#it’s just that swap is still on my mind T oT

[yeosin-n]

Why Cadet so angy?

There’s a couple things that would tick Cadet off ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯!!

You know, besides killing all of his friends :,D

1. People who can’t take no as an answer

2. Hates repeating himself.

3. Dislikes when people spout misinformation. Or bad opinions.

4. People flirting with you would only get him a little annoyed (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) but if someone was harassing you, even after giving them a warning.. he’d be quick to act, getting them to feel at least a little dizzy and dazed. Tripping them… or suddenly head butting them… o(-( “THEY’LL BE FINE." He would say as he leads you away... If anyone tried laying a hand on you though, he would not hesitate to break a limb or two.

[kiszkakiss]

Connection

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

[AO3 or Wattpad, if you prefer: x / x]

Summary: Based on this request. You meet Josh at the movies and discover that you have a spark.

Warnings: Language (a little bit), flaaffff, shit writing.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to post. It didn't turn out exactly how I'd originally thought it would but I hope you all enjoy anyway. x

[Word count: 1,873]

You were waiting in line with an assortment of sweets you’d picked out. Checking your phone for the time, you started tapping your foot, eager to get settled in the movie theatre. You could tell the people in front of you were equally as impatient. What is going on? You thought. The lines weren’t usually this long. Cinema dates were something you did with your ex but you didn’t want it to be tainted by that. Friends thought it was odd that you went on your own but you found it to be a pleasant experience, opting to take yourself once a month or so.

Still waiting in line, it was almost your turn and you caught a glimpse of the cashier. He must have been new because you’d never seen him before and he was looking a little stressed; red faced, rushing around, spilling popcorn and fumbling with change. He looked like he’d been at the beach all summer; tanned skin, curly hair atop his head lighter than his brows, probably a little lightened by the sun. As you walked up the counter to pay for your treats, you noticed he was rocking some hoop earrings like your own and you spotted a little gap between his front teeth as he apologised profusely for the wait. His voice was kind of raspy and his accent a little unusual. That was unexpected. “It’s no problem.” You replied and popped your sweets on the counter. “Just these, please…” You took a quick look at his name tag. “…Joshua.” “Josh is fine. Is that all?” He asked, his eyes pleading with you to stick with what you already had. The poor thing was left alone, handling everything by himself. “Yes, that’s all.” you answered and he sighed with relief. You gave him the exact amount of money so that he didn’t have to get all flustered, picking out the correct change. “Enjoy your film.” Josh said, sounding sincere.

The film was just okay. You didn’t expect much from a generic rom-com but you hoped to be pleasantly surprised this time. You felt that familiar dizziness of walking out of a dark movie theatre and into the foyer; still regaining your bearings. It was quiet as you’d waited for everyone to leave first and you spotted Josh at his station, leaning his elbows on the counter. He seemed more relaxed now that there wasn’t anyone rushing him off of his feet. “See you, Josh.” His head snapped up at the sound of your voice and he waved back at you with a smile.

-

It had been a couple of months since you took yourself on a movie date as you had been busy with work and school. Sunday afternoon seemed to be as good a time as any to go and catch a film at the cinema; it’d be quiet and there wouldn’t be huge lines for popcorn. You decided to wait and see what was playing when you got there.

When you arrived, you scoured the options and ended up settling on another rom-com. Maybe you were still a little bit hung up over your ex. You just wanted to be transported into a world where love has its ups and downs but it all works out in the end; they live happily ever after. As you walked towards the assigned theatre, you heard a familiar voice greeting you. You quickly spun around, hoping it wasn’t someone you knew who was going to ruin your alone time. You were surprised to see Josh, clad in his obnoxious orange uniform. He was sweeping popcorn off of the floor and recognised you. “Oh, hi.” you called back to him. “You were here a while ago, right?” he asked, walking over to you. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I’ve been busy.” you explained, although you didn’t need to. He nodded, understanding, and leaned on the side of the counter. “Thanks for going easy on me before. That was my first day. You were the only person who treated me decently.” “I can’t believe they left you alone on your first day, that’s terrible.” You empathised. “It was awful but I got the hang of it eventually.” There was a pause and you were torn between wanting to watch the movie and chatting more with Josh. “I’m y/n, by the way.” You offered your hand to shake and he took it, gripping it firmly. His skin felt as smooth and soft as it looked. “And you’re Josh, I remember.” “Sorry, must not have made the best first impression.” He massaged his neck anxiously, looking everywhere but at you. “No, you were doing your best and I appreciated that.” You gave him a reassuring smile and he slowly managed to look at you again. “So, um, not to be demanding or anything but could I get some popcorn?” Josh laughed loudly at that and shook his head, setting the broom against the wall and walking behind the counter. “Of course you can. Got to do my job. Sweet or salty?” He asked, preparing the box. You thought about it. “How about both?” “Coming right up.” His smile was bright and wide as he scooped one part sweet and one part salty popcorn into the box. You went to grab your purse from your bag but Josh’s voice interrupted your concentration. “It’s on me. Enjoy your film, y/n.” “Thanks, Josh.” You took the popcorn from him and turned to make your way to catch the film but something made you stop in your tracks. You turned back around. “Hey, Josh?” You called out. “Yeah?” He answered. “Do you want to hang out sometime?” “Sure,” He was blushing but not as much as you were. “we can swap numbers after the movie.” “Okay, see you in a bit.”

