#but that post I just saw? fucking rage spell right to my core

[invinciblerodent]

I'm so tired. "Too much XY character content!" "There's not enough content about this and that!" "This character is so underappreciated, I need more content for XY!"

Well make some bloody content then, Samantha

#why are you in the GALE TAG #complaining about ASTARION BEING POPULAR #bestie you're the one BRINGING HIM UP here #be the change you want to see in the world #if you want to see more Wyll content YOU CAN FUCKING MAKE IT #this isn't network television. you don't need funding. we're all doing the same exact fucking thing here. #it's 3 am and I can't sleep because I took an afternoon nap ad my mood is horrendously fucked now #I was just looking at nice screenshots of my favorite disaster wizard; having a good time #not a fucking care in the world #but that post I just saw? fucking rage spell right to my core #eta: fuck. typo. fixed it now. I'm sleepy ok 🫠 #yes i know the sentence made little sense originally #and had two “then”s in it #i know #3 am is my defense

[ranboounlabeled]

Incorrect Quotes

So I had the bright idea one day to make incorrect quotes based on a DnD campaign and the players. Why not post them here? If any of them find this and request this to be deleted, I won’t mind. Blu - DM, any other character you don’t see listed here Tuck - Alzora Autumn/Me - Aria Maria - Yeet Bard - Tad Whipple - Niyana ~ Aria at 3AM: Alzora wake up Alzora, annoyed: What is it? Aria: If butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans/mobians in their stomach? Alzora: The rest of Team Supernova: Niyana: aria what the fuck Yeet: No no, wait. She has a point. Yeet: What if they’re mobian butterflies? Snipe: What if they just feel really tiny butterflies in their stomachs? Niyana: That’s morbid. ~ Aria: is pink panther a lion Alzora: say that again but slower Aria: i don't get it? Alzora: he's the pink PANTHER Aria: okay? but is he a lion? Alzora: Aria. he's a panther Aria: is that a kind of lion??? Alzora: no it's a fucking panther Aria: I just googled it. Are they not pink?  Alzora: AND LIONS ARE??? ~ Yeet: *gets shot* Shit. Alzora: Language! ~ Niyana: Is 4 alot? Aria/Alzora: Depends on the context. Aria/Alzora: Money? No. Aria/Alzora: Murders? Yes. ~ Yeet: Just a reminder that I'm non-binary so if you've got a crush on me, u gay bro ~

Alzora: if one of you says that stupid thing again I will not hesitate to give you frost bite Aria: aw that's so sad alexa play despacito Alzora: starting with you Alt idea from our DM (context, Alzora is an ice dragon and I compare her to Elsa alot): Aria: thats so sad, alexa play Let it Go. Alzora: you will die in 3 days ~ Niyana: THE FLOOR IS LAVA Yeet: *helps Snipe onto a chair* Alzora: *throws Aria off the table* revenge Niyana: There are two types of people ~ Alzora: If anyone says ‘mood’ ‘same’ or 'me’ in response to something I say ever again, I will throw you out the nearest window Yeet: Mood Aria: Same Niyana: Me Alzora calling tad: hello? Tad can you come here quickly? Tad: why what happened? Alzora: well lets just say there’s a gun in my hand, 3 dead bodies on the floor, blood on the walls floor and ceiling, and police on the way Tad: Tad: what Tad: The police are going to be there? Yeah, you're on your own ~ Aria: Mobius is a hot, molten core with a solid crust. Therefore, its a ravioli Alzora: Please stop Yeet, taking notes: No no let her finish ~ Aria: Comparing me and Alzora is like comparing apples to oranges. Aria: I mean, I like apples, and I really don't like oranges. Aria: Oranges are annoying. ~ nesta: fuck your cake! aria: 

