The majority of the most favored Gabi/Falco moments from the episode were in the second half, starting with Gabi’s unfortunate encounter with the horse with 29.9% of the vote. Behind that is Kaya and Gabi’s argument about why Kaya’s mom had to die with 27.5% of the vote. At 21.6%, Kaya remembering Sasha was favored and at 13.2% was Kaya taking Gabi and Falco to her old home.

Gabi's character is so real. LOVED her and Kaya's argument; the va's went all out & it made me cry

Why do ask us what our favorite Gabi/Falco moment was without the option "I don't have one?" Falco's cool and all but Gabi's story has literally been nothing but a drag to me from start to finish

Would have chosen the horse thing for my favorite moment but went with Kaya remembering Sasha instead. At this point so close to the end of the manga I'd rather focus more on moments with characters I enjoy than obsessing with a character I utterly despise having some misfortune (to put it mildly)

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS FOCUSING ON OTHER CHARACTERS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 168 responses

This pie chart was a bit more colorful than the previous one, with the largest piece going to Mikasa’s headache with her flashback to the night Eren saved her (26.2%). Behind that moment, 16.7% most enjoyed Hange confronting Floch and Co. about their involvement in leaking information about Eren, 16.1% favored seeing Hange remembering Sannes’ warning. 14.9% liked seeing Mikasa and Louise’s brief conversation in the dungeon and 13.1% liked the moment with Magath and the Warriors discussing their retaliation.

GIVE HANGE A BREAK </3

WHICH FLASHBACK HAD THE MOST EMOTIONAL IMPACT FOR YOU? 169 responses

Nearly half of respondents were most touched by the moment at the end of the episode where Kaya talks about Sasha saving her and says she wishes to become a person like her. 29.6% got most emotional over seeing the flashback to the night Eren saved Mikasa, and 18.3% were most impacted by Hange remembering Sannes’ warning.

RATE JEAN’S OUTFIT 169 responses

Jean doesn’t do anything in this episode really, but he sure did come dressed in, erm, a unique outfit. Overall most people were neutral or felt that he needs to up his fashion game. Although 34.3% altogether ranked on the higher end, feeling he’s a total fashion icon. We’re questioning the legitimacy of these claims or whether they were just being sarcastic for the fun of it. lol

WHO WERE YOU MORE EXCITED ABOUT TO SEE SHIRTLESS? 159 responses

Eren thirst won out on this question, with 70.4% being most excited to see his half naked body in the previous episode. Though Reiner stans came through for him in their support of his shirtless moment this week with nearly 30% of the vote (and commentary).

Poundtown

More half naked Reiner thx

My only disappointment is that the shirtless reiner scene wasn't longer.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE AN EXCUSE TO TALK TO YELENA? 169 responses

When asked if respondents would like an excuse to have a conversation with our chaotic bae Yelena, 40.2% said they would absolutely love a reason to talk to her. 29% aren’t sure if they would want to or not, while 16.6% were a solid “no.” 14.2% didn’t care about this question.

Yelena is hot

AS ALWAYS, WE’RE GONNA ABOUT CUTS. MAPPA LEFT OUT FALCO’S THOUGHTS ABOUT IT NOT BEING THE RIGHT TIME TO TELL GABI HE DELIVERED EREN’S LETTERS. THOUGHTS? 165 responses

There was a brief moment in the manga after Gabi’s misfortune with the horse where Falco thinks to himself about how he’s not yet ready to tell Gabi about his involvement in Eren’s attack on Liberio. 35.8% had completely forgotten this was a thing at all, while 24.2% felt it would have been a nice thing to keep, although ultimately unneeded. 20.6% feel it wasn’t a big deal since he tells her later anyway, and 9.7% feel that this thought of his will come up at a later time.

I honestly forgot about it but it would have been really cool to see his thoughts in a better way, if that makes sense.

MAPPA ALSO CUT THE BEGINNING OF PIXIS AND YELENA’S CONVERSATION WHERE HE ASKS HER ABOUT HER CELL, TO WHICH SHE RESPONDS IT WOULD HAVE A BETTER VIEW WITHOUT THE BARS. THOUGHTS? 165 responses

Though a small detail, a few lines were cut from Pixis and Yelena’s conversation as well. 42.4% feel that it was unneeded and feel ok with the cut. 23% thought it wasn’t necessary to begin with, and 20.6% had completely forgotten about this as well. A handful didn’t care or feel saddened by less Yelena content.

Maybe the actress wouldn’t come in to say one line l idk

I knew something was missing

HOW DOES IT FEEL GETTING TO RELIVE GABI’S EARLY CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AGAIN? 167 responses

We get to reexperience Gabi’s evolution from a perpetuator of Marleyan propaganda to someone who learns to “understand Reiner’s feelings” and see that those she was taught to hate are just like her. 25.1% of respondents feel unbothered by her initial resistance to see things any other way as they know where her arc is headed. 22.2% were never annoyed by this facet of her character to begin with and are totally enjoying the ride. 15% love her but can’t help but feel frustrated by these early moments of her development. 13.8% have always felt annoyed by her character and so their feelings remain unchanged, and 10.8% simply stated that they had forgotten just how annoyed they felt by her at all in the early portion of this arc.

It's annoying AF but looking back/knowing what I know now makes me more empathetic to her storyline. She still annoying AF rn, though.

Back then I was just antsy to get back to the other plot lines. But I’m enjoying this a LOT more this time around.

It's a mix of painful and Gabi I love you but you need sense knocked into you, ya know?

Always hated her, always will, nothing the anime does changes my hatred of her

To quote Eren, "I always hated you".

I feel bad for her, she doesn't deserve this

She’s so annoying but I found Eren just as annoying in the beginning and I grew into loving the character. The get the reasons for her character but boy yams really made her so fucking annoying

Gabi Braun Must Die

HOW DO YOU THINK GABI’S BELIEFS WOULD HAVE DEVELOPED HAD SHE BEEN THE ONE TO MEET EREN INSTEAD OF FALCO? 168 responses

The majority has spoken. 54.8% feel that if Gabi had been the one to encounter Eren at the hospital, her views would have mostly remained the same, as opposed to Falco who was probably a better person to put into that role narratively speaking. 24.4% don’t want to say for sure as there is no way we will ever know, and 14.3% feel that she would have had her views altered to a slight degree, but would still not have been as empathetic to Eren as Falco was.

DID KAYA TALKING ABOUT WANTING TO BE LIKE SASHA HAVE MORE EMOTIONAL IMPACT ON YOU WHEN INITIALLY READING IT IN THE MANGA, OR IN THE ANIME? 168 responses

Overall, the anime had a profound effect on the emotions of the audience. 36.9% state that they were equally impacted in both mediums, though if a side was chosen, 32.7% felt that the anime made the scene more impactful, versus only 19% who thought that Isayama nailed it better in the manga. Only 11.3% were unaffected by this scene in either medium.

PORCO AND PIECK GOT ADDED DIALOGUE IN THE ENDING SCENE, ARGUING THAT THEY MUST RETRIEVE GABI AND FALCO DUE TO THEM BEING VALUABLE WARRIOR CANDIDATES, AND THAT IT WOULD TAKE YEARS TO RETRAIN A NEW BATCH. WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THIS INCLUSION? 167 responses

MAPPA included dialogue of Porco and Pieck vouching for saving Gabi and Falco ASAP, arguing that they should get them for the sake of the warrior program and that losing their talent would be a blow, and it would take ages to train up new warrior candidates. This is most likely just their excuse to appeal to Magath while wanting to save Gabi and Falco because they care about them. 41.9% felt that their commentary added more depth to the situation and the urgency to retaliate against Paradis and get Gabi and Falco back. 28.1% were simply content to get more content of them. 18% weren’t super excited about it, just stating that it was alright, while 9.6% just felt “meh” about the addition.

I like how they all piled on about the need to take immediate action

I want to say I enjoyed it and it added depth but thinking about it longer makes it sound like they only care about rescuing them only because their valuable warrior candidates. Like, it makes it seem like they don't actually care that much about them, even if I know that's not the case. LOL

Any extra scene with Pieck is much appreciated!!

made me sad that they only see them as soldiers and not kids that need saving.

WHICH MOMENT FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 165 responses

The vast majority (65.5%) of manga readers are most excited to see Zackley blowing up in the anime (bye bye, poop machine!). At a distant second was seeing Eren his cell at 22.4%. Only 7.3% are looking forward to seeing Mikasa and Armin pleading with Zackley to see Eren, and Yelena and Pixis got minimal love.

My memory is not working well, did Wit showed Zackleys poop machine or was it supposed to be shown in the next episode?

WE GOT CONFIRMATION THAT EPISODE 16 OF THIS SEASON IS GOING TO END ON CHAPTER 116. THOUGHTS? 159 responses

The plurality of respondents (42.8%) seemed a bit disappointed, but had no problem accepting this cliffhanger. 27% seemed rather displeased, but nonetheless were also understanding of MAPPA’s decision. In contrast, 10.7% looked back to the Promotional Video (which had content from up 122) and expressed their PAIN. 8.2% actually wanted the season to end on this cliffhanger, so they were rather pleased instead. We also received a lot of write-ins.

There absolutely needs to be season part 2, i don't accept any early endings

I am... not sure yet.

As long as it means less cut content lmao

Don't really care much where it's gonna end. I just hope the pacing is good.

i read it ages ago idek which chapter 116 is

I want people to stop complaining about the trailer “lying to them”. Also my anime only gf is going to be very frustrated with where episode 16 ends.

I thought it would end with 122 according to the preview and it would have been, IMO one of the best cliff hanger ever since all the logic of the plot turns around with revelation about Eren path shenangians. However, I think it's really fine since it allowed MAPPA to take its time to show us the story without making to much choices or compromise. It also means longer s4 part2 if there's one.

I dare you to stop at chapter 114 and fluster up all Levi fans

I am going to die waiting for Paths.

I need to recheck chapter 116 I forgot about almost everything happened after ema encounter in 112 :D

I don't care as long as they all cover it eventually.

Chapter 119 would have been a better end, but well, I'm gradually learning to lower my expectations for this season

I just roll with whatever they give me xD only fearing Hange's farewell </3

:((((

both 122 and 116 are okay for me tbh

It's all fine to me

Someone explain this whole "ending on chapter 116" thing please

It should've been 117 :/

I was hoping for 119, but I get why they picked 116

WHAT ARE YOU MOST HOPING FOR AS A CONTINUATION? 169 responses

In a nearly unanimous vote, the large majority of respondents feel that the series is best wrapped up with a “part 2” of the final season over the potential for MAPPA to conclude things as a movie (or as movies). Hopefully we’ll have an answer from MAPPA on this front at the end of this run. :)

Another season or movie series works as long as they keep to the source material

I’m happy with either.

I really really reeeeeeally hope it's not movies. I do not want movies! It would take literal years for fans outside of Japan to get a proper conclusion to the series. Last time people waited years for a season so many people stopped caring, moved on and the popularity took a huge hit it never recovered from. I'm worried that due to Demon Slayer's success they're gonna get greedy but SNK movies wouldn't even make a fraction of what Demon Slayer made. That series is a behemoth over there, it's insane. And I love SNK but Evangelion it is not, and people aren't going to wait and will lose interest. Just please, NO MOVIES!

Final Season Part 2 BUT with lots of time to adapt it

part two but don't call it part two XD.... let's stay in a hiatus for an anime season or 2. or more i don't care , i hope they have enough time to make the amazing job they are doing right now :)

Series Spin-Off after Final Season Part 2 !!

A movie would be super sick but unrealistic

Whatever MAPPA decides is best

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

The scenery is a 10/10

gabi braun and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad island vacation.

Gabi sucks

All hail the Eldian Empire

I thought it was overall really good and funny because of the scenes where falco and gabi were just arguing,, it didn’t have much blood and all but I still really liked it!

I never noticed this in the manga, but seeing gabi constantly almost give them away and falco anxiously making up excuses felt like watching reiner and bert again 😂

Gabbbiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!! Kaya MVP btw.

Bless MAPPA for delivering on the shirtless scenes after we got robbed in Season 3. lol :p But seriously, this episode's scenery was gorgeous.

It was like the calm before the storm that's about to come with the next episode. Episode 71 will be when everything starts to violently turn

people should understand Gabi's character even more

I think Falco was very cute the whole time

Gabi beating that guard was way more brutal in the anime, but the scene of her slapping Lisa's hand away was badly done here.

It was a bit boring, but it was needed for character development

One thing I noticed about this episode is how heavily it featured female characters being influenced by other female characters/female characters in general (Louise and Mikasa; Kaya and Sasha; Kaya and Gabi; arguably Hange depending on how you identify them) which was a nice reminder that of the fact that AOT isn't one of those shows that falls heavily in the 'one token girl' dynamic. Isayama worked to include a wide variety of female characters with very differing outlooks, which clash occasionally, without it ever being about romance.

Like most of this season (except episodes 1 and 7 maybe), I appreciate Mappa's work but that's all. I'm sad, disappointed, and I guess it's a good thing this season will end on chapter 116. Let's hope they will have enough time to adapt Part 2 and make it legendary, because this first part is good at best. Also, I totally forgot how annoying Gabi was back then. I really like her now, but geez, she was awful this episode.

Felt good to see Gabi get horsebite all over again. Can't wait to see how MAPPA extends Nicolo punching her lol

cool episode, i’m looking forward to seeing more of gabi’s development in the future episodes :))

The horror of mikasa's newly resignified memory... PERFECT. i was fearing they would use wit's romanticized scene... which worked just fine in the first season BUT NOT NOW! because the whole connotation of the memory is different. ALSO! the scenery was insane!

Horse for President!

Damn, MAPPA's killing it on the scenery this episode. I really enjoyed the animation as well as the plot and voice acting.

In spite of the animation quality I had to give it an obligatory 1 because it was a Gabi episode, and anything involving Gabi automatically decreases the overall quality of the story

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 156 responses

Thank you again to everyone who participated!

#snk poll #snk polls #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #snk spoilers #snk s4

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musicnoots · 4 years

Text

The Rest Is History

Richard Winters/Reader

Requested by @thisishirathesecond: “Hi, Shannon may I request an imagine?, something like everybody thought winters don't have anyone back home, but he does and he is that good with hiding things, the boys in easy company make fun of him that he's single or a quaker, when the war over he introduces the boys to his wife who is very very very very drop-dead gorgeous and downright beautiful, voice like angel, gentle, kind but she has fire in her they boys was so shocked, jaws on the floor they are daze and awestruck.”

A/N: Consider me a Dick Winters love bot now!!! I love writing for him!

Synopsis: No one knew Dick Winters had a significant other until he attends an Easy Company gathering.

Tags: @gottapenny @those-dusty-jump-wings @curraheev @david-weepster @majwinters @alienoresimagines @wexhappyxfew @medievalfangirl @bandofmarvels @dumpofdumblings @junojelli @inglourious-imagines @dustyjjumpwings @higgles123

Dick Winters is a very private man.

He likes to keep private matters to himself, doesn’t matter who it involves, he prefers to keep it on the low and away from the ears of his men. In addition, he didn’t want to distract them with details of his personal life—he was their commanding officer, the man who would lead them into battle and tasked with bringing them back alive and victorious. He kept letters from home tucked under his sleeve during the war, bedside memories shoved into the back of his head, and a wedding ring safe in the breast pocket of his uniform.

Everyone assumed he was a bachelor, a good man with good intentions who had no one waiting back home for him, to wrap arms around his torso and shove their nose into the crook of his neck for a hero’s welcome.

While Dick did like to consider himself as a good man with good intentions, he did have someone waiting at home. You.

“You know,” he breathed, arm wrapped around your shoulders as the two of sit on the steps of the front yard of your house, stargazing after a particularly lazy Wednesday that consisted of making chocolate pie and napping on the couch in the afternoon, “there was a soldier of mine back in the war…”

The night is late and there are fireflies flying in the garden, the sky is as clear as water, and the stars shine brighter than your husband’s teeth in your wedding photo that hangs on the living room wall. Since 1939.

“Mm?” You were half asleep with your head on his shoulder when he spoke, as beautiful as when he took your hand and slipped on a ring that made you perennially his.

You were a secret Dick Winters kept only to himself—he kept your letters reserved for late night readings, he looks at the photos you send him when he’s absolutely alone to his own devices, touch-starved and longing to hold your hand on a picnic blanket under the stars. The days he yearned to see your face again, to have you kiss his cheek and smile as beautiful as the flowers that grow in the front yard of your house, kept under wraps as he fought a war in the middle of Europe, not knowing if he’d be able to go home.

He kept every single letter you sent him. Every single photo, every single gift you managed to shove in a small manila envelope—he used to keep them inside his closed hand as he slept, hoping to dream of you dancing in the kitchen like you used to. Cookies baking in the oven and fresh lavender sitting on the windowsill, going on the tips of your toes to peck his cheek and kiss his lips for all of eternity. Heaven is a place on Earth with you, and God knows just to what extent he’s willing to do just to spend another hour with his wrapped around your waist.