Alone in the theatre, you chose your favourite seat in the middle. You couldn’t stop smiling about your interaction with the curly haired cashier. Even during the film, your mind wandered back to him; how sweet he seemed and the way he treated you. Complete opposite of your ex who was tall, dark-skinned and treated you like shit; although it took you a while to realise this.

Once again, you emerged from the theatre, feeling a little wobbly from sitting for so long. You spotted Josh leaning against his station but he had changed out of his orange uniform. He was wearing khaki skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt; a red puffer jacket on top to shield him from the autumn wind. “Woah. I almost didn’t recognise you without the tangerine.” You laughed as you made your way towards him. “Oh, so, we’re comfortable enough to make fun of each other already?” Josh smiled wide and gave you a nudge, teasing you. “I finished my shift… we can do something now, if you want?” You thought about it, anxiety creeping up but you knew you couldn’t pass up on him. “Yes, please. I mean, we can get some coffee? I don’t like coffee but something? Sorry, I’m nervous.” You stuttered, internally face-palming at your idiocy. “We can get hot chocolates?” Josh suggested. You nodded, unable to contain your smile and followed him through the main door, out into the cold.

-

Josh was funny. Very funny. He made you choke on your hot chocolate and made tears stream down your cheeks from laughing; your mascara running down with them. You were both getting stares from other people in the small cafe but you paid no mind, just enjoying spending time with this beautiful ball of sunshine. That’s really what he was. You felt as if you’d been left out in the freezing cold and Josh was the only one that was able to warm you up and make you feel… well, simply feel. “God, you are ridiculous.” Josh tilted his head at that. “I love it.” you added and his eyes lit up as they wandered all over your face. “So, what were you doing before working in the cinema?” you asked, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. Josh sighed at that. “Well, I went to college for film.” “Ah, I see the connection.” “Yeah, kind of. I’ve made a ton of films. They never really got much attention outside my hometown, though.” “I’d love to see one. Or two. Or, like, all of them.” You babbled. Josh chuckled. “They’re a little embarrassing, I am in some of them but they mostly star some friends and my twin.” “You have a twin? Identical?” “Yup, identical.” “Finding it hard to believe there are two of you… that must have been insane to grow up with.” The corners of his lips turned up and into a smirk. “Well, I’m five minutes older. I sort of took the lead by default, so, I’m a little more rambunctious but he can be equally as rowdy. Our childhood was a whirlwind when our younger sister and brother were involved. We spent a lot of time outside; hiking, camping and such.” “Wow. Big family. My family is nothing like that. I grew up in the city.” “You’re an only child?” Josh placed his hand on yours when he asked; your other hand warmed up by your beverage. “How did you guess?” You questioned, surprised. “You think that having three other siblings is a big family.”

There was a short pause as you both thought back to your childhoods. You finished the rest of your drink and sighed. “That was delicious. Thank you for this, seriously.” You pulled out your purse and went to pay. “Wait.” He jumped up from his seat to stop you. “This is on me, as well — my treat.” Josh insisted but you paid anyway. “You already bought me popcorn. Let me return the favour.” “Fine but I’m giving you a ride home.” “I won't say no to that.”