~ Niyana: I’ve been working on my evil laugh! ‘Cause everybody’s got an evil laugh, you know, like... Ha ha ha ha HA! Like that. Alzora: Okay, here’s the thing. You’re not ready... for the evil laugh, okay, you can do a chuckle? Like a mildly upset chuckle? After MY evil laugh. ~ Snipe: You're smiling. Did something good happen? Aria: Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Niyana: Alzora tripped and fell down the stairs. ~ Yeet: So, why is Aria mad at you? Alzora: They sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you". Yeet: Alzora: Yeet: How do you accidentally say "shut the fuck up"?! ~ Alzora: Anyone who says 'uwu' or 'owo' again is being arrested for crimes against humanity! Aria: Cwimes against huwumanity. Alzora: I'm going to break your fingers. ~ Yeet, while crying: LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED! ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING! YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD! Snipe: Are you ok???  Yeet, crying even more: NIYANA STOLE MY FUCKIGN WEAPONS! [This breakdown is immediately followed by Yeet trying to beat the shit out of a 15 year-old] ~ Alzora: Good Morning!   Aria: Good Morning everyone Snipe: Good Morning. [ half of everyone else says their good mornings] Yeet: My god you all sound like robots! “good morning” this “good morning” that. Yeet: Spice it up!!! Niyana: HEY MOTHERFUCKERS ~ Alzora: *falls*  Alzora: Alzora: I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies. ~ Aria: Tall people are the enemy! Alzora: I'm sorry, I can't hear you from up here. Aria: I will tie your fucking shoelaces together and you won't even know it! ~ Niyana: But rules were made to be broken! Tad: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Nesta: Uh, pinatas. Alzora: Glow sticks. Yeet: Karate boards. Aria: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Niyana: And rules! Snipe: Don’t forget bones. Yeet: Ye-Wait no- ~ Aria: Onion rings are just vegetable doughnuts. Alzora, used to Aria: Sure they are, Aria. Aria: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Alzora: Okay. Aria: Lasagna is just spaghetti-flavored cake. Alzora: … Aria, oblivious: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions. Alzora, crying: Aria, please stop. Yeet, fascinated: No, continue. ~ Yeet: Hey, Snipe, what are you doing here? Snipe: This is where I come to cry. Yeet: What. Snipe: I said this is where I come to be a cool guy. ~ [loud crashing comes from Team Supernova's room, Tad runs in to find the room completely trashed] Tad: What happened in here!? [The rest of the Team are on an elevated surface]  Aria, on top of the bookshelf, shaking: We saw a spider... ~ Yeet: Isn’t it amazing what friends learn from each other? Aria: I learn a lot from Phin because he makes so many mistakes. ~ Aria: AVJDJAHDHSHS Tad: what is that? Aria: a keyboard smash Tad: how do I do it? Aria: just press anything Tad: 7 ~ Alzora: Bitch. Aria: Blocked. Alzora: Wait, unblock me, I need to tell you something. Aria: Unblocked. Alzora: Bitch. ~ Alzora: Don’t say a word. Aria: Aria: Fergalicious. Alzora: I said no words. Aria: Oh, I see. Two weeks ago playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you. ~ Aria: Olli? Why are you outside? It's pouring! Olli, drenched: The aesthetic, Miss Aria. Aria: Olli, please. Olli: ThE aEsThEtIc, MiSs ArIa! ~ Niyana: There’s no “i” in happyness. Aria: There is if you fuckin’ spell it right. ~ Niyana: Do you care if I take the skin off the Furby? Niyana: I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us. Niyana: Also I want to softhack his circuits. Yeet: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that sentence ever again. Tad, not looking up from his sketch book: I could design some long furby designs if you need me to. ~ Stella: I have a mafia! Yeet: We have a Niyana. ~ Yeet: Bro. Snipe: What bro? Yeet: Tell the whole world we’re bros. Snipe: *whispers* We’re bros. Yeet: Why’d you whisper bro? Snipe: Because you’re my whole world bro. Yeet: B R O. ~ Yeet: Your house is burning down! You can only save one thing. What do you save? Aria: My house?? ~ Aria: Yeet, do you ever want to talk about your emotions? Yeet: No. Alzora: I do. Aria: I know, Alzora. Alzora: I’m sad. Aria: I know, Alzora. ~ Stella: *looking around in closet* What should I change into? Snipe: A better person. ~ Whatever characters Yeet writes into fanfiction: *hugging and vibing* Yeet: Who would ever want to harm such a loving relationship? Yeet, brandishing a pen: I WOOOOULD! ~ Yeet: Chillax~ Alzora: That’s not a word. Yeet: Sometimes the ones who deny “chillax” are the ones who need to chillax the most. ~ Aria: 13 year old me would be both terrified and in awe at who I am now. Niyana: 13 year old me wouldn't think I'd get this far. Yeet: I would fight a 13 year old me. ~ Snipe: Yeet came into my room in the middle of the night, I pretended to be asleep, and they stroked my hair for a minute then left. Are they planning to kill me??? Aria: No they just care about you, idiot. ~ Yeet: Well, I guess you could say I’ve fallen for you. Snipe: You just fell down seven flights of stairs, how are you even alive? ~ Yeet: I wish I could block people in real life. Alzora: A restraining order. Niyana: Murder. ~ Alzora: What the frick is wrong with you? Snipe: Please be more specific and resubmit with the proper paperwork. ~ [on a city bus] Stranger: Are you traveling for business or pleasure? Alzora, in full armor: Combat. ~ Aria: Who ate my fries? Yeet? Yeet: I don’t like fries. Aria: Snipe? Snipe: I don’t need food. Aria: Niyana? Niyana: …It was Alzora. Alzora: Yeah it was. Aria: wh ~ Alzora: They are completely literal people. Metaphors go over their heads. Yeet: Nothing goes over my head... my reflexes are too fast! I would catch it. ~ Yeet: Live by the ass, die by the ass. Tad: S t o p ~ Niyana: Is there a word that is a mix between sad and mad? Tad: Malcontented, disgruntled, miserable, desolate. Yeet: Smad. ~ Tad: If someone is trying to rob a civilian, what is the correct course of action? Yeet: T-pose to assert dominance Tad: No. Niyana: Say "Thank you Chaos, for this meal I'm about to have" and then- Tad, interrupting: even worse Yeet, taking notes: Wait, let her finish ~ Aria: Hey Alzora, do you think Snipe feels regret? Because i just saw him choke down one of Tad’s pancakes in half a second. Alzora: Snipe has only one emotion and that’s hubris. ~ Yeet: *peeling a banana* May I take your jacket lol Snipe: Do you think other people can't hear you? ~ Aria: You have to pick your battles, Alzora. Alzora: I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them. ~ Nesta, T-posing in the hallway: Good morning, parental figure. Tad, not looking up from his coffee: Hello, problem child. ~ Yeet, throwing his head in Snipe’s lap: Tell me I’m pretty. Snipe, lovingly stroking their hair: You’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s what you are. ~ Yeet, hoarsely: I think I'm losing my voice. Niyana: Ha! That means you can't yell at me anymore! [later that day]  Niyana: Turns out, Yeet is scarier when they’re quiet. ~ Snipe: WE'RE SINKING IN DEEP WATER. Yeet: Don't worry. I learned this from a survival TV show. Yeet: OH TOOOOODLES-- ~ Niyana: Who else uses can openers to drink soft drinks? Yeet: This is extremely unhinged I must try it immediately. ~ Snipe: Boil up some mountain dew. It’s gonna be a long night. Aria: You could have said anything else. Yeet: fire burn and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble. ~ Aria: What do you want for dinner? Niyana: How about Sonic? Aria: *whispers* He's so fast how would we catch him-