Dick knew he had to come back alive for you.

“Is it Nixon?” you asked, slowly yet steadily falling asleep on the shoulder of the man you loved so dearly. He smells of toasted almonds and fresh linen, and there’s nothing more you want than to fall asleep in his arms.

He chuckled. “No...not Nix. You know how he is.”

The first time Lewis found out about you, Dick was at his desk reading a letter you had sent along with a picture of you, the words Miss you drawn in black ink on the back. Of course he tried numerous times to set Dick up with the folks at the bar back when they were in officer training school, failing each time until he found him looking at your picture with stars in his eyes, his thumb running over your cheek like he usually does, more beautiful than the women at the bar—Dick was in love.

He was surprised to find that Dick has a wife, let alone a significant other. Lewis thought the man was too uptight, too compliant, he would have never thought someone as beautiful as you would have married someone like him.

“Guarnere,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer, “his name is Bill Guarnere. He’s put together an Easy Company get together this Saturday. I meant to ask if you wanted to come.”

He received an invitation earlier this week.

How he got this address will forever be shrouded in mystery, but there’s no way Dick is passing off an opportunity like this.

He’ll admit, the amount of times Guarnere has accused him of being a Quaker, a Mennonite, any Christian denomination has surpassed the fingers on his hands but that doesn’t change anything between them. Dick cares and supports his men equally, although Lew may have been receiving special treatment ever since training school, and if your husband trusted these men with his own life, then you would too.

When the date finally did come, you were dressed in your best clothes with your hand intertwined with your husband’s. Wedding rings out and behold for the entire world to marvel at, hair done just the way you like and it’s for no one but yourself, Dick Winters did not look like the good bachelor he was thought to be back in the war.

“Look who it is!” A man points at Dick with one of his crutches, square jaw and an accent anyone can acquaint to Philadelphia. “We got the whole band back together!”

Your husband reaches forward, shaking hands and exchanging smiles, and you try to avoid the stares and whispering heard from afar. You catch some of their names and faces—Bill, Babe, Joe Toye, Luz—they’re exactly how your husband described in the letters he sent to you back then.

“Gentlemen, this is my wife, Y/N,” Dick introduces you, his hand protectively on your waist and you wave to them, hoping to make a good first impression on the men he’s spent nearly half a decade fighting a war with.

“Newlyweds?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no… actually, we’ve been married for what is it?” He turns to look at you with furrowed eyebrows, thinking exactly how many years you have been in each other’s lives. “Almost ten years now? Definitely been together for well over ten years—she’s my college sweetheart,” he says sweetly.

“Hold up,” Bill spoke on behalf of the men at the gathering, “sir, so you’re telling me that you were married the entire time we were in Toccoa, in Aldbourne, in Europe, and we didn’t even know?”

“To be fair Guarnere, we were in the middle of a war.”

“But still!” he exclaimed amidst all the chattering that erupted around them. “You’re telling me and the rest of the company that you had a wife this pretty waitin’ for ya back here? Sir, I’m glad you’ve been happily married for almost a decade, but me and the boys, we—”

“Can’t believe that someone as beautiful, smart, and witty as her married someone like me?” Dick said. “Neither can I, but I’m glad she chose me. I’m grateful that she waited that long for me to come back from the war, I’m grateful for her, I really am.”

You can’t remember what else he said that left you with rosy cheeks and smiling the same way you did as on your first date together, but you know what waiting for Dick to come back after all those years, finally having him in your arms in the front yard of your home was worth it, and rest is history.

#band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers #hbo war #easy company #dick winters #dick winters x reader #richard winters #richard winters x reader

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sylvanwool · 4 years

Text

The Pirate/Royal Navy Taakitz AU That I’ll Never Continue But Is Still Fun To Think About

The high moon filters weakly through the clouds, reflecting off the choppy waters of the southern sea. Debris floats all around, remains of a battle not an hour completed.

The Raven Queen sits idling in the water, sails drawn and anchor lowered. Soldiers scamper across the deck of the ship, checking for damage and tending to the wounded. One single body lays covered by some spare canvas, waiting to be buried.

Kravitz surveys the flat, grey waters from the helm of his ship with unblinking focus. The winds have picked up considerably and while they’re not going anywhere without lowering the sails, they’re also expecting a squall within hours. If the caps on those waves grow any larger, he’ll have to call the majority of his crew below.

Not ideal conditions for a recovery mission, if he’s being honest.

“Captain?”

Kravitz turns, hand going reflexively to the revolver at his hip even as he recognizes the familiar, high voice above him. “Yes, Angus? What is it?”

The small boy waves from his perch in the rigging. He indicates a spot in the water with his spyglass before tossing the instrument below.

Catching the cylinder of brass in one hand, Kravitz handily extends it and trains the device on the spot Angus pointed to. As the lens focuses, so does his vision. There, bobbing in the water, is a figure. Small, blond, and slumped over a bit of driftwood.

Kravitz doesn’t hesitate. Taking only a moment to shuck off his coat, he climbs up on the rail and dives toward the sea. The cold water shocks his system, but he pushes through to propel himself forward and back to the surface. He comes up on the makeshift raft quickly enough and catches his breath with one hand on the edge.

The figure doesn’t stir at all, and for a second Kravitz fears he’s jumped overboard to fish out a corpse. But he lays his hand on a narrow shoulder and feels movement, and warmth, and he knows they’re still alive. He hears Angus yelling for someone to drop a rope ladder into the water. Smart boy, as always.

The waves start to get a little rougher, inhibiting Kravitz’s progress, but he manages to haul the unconscious body to the side of his ship. He wraps one arm around the drifter’s waist and finds a hold on the ladder with the other, hanging from the end as his crew pulls the ladder up. Icy saltwater drips from his clothes and the ends of his hair, and Kravitz winces at the sharpness of the cold the ocean wind brings.

Waiting hands pull them over the side, and Kravitz goes rolling onto the deck with his arm still fixed tightly to his catch. The impact of hard wood finally seems to jostle them enough to wake them, and they instinctively shove at Kravitz’s chest. Kravitz lets them go easily in favor of finding his footing.

“Whoo boy,” they rasp out in a voice choked by salt and fatigue. “You’re a clammy one, aren’t ya?” They push themselves to their knees and grunt with pain, trying to push their soaked hair from their eyes and get their bearings. In the end they seem to settle on studying the wood under their hands, too weak to hold up their head. “Shit, what-?”

Several of Kravitz’s able bodied men move to help them up, but Kravitz holds up a hand. Sadly, information comes first. “We’ll get you a change of clothes. Something warm,” Kravitz promises. “For now, I’d count yourself lucky to be alive. What port did the Starblaster take you from?”

“The what now?” Their voice is becoming clearer now as they continue to speak, a lilting but decidedly male tone rife with confusion. “I understand the words you’re sayin’ but the order is doin’ a number on my noodle, my man.”

Angus trots up then, Kravitz’s abandoned coat in hand. He breezes right by the captain and crouches next to the newcomer to drape the warm black fabric over his back. Kravitz feels equal parts pride in Angus’s hospitality and concern for the shivering man- his long, pale fingers can barely grasp the hem of the garment.

“The ship you were imprisoned on,” Kravitz repeats slowly. “The Reds would have captured you at port, probably along the Sword Coast. If you give us your information, I’m sure Her Majesty will have a vessel dispatched to return you to your family as soon as possible.”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t know about any ship. I…” He bites his lip, still staring blankly at the deck. “I don’t remember a port,” he says finally. “I don’t remember being captured.”

The soldiers mutter to themselves, a thread of dissent that oh, Kravitz needs to snip right this moment. It’s silly superstition, nothing more. “Surely you remember something,” he says, urgently but not unkindly. “What’s your name?”

The man finally looks up and meets Kravitz’s eyes, and Kravitz finds it hard to look away. Even drenched and cold with his hair hanging limp, the man is heart achingly beautiful. He frowns. “I’m Taako. You look like you’re made of salt?”

Then, without warning or preamble, he faints.

Angus is still close enough to catch him when he slumps to the side. He shivers but holds himself steady enough to keep them both mostly upright. “He needs urgent medical attention, Captain. Hypothermia, deliria- the dehydration alone is-“

Kravitz snaps his fingers at the soldier closest to him and the woman snaps to attention. “Killian, get him belowdecks. Angus knows what to do from there.”

“Sir!” She snaps off a smart salute and crouches down. With Angus’s help, she wraps the unconscious man in Kravitz’s coat and throws him over her shoulder. It’s not exactly gentle, but then again it hasn’t exactly been a gentle sort of day. When they’re out of sight, Kravitz addresses the rest of the crewmen pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he says. “I know there are rumors about the Reds, about what they can do to a man’s mind. You know it’s nonsense.”

They shuffle their feet, chagrined. “He doesn’t even remember being on a ship,” someone says in a trembling voice. “They have to have-“

“There are simple, natural explanations for everything,” Kravitz corrects. “You heard Angus- the man is delirious and tired. I’m sure once he’s well again he’ll recover his senses and we can send him on his way.” He turns on his heels and stalks toward his cabin. “Now back to work. I want us ready to weigh anchor at dawn, and the oncoming storm won’t give us much time to prepare. We’re going to catch the Starblaster one way or another.”

“Aye, Captain!”

Kravitz walks down the narrow wooden staircase and listens as the sharp sounds of boots running overhead fade into the soft creaks of the ship. His crew are still nervous, he can tell, but he’s sure everything will be fine. They’re the finest men and women in all Faerun; a few head games won’t incapacitate them so easily.

He makes his way down to the sick bay, where the newcomer has already been given a cot and a dry change of clothes. Angus gently dries the man’s long hair with a towel and watches intently for any sign of consciousness. All Kravitz can see is a worried looking frown.

“Are you taking over, Captain?” Killian asks from her place in the corner. Kravitz didn’t see her before, but he notes her defensive stance and the hand on her bow.

Kravitz raises an eyebrow at her caution and takes another glance around the room. The only other occupants are some of their own soldiers, casualties too injured to walk. They’re all blissfully knocked out by the herbs their medical officer surely administered, but Lucas himself is notably missing from the room.

“He’s helping topside,” Killian answers his unspoken question. She jerks her chin at the boy carefully tending to your guest. “I know Angus can take care of this but… I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

At that, Kravitz lets go of a breath he’s been holding since the afternoon’s battle. The adrenaline rush of the fight, the rage at their quarry escaping, and the worry about his crew all rushes out of him at once and suddenly Kravitz is just tired. Tired and unspeakably glad to have such good people at his side so he can let himself feel this.

“A good call, certainly. Please consider yourself relieved of guard duty and go… Go check on Carey.”

Killian gives him a wan smile. “You don’t have to coddle me, Cap. But thank you, I think I will.” She holsters her weapon and exits, clearly eager to touch base with her wife.

Kravitz sits on the next empty cot and watches Angus work. The boy has barely looked up the entire time, completely focused on his task.

“Will he live?”

“Oh, definitely.” Angus tosses the towel away and starts crossing the room in trips, fetching any spare bit of fabric he can find from blankets to dishrags to pile on the frozen man. “He’s not seriously injured, just freezing cold. There’s some seawater in his lungs, and he won’t enjoy getting that out, but other than that he’s just got a bump on his head.”

Kravitz sees it now, a bandaged lump just behind the man’s left ear. It explains Angus’s excessive gentleness with his hair, at least. “Do you think that hit is why he’s so confused?”

“Lucas told me that a hard hit to the head can affect memory,” Angus confirms. “We won’t be sure until he wakes up.” He throws one last blanket on top of the cot and Kravitz swallows a tired chuckle. The man is cocooned and the frown on his face is less severe now that he’s warm. The shivering has stopped completely and the color slowly returns to his cheeks.

Angus must see the same improvements, as he looks quickly up to Kravitz with a defensive look on his face. “I’ll take care of him,” he promises. “Lucas needs to focus on the injured, let me watch out for this one.”

Kravitz laughs. He reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair in spite of his indignant grumbling. “He’s not a new pet, you know. But yes, I’ll entrust his care to you for now. Let him rest, but if he wakes the first priority is to get some food and water in him. And Angus?”

“Yes?”

“Get my coat back from him once he’s stable. I’m going to be needing my compass.”

#taz balance #taakitz #taako #kravitz #angus mcdonald #killian crushbone #the adventure zone #taz #sorry the new formatting confuses me

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itsthebiiii · 4 years

Text

A messy summary of Ikepri Yves’ route from chap 16

Hey so it's me again lol. I know I'm SUUUPER late to the party and Nokto's route is out mah boiiiiis, but I finally finished one of the endings and I'm here to deliver them delicious spoilers so... here they are under the cut. Also, somehow more detailed than the last one but it's still as messy don't worry

also, sorry if there are any errors or inaccuracies!

So about that plot, well, some shit is going down that requires the princes to go to battle so they do that (once again, breezed through that part 😅). MC's quite worried bout Yves but he promises he'd return so they gucci.

While on the battlefield, everyone's all exhausted and full of blood on their hands, well, except for Yves. Leon and the gang noticed how he doesn't kill any one of the Obsidian soldiers and he just kept pushing them down. I think Yves was doing this because he doesn't want to kill one of his own because, no matter what he's got some Obsidian blood in his veins. Anyway, they notice a soldier about to attack Yves from behind, but before anyone could bat an eye, Licht comes to his rescue and gets injured. And yall know the drill, Yves feels guilty, yada yada.

After three days, the princes return and MC welcomes them. She noticed everyone looked messed up except for Yves, and when she called him it seemed like he didn't even hear her. MC is concerned bout what happened out there, but before she could ask some more, Jin asks her to take care of Licht's wound. She agrees, and while tending to his injury, Licht tells her what happened. He also told her there's one thing MC can do for Yves, but before he can say what, Jin and Clavis barges in the room with impeccable timing and some booze, announcing that they're gonna drink up for getting out alive so they gather everyone up lolol they rowdy af. Yves doesn't show up tho which makes MC even more worried

MC immediately comes to a realization that Yves might be blaming himself for what happened to Licht so she searches for him until she finds him in the kitchen. He still looked like he wasn't himself, so MC tries comforting him until he snappedt and tried pushing her away (I swear these two) Yves was like "yo wtf why do you even care for me I don't deserve that shit" and then that scene from the PV happens. Yves cried bout how much he hates himself more than anyone does and he wishes he was someone that ain't him. MC just stayed silent and listened to him pour his heart out ugh poor boi

Some time later, the princes gathered up again because they received a letter(?) from Obsidian. It said they want Rhodolite to send Yves back to Obsidian or else some shit will go down. They obviously think it's a trap of some sort but Yves agrees anyway so... that's decided. MC doesn't know of this until she hears from Luke. She rushes to Yves' room and saw him packing up. MC was also apprehensive about him going (or returning?) to Obsidian, but Yves just smiled and told her not to worry or smth. Also he was like "remember all that crap I told you that night at the kitchen? Sike, those were L I E S" and MC's just like "ye right" but because she was unable to form a response to any of that, she left the room teary eyed, with Yves also equally sad. MC returns to her room and while crying her heart out she realizes one teensy tiny detail: she's in love with Yves *insert surprised pikachu face*

So the day came for Yves to depart, but MC decides to stay in her room. Rio sees her in her state and told her "the MC I know and love wouldn't sulk around in her room smh go out there and chase yo mans" and after some persuasion MC heads out. She managed to catch up to Yves and talk to him for like 3 minutes. Also in those 3 minutes, she finally confessed her feelings and kissed him (Yves: 😲 guards: 😳😳😳) She's like "ye remember when I said I won't fall for u? Ye that kinda happened so I guess I'm yours for all of eternity" She also says she'll be waiting for him and gives him her memo pad before he leaves.

In the carriage, Yves reads MC's notes, there were some notes written about the princes but later they soon become notes about what they had done together: going to town, eating sum food, etc. He realizes that she turned it into a whole ass diary and it was mainly about him 😭 Yves was like "girl don't even know this ain't a diary... baka na no??? *sad princely sobbing*"

Back at the castle, the remaining princes gathered up again, this time with MC, and they talked about Obsidian's real motives. They talked about how Yves shouldn't have gone to Obsidian because the moment he interacts with them, he could or would get killed. MC was worried as she listens to them making plans and when Licht decided he would go first to retrieve Yves, he drags MC along with him because he's good at reading expressions and our girl MC here really wants to be useful to the story.

Meanwhile, Yves' carriage suddenly stops and one of his soldiers alerts him that there's a fuckton of Obsidian soldiers ahead and Yves realizes they've been set up. He instructs his men to return to the castle and leave him, also he warns them that there miiiight be some more Obsidian peeps on their way back so he commands them to get out alive. Despite their apprehension, well they had to obey Yves so they did just that.