-

The drive to your apartment was filled with conversation. Just talking about silly things, music, film and everything in between. Josh was so easy to talk to. You barely knew him but you felt as if you’d known him your entire life. There was an instant spark between the two of you and you couldn’t ignore it. It seemed Josh couldn’t either. When he pulled up to your apartment, he turned the car off and cleared his throat, turning to you but not quite looking at you. “Do you think we could do this again?” A lump formed in your throat; you absolutely wanted to hang out again but you weren’t sure if he meant as a date or just as friends. “For sure! Let’s do it.” You exchanged phones and gave each other your numbers. When you swapped your phones back, you felt a tension building between you as your fingers brushed together. You had to ask, “Would it be like… I don’t know… a date—?” Josh interrupted by leaning over and quickly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. Your eyes closed automatically at the soft touch and you exhaled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” you giggled and Josh took your hand in his, placing an equally quick kiss directly to your lips which you welcomed, smiling as you went.

[lauramkaye]

Fic: Storage War

Based on a prompt by @kat-har. Archive post will follow shortly!

“You really don’t have to do this,” Phil said, hovering in the doorway.

“It’s really fine, babe,” Clint said, pulling out another box and coughing at the cloud of dust that billowed off it.

“I promise I didn’t ask you here intending to pawn off all the work. Maybe you could take a break until I—”

“Phil. It’s fine. It might just as well have been me getting called in.” Clint smiled at him, hoping it was reassuring. “I came to help, I’m gonna help.” He waved a hand at the storage unit, piled high with the detritus of Phil’s childhood and teenage years. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about just throwing it all in a U-Haul and driving it to New York—”

“Ugh,” Phil said. “No. We’d end up storing it for another decade before we found the time to deal with it.”

“Then let me help you,” Clint said. Reaching out, he snagged Phil’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, scraped a little from where he’d barked his hand on the wall trying to get the rusted padlock open. “That’s what marriage is all about, right? For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for clearing out thirty-year-old storage units…”

Phil chuckled, turning his hand to cup Clint’s cheek. “I don’t remember that part in the vows.”

“It was right before the part about worshipping each other with our bodies,” Clint said.

“Ah, my favorite part.” Phil bent to kiss him, quick and soft. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint said. “I’ll have fun. Maybe if I’m lucky there’ll be baby pictures.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “More likely to be awkward, pimply middle-school pictures.”

“I bet you were adorable. Go, help catch the bad guys while I work on sorting the greatest fashion hits of the early 80s.” He reached into a nearby box and pulled out a “Frankie Says Relax” t-shirt. “I think I might take this one home.” Phil laughed. “Just remember the size of our apartment when you’re deciding what you want to keep,” he said. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

“Sure thing.”

Clint smiled to himself as he watched Phil leave, then settled in to continue working through the massive pile of stuff. Phil had ignored the storage unit containing the contents of his mom’s house for decades; he’d still be ignoring it, if the facility wasn’t closing down, slated to give way to a new block of hipster lofts or something. So Clint, being a good partner, had taken some leave time and joined Phil in Wisconsin to deal with it.

They’d already worked through the furniture, picking out a few pieces to keep and donating the rest along with most of Phil’s mom’s clothes and personal items. What was left was mostly all Phil’s things. Honestly, Clint was kind of looking forward to going through them; he’d never known Phil as a kid, and there was something precious about seeing his carefully packed boxes of comics, the handmade quilt in red, white, and blue stars, the worn and ragged ear of a much-loved stuffed bear.

Clint had prioritized the things it would be easy to sort: outdated clothes that wouldn’t fit them, furnishings that had seen better days, an ancient cracked clock radio. The comics were easy, too, in the other direction; Clint wasn’t sure if Phil would want to keep or sell them, but he knew Phil would want to go over the collection in more detail.

He set aside a box of 8-tracks, humming Devo to himself, opened a box labeled “notebooks” in neat block print, and stuttered to a halt, blinking rapidly.

The box did contain a number of three-ring binders and spiral notebooks, but that wasn’t all; right on the top was some sort of comb-bound, copy-shop booklet which bore on the cover an overblown illustration of Captain America. Cap was tied to a post, his uniform shirt ripped to highlight his bulging muscles, and a masked Hydra goon was threatening him with a gun while cowering away from Peggy Carter, who was wearing a military uniform and brandishing a laser gun that Clint was pretty sure wasn’t historically accurate. Above Cap’s head, a hand-lettered title proclaimed the publication to be called “Rule Britannia.”

“Oh my god,” Clint said, and dove into the box with glee.