#I can assure you there's much more but im tired #I'll reblog with more later #incorrect quotes #sonic incorrect quotes #sonic forces #dnd 5e #tad the duck #yeet #aria the jackal #alzora frost #niyana the cat #dnd incorrect quotes

[inkribbon796]

The Bee ‘n Boo Ch. 2: Spider Legs and Bumble Bees

Summary: Virgil is uneasy so he goes wandering the halls again, and finds nothing but trouble.

Chapters: 1, 2

The conversation with Logan sat wrong with Virgil and surprise, surprise he was having problems sleeping on this vacation as a result.

After a couple days he finally had enough. It was obvious the owners were watching them closely. Clearly looking for something from them.

Virgil decided he didn’t like the owners of this bed and breakfast, he really didn’t. It didn’t help that usually when he got an impression of someone he was typically right. So he started wandering the halls on their last night, unsure if he wanted to track one of the owners down.

He didn’t have to decide what he wanted to do for himself because one of the owners found him in a hallway.

The first hint he was being followed was the sound of a low buzzing, Virgil’s mind immediately recognized it as a bee or wasp buzzing. He looked around for the sound and saw Tubbo standing down the hall behind him, a single bee flying around him.

“Normally I don’t care if our patrons walk around the halls,” Tubbo sighed. “But I make a special exception for demon clientele, especially when Dream takes an interest in them.”

“I’m not a demon, I’ve been tested,” Virgil defended tersely.

“Yeah,” Tubbo scoffed at that. “Bet you have.”

The buzzing pitched dangerously and Virgil braced for an attack but Tubbo turned to glance behind him.

“Fuck, did you call for some type ‘a[1] backup?” Tubbo demanded angrily.

“No,” Virgil shot back, feeling nervous and looking around.

Tubbo whispered something into his hand and magic coiled around his hand, words visibly etched into the magic that read: “Ranboo, get over here!” and blew the magic out of the palm of his hand and it flew down the hall.

Then Tubbo looked around as he summoned a sword that had a blue and violet glow to it. He was looking around the hall as Virgil coiled magic towards him. He was inwardly cursing and chastising himself for coming alone. It had been a stupid decision he kept making.

“Underscore,” someone on Virgil’s side of the hallways came out, it was a legionnaire. That legionnaire froze when he saw Virgil. “Shit! You! Of course you’re working with them.”

Spurred on by his mounting anxiety, Virgil’s spider legs sprouted and he realized he was trapped between someone who was absolutely threatening, and someone who was vaguely threatening.

There was a crash of glass underneath Virgil and he looked down to see the effects of a potion waft up and Virgil felt his entire body charged with power.

Tubbo slid underneath Virgil and the anxious Side startled back.

“I thought I said we didn’t want any ‘a[1] you shitheads back in here,” Tubbo spat.

“Tubbo!” Ranboo’s voice called out to them as the legionnaire began to move towards them.

“There were already too many demons before you freaks got here,” the hunter spat.

“Back up,” Tubbo ordered Virgil.

“Boo!” Tubbo called out as the taller young man raced around the corner and over to help, deep purple magic buzzing around him.

“⎅⎍☊☍!”[2] Ranboo shouted as his eyes glowed a deep purple, his more human appearance almost decaying away to show that half of his face was black and the other side was bone white, long pointed horns coming from his forehead.

Tubbo dropped to the ground as a huge, purple pixelated portal appeared right in front of the assailant who seemed caught in it and then Ranboo closed the portal and the man disappeared. Magic shot perfectly in-between Virgil and Tubbo.

Ranboo was shaking and breathing heavily as purple magic buzzed around him.

“Nice timin’[3], bossman,” Tubbo smiled, getting up.

“Did you just kill him?” Virgil looked between them in horror.

“Prolly should’a,”[4] Tubbo scoffed as Ranboo returned to his more human appearance and walked over to stand next to him. “If Ranboo hadn’t showed up I would’a[5].”

Virgil saw the hardened look in Tubbo’s eyes and he immediately believed him.