MEANWHILE meanwhile, Licht and MC go to Obsidian (I don't recall if they bumped into Yves' army but meh) and they stay back a bit to watch stuff unfold. There, they see Yves talking to some Obsidian leaders or smth and the leaders were talking shit to him bout how worthless he actually is and all that crap. They were like "yo you're cursed with sum bad magic huh" Yves was like "Ye, I thought so too. But ya know what? I met someone who kept looking at me straight in the eye and focused on all my good aspects. That person made me stop denying myself. (MC: oh shiz he's talking about the stuff I told him before he left) So no matter how much I didn't want to accept myself, no matter how much I wished to be someone else, I mustn't deny the me that she believed in, I mustn't give up on myself! So ye. I'm Yves Kloss, the 5th Prince of Rhodolite!" YES my boi gain that confidence!!!

So the Obsidian peeps were like "btch u done with ur last words? Just so u know the men u let escape are prolly dead anyway so, how bout u die too aye? Pls die" and when the Obsidian soldiers point their blades at him, Licht decides it was a good time to show up

So ye, before Yves could take a blow, Licht blocked it with his sword. Yves was like "wtf r u two doing here???!" And MC replied with "we're saving you, duh" and Licht backs her up with "ye what she said" the Obsidian peeps were all ???? but they decided to kill them two as well. MC's like "ye no we have back up otw" but the Obsidian peeps thought she was just fronting. So Yves and Licht decides to buy them more time by fighting (but not killing) them. They may be strong but they're exhausted as well, then one soldier finds an opening and aims for Licht. Yves sees this and gets in front of Licht, getting his arm injured in the process.

They try stalling for a few more minutes until the gang finally arrives and they're relieved Yves and Licht are still alive. Jin was like "yo wtf we didn't agree to send Yves here just to get our princes killed in a place like this" and the Obsidian guys are like "we just wanted to welcome Prince Yves until he pointed his sword at us 👉👈🥺💦" but Jin and the other princes obviously ain't buying that crap.

So playtime's over and after all that political stuff, Leon's like "aye Yves, since u have Rhodolite and Obsidian blood, ur technically our bridge, so wtf do we do now?" And Yves says the four kingdoms should sign a peace treaty and also form an alliance to end all those beef. MC's happy for him because he finally achieved his dream of uniting Rhodolite and Obsidian through him. And ye, everybody agrees so everybody happy

BUT WAIT! Sariel announces that Belle needs to choose the next king at that very moment (like wtf couldn't they wait until they get home?) But hey, since they're forming alliances anyway. So MC's pressured and all until she realizes, ayo wait up... ya'll know what the kingdoms need? Not one, not two, but EIGHT leaders! "Ye fam, I appoint all 8 princes to lead the kingdoms... momentarily until I make my final decision." Sariel's like "That ain't allowed" and MC responds with "I know fam. But the kingdoms are in a pretty unstable situation, and we need these 8 dudes to support the kingdoms... after everything is settled and stable again do I choose the king" and they were like "if that's what Belle says, then aight smh" Then everyone finally goes home, but not before Yves and MC shares a moment and Yves faints or falls asleep due to exhaustion

Back at the castle, MC is summoned by Sariel and he shows her there is only one petal left of the rose. He tells her "I know you've technically done your job, but until you choose A KING, will you stay in the castle?" Of course MC agrees and Sariel tells her that he thinks she made the best decision for the situation.

After MC leaves, Yves enters the room and asks Sariel if he has seen MC. Sariel has half a mind to tell the truth, but where's the fun in that right? He tells Yves that MC's preparing to leave since she has done her job and according to the Belle clause, 'once the king is chosen, Belle can't interact with or see him forever' or smth like that and Yves was like "Screw that bs!" and ran to MC's room immediately, leaving Sariel to laugh in evil 😏

In her room, MC was worried about Yves' wounds so she decides to pay him a visit, when she hears knocks on her door that she recognizes was Yves'. He wasted no time entering the room and pinning MC to her bed (SQUEAAAAL) and she was like "??? ya good fam?!" And Yves replied "WHERE TF DO U THINK UR GOING HUH??"

(Ya know what I think imma put a bit of their convo here lol)

MC: To see you?

Yves: And what? So you can say goodbye and tell me we won't see each other forever? BAKA

MC: ...Eh?

Yves: I don't care what Sariel or the others decided. I can't accept this! MC, I can't even take it when you're not beside me... what will I do if we can't see each other ever again? Just thinking about it makes me crazy... You said you'll be mine forever, didn't you? Then I... I'm yours forever as well! Because I was the one who fell (in love) first!

MC: !!!

Yves: I love love LOVE you, you idiot! So don't go saying we won't be together! The Yves Kloss won't allow that even if the world turns upside down! (not sure about that last part)

SO YE. As much as that warmed MC's heart, she was like "i ain't going anywhere. Bruh Sariel's messing with u" and Yves is EMBARRASSED but he doesn't deny it anyway. He decides to say some more cute stuff so lemme put it down here xD

"MC, a lot of unexpected things happened in my life. But the most unexpected thing that happened to me is falling in love with you. Even though I swore I would never fall for you, I noticed I have. You said you were the first one to fall for me, but I think my feelings for you are bigger. MC, I'm stupidly in love with you."

And they argue about who loves the other more lolol then they do the deed 🤭

So some time passed, and the other princes were throwing MC some pickup lines (they were teasing Yves about taking the crown and the MC lolol) and Yves just stood there like "fam?? Aren't yall a lil too close?? Sariel help!!1! Licht and Chevalier too???" And he whisks MC away to his room. The other princes just smiled fondly at the two and Leon comments, "Maybe just meeting someone can fill up the gaps in a person's heart" and he recalls how they tried filling Yves' loneliness but somehow could not fill up the last piece. Until MC shows up and did just that. Jin was like "heh, that sounds like destiny" and Leon confirms that it is 🥺

Back at Yves' room, he has MC pinned down again and he declares that he needs to do his best to continue staying by MC's side. And MC says "me too fam" then she asks him a very important question: "Do you still want to be someone other than you?"

And he replies with:

"It's because you showed me my good traits and loved me for who I am that I don't hate the me I am now. Besides, if I were someone else, then I wouldn't be able to fall in love with you like this. It's because I'm like this, that you found me. That's why, from the bottom of my heart, I'm happy I'm me; I'm happy I did my best to live" ugly sobbing in the background 😭😭😭

So that beautiful CG appears, and Yves tells MC that line, "When I fell in love with you, it's as if the bad magic disappeared. Thank you... for teaching me what true love is."

A few days later, the two were at the library and Yves tells MC that before, he never knew what love is. But of course it's different now, because he tells her, "For me, the meaning of love is... you, MC."

~FIN~

YALL I'M STILL SOBBING BRUUUH 😭😭😭 this whole route was a blast 100/10 would read again (after I finish Nokto, I guess lolol) But ye. Yves is my best boi in IkePri because I'm a sucker for these tropes it's just so sooooft.

So I'm still undecided whether I should read the epilogue or nah because I need like 20 more affection pts? and I really wanna do Nokto's route... idk man

Well this was longer than I expected, so if you reached the end, have some more leFtOvERs from Yves! 🥧

#ikemen prince #ikemen ouji #ikemen prince spoiler #ikemen prince yves #ikepri #yves kloss

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raspberryfanfics · 5 years

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nejiten fanfic binging guide

My recommended Nejiten fics. All stories are complete and are good enough to be reread again and again:)

Narutoverse

Exceptions by IncessantOblivion — The first Nejiten fic I have ever read, also one of the closest to my hearts. Though the author admits it, it does have themes of sexism and homophobia, but not strong. It portrays Tenten as extremely inexperienced and though I’m not a fan of authors who write her that way, I’m glad she is shown as independent otherwise. Despite the criticism and obvious flaws, the romantic scenes are written perfectly and I get a huge wave of feels every time I reread it. Besides the slight hints of sexism, this story is the most favourited Nejiten story on FFn for a reason: you’re so emotionally connected to it. My chest literally constricts every time I read it, it’s so good.

Land of Pretend + Reality by trilliumgt — The first story, (Land of Pretend), despite being without a super solid storyline, is just so heart-wrenching. I’m pretty sure I cried the first time I read this and the sequel but even if it didn’t trigger as much as an emotional reaction, it was surprisingly not boring. Though “Reality” wasn’t as “feel-triggering”, it was very well thought out.

About a Daddy and a Nanny by syaoran no hime — Perhaps one of my favourite Nejiten fics of all time. I was originally skeptical of this fic because of the title since Daddy and Nanny fics can be ridiculously degrading. They tend to be overly cliche where the female character is a useless Mary Sue. Yet when I gave it a shot, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was most definitely not cliche in the slightest. It may not be the best fic I’ve read in terms of romanticness, however, the humour is unbeatable. Before class, I had read this on my phone and couldn’t stop laughing because the author writes Tenten to have an alter-ego nanny, (very minor spoiler), and she is absolutely hilarious. The romance lies in the unspoken words and the reminiscence, not in the make-outs, but in a way, that just makes it what it is. It’s the type of fic that makes you wanna laugh and cry and smash your screen at the same time. The story is so so sooo good.

SharpBladed Spirit by FenixPhoenix — Dark and a little gruesome, therefore rated M. It isn’t so much a romance, rather an adventure story with a side serving of the two love interests. Nonetheless, it’s captivating, character development is phenomenal, and every character is strong and moves on the plot.

On Qipao Flirting and Buying Drinks by needdl — While this is only a two-shot, it is such a beautifully written story. The best part of it isn’t the romance, but the reactions to change and change itself. Characters change in subtle ways and the creative ways of expressing Neji’s reactions to Tenten becoming more and more feminine make me smile constantly. What I also love is that it has a slight feminist viewpoint to it in the fact that she embraces her femininity, which is the whole point of feminism (in which femininity is embraced just as much as masculinity and the belief that all are equal, which hopefully you are up to date to because it’s 2020 for kami’s sake). Anyways, the first part of the story is absolute pure fluff but if you read the second part, (especially on Ao3)...well that is some hot stuff let me tell ya.

In Front of Every Star by NessieGG — A short story with lots of fluff, angst, and feminism. (YAY!) It loaded with small snippets of moments, sadness, and really makes you think about your own values. Would you leave the love of your life to save your home country? What I love about this story is that the pain the characters feel may be selfish but they are completely realistic. It reflects off of our own lives, trying to let go of our feelings after letting go of the person. Every piece of it is flawless.

Ms X by Blade Rewind — This was the second-ever Nejiten fic I’ve read, and though short in the chapters, it certainly gives a lot of content. It’s light, airy, fun, and a little bit cliche, but in a strangely good way. The writer executes a classic plot with grace and humour and there isn't’ a point where you wanna die because of the unoriginality.

On Sex by Lotos-eater — I was skeptical about this at first because sometimes titles like these indicate really bad smut, which is almost as bad as an overused cliche. However, this was exactly the opposite. While there is certainly mature content, it isn’t in the way you’d think. Sex is portrayed as an obstacle in this story and approaching it is awkward in every way. Kissing is awkward, touching is awkward, in fact, this is a romantic story with no romance whatsoever. I don’t know how the author pulled it off, but it was simply amazing. It is hard to read not because it is bad, but because you can really empathize with the Neji and Tenten as they try to have sex with non-existent chemistry. Yet my favourite part of this story is the amount of complexity within each character and the way Gai is written in a much more different light. I never imagined Gai to have a dark side and this story executes it perfectly.

Alternate Universes

Complexities of Blackmail by Aquarius Galuxy — I read the summary for this one and was impressed at the word count so I quickly jumped aboard my first AG Nejiten fic train and just...wow. So like, I don’t know where to start. It’s a military space AU and what I love is that up to a certain point, everyone’s backstory until Naruto Shippuden era is almost exactly the same as the Narutoverse. Team Gai is a predeveloped relationship but had deteriorated. Blackmail is very explicit, lots of smut, but damn is it quality smut. It might not be your cup of tea, but if you don’t mind it, this story is amazing. Neji is slightly out of character, but you can understand why with his motivations, even though I personally wouldn’t write a story with the situation. Development is great, chemistry is over the top fantastic, and there’s a perfect amount of angst. It is a bit lengthy but so worth it. Every other character involved is so unique, I loved seeing Izumo and Kotetsu getting a bigger role, Ino was so in character; highly, highly recommend.

f 2-8, ISO 100 by Aquarius Galuxy — Of course, we have another AG fic and this one has sex scenes, but not as *cough* rough *cough* as Blackmail. The maturity mostly comes from the fact that Tenten is a photographer and art can sometimes be...graphic. Yet I have an appreciation for this fic since it states that art is art and the fact that AG came up with the photography is like aiming a shot, (since Tenten never misses). Neji is a politician and pianist, which is a suitable career that both covers his genius and soft side. Once again, great chemistry. This fic flows like a river, it’s so beautiful.

Cutting Water by Nessie GG — A historic AU in which Tenten the leader of a prestigious clan in China and Neji is an ambassador from Japan. Reads more as an adventure and friendship story resulting in romance in the last few chapters rather than just romance. The details are amazing and the style of the writing makes it so elegant, perfect for the time period. It’s the type of story that mysterious and sophisticated at the same time.

Perfidy by KNO — Similar to Cutting Water as it is a historical AU. Its backstory is vaguely similar to Mulan, however, in this case, the hot general doesn’t forgive her immediately. Tenten, who was saved from dressing as a guy to serve in the army, is sent to train another generation of female soldiers. It’s a great story, a great plot, though it does tend to run on uselessly at times. However, it is solid otherwise.

Breathe Again by Kicho-Keynote — A modern AU in which Neji is an army veteran. The story is slightly dark, as it deals with PTSD and triggering situations. Each character is complex and the development is simply amazing. Everyone has visible flaws, relationships are so well-developed, and it has brought me to tears several times. There are several mentions of ShinoTen, and even though it’s not my favourite couple, it plays a huge role in the story so just a warning. Thankfully, it doesn’t go into detail about their personal lives and it still is a Nejiten story, despite other love interests. It also runs on at parts but overall, it’s extremely well developed.

Authors

Aquarius Galuxy @aquariusgaluxy — The “Papabay” of Nejiten fics. Every story is beautiful, perfect, and intimate. Chemistry is always there. Everything is so beautiful and each has a different mood. Nothing is half-assed and it is just...I wish AG was still active I love those works so much.

KNO @zealousheart — If Aquarius Galuxy is the “Papabay” of Nejiten fics, then KNO is the “Ghost Bananas”. KNO’s work is creative, light, complex, and meaningful. The best part is, if you compare the earlier works to the more recent ones, you can really see the difference in skill level and how much KNO has improved.

Goldberry — Do you need one-shots? Goldberry has plenty. Though there are only a couple stories, there are one-shot collections, drabbles, and a whole bucketload of one-shots I haven’t even got to. It’s pure Nejiten Heaven

NessieGG — More one-shots but guess what? They’re all AU one-shots! Now, this is Nejiten AU heaven!

needdl — All of needdl’s works are filled with fluff. They are adorable, sweet, yet some of them are sincere and romantic.

Cyberwolf — There are so many short light drabbles from Cyberwolf, each an idea that seemingly came from random thoughts but ended up on FFN for all of us to read.

MOST OTHER AUTHORS MENTIONED IN THE SUGGESTED STORIES ALSO HAVE OTHER NEJITEN WORKS, JUST NOT AS PLENTIFUL OR MOSTLY NEJITEN AS THE ONES LISTED ABOVE. I SUGGEST YOU CHECK OUT THEIR PROFILES AS WELL!

#neji hyuga #nejiten fanfiction #fanfiction #tenten #team gai #Rock Lee #naruto #narutoverse #nejiten #neji #Maito Gai #might guy #raspberryfanfics

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imhereforbvcky · 5 years

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Vivid - Part 8 (End)

Masterlist - Series Masterpage

Summary: Have you ever met someone who completely embodies a color? Not an aura, not synesthesia. Just… They walk into the room and when you spot them, you think to yourself, “Wow. That is a walking hurricane.” When Clint Barton serendipitously meets a free-spirited stranger, he sees red. Chapter: the longest epilogue ever

Warnings: Swearing, goofiness, fluff.

Word Count: 3951 (whoops)

“Do we have to go?”

Clint hadn’t even opened his eyes as he grumbled the question into your pillow. Afternoon sun sifted through the window like a beacon. It called for him and warmed the smooth skin of his shoulders as they rose and dipped over a haphazard heap of rumpled linens.

As a rule, Clint didn’t sleep much. Coffee and stress and a hundred half-healed wounds (corporeal or otherwise) made that a certainty. But when you did manage to coax him to bed, he slept like the dead and was more reluctant to rise than a corpse.

“’Fraid so,” you answered, smirking at him as you dropped the dress over your waist to examine it from every angle in the mirror. “I baked.”

“You didn’t have to,” Clint argued. When he felt the bed dip beside him, he dropped a long, heavy arm over your legs. Ever-restless fingertips tapped eratic drumbeats against your hip.

“I wanted to,” you shrugged. “I want your friends to approve of me. For you.”

You bent forward and kissed his sleep-tossed hair. He smiled, eyes still closed, fingers still drumming away.

“What do you think? Does this color go well with anxiety?” you asked, fluffing your dress into a wide sweep.