Some time later, he’d examined a remarkable number of Captain America fanzines. The earlier ones were general-purpose, with articles about Project Rebirth and the European Theater and, in one case, a painfully adorable letter from a fourteen-year-old Phil about the importance of the Howling Commandoes and Peggy Carter to the success of the SSR during the war. Later on, though, the general zines gave way to more focused ones, and Clint had to hold back his joyful giggles by main force. He’d found baby Phil’s stash of secret erotic Captain America fanfiction.

Best. Day. Ever.

Surprisingly, Phil’s interest seemed pretty evenly split between seeing Cap with Peggy Carter and seeing him with Bucky Barnes. Clint would have predicted Carter all the way, based on Phil's deeply nerdy obsession with her (and it was deeply, deeply nerdy, like, topic-of-his-graduate-thesis nerdy), but apparently Phil's appreciation for a smart-mouthed sniper was of longer duration than Clint had previously realized. 

Tempted though he was, Clint didn’t take the time to read the stories; there just wasn’t time. He contented himself with thumbing through the zines, looking for bookmarks, stray notes, or other signs that might show him which ones had been Phil’s favorites. Unfortunately, Phil seemed to have been just as meticulous then as he was now, and the zines were in remarkable condition for their age. Clint set the last of them aside in a pile and picked up one of the spiral notebooks. 

It had Cap’s shield on it, of course, and was well used, the corners worn and the spiral starting to work its way out of the top. Clint smiled, flipping open the cover. He felt a pang at the sight of younger Phil’s handwriting, recognizably similar to the way he wrote now, but more cautious, the letters formed deliberately as though Phil had been trying hard to keep it neat. Then he stopped looking at the page and started reading it, and he had to stop and clutch it to his chest in delight. 

Phil hadn’t just read Captain America fanfiction. He had written it. 

Clint sat his ass down on the dusty concrete floor of the storage unit and started perusing his treasure. 

Honestly, if Clint had ever considered the question he would have said that baby Phil’s stories would feature a thinly-disguised version of himself. Fictional Phil might be a previously unknown Howling Commando, or maybe some other kind of ally—a soldier, or part of the French Resistance, or a British spy—who came through in a tight spot to save Cap’s life and/or mission. (Which wasn’t really that far-fetched; it was pretty much the same kind of thing that adult Phil did for his agents now.) Possibly the stories might have ended with Cap showing his appreciation by inviting fictional Phil to bed, or at least with a manly embrace of gratitude. After all, wasn’t that was what teenage stories were for? Trying on scenarios, writing about the life you wish you had. Clint hadn’t been much for writing as a kid, but he’d sure as hell spun up enough daydreams, trying to fall asleep when it seemed like every inch of his body hurt. Daydream Clint was the star of the circus. Daydream Clint had a family who loved him. Daydream Clint had money, had a home, was the best archer in the world.

Daydream Clint had lived a life pretty much like the one Clint had now, actually, if you swapped out the circus for SHIELD. Clint kind of wished he could go back in time and tell his skinny, scared teenage self the good news. Stick with it, kid, things will turn out great for you one day.

Anyway, Clint wanted to know what Daydream Phil was like. Phil, being Phil, had helpfully dated each of his notebooks, so Clint piled them up in order, grabbed the earliest one, and started reading.

An hour later, he set the next-to-last notebook down, rubbing at his eyes. For all that Phil’s zine collection ran to happy romantic endings, the stuff Phil had actually written was pretty much the opposite. Clint knew—he’d known for years—that Phil’d had trouble as a kid, trying to reconcile his bisexuality with his dream of going into the Army. But Clint had never expected to see all of young Phil’s confusion and anger and hurt and fear projected onto stories about his boyhood hero. 

The Steve Rogers in Phil’s stories was pained and unsure, in love with Bucky and Peggy both and struggling to find a resolution that didn’t hurt either of them. The plots were pretty clichéd, and the prose was a bit overblown, but the emotions came through clearly. Steve Rogers, as Phil had seen him, felt like he had no good choices, torn between Peggy, Bucky, and his moral obligation to fight Hydra. If he went with Bucky, he lost Peggy and neglected his duty; if he went with Peggy, he lost Bucky, and felt guilty for allowing society to dictate who he loved. Just because he loved a woman, that didn’t mean he wanted his choice of partner forced by anything but himself. Clint wondered why it had never occurred to Phil to put Captain America in a fictional ménage-à-trois. It would present a neat solution to the whole love triangle issue, at any rate. Although he supposed it was probably a lot harder to think outside that particular box in the days before the internet. Who was supposed to be the role model, Three’s Company? Ugh.