“Nah, I can’t kill people with my portals, only send them somewhere else. Depends on how fast they’re going though.” Ranboo then turned and groaned at Tubbo. “Come on man, we just got this place, I don’t wanna[6] have to bail you out and have to deal with the bad press by myself.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Tubbo shrugged.

Ranboo looked like he wanted to say something but he just huffed. “You okay?”

“Yeah, big guy,” Tubbo smiled and patted his arm. “I got this now, just go and rest.”

“I don’t think I can sleep after that,” Ranboo commented. “Gonna go get started on that mountain of paperwork.”

“Be in there soon,” Tubbo promised and Ranboo nodded before walking away.

Tubbo turned to smile at Virgil, “Not too shabby,[7] you did pretty good.”

“It was just the one, and you two did all the work,” Virgil smiled bashfully, looking around the hallway to see if he’d done any damage. His spider legs slowly disappeared. “Sorry if I did any damage.”

“Nahhh, it’s all good, big guy,” Tubbo dismissed. “Least I can do. Like I said before, you’re still a payin’[8] customer and I don’t let people get away with shit in my establishment. If we meet outside and you’ve already turned in your keys, then it’ll be different. But right now you’re here.”

“Why help us?” Virgil asked. “Seems like a lot of work to go through for your enemies. Aren’t we the bad guys to you?”

Tubbo shrugged, “I don’t know, I don’t think good and bad people actually exist. It all depends on what side you’re on. Initially I was just plannin’[9] on raisin’[10] the alarm when I saw you, but then you said you liked my bees and you were really genuine about the whole thing—”

“Uh, that was Lo,” Virgil interrupted, before immediately starting to backpedal when he saw the confusion on Tubbo’s face. “Uhhh, I mean the bees are fine. They’re, uh, great. But I’m more of a spider-type guy. Not that the bees aren’t cool, I mean— not cool, who says “cool” unironically anymore? Ignore me, I’m rambling.”

The reason Virgil had started rambling was because Tubbo’s expression turned from confusion to a look of absolute horror. When Virgil stopped there was a grim silence between them.

“Holy shit,” Tubbo whispered, his tone tense. “Are you conscious in there?”

Virgil stood up, trying to put distance between them. “Umm, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tubbo tried to lean up, as if looking for something in Virgil’s face, which only made Virgil even more nervous. “That’s fuckin’[11] demented. How alive are you? I thought you guys were like cardboard cut-outs of real people, but you’re actually alive?”

He was right in Virgil’s personal space, the only thing keeping him from being directly within biting range was the fact that Virgil was taller than him.

“Maybe I should go back to my room,” Virgil backed up.

Tubbo glared at him before he backed up, his expression guarded. “I guess you should, shouldn’t you?”

Then Tubbo left and hurried back up to his room. The other Sides were still thankfully asleep but something in Virgil couldn’t sleep that night, he stayed up the whole time staring at his ceiling.

They left the next day, Virgil sleeping in fitful bursts and starts in the car and everyone was asking if he was okay when he woke back.

Tubbo’s words stuck with Virgil like an insidious disease. He’d been mind controlled before. The anxious Side hadn’t liked it then and didn’t think he ever would. A question lodged so deep in his mind that he didn’t think he’d ever get it out: how would you know if someone controlled your mind?

The anxious Side lies that he was and was only just starting to calm down when they got to the house. He wanted to sleep under his weighted blanket and forget everything.

But then he felt a twinge of unease when Logan walked in, spiking Virgil’s innate anxiety back up.

It took Logan a little bit to realize what was wrong: Someone had been through their house! If it had been one or two things he would have chalked it up to Joan, but there was furniture that was ever so slightly moved.

Immediately the logical Side conveyed it to the other Core Sides and they contacted Joan who had been house sitting for them, and Janus to check if Remus had broken in again.

Remus hadn’t, but Joan said that something had been in their house and they had it under control. So with barely having time to start unpacking and sorting out dirty clothes, the suitcases were left in various rooms as they rushed back to the base where Nate, King, the androids, and several different heroes were waiting for them.