Clint looked at you then, over hills of rumpled down and bright white cotton.

His heart stuttered as you shoved damp hair behind your ear and gave him a lopsided grin. You sat there, fidgeting with your dress, smiling at him in the late morning sun, alive and bright as a red silk scarf caught in the wind, waving and beckoning to be held and loved and savored.

It struck him that even now, after all this time – after mistakes and missions and trepidation – you still looked exactly the same to him as you did the day he first saw you. You still blazed the same impossible shade of red.

Right then, in your bedroom with its messy and overflowing closet, sitting on your bed surrounded by discarded clothes and sunlight and his nicked-up, bruised-to-hell arms… he knew.

Well shit, he thought, because he knew he loved you. He was in love with you. Head over heels, lasso the moon, walk five thousand miles kind of love.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you challenged with narrowed eyes and an exaggerated frown. “Is it too much? I was gonna wear leggings so it’s not so over the top. It’s all wrong, isn’t it?”

He breathed a soft chuckle and reached for you with lazy hands. You let him drag you down beside him, forgetting about all the places you needed to be. Not one of them held a candle to this, just being right here with him.

Reticent lips pressed a quiet kiss to the top of your head. The sweet familiarity of it brought a smile to your face that could be described as nothing but content. But when you tipped your chin to look up at Clint it stopped short.

There was a hint of a smile, a softness in the clear blue of his eyes. But it was tainted with a heavy dose of sadness. Heartbroken and heartsick. It radiated off him in waves and knocked the wind from your lungs. It was like standing chest deep in a great rolling sea and watching, motionless as the waves crashed over your head.

“Clint, what’s wrong?” you whispered. Even your voice had fled for higher ground.

A warmer smile started to grow. “Nothing,” he said, tugging softly at the ends of your hair. But he still looked at you as if you might disappear, or worse. He looked at you like you were too good to be true and it was breaking his heart just to look at you.

He wanted to say it; say ‘Nothin’s wrong, I just love you, that’s all.’ But he was so afraid of shattering whatever illusion he was lucky enough to be living in just then. In his world love was a tool and a weapon, power over someone. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t fun, and it sure as hell wasn’t safe. He wasn’t quite sure how to make that word fit on you.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s perfect. The dress.” He cleared a suddenly very dry throat. “You... I love it.”

Your gaze danced over his features for a long moment, reading and measuring, trying to see what he wouldn’t say. He swallowed hard, with apparent resolve, looked up with a smile and kissed the back of your hand.

“Are they really that bad?” you asked, frowning at his this sudden shadow and smoothing his hair. It sprang back to its wild places. Just like Clint always did.

“No,” he chuckled, kissing your palm when you circled his ear and scratched over his jaw. “Actually, yes. Sam will love you but harass me. Natasha, you know. Barnes is a pain in my ass...”

“Sounds like a long day for you.” You kissed the tip of his nose. He smiled and relaxed a bit more.

“Wanda will send us both knowing looks, which is a little unnerving when you’re not used to it, but she’s aiming for comfort. She’s trying.”

“Should I be taking notes? Should you be getting dressed?” You ran tingling fingers over his bare chest.

“And if I can help it…” he grabbed your hips and with one swift roll, dragged you over top of him. Lithe, archer’s arms caged you in quicker than your yelp of surprise. He kissed you, happily and none too gently. “You will never ever meet Wade.”

You never fought him, never pushed away. It wasn’t in your nature. Your affection came freely, along with all your other emotions bubbling just below the surface. Instead, you nuzzled your nose against the long line of his neck and pressed your cheek to his toned shoulder, glad for his easy laughter. He could always calm you in an instant. The buzzing worries that bounced around your over-active brain stilled the instant he curled around you.

“Who’s Wade? And why can’t we meet?” you hummed against his sun-warmed skin.

Clint chuckled and shook his head lightly. “’Cause he always says red’s his color.”

“C’mon!” you pleaded. A wide smile brightened your entire face, and you nearly choked on your own laughter, it was so big. Clint loved your laugh. It always made him grin one of those loose, dopey smiles that Natasha teased him about.

In the narrow space of the elevator, so close to that laugh and your warm soft skin, he blew right past grinning and straight into snickering.

His hands held your hips tightly and spun you to face him. His sorry excuse for a stern reply crumbled the second you started giggling. His head fell to your shoulder and you let him push you gently back against the elevator wall.

“No,” he grinned, kissing the top of your shoulder before pulling back and looking more seriously. “No. I’m way too heavy for you.”

“Are you kidding me? I have the legs of an Olympic cyclist!”

“No you don’t,” he chuckled.

“Fine, a Scottish Caber tosser.”

“A what?” his nose crinkled. You loved when he did that. The little nose-scrunched frown. He never really frowned at you. He’d still have this sweet lop-sided grin and his sharp blue eyes would be bright and soft all at once, and his nose would crinkle or his brow would crease. Just like it did now. “That sounds dirty.”

“You know the giant pole thingy.”

“Getting dirtier.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to make a good impression!” you shoved him in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“Why not an impression of yourself? No one cares about your squat record.”

“Uh because myself is the fool who got herself taken hostage at a concert. I refuse to live another day as the damsel in distress in your friends’ estimation. Ya know, the mcfreakin’ Avengers.”

Clint shook his head and gently curled his hands around yours, and drew them to his chest. “Nobody thinks that. And what about me? I’m a mcfreakin’ Avenger. Don’t you care what I think?”

“I gave you the Heimlich last month when you choked on your In-n-O—mmph!”

He’d clapped a hand over your mouth with a shush. “No one likes a tattle-tale.”

A muffled laugh tickled his hand and he grinned down at you until he felt a wet slippery glide against his palm and jerked his hand back. “Did you just lick me?” he scowled down at his hand. You only grinned up at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I can’t believe you won’t help me make a good impression!” you whined. “Please?” Stepping toe-to-toe, you kissed his knuckles. He still held one of your hands curled tight to him.

He knew you well enough now to recognize that the bright red energy that he loved so much was an overflow of emotion. It was every sense burning hot and wild right at the surface of your skin. Every thought – good or bad – came over you with equal strength. The spontaneity he loved, the affection he enjoyed, and now the anxiety you couldn’t settle, and the regret you couldn’t swallow.

The elevator chimed, announcing its arrival on the requested floor. Clint groaned, relenting at last.

Steve heard the ruckus as he passed and paused.

First he frowned. He’d been a soldier now longer than not, and even as a civilian, he’d spent much of it waiting for a fight. When he heard sporadic thuds and grunts, his mind went first to trouble.

But when he heard a snicker, then a full-bellied laugh that he recognized, he relaxed. Even smiled, albeit while shaking his head.

Clint always came with a clatter.

“Ow! Clint! No, put your knee up here.” He didn’t recognize the voice, but he could guess who it might be. Natasha had threatened them all to be nice.

A cacophony of giggles followed another hollow thud.

“Holy shit, what did you eat for lunch today? A brick?”

“Just one of Marco’s pizzas.”

“So… a brick.”

The door slid open and Steve stumbled back. From within the elevator two people barreled out as one. Clint was perched on your back, and you wobbled forward for two short steps before tumbling to the ground in a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god!” you wheezed and rolled into Clint, burying your face in his chest to try to quell both the hysterics and the shame.

“Do we need a medic?” Steve smirked.

Clint was rubbing his elbow and shot Steve a half-smiling glare.

You looked up, thwarted, sore, and thoroughly embarrassed. “Hi.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. Clint made clumsy introductions to match your graceless entrance.

“Pleased to meet you.” Steve was raised with politeness perpetually on the tip of his tongue. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Aw, you talk about me?” you teased, tipping your head only slightly to give him a swift peck on his neck.

He shivered and squeezed you tight. “Nat overshares.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a spy would do,” you frowned.

“I’m a spy!” he complained. “You didn’t even know I was an Avenger when we met, I’m that good.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin and reached up to offer Steve a handshake. Steve obliged and leaned down to shake it, chuckling at both your antics and your reluctance to get off the ground.

“As you can tell, I make really great first impressions. And I make uhm, muffins too.” You sat up finally, scanning the area for the bag of home-baked treats you’d prepared for the day.

“I’m not sure they survived the fall,” Steve grimaced, glancing behind Clint.

“Excuse you,” you argued immediately and didn’t even think to regret it. Most people would think twice about contradicting Captain goddamn America within the first 30 seconds of meeting him. Most reasonable people, anyway. But you had never been governed by reason. “That was a semi-successful piggy-back ride! The fall was just… just…”

He looked at you with half a smirk, waiting. Clint was chuckling at your side. His hand closed around yours. Relax.

“The fall was a less-than-ideal dismount.”

“Well,” Steve leaned down, gently pushing Clint forward and freeing the plastic bag full of half demolished muffins he’d been laying on. “Clint’s not a very good rider then. He ruined your muffins on the uh, dismount.” He passed the bag as you and Clint clambered over each other to get to your feet.

“Oh no, Clint’s a very good ride,” you said with a huge grin and a wink.

Clint’s laugh ripped out of him like a released balloon. It came in a sudden burst and bounced off the concrete walls. Steve, on the other hand, had turned seven shades of red.

“Yeah!” Clint agreed, snatching the bag form Steve, who stood frozen and mortified. “And they’re not ruined.” He reached in and shoved a handful of loose, crushed muffin into his mouth. Crumbs tumbled between his fingers and bounced off his shoes.

“I’m judging by this reaction,” you made a sweeping circle with your finger around Steve’s face as he shook his head, cheeks working their way backward through the progression of color you’d just witnessed. “…that I should ease up on the ‘that’s what she said’ jokes.”

“Oh no,” Natasha chuckled. She was walking quietly down the hall, sliding a coat up her shoulders. “Making Steve blush is one of our favorite team-building activities. Hello, милая.”

You waved, returning her greeting with an easy smile.

“It’s not team-building,” Steve grumbled.

“Sure it is,” Clint grinned over at Natasha, holding out one of the few in-tact muffins. “We have a leader-board and everything.”

“Friendly competition builds relationships, Steve,” Natasha scolded.

He rolled his eyes.

“Leave him alone,” Wanda chuckled. She gave his arm a convivial squeeze.

“Thank you.”

“He’s a gentleman.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Bucky winked as he joined the little crowd now gathering at the elevator.

Clint tossed him the last undamaged muffin.

“These don’t look like bodega muffins.” He frowned down at it, carefully drawing back the paper and fixing a wary eye on Clint. “Since when do you cook?”

“Hell yeah!” Sam cheered as he jogged down the hall. “Road snacks!”

Clint held the bag out for him and Sam looked in, opened his mouth to ask what happened, then thought better of it. Clint Barton might be an expert archer, a grade A SHIELD spy, and an Avenger, but when he didn’t have an objective, the man was clumsy as all hell. Come to think of it, even on-mission, he was the first one with a bruise and the last one out of med-bay.

“Clint, what soccer mom did you lift these off of?” he teased, poking him hard in the ribs.

“Hilarious.” Clint instinctively hunched over to avoid Sam’s prodding. “Assholes,” he grumbled.

The group piled into the elevator, full of smiles and an easy sort of excitement for the day. New York City was a big place and they were a big team. They came together in odd groups and last-minute pairings in their down time. Today, Steve had decided to go to one of the city’s many well-supplied museums and a little group had formed. Clint decided it was as good a time as any for you to meet the family, so to speak.

“They’re home-made,” Clint said, beaming down at you as he threw an arm over your shoulders and squeezed you to his side. You grinned up at him, equally excited for the day ahead. The nerves that had been roiling in your stomach all morning had begun to settle now that the worst possible introduction had already come to pass and evolved into something rather pleasant.

The group’s smiles slowly turned to stifled giggles and meaningful looks, unspoken conversations that you couldn’t understand. The silence stretching on in the elevator had begun to border on discomfort.

You glanced between them, trying to read them. Nothing, of course. A room full of spies and soldiers. Finally you turned to Wanda who gave you a sympathetic smile. That worried you most of all. A wave of anxiety rose like an ember kissed by a strong wind.

“What?” you asked, turning to glance at Clint, then back to Wanda. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” she said softly, glancing helplessly at the others, biting her lips. She was trying to find the right words, trying not to blurt out the wrong thing. She knew how badly Clint wanted this to go well. Even worse, she could sense how anxious you had become.

Bucky finally caved with a groan. “I can’t do it.”

“Barnes!” Natasha fired a look so lethal, you wondered if looks really could kill.

“I’m sorry,” he turned to your wide, nervous eyes. “But these are awful.”

Clint promptly elbowed Bucky in the gut. He doubled over with a laugh, all while your mouth fell agape and all the color drained from your face.

“Quit ganging up on me! I’m not messin’ around.” Bucky complained and snatched the bag of muffin remains from Clint. “Try one,” he said before tossing what was left of his inside.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Clint hissed in reply. He reached into the bag with his eyes still locked resolutely on Bucky’s and shoved an entire fistful of crushed muffin into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you groaned and buried your face in Clint’s shoulder.

He merely shrugged, and grabbed another handful.

Bucky looked to Steve, who demurred, avoiding all eye contact. Instead, he stood picking at the parchment paper, absolutely refusing to join this conversation.

Bucky’s last possible ally – Sam – chewed on his lip for a moment before he too sighed and tossed his handful of crumbs in the bag. “Shit. They’re not good, man.”

Willing yourself to take a deep breath, you shoved your hand into the bag, grabbed a piece, and took a bite.

One bite was enough. More than enough. It was salty and tasted of raw flour. Every couple of bites, your teeth sank into something chewy. There should have been absolutely nothing chewy in a cinnamon swirl muffin. They were beyond repugnant and you immediately reached for the bag and spit out your mouthful.

You looked around the elevator at the defenders of the earth that you had just inadvertently tried to poison. Some were smiling, some chuckling, Wanda looked at you with only a soft, kind brand of sympathy.

If it weren’t for the cool and unwavering calm of the man at your side, you’d have bolted. You looked up at him, still chewing on a mouthful like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten and you laughed. He was a walking pillar of courage and he was always willing to let you lean on him. Let anyone who needed it, really. He was kind that way.

He was a cool breath, a sturdy hand, the midnight pizza date after a bad day, the guy who ate the muffins. He would be there no matter what. So you would be too.

Natasha was one of the smilers. She dropped her mostly in-tact muffin into the bag when you took it from Clint and held it out to her. The others followed suit.

The elevator chimed your arrival on the ground floor and you sighed, trying to rally your spirits. A few steps and you’d spotted a garbage bin in the lobby. Before you could take another step, Clint’s hand wound around your arm. He took the bag and unceremoniously guided you to follow the others toward the exit while he reached for another bite of muffin.

You looked up at him incredulously.

“Clint!” you balked. “What are you doing? Those are awful!”

He shrugged and gave you one of those lop-sided grins and kept walking, bag in hand while you stood frozen on the steps.

Natasha joined you, linking her arm through yours and urging you forward to join the group.

“Why did he do that? He’s probably going to get food poisoning,” you worried, watching him every step.

Natasha looked over at you. Half a smile curled her lips and a single brow arched sharply. You know exactly why, it seemed to say. She was an expert at non-verbal communication. Probably part of the reason she and Clint got along so well.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled, looking ahead to him again. It grew into a chuckle, a little watery, like a cup filled too full and spilling over in lapping waves.

“He might not say it,” she conceded.

“Yeah, I know that too.”

“But he does.”

You looked her steadily in the eye and nodded; an acknowledgement and a promise. An ‘I know’ and a ‘me too.’ She smiled and you squeezed her arm against your side before untangling yourself from her.

“Hey!” you hollered until the group ahead turned to look back at the pair of you. Your gaze never drifted from Clint for a second. “My turn.”

You charged forward toward him. Toward the constant calm that cooled your wild energy, toward the shiver up your spine, and the safety in the fire. He laughed, warmed by the ease with which you loved him, and turned. He let out an involuntary huff when you leapt up onto his back.

He carried you like that all the way to the museum and up the steps and inside. You pressed your cheek against his and closed your eyes, enjoying this for just a second more. It was an easy stillness, a comfortable coolness in your chest, as opposed to the raging red blaze.

Before Clint, you’d thought love was a fire and it was meant to burn you up. So you’d chased gasoline and called it passion. Now, you realized that was never love. It was a mirage in the dessert and it was a lie.

In the time you’d spent getting coffee in the middle of the night, sharing pizza with a dog on the sidewalk, and protecting each other from the sting of the flames, you’d come to understand. When you love the right person, it’s not a fire or a battle and it shouldn’t hurt.

The little things were where you’d learned to find love now, not in the pain of a fight and the salve of making up. That was a dance of fire and war, and you’d found something softer, gentler, happier with an embattled Avenger. You’d found the little things. And when it came down to those things, you found yourself fitting together as easily as breathing. It was like finding a part of yourself that you didn’t know was missing.

You’d found a piece of yourself there in Clint Barton and you didn’t ever want to let him go.

“I love you,” you whispered in his ear.