The last notebook was all one, long story, and it was the most heartbreaking of all. In it, Cap was pining for his two loves as per Phil’s usual, but every other chapter was a short story where Steve imagined what would happen in a different scenario. Clint read a description of Steve and Bucky leaving the Army to live together, their happiness soured by Steve’s guilt over leaving the war. He read an account of Steve marrying Peggy and Bucky marrying someone named Lorraine. The two men set up housekeeping next door to one another, named their children after each other, while Steve tried to use his real happiness to bury the part of himself that never stopped wanting Bucky. There was a chapter where—finally—Phil had considered the possibility of polyamory, and Steve daydreamed about a life where they all got a house together, where Steve had a wife and a husband both, but even in that fantasy world they spent their time hiding, from the Army or the press or the neighbors, sending Bucky on false dates to try to keep their secret. Not one of the scenarios had a happy ending, all of them going back to the same place: Cap, alone and hopeless and pretending everything was fine. The story ended as Cap was piloting the crashing plane, giving himself one final dream as the water rose up around him. He dreamed of Bucky being found, alive after all, and he and Peggy comforting each other. They’d be perfect for each other, Steve thought, brilliant and beautiful together, and they would have amazing children with dark wavy hair and maybe they’d name the first boy Steve. 

Clint read the final lines of the story, his chest aching.

It was for the best, Steve thought, taking one last gasping breath before the water closed over his head. They both deserved the best. They both deserved a happy ending.

Clint closed the notebook and took a deep, shaky breath. He was not going to cry over ancient Captain America fanfiction, he wasn’t. 

He might possibly be going to cry a little over the writer, though. Thinking of Phil reading all those happily-ever-afters but never able to bring himself to write one of his own… 

“Clint? How’s it going in here?” 

Clint turned around sharply as Phil came around the corner. Shit, how long had he been reading?

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked, his smile falling away as he saw Clint’s face. “What—oh.” He looked at the pile of zines and notebooks scattered around Clint, the tips of his ears going red. “Oh god, I thought I threw those away.”

Clint dropped the notebook and scrambled to his feet, crossing the cramped space in a few strides and wrapping his arms around Phil, holding him tight. After a moment, he felt Phil’s arms come up around him, as well, and Phil patted Clint’s shoulder tentatively.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked quietly, brushing a kiss over Clint’s ear.

Clint sniffled. “I’m fine, I just—Phil. The happiest ending you could think of was Steve dying so that Peggy and Bucky could marry each other? I feel like I need to go back in time and make sure Teenage You is okay.”

Phil was quiet, his arms tightening around Clint. “Oh,” he said, softly. “Yeah. I was… things were tough, when I was writing those.”

“I could tell. When I found the box, I thought it was going to be cute, you know? Funny.” Clint nestled his head into the crook of Phil’s neck, taking comfort in the familiar bergamot and sandalwood scent of his aftershave. “I thought I’d get to tease you a little, maybe. I never thought you’d be into writing tragedies.”

“I was a melodramatic kid,” Phil said. “I had a girlfriend, and I loved her, but I also had a wicked crush on a guy I was on swim team with, plus I wanted to go into the Army… I felt like every choice I had was wrong somehow, like no matter what I did I’d end up unhappy.” He stroked his hand down Clint’s spine, heavy and reassuring. “If I’d known then how my life would turn out, those stories would have probably been really different.”

“Yeah?” Clint made himself pull back enough to see Phil’s face.

“Absolutely,” Phil said, and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to Clint’s mouth.

“All I would have needed to see is you.”

“That you ended up with a husband?”

“That I ended up with a happy ending,” Phil said, and Clint had to kiss him again until they were both breathless.

They ended up taking the box back to New York, where it found a new home in the back of a closet. The story kept nagging at Clint, at odd moments here and there, until finally he scrawled a new chapter in the back of a steno pad, an epilogue where Steve woke up in a hospital, the war won, and Bucky and Peggy both there to welcome him, holding hands with him and with each other. He felt kind of silly about it, but also like he owed Phil’s long-ago self some kind of resolution.

When he opened the box to stick the steno pad in, he pulled up short at the sight of something bright blue. He picked it up; it was a sheet of blue cardstock, and mounted in the middle of it was one of the photos from Clint and Phil’s wedding. They were dancing, looking into each others’ eyes. They looked devoted and intent, blissfully in love.

At the bottom of the page, there was a message in Phil’s neat, blocky handwriting.

And they lived happily ever after.