Logan however, threw up an arm to protect the other Sides when he saw what King had in his possession.

King was sitting in a chair, an old camera bound with spells propped on his knee and something in Logan twisted in rage and apprehension.

“I think it’s time we had that talk,” Nate warned Logan, his magic hovering over the camera.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Tubbo’s magical familiar is a bee, I will not be convinced otherwise.

Accessibility Translations:

1. of

2. Duck!

3. timing

4. Probably should have

5. would have

6. want to

7. bad

8. paying

9. planning

10. raising

11. fucking

#superhero au #masks and maladies #dream smp #footnotes #virgil sanders #logan sanders #tubbo #Ranboo #roman sanders #patton sanders #LAMP #bee n boo #it’s time for Virgil’s existential crisis hour #the Sides are in trouble #magic #bamf Tubbo #bamf Tubbo supremacy

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (16)

You had your phone on silent the entire time you were shopping. Once you realized you checked your notifications. You had a text and missed call from Steve a voicemail from your therapist and a text from Tony. You called Steve back. His message seemed to be the most urgent.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Where are you?” He sounded upset.

“In the city shopping. Why? What’s going on?”

“Did you see your doctor today?” Snitch.

“No. Look I know what you are going to say. I think I really have a handle on everything, Steve. I don’t want to see Dr. Calloway anymore.”

“Good. No, baby, that’s good. Don’t take anymore of those pills. Come back to the compound as soon as possible. We need to talk.”

“Steve you are scaring me.”

“Everything is fine, doll. Come on home.” You drove as fast as the law allowed. Steve met you outside of the gate. He stopped you before you could pull in and jumped in the passenger seat. Wanda and Sam got in the back and Bucky followed on the bike. “Just drive.” He pulled the radio out of your dash and told you to kill the navigation.

“We need to get somewhere out of SHIELD and Tony’s reach.” You bit your lip knowing exactly where to go. You started driving towards the freeway to head north.

“I have a place but you have to promise not to lose your shit when we get there. Promise me, Steve.” You tapped your fingers on the wheel and chewed your lip raw.

“I promise. Want to tell me what I’m walking in to?”

“Uh. My house. Not the one that was burned down. The new one.”

“When did you buy a house?” You were silent and started to tear up a little.

“Heimdall! I know you can hear me. Tell Thor to meet us at our house.” You wouldn’t look at Steve. You could feel his anger building. “You promised, Steve.”

“Baby, when you said ‘our house’ what did you mean?” He was gripping the arm rest so tight he almost snapped it off. He knew the answer to the question. He just wanted to hear you say it. You didn’t answer. You were concentrating on keeping the mood from escalating in the car. You were scared and it would be really easy to lose control at this moment. “Y/N I need you to answer me.”

“Loki built a house on the land that my family owns. He may or may not be living there. I don’t know because I haven’t talked to him in almost a year.” You put your hand on his arm and he pulled away.

“Nope. You don’t get to tell me how to feel right now, Y/N. I thought when you took that bracelet off he was out of your life. Out of our lives. That was a big deal for me.”

“It was a big deal for me too. I only found out about the house a couple of months ago. It’s a gift.”

“That’s a pretty big fucking gift. I can’t fucking believe you right now.” The rest of the ride was silent. Sam and Wanda looked out the window. The only sound you heard was the growl of Steve’s bike behind you.

The road went from paved to gravel to forest floor. You traveled far off the main drive. You arrived at the glen that was hidden in the shadows of a the mountains save for the beam of sunshine that shone down like a spotlight. There was a patch of grass that was singed where Thor likely landed.

You were trying so hard to hide your emotions but it was so beautiful. You took a deep breath getting a nose full of the mimosa that was now in full bloom. Wanda held your hand. “It’s stunning. I can’t believe he did all of this.”