It had been an impulsive thing to say. But you trusted Clint not to hurt you, because you don’t hurt the ones you love.

He turned his head just slightly and smiled. You couldn’t see it from your spot clinging to his back, but you could feel his cheek swell, pressed against your own. He gave your legs a squeeze tight against him. A small action, a little private affection in a room filled with people.

He didn’t say it back, and you didn’t expect him to, didn’t need him to. This love had never been in words. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a clanging battle or a raging fire. It was sure, and calm and comforting. And as long as you were both breathing, it would always, always be there.

The end! yay, i finally made it a month later than promised, my b. Ran out of steam. Hopefully I didn’t lose too much of the flow picking it up again so much later.

Will reblog with tags shortly!

#clint x reader #clint barton x reader #clint fanfic #clint fluff #clint barton fanfic #clint barton fluff #vivid part 8 #vivid chapter 8

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frozenartscapes · 4 years

Text

Screech In - FE3H Fic

If you’re not familiar with the Newfoundlander tradition of a “Screech In”, I highly recommend you check it out. Or just listen to this song from Come From Away. This isn’t exactly that, but Screech is involved...

---

It was a miserable, rainy evening when the Imperial Army marched into a tiny village in recently-conquered Alliance territory. Waterlogged and exhausted, the Emperor and her team headed to the inn to secure lodging for the night. That was all that was needed, really, but as the Black Eagles gathered in the small pub under the inn for a meagre meal, they overheard talk that might help their cause.

Talk coming from a group of rowdy, crude bandits.

It was something about a secret path to the Kingdom. A route through rough terrain initially believed to be impassable unless on a pegasus or wyvern. Such information would be highly valuable to the Imperial Army.

“We ain’t telling you shit!” the lead bandit spat, sending little bits of food into Hubert’s face.

Hubert barely grimaced as he stiffly wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Need I remind you, gentlemen, that you are in the presence of her Imperial Majesty,” he said coolly, “And that not cooperating could get...unpleasant for you.”

“Oh ho! You hear that, Rolf?” one of the bandits asked as they slapped their leader’s shoulder with a laugh, “Her Majesty is here! Oh no! Better watch out!”

Rolf, the leader, didn’t laugh so easily. “Listen here, boy. The things you’re askin’ us about are trade secrets. Not for the bloody Emperor and every officer in the Imperial Army,” he said with a growl, “Now I suggest you skulk back to whatever coffin you crawled out of and leave us be.”

Hubert’s eye twitched. Magic gathered in his hand. “Very well,” he stated simply.

An armoured hand came to rest on his shoulder, forcing the magic to dissipate. “And what would it take to share this ‘trade secret’?” Edelgard asked, her voice doing a fantastic job hiding how angry she was at the men. No one insulted Hubert like that while she was around.

A chorus of sarcastic “ooooh”s came from the gang, and all eyes were on Rolf. “Lady,” he said after a long swig of his drink, “You could give me your marble palace, that gold crown on your head, and yourself, buck naked in my bed, and I still wouldn’t tell you anything.”

Byleth stepped forward, beginning to unsheath her sword. No one talked to Edelgard like that, not while she was around.

Edelgard held up one hand to halt her team, all of whom had the same idea as Byleth. “Very well. If you are not willing to part with the information naturally, then perhaps if we win in a challenge?” she offered.

Ferdinand gasped, genuinely insulted. “What? She won’t accept any of my challenges but these drunkards-” His complaining was cut short by Dorothea’s elbow to his ribcage.

Rolf scoffed. “You think I’m dumb enough to challenge you lot?” he said dryly, “There’d be no bloody contest if we were to fight ya.”

“It does not have to be a test of strength,” Edelgard told him, keeping her voice as steady as always, “I’m sure there must be something you believe you’d have an advantage in. Name your challenge.”

Rolf eyed her for a moment, and then he chuckled. He waved to the bartender, and said with a smug grin, “Very well, Lady. You’ve got yourself a deal. My challenge is this: if any of you can beat me and my men in a drinking contest, then you’ve got your information. Once we remember it in the morning, of course. You lose, and you pack up all your men and never set foot in this village again.”

“That’s...not so bad,” Caspar muttered.

“Oh and I forgot to mention,” Rolf continued as the bartender set down a large bottle with an unidentifiable liquid inside, “We’ll be drinking this stuff. Screech. Bet you’ve never heard of it before, eh, Little Lady?”

“Oh this is bad,” Byleth breathed. She rushed to the Emperor’s side and whispered, “Edelgard, this stuff is practically poison. It’s taken down some of the biggest, meanest mercenaries I’ve ever met. I don’t think any of you will be able to drink more than a shot of the stuff.”

“Are you doubting us, Professor?” Edelgard shot back with an eyebrow raised.

“Well... Yes. Actually,” Byleth admitted with a sigh, “Like I said: the biggest guys I’ve ever met couldn’t handle this stuff.”

“And what about you, Professor?”

Byleth blinked. She’d had Screech before. Only a shot or two before Jeralt stopped her. (Yeah, it was bad enough for Jeralt to step in.) But...she felt fine afterward.

“Fire consumes alcohol, Professor,” Edelgard uttered. Byleth shot her a confused glance before it all began to click.

Oh no. She was not-

“I’ll try it,” Caspar offered, stepping forward before anyone could stop him.

Rolf’s ridiculous smile remained plastered on his face as he poured a shot of Screech and handled it to Caspar. Caspar threw it back and almost instantly he was on the floor, coughing and sputtering and screaming at the burning sensation in his mouth.

“Goddess, what’s in that?” he shouted angrily, reaching for his neck to ensure the stuff hadn’t burned through his throat.

Rolf and his cronies were howling with laughter. “And that is why we call it Screech!” he shouted proudly, before levelling the tiny Emperor a victorious smile, “Who’s next?”

Edelgard said not a word. Instead, with her head held high, she stepped forward and took a seat at the table across from Rolf, much to the shock and amusement of the band of bandits and the horror of her own team.

“Lady Edelgard, I must insist-” Hubert began, his composure breaking only a little in his panic.

“Hubert, I promise you, I can handle this,” Edelgard interrupted, remaining as calm as ever.

“Yeah, Hubert! This could be fun,” Lindhardt said sarcastically.

“Oh, I can’t watch!” Bernadetta squeaked, taking cover behind an equally terrified Dorothea.

Byleth glanced between the team and Edelgard and heaved a heavy sigh. She stepped forward, and took a seat beside the Emperor. “Let’s at least make this fair,” she said, earning a grateful glance from Edelgard.

“You two?” Rolf demanded incredulously, eyes darting between the two young woman seated across from him. He laughed, and poured them both a shot of Screech and one for himself. “Your funeral,” he stated before taking the drink, wincing slightly at the taste.

Edelgard and Byleth both reached for their shots. They looked to each other, raised their glasses, and drank.

Not even a flinch between them.

Rolf’s smile was wiped off his face in an instant. He took a look at the bottle of Screech, as if checking to ensure he had actually poured it for them.

“What just happened?” Ferdinand said after recovering from the shock.

“We’re going to win, is what happened!” Caspar shouted triumphantly from the floor.

“Sometimes the first shot doesn’t register right away,” Rolf said defensively, pouring another round, “It’s the second one that gets ya.”

“That’s not at all what I’ve heard about Screech,” Byleth said as she casually downed her shot, “The whole point is that it knocks you out flat after the first drink.”

Edelgard finished hers with equal ease. “I’m not entirely sure what the big deal was,” she said, stoic as ever, “It’s got lovely notes of smoked wood and spice. I might almost consider having this from time to time in my study.”

Rolf sputtered in shock, choking a little on his own shot. “Screech doesn’t have a taste!” he stated, “It’s just supposed to burn.”

“I disagree,” Edelgard said simply, “It’s actually quite delicious.”

“Are you...serious, right now?”

“What’s the matter, Rolf?” Byleth challenged, “Afraid you might lose? We can call this off if you want, provided you give us what we want.”

Rolf’s expression dropped into a hardened, stubborn line. “I never back down from a fight,” he growled. He poured another round and sucked back his with a grimace. “If I can’t beat a couple of women in a drinking contest, then I’ve failed as a bandit.”

“You probably might want to consider a career change, then,” Byleth replied. She and Edelgard clinked their glasses together before taking the shots.

Rolf and his cronies didn’t look so confident anymore.

---

It was a few hours later. Three empty bottles of Screech sat on the table. Everyone in the bar had gathered around, watching the show with much amusement. Drinks had been passed around, laughs were had, and all around it was a great time.

All because of one silly little contest.

One Edelgard and Byleth were winning. By a lot.

The pair of them were definitely beginning to feel the effects of all that alcohol. Byleth’s tongue had gotten a lot sharper and her words significantly more colourful. Edelgard’s stiff persona had melted away and her cheeks were steadily becoming the same colour as her armour.

But both of them were faring far better than Rolf and his cronies. The gang of bandits had to tag each other in and out of the contest, all seven of them eventually going head-to-head with the duo. None of them made it very long. Only Rolf stayed in it, soldiering on despite barely being able to keep his head up. His confidence was now completely gone, and it looked like he’d sooner drink deadly poison than another shot of Screech.

“You two...you aren’t...human,” he wheezed, struggling to keep from heaving up the potent contents of his stomach.

“Probably not,” Byleth said with a shrug, sending Edelgard a knowing smile. She raised her glass and stated triumphantly, “To Adrestia! And a brighter tomorrow!”

Everyone in the bar cheered and drank to that toast as Byleth and Edelgard did the same.

Edelgard poured two more drinks and raised her own glass. “To Captain Jeralt! A man I had the most pleasure to meet, an incredible warrior, and...” She smiled at Byleth. “...One amazing father. May his memory live on!”

“Whoo! To the Captain!” Caspar cheered as he took a long drink of beer.

Hubert put his head in his hands in defeat.

Byleth, not to be outdone, poured another drink and made another toast: “To Ionius IX! I never knew him personally but he raised one hell of a daughter!”

“This is either the greatest thing I’ve ever seen or the most horrifying,” Dorothea uttered.

“Well, it’s a good thing everyone here is drunk, because no one is going to believe this happened tomorrow,” Lindhardt sighed.

Rolf attempted to keep up but his dexterity was so far gone he couldn’t bring the glass up to his mouth.

“Well come on, Rolf,” Byleth said with all the confidence of a drunken mercenary, “I thought you picked this challenge because you were sure you’d win.”

“I’m not...going to lose,” Rolf argued weakly, “Just need to...rest for a minute.”

“Well what’s the point of a drinking contest if naps are taken halfway through?” Edelgard jabbed with a laugh, “They’d never end if they were like that!”

“You two... Are clearly cheatin’...somehow,” Rolf drawled, “I don’t know how, but... Y’are. Be that as it may, I won’t...go down so easy.”

“You think that was easy?” Byleth asked as she clinked two of the three empty bottles together.

“I think it’s time we finished this, Professor,” Edelgard said, gesturing to the bartender to bring three more bottles.

“My Lady, what are you doing?” Hubert hissed, “You’ve clearly won. Just wait for the man to fall out of his seat.”

“Not now, Hubert,” Edelgard returned, her words only slurring just a little, “Rolf here had the gall to insult my companions and was dumb enough to accept a challenge from me. I’m sure Ferdinand knows what must be done.”

Hubert whipped around to face Ferdinand, who held up his hands in defence. “I swear to you I have no idea she would go this far,” he stammered.

“Then what was she talking about?” Hubert demanded.

“She’s, um...” Ferdinand winced and prayed Hubert’s head wasn’t about to explode, “She’s going for a critical.”

The bartender set the bottles of Screech down at the table with a look of concern on his face. Which was saying a lot, as this was a man who looked like he wouldn’t normally be concerned about anything.

Edelgard passed one bottle to Byleth and set the other in front of Rolf. “We’re ahead of you by about seven shots, but let's make this interesting,” she said with a victorious grin, “If you can finish that before we finish ours, you win.”

“You’re mad,” Rolf spat, eyeing the bottle as if it were about to burst into flames.

“Perhaps I am,” Edelgard said as she sat back in her chair, “‘The Mad Emperor’... I like the sound of that.”

“No, you don’t!” Hubert stated grumpily, “And you are not doing this! No amount of information in the world would-”

“Hubert, buddy, I love ya, but you should have made this argument, like... Two hours ago,” Byleth slurred, earning her a death glare she was too drunk to care about, “I’m in! Get going, Rolf!”

Rolf picked up the bottle in his hand and grimaced. He shakily brought it to his lips and took a small sip. Almost immediately, his body rejected it and he spat the Screech back out onto the floor, coughing and sputtering and choking on the burning liquid.

“I give,” he wheezed, “We all do! You win, you demons, the pair of ya!”

“Congrats, El! You are officially a Demon!” Byleth shouted triumphantly.

“Victory is ours!” Edelgard declared, the whole bar erupting into cheers. Caspar was especially loud.

“Cheers, my Crimson Demon,” Byleth said, holding up her bottle, “It’s been an honour as always to fight by your side.”

“And, as always, I am forever grateful to have you here with me,” Edelgard replied, clinking her bottle against Byleths.

And then, to the horror of most of the Black Eagles, the pair downed the entire contents of their bottles of Screech. Rolf, bearing witness to such a bold move, passed out.

What followed would be a night remembered by that village for years to come.

As it turned out, the shenanigans that went down that infamous night in that little town became a legend. Since the start of the war that little town had had little to celebrate. The arrival of the Emperor of Adrestia and her army at first seemed to be like a slap in the face.

Until the same Emperor who had defeated the Alliance came down from her high horse and had a drink with the people, revealing herself to be just as human as any one of them.

She also put Rolf in his place, which was welcomed by many in that little town.

In the years following, a festival took place on that day. There were plenty of laughs, competition, and fun. And enough Screech to last an army.

It would not, however, be remembered by the two women at the centre of it all.

---

Sunlight filtered in through broken blinds, pouring into the room as streaks of light made clear by dust particles floating in the air. Birds chirped happily, finding plenty to eat in the damp ground after the rain.

Edelgard slowly became aware of the birds, though she wasn’t ready to face the sunlight. She was warm and comfortable in her bed, the scratchy wool blanket the only thing slightly unpleasant. She opened one eye but closed it immediately, groaning softly as shooting pain in her head appeared right between the eyes. Forget waking up - she was happy here where it was soft and warm.

Then her pillow snored. And suddenly she was aware that her head wasn’t resting on a pillow.

But her professor’s chest.

Her eyes flew open and she shot up, which was a mistake because the vertigo mixed with the splitting headache almost made her throw up. The sound she made - a combination of a startled yelp and a pained groan - was enough to cause Byleth to stir slightly. Edelgard heard her moan something, possibly requesting an extra five minutes of sleep.

As Edelgard held her head in one hand, almost ready to pray to the goddess just to make the pain go away, she tried to start piecing together the previous night. She and Byleth were both still clothed, which was a good sign. They had somehow managed to remove most of their armour and adornments - how she had managed to get her crown off will forever remain a mystery. Judging by the mess on the floor, it looked as though they pulled off what they had been able to before collapsing in a heap on the bed. Together.

“Professor,” Edelgard hissed urgently, giving Byleth’s shoulder a nudge, “My teacher!”

Byleth lazily swatted her hand away and let out a soft noise of protest. “Mmh... Turn the light off... ‘ts too bright...”

“Byleth!”

Byleth’s eyes opened at that. Despite their closeness, Edelgard still rarely referred to her by her name. She only ever did when something was wrong.

She ended up having a similar reaction to Edelgard: she opened her eyes, was immediately blinded and struck by a massive headache, and closed her eyes again while wincing in pain. “Fuck, were we poisoned last night?” she demanded grumpily, “I feel awful.”

“We likely were, and we did it to ourselves,” Edelgard said with a sigh, “I’m not going to ever hear the end of this...”

Byleth let out another pained noise as she covered her eyes with her hand. After a moment, she said bluntly: “We slept together.”

Edelgard made a noise Byleth had never heard her make before, prompting her to back peddle clumsily. “No, I mean... We shared a bed! No, not in that way, we just... Spent the night together? Platonically. Fully clothed. Shit, I’m not making this better, am I?”

Edelgard sighed and patted Byleth’s shoulder affectionally. “Just stop talking, my teacher,” she advised. She released another sigh. “Well, we can’t avoid it forever. We should get ready and face the consequences of our ridiculous actions.”

“Or we could just lie here for a bit longer?” Byleth suggested.

Edelgard pushed herself off the bed and stood on her feet for about two seconds before sinking back down. She carefully flopped down beside Byleth and swallowed the bile that had risen up in her throat. “We can lie here until the room stops spinning,” she said weakly.

Byleth rolled over and snuggled up closer to Edelgard, draping one arm over her to keep her there. “‘Plationically’, my teacher?” Edelgard asked dryly, feeling her cheeks heating up.

“Yes, platonically,” Byleth replied, “You’re warm.”

Edelgard huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “What was I thinking?” she groaned, “Of all the questionable things I’ve done in my life, that had to be the stupidest...”

“But it was kinda fun,” Byleth told her, “It was...nice, seeing you loosen up a little.”

Edelgard turned to shoot her a mild glare. “Yes, I suppose taking the stick out of my ass for a night was, I suppose, good for me.” Byleth’s eyes went wide with shock, her mouth even falling open a little. “I’m still a little drunk,” Edelgard realized.

“That...reminds me,” Byleth said slowly, rolling over and releasing Edelgard to stare at the ceiling, “I don’t remember much from last night but I do remember you saying something about fire consuming alcohol... Did you...know that the Crest of Flames would do that? Because we should be way worse right now given all we had to drink last night...”

Edelgard frowned. “It was more a hunch than anything,” she said after a pause, “I, um... It was hard, having to keep up the Imperial Princess image at grand galas and balls after... My siblings and I used to keep each other entertained, but... Well, being the only one and having to pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t... I...might have...tried to...”

Byleth reached over and took her hand in hers, giving it a small squeeze. “Sadly, anything I drank never seemed to have the expected result,” Edelgard continued, “Everyone else could drink to forget, but I, for whatever reason, had too high a tolerance. I have now learned I do have a limit, but if I had tried to drink that much at a royal ball I likely would have been sealed away somewhere.”

“That...would explain some things about me, then,” Byleth mused, “As a member of a band of mercenaries, it was fairly common to gather together after long days and have a few drinks. Some of them got badly drunk, but I never did. Not even a little tipsy. I always just thought it was just another... inhuman... thing about me, but...”

“Like I said, the Crest of Flames was just a guess,” Edelgard said, “I was too young to have tested my theory before gaining it, but knowing we have shared experiences only makes the theory stronger.”

“Well, it was a pretty good guess. And a good bluff.” Byleth chuckled to herself, then explained, “I’ve seen people get that drunk before but I had no idea what it felt like. Actually, if I’m being honest, I still don’t fully know. I vaguely remember Hubert glaring at me like he was going to skin me alive, and then nothing.”

“Yes, I remember about that much as well. I hope Hubert and the others aren’t too angry with us...”

Just then, the door to their room was thrown open. “Good morninggg!” the intruder sang with all the power of an opera singer. They walked right over to the window and threw the blinds open, flooding the room with light.

The hungover pair in the bed didn’t stand a chance.

“Dorothea, to what do we owe the honour of a visit?” Edelgard growled from underneath a pillow, trying desperately to shield her eyes from that accursed sunlight.

“Oh look at you, my dears! Did you have a good rest?” Dorothea asked cheerfully, completely ignoring the question and their grumpy moods.

“Something tells me they are still angry with us,” Byleth grumbled.

“Oh don’t worry,” Dorothea assured them, “If you ask me, I personally think your relationship needed something like this. One wild night of letting loose and having fun, then retiring together in the same bed? Why, it’s just like an opera!”

“This isn’t happening,” Edelgard moaned, feeling heat rising all the way up to her ears.

“Just be glad I managed to convince Hubert to allow me to wake you. He, uh, likely wouldn’t have been so gentle.”

“You call that gentle?” Byleth asked dryly.

“Oh believe me, compared to what he wanted to do, I practically gave you both the gentlest wake-up call there ever was. But I’ve only been able to stall him for so long so you two had best get up before he sets the inn on fire.”

Byleth let out a despondent moan as she rolled off the bed and onto the floor, still wrapped up in the blanket. At the loss of the covering, Edelgard flinched before slowly sitting up, removing the pillow to face the sun as bravely as she could.

“What time is it, anyway?” she asked, rubbing the side of her head weakly in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

“It’s about quarter to noon,” Dorothea chirped in reply.

“It’s what?!”

Now it was Edelgard’s turn to be on the floor in a heap, having leapt from the bed only to realize too late that her equilibrium was still compromised.

“Yes. Unfortunately Hubie isn’t very pleased about it.”

“No shit! Why didn’t anyone wake us! We were supposed to depart hours ago!” Despite the tumble, she was already moving to freshen up and collect her things off the floor, throwing any of Byleth’s items on the bed as she came across them.

“Swearing, Edie? Is now really the best time for such language?”

“Dorothea.”

“Ok!” Byleth’s hand shot up from the other side of the bed, and slowly the rest of Byleth appeared as she hoisted herself up to lean on the mattress. “Moderator with a very bad headache, here!” she stated, “Dorothea, El can swear as much as she likes, given present circumstances and the fact that she’s the Emperor. El, what we did was incredibly stupid and irresponsible and it’s time to face the consequences of that.”

“I know that! It’s that we’re late!” Edelgard shot back, “If Hubert ever speaks to me again he’s going to give me an earful. I doubt Ferdinand will ever let me live this down. I’m the one who sets the standards for my army and this is how I go about it?”

Dorothea struggled to hide her smirk. “Oh I wouldn’t worry about Ferdinand. He eventually got into the spirit and attempted to catch up with you,” she informed them.

Edelgard whipped around to stare at her in horror. Then she let out a defeated groan. “Hubert is going to kill me.”

“He won’t do that,” Byleth assured her, slowly rising to her own feet, “It’d go against everything he believes in. Me, on the other hand...”

Edelgard gathered most of Byleth’s clothes up and lobbed them toward her, Byleth effortlessly catching them with her face. The pair scrambled to get ready while Dorothea watched with thinly veiled amusement. Once presentable, and after one more long, deep breath to psyche themselves up, they headed out of the room and toward the stairs.

“Oh, I should warn you,” Dorothea added as she followed after them, “Things got pretty wild last night.”

“I gathered that, Dorothea, but I can’t imagine it is utterly horrifying,” Edelgard replied, opening the main door of the tavern to head out and seek the rest of her party.

She froze in the door, as did Byleth. Chaos would have been an understatement. She’d seen villages after battles that looked better than this one. Animals were running wild in the streets. Windows were smashed. Debris from broken kegs and crates was scattered everywhere. Fabric that looked suspiciously like curtains hung from a nearby light pole. Empty bottles lay strewn about. There were quite a few citizens passed out in gutters. Everyone else appeared to be nursing a hangover. Someone had climbed the nearby clocktower and only half-successfully hung an Adrestian banner from it. There was a horse in the town fountain, casually splashing about without a care in the world.

“Oh goddess,” Byleth breathed, “I’ve seen this before. Mercenary groups get too rowdy, it spreads into the streets, and then in the morning we get run out of town.”

“Byleth I want you to take your sword and stab me. Right in the chest, right now,” Edelgard commanded.

“She will do no such thing. Not until I have a word with both of you.”

Both women nearly leapt out of their skins at the sound of that ominous voice behind them. They both whirled around, Edelgard reaching for her dagger and Byleth the hilt of her sword.

Hubert didn’t even flinch.

“Hubert: I can explain,” Edelgard began, trying her best to stand as tall and commanding as she could. It was Hubert. She knew him better than anyone. So why was so suddenly so damn nervous?

“No need, Your Majesty,” Hubert replied, holding up his hand to stop her in her tracks, “Your plan worked well. I tracked down that bandit this morning and, while he himself was still unresponsive, his companions gave us the information we wanted. Taking the shortcut will cut our travel time significantly, and if we leave now we should arrive at our destination around the same time as if we left at the time first agreed upon.” He paused, gesturing to the town centre before them. “You also drastically increased moral with your choices last night. And successfully won the town over. It had apparently been years since they had cause to celebrate anything.”

“It...what?” Edelgard demanded.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I will now go and ready everyone for deployment.”

“Wait, you’re not mad?”

Hubert sent her a look she was sure he only ever reserved for his enemies. While his expression remained neutral, behind his eyes was a flurry of emotion - none of it good. “Absolutely not,” he replied stiffly. He then skulked past them and into the courtyard.

“You know you can yell at me!” Edelgard called after him.

“Leave him, Edie. Hubert doesn’t do explosive anger,” Dorothea sighed.

“Am I the only one who’s afraid to go to sleep tonight?” Byleth asked as she watched the shadowy man slink off. He had such an aura of grumpiness around him a stablehand ran off shrieking after accidentally making eye contact.

“We will sleep in shifts for a while,” Edelgard decided.

Dorothea snorted with laughter, beginning to head toward the group. “Oh, by the way,” she said slyly, doing a poor job at hiding the wide grin on her face, “I hope the two of you kissed each other better than you kissed that fish.”

That was the second time in one morning Byleth heard Edelgard make that noise she had previously never heard before.

#they are 'college' students after all #or were anyway #fe three houses #black eagles #edelgard #byleth #poor choices were made #but things still worked out

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kayteewritessteve · 5 years

Text

DT - Twitter Drunk 2/3

Description: One stupid drunken night leads to an uncomfortable week from hell. That only gets worse when you are forced to face the problems, that your drunken escapades caused, head on. Yeah, you are never going to drink ever again.

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 9,250 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Lots of curse words, awkward moments, and a slightly frustrated reader. Little angst here and there, but lots of stupid humour.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Steve’s POV

Steve finds himself seated at the breakfast bar in the towers main living area. Sam and Bucky on either side of him, as they all silently munch away on their individual bowls of cereal.

The tower is relatively quiet this morning, which is both relieving and scary, all at the same time. The tower feels very much like a small child to Steve, when it is eerily quiet, that’s when he truly had to worry. That’s when he should probably go investigate and prepare himself for the incoming chaos that he may find.

Though the fact he can physically see Bucky and Sam currently, does give him some peace of mind. Those two, together, were mayhem and destruction personified. Anytime they were out in the world together, something usually ended up broken. Be it a window, a plate, a car, or Steve’s mental stability.

However, the lack of a Stark currently, in the silence of the tower, was a little unnerving, if he’s being honest. Though at least when Tony was alone, he stuck mainly to only blowing up parts of his lab, or other people’s personal lives. So he didn’t really need as much supervision as the other two did.

But when the three of them were together, now that was another story entirely. They honestly reminded Steve of a show he used to watch as a kid, The Three Stooges. Though they all sort of switched roles, just depending on the day really. However most days Tony was Moe, while Bucky and Sam were Curly and Larry, respectively. But the odd days they’d switch roles, ya know, just to keep things interesting.

Steve sighs quietly to himself at the thought, as he makes a mental note to see if he can track down some of The Three Stooges videos to watch again. He always did enjoy that show—well, that is before he had to basically live it in real life. So yeah, maybe he won’t look those videos up now.

The sound of hasty shuffling feet catches his attention and he looks up just as Moe—excuse me, Tony, enters the kitchen, looking slightly frazzled and far too overly excited for this early on a Saturday morning. Steve internally groans because he knows Stark is about to drop some sort of bomb on them all.

Something clearly happened that Stark finds incredibly funny or worthy of the whole tower knowing right this very second. He is honestly surprised Stark doesn’t just use Friday to play a pre-recorded message throughout the tower so that everyone can learn of the news at the same exact time. That would be far more efficient, if you ask Steve, but does he plan to mention this idea to Stark? Not a hope in hell. That man doesn’t need anymore ideas to help him gossip more quickly and effectively.

No, Steve will just let him continue to work for it. It keeps him busy and less likely to mess with anyone around him, so that’s a small win, in and of itself. Plus he’s pretty sure that Tony truly enjoys actually seeing the looks on peoples faces when he shares his random news with them, so that would probably explain why he does this all in person.

Tony catches sight of the three men and the wicked grin on his face only grows, and this time Steve externally groans.

“There you guys are!” The older man says quickly as he makes his way towards them, “have any of you happened to check out Twitter yet, this lovely morning?”

Steve furrows his brows, yes, he has a Twitter account, but does he actually use it? Hell no. He can barely even figure out what Twitter is for, honestly, let alone how to maneuver the hell site. And anytime he does get on his account, the tweets—what a ridiculous thing to call them—are usually pretty descriptive and very, very highly inappropriate to say to a complete stranger. When Steve had mentioned the aggressive tweets to Sam and Bucky, they had both burst out laughing and when they’d finally managed to reign themselves back in, Sam had told him those were called ‘Thirst Tweets’—Whatever the hell that means.

That was when Steve came to the unwavering realization that Twitter just was not for him. Though Bucky seemed to pick the site up rather quickly, and now he was tweeting with the best of em.

Steve shakes his head at just how stupid those words truly sound. He’ll never fully acclimate to this time, nor the strange and invasive customs, ideologies, and ethics that comes along with it. Don’t get him wrong, this century does have a lot of really amazing features, such as better healthcare, easy access to information, more equality and a larger variety of much, much better tasting foods.

But some days he did miss the simple things from the 40’s. Meeting people in person, going to the movies unbothered, the anonymity that came with a lack of widespread media, and just going out for a drink and some dancing with a good pal or your girl—not that he did a lot of dancing back then, nor did he actually have a girl, but still, life was simpler then, less wasteful and a heck of a lot less superficial.

“No,” Sam answers, and Bucky just shakes his head before following it up with a, “why?”

“Oh, well, then the three of you are truly missing out,” Tony grins widely, his eyes locking with Steves and instantly the latter knows this cannot be good. “Someone wrote a very sweet and long winded Tweet about our little Capsicle here.” He chuckles, gesturing to Steve, and the super soldier is now positive the older man is actually vibrating with excitement currently.

“No way,” Bucky’s eyes grow wide as he quickly pats himself down then pulls his phone from his front pants pocket.

“What does it say?” Sam hastily asks, as he tries to reach across the counter for Tony’s phone. But doesn’t even get close as the billionaire quickly yanks his hand, the one holding said electronic, away from Wilsons reach.

“Simmer for just a moment, my dear Sammy. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’m planning to read it out loud for all of you,” he happily says, putting his phone up in front of his face as he clears his throat loudly. Then he begins to read the tweets, raising his voice probably in an attempt to sound more like a woman.

“‘Do you ever just hear of someone in passing, or see them in the media, and have this instantaneous deep longing emotion within you. Not a longing in the sense of wanting them, but entirely due to hoping with everything inside you that they find their true happiness one day..’‘..‪That they wake up in a few years and smile, like truly smile, because they are exactly where they wanted to be. Where they deserved to be. That they’d ended up with every desire they had yearned for. And I’m not talking about material objects. I’m talking life goals and accomplishments..’‬‪‘..I’m talking about the true important aspects of life. The things that actually matter in the grand scheme of it all. Well, that is how I feel whenever someone brings up Steve Rogers. Or whenever I see an article or a news story about him. I instantly have this desperate want for him..’”‬

Sam cuts in, a goofy grin on his lips, “girl, I feel that. I also have a desperate want for Steve whenever I see him.” He turns to playfully wiggle his eyebrows at Steve, while Bucky and Tony burst out laughing. ‬

‪All of this only causing the blonde to shake his head and drag a large hand down his face in exasperation. Knowing instantly that these 3 were never going to let this go, he just silently prayed that no one else in the tower had seen these tweets yet. Don’t get him wrong, they were sweet as hell, and made a slight blush creep its way onto the super soldiers cheeks, but he wasn’t really a huge fan of the spotlight. Never had been, never will be, and this very much put a blinding light smack dab on his face. ‬

‪Tony quickly attempts to steel himself once again, but he can’t stop the chuckles from bubbling out as he continues to read. Every few words a snort or giggle escapes the confines of his lips. “‘..to be happy. *snort* Truly and utterly happy. The man deserves exactly that, and yet so much more. *small giggle* What with everything he has done for us and this planet. *snort* If anyone in this world has earned their happily ever after, *small giggle* it’s that man.’” ‬

‪Steve just groans and lays his forehead against the cold surface of the counter, as the three men continue to laugh boisterously around him. This couldn’t get anymore awkward and embarrassing, and Steve wasn’t even the one who wrote the tweets. ‬

‪“What are we laughing about?” ‬

‪Whelp, obviously Steve spoke too soon, clearly it could get worse. And much, much worse at that. He slowly lifts his head and then promptly drops it back down to the solid surface with a thump. ‬

‪“Oh Nat!” Tony excitedly calls out, “you’re just in time! We were just discussing the most recent fan tweet for ol’ Rogers here.” ‬

‪“Ah yes,” she snorts, “I also truly hope Steve gets every desire he yearns for.” ‬

‪He doesn’t even have to raise his eyes to know she has a playfully quirked brow at the moment. He can just feel it on her, staring smugly at him. ‬

‪“You saw it already?” Bucky chuckles. ‬

‪“Are you kidding? Who hasn’t?” She cackles, her voice sounding much closer now, “I even already retweeted the entire thing.” ‬

‪“Me too!” Tony quickly chimes in, “I had far too much fun responding to that third part.” ‬

‪“Shit, I need to retweet this now too!” Sam adds, and Steve can hear him shuffling around next to him, most likely attempting to find his phone. ‬

‪“Oh, same,” his traitorous best pal says from beside him and Steve’s head snaps up to narrow his eyes at his buddy in outrage. But Bucky just smirks right back, shrugging his shoulders and then focuses on the phone in his hand. ‬