The five of you walked into the gate. Loki was waiting in the doorway. “This is not exactly how I envisioned you seeing the place.”

“Thought she’d be alone?” Steve said blowing past him.

“Nice to see you too, Captain Rogers.”

“Don’t. Please” you begged. “Steve, honey. Can we have a seat and talk about why we’re here?” You gathered in the kitchen so Steve could explain. He confessed to knowing about the medication but not exactly what it was. He said he knew that Dr. Calloway worked for Fury and that the operation in Alaska was a rescue mission. He still hadn’t figured out the rest.

“I promise you I had no idea what that medication was not until I spoke to Agatha and Professor Xavier. Tony does and that’s why we’re here.”

“Steve, you should have come to me. The good news is I know what Aconite is. It’s been used for centuries as a poison and, in some varieties to help with anxiety. It slows the heart rate. Luckily I know an antidote. Plus I minored in chemistry and I’ve been working with Stephen Strange a literal medical doctor who helped me compound a quick dissolving tablet to neutralize the Aconite.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you. I should have talked to you. I would never willingly hurt you. Do you understand that?” He hugged you tight and kissed you. You nodded your head and hugged him back but you were still hurt.

Loki beamed with pride. You were always one step ahead of these idiots. What a clever little witch. It irritated him to his core that you met Steve with understanding and compassion rather than blind rage when he lied to you. You were clouded by your feelings for him.

“So what’s the plan, Cap? Do we go on this mission?” Sam asked. While they discussed a plan and you excused yourself to explore. Every detail was as you imagined right down to the door knobs and drawer pulls. Loki left a clone of himself in the kitchen so he could join you.

“What do you think? Did I get it right?” he whispered. You slipped your hand in his and squeezed.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Loki. I love it so much here. I’m sorry I’m seeing it this way.” He didn’t let go of your hand right away.

“I’m just glad you’re here. I do admit I thought it would be just the two of us. But, there’s plenty of room. I’d better get back.” He pressed his lips hard to the back of your hand. You heard Steve calling from the kitchen.

“We’re going to stay the night here and go back to the compound in the morning. Until we figure all of this out you stay and we’ll come back to get you. I trust you’re safe here.” Steve explained. You went back to the bedroom to try to get some rest. Loki took the couch. He grabbed some blankets from the linen closet and winked at you as he went down the hall.

“Baby, I’m gonna check on everyone to make sure they’re set for the night. Why don’t you go take a bath? I’ll be back in a sec.” Steve checked on Bucky and Sam who were sharing a room. The bed was large enough for the two of them to fit comfortably. Wanda was already in bed so was Thor. Loki was sitting up on the couch reading.

“Can I talk to you?” Steve asked. Loki looked around to see who else was in the room. He gestured towards the big chair across from him. Steve sat down and stared around the room trying to collect his thoughts. Everywhere he looked he saw you. Everything was soft and inviting. There was a spice to the air warm and aromatic. He wanted to curl up in this place. Get lost in here. This wasn’t his place though. Loki built it with the intention of living out your days here. There were flashes of him too. No. There was no place here for Steve.

“Can I trust you with her?” His voice was low and gritty like it was worked over with sandpaper.

“You know she’s safe with me.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking. Can I trust you to keep your hands off of her?”

“I won’t touch her. You have my word.”

“Your word. That’s cute. You see here I was thinking you were gone. Out of our lives. It took her six months to take that damned bracelet off which means it took her six months to get over you. And here you are back in our lives again. What possessed you to build this house?” he put his hand up to stop him, “No. Don’t tell me. I already know. It’s the same reason I went out to Westchester today. The same reason I’m ready to go ape shit on Tony fucking Stark and all of SHIELD. Because you are in love with her just like I’m in love with her. The difference is she chose me. She chose to have me in her life. You just keep showing up.” Steve buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure if he was coming or going.