‪Everyone falls silent as they tinker on their phones, Steve getting up to wash his dishes so he can make a hasty exit from the kitchen. But before he can even turn the water on, a low whistle rings through the room, “damn Punk, you gotta see this dame. She’d give Vivien Leigh a run for her money back in our day.”‬

‪That only slightly peeks Steves curiosity, but only slightly—who is he kidding, that’s a complete lie. The truth is, now he really wants to know what she looks like, but he refuses to let any of these dickheads know that. He’s always had a wee bit of a crush on Vivien Leigh, ever since he’d seen Gone With The Wind. But he ignores Bucky’s obvious use of Vivien to entice him, and instead just nods nonchalantly as he continues to wash his dishes, “I’m sure she would.” ‬

‪“Tin Man’s right,” Sam starts, “this woman is insanely attractive. Steve, man, you gotta check her out,” and just as his friend finishes his words, the unmistakable sound of a stool being pushed back echoes through the room. ‬

‪Steve just hums as he quickly dries his bowl and spoon, before putting them away, “maybe later, Sam. I ah,” he scrunches up his face, which luckily no one can see as he is still facing the cupboards. “I have something I need to attend to at the moment.” Yeah, that didn’t sound convincing or truthful at all. But he doesn’t give anyone a chance to retort as he makes a beeline out of the kitchen. ‬

‪Though he doesn’t miss Bucky playfully yelling, “yeah, I’m sure you do.” And the hidden meaning of those words makes Steve shake his head, and flush just a little as he hastily makes his way down the hallway. Clearly his lifelong best friend knows him far too well, and is more than aware that Steve is sneaking off to both avoid this conversation and privately creep this sweet tweeting woman. ‬

‪Which again those words sound utterly and completely ridiculous to Steve. ‬

‪It had been a couple of days since Tony had come barreling into the kitchen, and since then Steve’s Twitter app had been taking a damn beating. ‬

‪Not in the sense that he’d started posting more, but in the sense that he’d been going on it more. He’d actually asked Bruce that Saturday afternoon if he could walk Steve through how to maneuver the hell site a little better. Figuring Bruce would be the least likely to judge or mock Steve for the request. Nor would Bruce tell the others that Steve had asked, as if they all learned of this, they’d know exactly what he was up to, and why he wanted to know how to use the app. ‬

‪When he’d arrived back to his room after promptly fleeing the kitchen and his overzealous friends, he’d opened the app and tracked down the famous tweets. Which honestly wasn’t hard at all, as damn near everyone Sam had set up for Steve to follow had retweeted the posts by this point. So they were basically his entire main page. ‬

‪He’d clicked around for a bit, until he managed to finally end up on her—Y/N’s page. And then opened her picture only to abruptly drop his phone. Though luckily for the tiny electronic, it never actually met the ground, all thanks to his ridiculously fast reflexes. ‬

‪He’d then just stood there, awkwardly wide eyed and staring at her picture. Because shit, Bucky wasn’t lyin’. She did give Vivien a run for her money. She was stunning, and upon scrolling through her page and reading her other posts, he learned she wasn’t just beautiful on the outside. ‬

‪He’d then noticed a few retweets from some girl named Lindsey, figuring that must be a friend of hers, he opened her page. Instantly noticing a string of retweets of Y/N’s original lengthy post, and jokingly commenting about ‘how much did you drink last night, girl?!’ Though in a lot more words than just that, he was paraphrasing her friends actual response here. ‬

‪And that’s how Steve figured out that obviously when Y/N drank, she wrote sweet and thoughtful messages to and about complete strangers, people she idolized or looked up to, or just plain admired—which yeah, that wasn’t really normal. But in all the best ways. Most people who tweeted him were vulgar and far too descriptive. He honestly didn’t get many heartwarming messages from the public, so these words really stuck with him. They brought a smile to his face. ‬

‪And on top of all of that, she’d been drinking. And most of the drunk people he’d ever encountered were all either loud, rude, belligerent or far too flirty. Booze giving people the liquid courage to say the things they’d never voice sober. Liquor basically heightened a person's internal personalities, which wasn’t always a good thing for some. So the fact that she was so damn sweet when intoxicated, only stood to reason that her sober was probably a true sweetheart, through and through. ‬

‪Which all only made Steve yearn to actually meet the woman behind these thoughtful words. Though he knew that would never actually happen, because reaching out to her now would be weird, wouldn’t it? ‬

‪I mean, would she even want to hear from him? Would she even be interested in possibly meeting him? Would she even respond to a message from him? From the looks of it, she hadn’t posted anything since that night, so maybe she was avoiding her social media at the moment. Maybe she just wanted this all to blow over, and maybe Steve should want that too. Maybe he should just let this all rest, and continue on with his life as normal. ‬

‪It’s not like they’d meet and fall madly in love instantly, or end up becoming something more than that. It’s not like him just letting this whole situation blow over would really affect him all that much, right? Maybe she only felt that way about him because she’d been drinking. What if sober, she had completely differing opinions of him. ‬

‪Yeah, that’s very unlikely, he knows that. But truthfully, Steve was ridiculously nervous at even the thought of interacting with her. I mean, he never really had ‘game with the ladies’, as Sam had put it. And he’d never even really entertained the idea of meeting someone, or dating someone, since he’d woken up from the ice. He’d just focused himself and his mind on his job, and didn’t even allow any hopes of love or a relationship to infiltrate his head. Because he knew once he really, truly thought about it or gave it any weight in his mind, that he’d come to the unwaveringly obvious realization that he was alone. That he was lonely and wanted more than anything to have someone special in his life. Someone who saw him for him, for Steve Rogers the man, and not Captain America the legend. ‬

‪But now all of this had crashed those very thoughts that he’d avoided for so long into his head, like a dang freight train slamming into a car stuck on the tracks. And now all he could think about was how desperately he wanted a person, a gal to call his own. Someone to go to bed beside every night, and wake up wrapped around every morning. A woman to share his free time with, to tell about his days, his stresses, his accomplishments and goals. And have her do the same in return. ‬

‪But even with that all bouncing around in his head, he was scared. Truly and entirely terrified. Because with opening yourself up to another, giving love a shot and taking the leap to see where it goes, came the potential of heartbreak. Came the possibility of ending up hurt and even more alone, if it all fell apart in the end. ‬

‪And yeah, you can’t have true happiness without taking a chance on it. You can’t succeed without first trying. But Steve had struggled his entire life, he’d fought to get where he is today, he’d sacrificed so much of himself and his life to get where he is now. To be at the place he is now, and even though being alone was a sore spot for him, his heart wasn’t tattered. It was fully intact again, and he really just wanted it to stay that way. ‬

‪He’d finally reached a place where he was actually content with his life, where he was proud of who he was and how far he’d come. And he refused to mess with the happy balance he’d found now. ‬

‪Was that a foolish choice for him to make? Oh definitely. But was he going to just continue to be stubborn and pretend like he was truly happy in this moment? Hell fucking yes.‬

‪Steve was ridiculously stubborn, and he fully knew it, and owned it, 100%. ‬

‪Steve walks into the kitchen to grab a midday sneak before heading back to hide in his room. And the second his eyes land on the current occupants of the space he almost groans loudly. ‬

‪Tony, Nat, Sam and Bucky are all lingering around the kitchen island, talking about what Steve can only assume is his personal life. Or rather, the lack thereof. ‬

‪There are only two days left until the press release and Steve has been basically avoiding his friends for the last 2 days. Ever since Tony cornered him in the gym trying to give him the full run down on Y/N. Where she worked, where she’d gone to school, where she’d been born and raised, everything.

‪All things Steve honestly had no business learning from the billionaire. Who had actually proudly admitted to doing a full background check on the woman, as if that was normal to do at a complete stranger. Steve had instantly scolded the man, citing that it was only ridiculously intrusive and unacceptable to creep into someone's personal life like that. Especially someone who none of the team actually knew. ‬

‪She wasn’t some criminal set on world destruction, nor was she a person of interest to the team in regards to a mission. She was a civilian, a regular person, and she didn’t deserve having her entire life picked apart and invaded like that. She deserved her privacy. ‬

‪Tony had then tried to talk Steve into contacting her, even just a small message to her Twitter account to thank her, or something of the like. But Steve wasn’t interested, he was still happily stubborn and pretending to be ignorant to the longing feelings within him when it came to Y/N. Because honestly, he didn’t know her through a dang hole in the ground, let alone should he be feeling this way about a woman he’s never even met, let alone spoken to. This was outrageous, these strange feelings were ludicrous. ‬

‪So no, he doesn’t feel anything towards her. And yeah, he knows wholeheartedly that that’s a blatant lie, but shoot him for trying to think rationally here. For trying to be logical to the fact that one shouldn’t feel this strongly for a damn stranger. So, by day he’ll just continue to fake that he isn’t interested. That he hasn’t checked out her account or photos, that he hadn’t been day dreaming about meeting her. He’ll just continue to pretend like he wants no part of this in front of the whole team. ‬

‪But then by night he’ll check out her twitter, like every night since she’d posted, and wonder what she’s like in person. Wonder if she’s easy to talk to, if her laugh is infectious, if her smile is like the sun, if her mere presence alone is truly calming. ‬

‪She still hadn’t posted a damn thing since the famous tweets, so clearly she was avoiding her social media. She hadn’t even retweeted a single response, nor deleted the original posts. It was like her account was completely frozen in time—pun not intended. ‬

‪Tony had just stood there, continuing to pester Steve about Y/N, up until Steve had opted to completely ignore the man entirely. After he’d stopped responding, Tony had finally dropped the topic and left, but not before vowing to get Steve on board with this ‘operation get Rogers a date’ mission, as the billionaire had hilariously nicknamed it—Note the sarcasm. ‬

‪And once Tony had left the gym, and the door slamming shut had confirmed he was truly gone, Steve had glanced over his shoulder to fully affirm he’d left. And instantly noticed the manila folder sitting on a bench where Tony had been standing. And it didn’t take a rocket doctor to figure out what was in that folder. No, Steve was instantly aware it was most likely a full and complete write up on Y/N. ‬

‪He chose to ignore the folder, or at least he’d put in a solid effort to ignore it. But after a little while—read, literally 2 minutes—Steve finally caved and hesitantly walked towards the folder, wiping his sweaty hands on the towel he’d kept over his shoulder. And once he reached the folder, he glanced around as if to double check there was no one watching or present to witness his next move. ‬

‪Then he gingerly scooped up the folder, staring at the outside for a moment before taking a deep breath in and opening it up. To only be instantly met with a stunning photo of Y/N, that adruptly confirms his earlier thought, her smile is like the sun. ‬

‪And as he delves into every fact and detail about her, all the things Tony had managed to dig up about the woman, the irony is not lost on him. He’d literally just chastised Tony for invading her privacy, and yet, here he was, doing the exact same thing. Lapping up every little detail he could about her. ‬

‪At least Tony had invaded her privacy for semi honourable reasons, he’d only done it to help a friend out. Where as Steve was doing it entirely for selfish reasons. His desperate need to know everything about her, yet being entirely too petrified to actually reach out to the woman, to just speak to her. To give himself the chance to learn all of these things about her, from her, as was the way it should have been. ‬

‪The only thought running through his mind at that point was: What an utter schmuck he’d truly turned out to be. ‬

‪Back in the present, he halts his steps and honestly contemplates if he should slowly back out of the kitchen, before anyone even notices him. But he never gets that chance as 4 sets of eyes snap up to land on him, and he knows escaping now unscathed is highly unlikely. ‬

‪So with a deep breath in, he enters the lions den, entirely prepared for the razzing and ridicule he was about to endure from his, so called, best friends. As they continued to chide him for having not made a move yet, as they continued to inform him that they were displeased with his lack of action in all of this. ‬

‪And as they kept reminding him of what happened the last time he’d waited too long with a gal, and yeah, those comments cut deep. But only because he knew they were entirely accurate, and that’s why they truly cut as deep as they did. He was well aware of his shortcomings in the romance department, but did that stop him from stubbornly pretending like his friends were entirely wrong? Of fucking course not. ‬

‪Because Steve Rogers was thee most stubborn man on the planet, and he was entirely proud of that simple fact. ‬

‪He’s standing on stage, Tony droning on and on about God knows what. Steve had tuned out a while ago, his mind still all over the place. Still focused on entirely different things than the current topic of the day. He should be focused on the facility's grand opening, and Tony’s eloquently chosen words, but yet again, for the millionth time this week, his thoughts are on Y/N. The woman he feels like he knows damn near entirely at this point, yet has never once laid eyes on. Not even so much as seen a glimpse of in real life. ‬

‪And how truly creepy does he sound right now? This was some next level stalker behaviour, as Sam would call it, and he freaking knows it. God, did he know it. ‬

‪Bucky’s elbow making direct contact with Steve’s left side ribs, jars him painfully from his reverie. He manages to only wince slightly at the forceful hit before snapping his eyes at his best pal—who may lose that title soon if he isn’t careful—and glaring at him. ‬

‪Bucky just grins and leans in towards Steve, as he whispers, “don’t look now, Punk, but it appears a little Tweety Bird is in attendance with us today.” Then the brunette nods his head in a direction towards the back of the audience. And yes, Steve is well aware of who he is referring to, as Tweety Bird is the name his ‘friends’ had been using to refer to Y/N as all week. And don’t even get him started on how much that nickname truly irked—‬

‪Hold up. Wait a tick. What did Buck just say? ‬

‪Steve's eyes quickly scan the crowd before landing on her near the back. And God, he couldn’t have missed her beautiful face even if he’d tried. He honestly isn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed her before. His super soldier eyes clearly need to be checked as they so obviously missed the stunning woman hidden in the masses. ‬

‪He finds himself completely and totally trapped in her stare. His eyes locked onto hers as if they were high powered magnets, and not even his super strength could pull them apart now. He is just about to break out into a huge grin, just at the fact he actually got to finally see her in the flesh, but then his mind catches up to the moment. ‬

‪And wait, wait, why is she even here to begin with? ‬

He snaps his eyes to his possible ex-best pal, and narrows them accusingly. If Bucky is behind this, he can kiss his best friend title goodbye. And Steve will happily inform him that Sam has taken up that position now, just to be as petty and childish as he possibly can.

But all he receives in return is a wicked grin from Bucky, as he nods his head towards Tony. And just like that, Steve flicks his intense gaze at the billionaire in question. Wishing in this moment that looks could kill, that he had that super power. Because if they could, if he did, Tony would be laying on the floor right now. But luckily for the smaller man, he doesn’t have that ability, though Tony will wish for a quick death once Steve gets his hands on him.

Once this is all over, and everyone leaves so there are no witnesses, Tony will get what’s coming to him. Mark his words, Tony Stark will learn a valuable lesson tonight—

Movement catches his attention and he flicks his eyes back to see Y/N hastily packing up her things. Wait, she isn’t leaving yet, is she? The press release isn’t even halfway done yet. She can’t just leave, not before he has a chance to actually speak to her. To actually, finally, interact with her. She is here after all, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t use this to his advantage now.

Maybe Tony will be safe after all. He did sort of give Steve this opportunity after all. Maybe Tony’s meddling wasn’t entirely bad this time. Though he would still need a stern talking to about interfering with other people's lives.

Her eyes lock back on Steves and he can see the tears pooling in them now. His perfect eyesight honing in on them, and his heart feels like it’s about to break. She’s tearing up? Why is she tearing up? He sees a tear slip down her cheek as she quickly wipes it away just as she turns and hastily heads for the exit.

And watching her retreating form snaps something in Steve—well that and another well positioned elbow jab from Bucky. As if trying to break Steve out of his head, while also urging him to do something.

Steve shakes his head and then quickly makes his way to the edge of the platform, jumping off it and landing gracefully on his feet before taking off at full speed after her.

Members of the press moving out of his way, and snapping photos as he runs passed. But he isn’t focused on any of that currently, he just needs to reach her, to stop her from leaving just yet. He just wants to meet her, to talk to her in person.

He vaguely hears Tony trying to wrangle in the press, trying to regain their attention as he makes up some excuse for Steve's abrupt exit. He’s guessing Tony saw her leave just like Steve and Bucky had.

He stops when he reaches the first road, and glances around, quickly pinpointing her form hastily walking towards the main road. Her head down as she goes and he begins to jog after her and once he gets close enough he calls out, “Hey, hold up.”

He watches as her steps falter and then stop entirely, her shoulders deflating slightly as her arms rise up a little. Though he can’t make out exactly what her hands are doing currently, but a gut wrenching thought tells him she is probably wiping away more tears. However then she slowly turns to face him, keeping her eyes down as if the ground is the most fascinating thing she’s ever encountered.

And all he wants is for her to glance up, to look at him, to allow him to finally truly take her in. He desperately wants that, he is about to beg her for it honestly. But he is so tongue tied in this moment, he can’t even think of a single word to say. Nor is he sure his voice will even work at the moment.

After a moment though, it appears she’s managed to locate her voice. But she still keeps her eyes down, even as she speaks, and her voice is nothing like he’d imagined it would be. It’s way prettier sounding then his mind could have ever conjured up.

“I um, I’m really, really sorry,” she starts and then clears her throat, “I shouldn’t have come here today. I ah, I didn’t want to ever make you feel uncomfortable in any way. And I guess I just need to apologize to you for my ridiculous antics last week. And ah, and for stupidly agreeing to come to this junket. I’ll just um,” she glances over your shoulder momentarily, as if looking for an escape. “I’ll just be going now,” she quickly says as her eyes finally meet his. And he is instantly aware that she has been crying, confirming his earlier worries. She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder as she takes a small step back. “Sorry again, for um, for everything.”

Their direct eye contact momentarily stuns him, so much so that he had yet to fully comprehend her words. He is just happily lost in this moment, hoping it doesn’t actually ever end.

But then it does, and he is instantly thrusted back into the here and now when she turns and quickly continues down the road. Hastily moving away from him yet again. And fuck that if he is going to let her get away now. Not yet at least.

He quickly catches up to her, softly saying, “wait,” as he gently grasps her elbow in the hopes she’ll turn back around.

She takes a deep breath and then turns to face him again, just as he’d hoped and he quickly, be it reluctantly, removes his hand from her skin. Their eyes connecting once again. And shit, what does he do or say now?

Before he can even realize what he’s doing, his hand rises up to rub the back of his neck as he rips through a bunch of different thoughts as to just how he should proceed here. What he should say to her now.

“I ah, I wasn’t—“ he pauses realizing his mistake then quickly corrects himself, “I’m not uncomfortable about you being here,” he shakes his head, “not at all. I just—firstly, I just wanted to apologize to you, actually. I know they probably forced you to be here today, I don’t really know how, but judging by your reaction to all of this, I’m guessing you really had no say in being here.“ He sighs deeply, “I had no idea that they’d actually invited you, so I can only assume that Tony played a huge hand in all of this. He really likes to insert himself in other people's lives, so I apologize that you got dragged into this. He doesn’t really know when to butt out.”

She nod slowly as her eyes flick down to the ground again, “it’s okay. You really don’t owe me anything, I honestly brought this all on myself. I um, I don’t blame anyone else for any of this, but thank you for saying all of that.” She looks back up at him, “it really helps to hear. This week has just been—“ she halts her words and sighs deeply as she waves a hand around. “Sorry, that’s really not important. Um, just basically thank you, ya know, for easing my mind with all of this.”

He can’t help the frown that forms on his lips, she honestly believes that anything she has to say isn’t important? God how wrong she is, he’d enjoy nothing more than to hear her talk for hours. Even about absolutely nothing. And God, he really shouldn’t be this damn smitten with her already. He shouldn’t be feeling this damn connected to her already. He’s doomed, but yet, he honestly has no issues with that fact. He quickly wipes the frown from his lips and shakes his head, “don’t mention it, but I should really be the one thanking you.”

Her eyes instantly widen, and it takes everything in Steve not to chuckle at the shocked look now on her face. Her eyebrows slowly crinkle in the most adorable way, as her mouth hangs open just slightly. It’s honestly the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen. And he’s seen a lot in his time.

And then she seems to pull herself back together, “I’m sorry if this is rude, but um, why exactly would you owe me a thank you?”

He can’t help the stupid smile that forms as he tries to hide it by glancing over his shoulder to ensure that no one had followed them. Mainly anyone from his team, if he’s being honest. The press following him is nowhere near as much of a possibility as his fellow Avengers, and also nowhere near as embarrassing.

Seeing that luckily no one has, he comes up with a quick plan to ensure that they aren’t bothered or overheard. “I’ll explain all that, but first, can I show you something?”

She nods quickly, “um, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, great. Just uh, just follow me then,” he quickly says before he starts to lead them both towards the spot he’d decided would be the best choice for privacy. And to ensure no one overhears either of them.

Reader’s POV.

You fall into step with the giant man, curious where exactly he is leading you to. He hasn’t said anything since you both began walking and you honestly have no idea what to even say to him. The silence isn’t too bad, though that’s honestly a lie, the silence is actually extremely awkward.

You have no idea what he still has to say to you, nor where your currently heading towards, nor what he feels about all of this. I mean, yeah, he said he wanted to thank you, but for what exactly? You have no fucking clue. And shit yeah, that’s a little unsettling, if you’re being honest.

Your hands start to clam up again, as you keep your eyes down, watching your steps to ensure you don’t eat it. Because that would just be so magical if you did biff it right now. Ya know, in front of Steve Rogers and all.

He’d probably think you were just a ridiculous klutz, or an accident prone nincompoop. But really, you just aren’t the best on heels, and as you both have now left the glorious cement behind and are trekking it through the compound’s vast green space, falling is a very real possibility. You hoofing it through the dang wilderness now, as if you’re some seasoned hiker on a nice, scenic Sunday adventure, instead of a small, sightly out of shape, journalist in high ass heels.

You stealthily side eye your adventure buddy and wonder if he’d give you a piggyback ride. I mean, that’s a ridiculous thought, but like, would he though? Ya know, if you asked really nicely and remembered to use your manners? He is rumoured to have insane strength, so he could probably easily chuck you over his shoulder, as if you weighed nothing at all.

Oh God, why do you now want nothing more in this life, than to be slung over Steve Rogers shoulder like he’s some damn caveman. Shit, yeah, that’d be hot for sure.

You shake your head and stifle the laugh that wants to bubble out of you, as you focus back on the ground ahead of you. What a ridiculous person you truly are. Who even thinks something like that about a complete stranger, let alone Steve Rogers—Though, come to think of it, probably a lot of people think things like that about him.

Once again you feel a large warm hand on your elbow and you halt your steps to glance up at him, curious what’s happening. Oh shit, what if he can like, read minds or something, and just no one actually knows about that enhancement of his? Fuck, please God say he can’t.

Though let’s just test that theory, ya know, just to be sure. Hello? Steve? You there? If you are, fyi, my favourite number is 9. And I think you have a fantastic ass—shit, just ignore that last part—

“We’re here,” he says quietly, and his hesitant expression leads you to believe that he can’t, in fact, hear your thoughts. And thank fuck for that.

You nod—no clue why you do, you just do. And then quickly glance around at your surroundings, only to then have your mouth fall open at the beautiful sight before you.

You hadn’t even noticed where you’d ended up until this exact moment. You are standing on the edge of a large body of water, and with a quick glance over your shoulder you realize you are surrounded by trees. The facilities buildings no longer even in sight, and it fells like you are in the middle of nowhere, like there isn’t a single soul around.

Your eyes slowly slip back up to meet the large blondes piercing blue ones, a smile on your lips. “This please is beautiful,” you whisper before your eyes drift back to the water ahead of you. “It’s so peaceful here.”

“Yeah,” he sighs deeply, “it is. It’s ah, it’s one of my favourite spots on the compound to escape to. Ya know, when I just need a moment alone, or some time to think.”

You side eye him again, seeing him just staring out at the water now, and then your eyes drift back to the water as well. “I can totally understand why, it’s so quiet,” you whisper, as if speaking too loud will ruin the tranquility of the location. “Thank you,” you glance back at him, his eyes on you now. “For showing this place to me, for sharing your secret spot with me. I honestly needed a peaceful moment like this,” you sigh, “it’s just been such a long and gruelling week. So, seriously, thank you.”

He nods, “I’m sorry to hear your week hasn’t been very good. Is there anything I can help with?”

“No,” you shake your head, but then halt the action as a thought crosses your mind. “Unless you happen to have access to a time machine?” You ask playfully.

He chuckles, “I do actually, but why do you need a time machine?”

“Just so I can fix a few mistakes from my past,” you nonchalantly answer, but then his words fully sink in and your eyes widen once again. “Wait, actually?”

“Yeah, actually,” he grins as he brings his index finger up to his lips in a ‘shh’ motion. “But that’s just between us, no one actually knows that we have one.”

“Damn,” you mutter as you glance back out at the water. “And here I thought self driving cars were insanely futuristic. But a time machine blows that out of the dang water.” You quickly shake your head, looking back up at him, “sorry, yes, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell a soul.”

He just smiles down at you, “perfect.”

A few moments of silence go by as you both just enjoy the comfortable moment, just standing quietly at the waters edge. As if time has come to a complete stand still, and no one else exists in the world. But then your mind reminds you of the real reason he brought you here, and your curiosity won’t allow you to stay silent any longer. “Um, I believe you wanted to tell me something,” you turn to face him, giving him your full attention.

“Right, right,” one of his large hands comes up to rub the back of his neck again. “I ah, I just wanted to thank you. Ya know, for all the kind things you said about me. Honestly, it was really refreshing to have someone say all of that to me. I’m not really used to people caring that much about me—“ he shakes his head, “no, that’s not the right wording, I mean more, the sentiments behind your words. Lots of people idolize Captain America, they wish him the best, but not a lot of people actually acknowledge me, Steve Rogers, as a person. So it meant so much to me that you were talking about me, the guy from Brooklyn, and not the hero persona I live in the shadow of every day.”

Before you can think better of it, you reach out to gently lay your hand on his forearm. And yeah, you have to force yourself to ignore the instant tingles and warmth that floods your system, just from merely touching him. This is not the time to perv out.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. You truly deserve so much better than that, and I apologize on behalf of my generation for making you feel less important than the Captain. Because honestly, that couldn’t be further from the truth. There would be no Captain America without there first being a Steve Rogers.” You remove your hand from his arm, “and furthermore, Steve can and will live on without the Captain, but the Captain cannot live on without Steve. It’s impossible, he does not exist without you.”

He just stares at you, silently, as his face holds an unreadable expression.

Feeling like you might have overstepped or said too much, you quickly shake your head, “I’m sorry, ignore me, I’m totally rambling again.”

“No,” he shakes his head now, as if snapping out of it, “please don’t apologize, I was honestly just a little caught off guard by all that you’d said—in all the best ways, I promise.” He smiles, “I can’t even begin to explain how truly amazing it is to actually hear someone say that. After all these years. It’s just,” he sighs contently, “it’s just really nice to hear, is all.”

You smile up at him, glad your rambling meant so much to him. He deserves to hear these things, and you believe every word you’ve said wholeheartedly. You wouldn’t have said them if you hadn’t. You may be a lot of things, but a liar or a fraud weren’t one of them. If you deeply believed something as true, you always voiced those thoughts. “I’m so glad to hear that,” you say quietly as you turn to face the water one last time. “I guess we should probably get back. Ya know, before someone comes looking for you,” you glance up at him and smirk. Knowing full well that no one is missing you currently, but you can only assume Steves absence hasn’t gone unnoticed by his team members, nor the press.

And honestly, you don’t need anymore gas thrown on the raging fire that is your life currently. The press would have a damn field day if they caught wind that you two were hiding out in some secret place, alone—Oh God, just imagine the headlines for that.

He sighs, nodding, “you’re probably right.”

Then with a final glance at your surrounds you both head back, you pull out your phone along the way to finish ordering your Uber. Because you refuse to walk back into the conference, side by side with Steve. It’s probably just best if you leave now, before anyone clues in that you both were together this whole time.

You reach the road again, and luckily managed to not fall or break a heel. Which is honestly a feat in and of itself. You’d have to put ‘skilled heel hiker’ on your resume once you got home. Because honestly, that was something any future employer of yours should really know, and appreciate.

You stop walking and Steve notices instantly, turning to look back at you, his brows furrowed in the cutest way. You have to stop yourself from reaching up to smooth out the lines, because it’s weird to touch strangers, right? Yeah, yeah, it’s weird.

“I’m going to head out, I’m sure I’ve missed the entire last part of the conference by now, and I kind of want to beat the rush of exiting press,” you say, which is all true, you just might have also strategically left out the main reason as to why you’ve chosen to leave early.

He nods, “ah, yeah, that’s a good point.”

You smile up at the beautiful man one last time, you’re not entirely sure if you’ll ever see him again, so you take a moment to memorize his features. Ya know, so you can happily and accurately daydream about him later. But then the sound of an approaching car hits your ears and you glance to see your Uber pulling up and—shit. Of course he would have the fastest response time of any Uber driver in history. Because yeah, clearly you aren’t supposed to spend anymore time with this amazing human. That’s just your damn luck.

You turn back to him, and saying goodbye now honestly sucks, but you both have lives to get back to. “Thank you again for showing me your spot, Steve. And for just taking the time to talk to me, it made my whole week so much better,” you smile as the car pulls up beside you both. The driver quickly confirming you are who he is picking up.

“No worries at all,” he smiles back, “it made mine as well.”

Your smiles grows at his words and you reluctantly force yourself into the car, waving as it pulls away.

And as it makes its way down the road, you slump back into your seat, releasing a deep breath. This afternoon will forever live on in your head; the day you met Steve Rogers in the flesh. It will, from this moment on, be your all time favourite memory, hands down.

Steve’s POV

Steve stealthily makes his way back to the compound, rejoining the touring group as his teammates show the press around the main areas of the facility. He falls into step next to Buck, who is lingering near the back to ensure no press members sneak off or get lost.

“So,” Bucky pipes up quietly after a few moments of them just silently walking side by side. Not even turning to look at Steve, and instead keeping his eyes fixed ahead of them both. “How was it? Did you manage to catch her?”

Steve smiles widely, he couldn’t prevent it even if he’d tried. “Amazing, Buck. I did catch her, and she’s just,” he pauses, no words really holding enough meaning to describe Y/N. “she’s amazing, in so many ways,” he finally finishes, even though the word he’s picked really doesn’t do her justice.

Bucky grins widely, “so, when do you see her next?”

And Steves steps falter just slightly at his pals words.

Bucky stops walking altogether, gaping at Steve. “Punk,” he says slowly, “please tell me you got her number?”

“Shit,” Steve cringes as he stops walking as well, he knew he was forgetting something. He then sighs loudly as he drops his head forward. “I totally forgot.”

Bucky groans loudly, “Punk, we talked about this! Rule numero uno, always get the cute girls number!”

Reader’s POV.

You’re sitting at your dining room table, laptop in front of you as you slowly work on the Avengers article for your boss. You had luckily gotten a bunch of photos and recorded most of the conference, so you have more than enough to work with. Which, thank fuck for that. You really need to keep your job, at least for now, at least until you can secure something better.

Your phone starts to ring and you glance over at where it currently sits on the table beside your laptop. You pick it up and see it’s an unknown number—which yeah, that’s a little odd.

You hesitantly answer, unsure who it could be, “hello.” But then there is no response, you pull the phone away from your ear to see if the call is still active, and it is. You put it back to your ear, “hello?”

“Uh, yeah, hi, sorry. Is this—is this Y/N?”

“It is, may I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s um, it’s Steve,” he says and instantly you almost gasp because how did he— “Steve Rogers,” he quickly clarifies, as if you wouldn’t have figured that out already.

You giggle, because this man is just far too adorable for words. “Hi Steve, how are you?”

“I’m good, I hope you don’t mind that I’m calling you. I was going to message you on Twitter but I honestly couldn’t figure out how to do that. And I’m not really any good at texting, so a phone call just seemed like the best option.”

You smile widely, barely containing your laughter at how flustered he sounds. “I don’t mind at all, it’s so nice to hear from you. Though I am a little curious how you even got my number.”

“I ah, I sort of had Tony look it up for me.”

And that does cause you to laugh, “I should have guessed. So, what can I do for you, Steve? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I just,” he takes a deep breath, and now you swear you can hear voices in the background, you just can’t make out what any of them are saying. A scratchy sound rings through the phone, as if the mic is being covered by something and then you hear a louder muffled voice now, but still can’t make it out. However then the scratchy sound stops and Steve speaks up again, “I ah, I was just curious if you’d be interested in maybe going out to dinner with me sometime this week? I mean, ya know, if you’d be interested in that,” he pauses for a second then quickly adds, “Did I already say that?”

You hold back the excited giggles that want to break from your lips, he is clearly flustered by this and the very last thing you’d ever want to do is make this worse for him. Or to hurt his feelings by laughing at him putting himself on the line like this. Asking someone out is nerve wracking enough in this day and age, let alone when they laugh in your face—or over the phone—directly after you ask.

“I’d love that, Steve. Which day did you have in mind?”

“Friday?”

“Friday is perfect,” you grin widely, then you quickly exchange details and give him your address as he insists on picking you up. You both then say your goodbyes and hang up. And the second you put your phone back on the table, you squeal loudly.

You have a date with Steve Rogers in 5 short days, and you honestly couldn’t be more excited for it. And this all came to pass because you’d been on Twitter Drunk. Who would have ever seen this insane turn of events coming. You certainly wouldn’t have.

And shit, what is Lindsey going to say about all of this? Oh God, when she finds out she's going to just die. You pick up your phone and dial the familiar number, knowing that she’ll be pissed if you don’t tell her right away, or if she hears it from anywhere else other than you.

“Hey Y/N,” her chipper voice plays through your phones speaker.

“Linds, you’ll never guess who I have a date with on Friday. But you have to promise you won’t tell a soul, or so help me God, I will disown you!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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