Loki was deep in thought dissecting what Steve said but also trying to figure out Tony’s play. “I’m trying to understand what binding her will do. It won’t change the fact that she’s a conduit. It will only leave her defenseless. Unless that’s what they are trying to do.” Loki’s eyes were wide thinking of the possibility that you would be able to absorb all of the powers of the people Hydra kidnapped. You’d be a nuclear bomb indeed. That’s only if you were powerless to stop it. As it were, you cast a spell on yourself that had a fail safe built in. If you kept training with Strange and Wong, you would be able to stop the lot of them. “Captain. That’s it. They are using her to steal powers. What is in Alaska?”

“Fuck. That’s it. Fuck! Alaska is a giant Hydra base housing mutants. I’m leaving Wanda with you. I’ll call Stephen Strange in the morning. Don’t tell her anything. She’ll want to confront Tony. I won’t let her. I can’t let Tony know she hasn’t been taking her meds.” Loki nodded in agreement.

Steve stood up to go to bed. He was bone tired. All he wanted was to crawl into your bed and wrap his body around yours like a cocoon.

“Steve,” Loki called after him. Steve stopped in the doorway his shoulders slumped down in defeat. “I’ll keep her safe for you. When all of this is over, the place yours. Just promise me you’ll let her be herself out here. She hides a lot from you because she’s afraid she’ll scare you if you really saw her. You really love her? Get to know the real Y/N.” Steve responded with a weak smile.

The master bedroom was painted a deep green and had warm wood trim. A large vanity was situated in the corner with perfume bottles a comb and a brush neatly arranged on top. A massive four poster bed was dead center. The posts were ornate and winding like a tree the legs like roots. The Yggdrasil tree. A big round window sat high on the wall letting the moonlight stream in. He could smell the oils you used in the tub. Warm spice notes and deep florals. That’s what your skin would smell like. He wanted to burn it into his nose.

Off in the corner there was a small winding staircase that lead to a loft. He climbed it to find a reading nook with a small table for snacks. He smiled thinking about how much you would love it up there.

On the other side of the room was a wardrobe. Inside there were dresses that you’d no doubt wear barefoot and blouses and trousers for you to wear to work. Off to the side were three little drawers. The top was for bras the middle for panties and the bottom larger drawer for sweats leggings socks and T-shirts. The bottom was neatly lined with heels strappy sandals and a pair of boots that made his cock twitch. He imagined you wearing them with the leather dress that would barely cover your thighs.

In the chest of drawers there were sweaters jeans that looked worn in and a whole drawer for tac gear in case you went on missions with them. This fucker thought of everything.

He wanted to go out there and punch him in his smug little face but stopped when he heard you sloshing around in the water. He cracked the door open so he wouldn’t startle you. “Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

“Hey. Yeah. There is plenty of room for you.” Steve stripped and eased in to the too hot water. You grabbed the big sponge hanging over the faucet and got it sudsy enough to wash him. He let you though he felt like it was somehow wrong. Like he shouldn’t be this intimate with you in another man’s home.

The bathroom was just as glamorous as the bedroom. A small gas fireplace sat perfectly positioned to warm the whole bathroom. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. The shower was also large enough for two people. There were so many spouts it looked like a car wash. There were candles placed on every and any flat surface. The place was fit for a queen. Loki’s queen.

Funnily enough you didn’t seem to care. You rinsed off the soap and kissed your way up to his neck. You used a small pitcher set on a step stool to wet his hair. When you massaged his scalp you kissed him deeply. “Close your eyes and hold your breath” you said in that low tone that made him crazy.

He shook off like a dog making you giggle. His favorite sound. He lifted you enough to sink you down onto him. He will never get enough of how you felt. The water lapped around your body as you moved. You both came quick and hard collapsing your body down around him. “I love you, Steve” you whispered as you caught your breath.

“I love you, Y/N. So much.”

You got out of the tub feeling like your limbs were made of jelly. You dried off braided your hair and slicked your skin with more oil. The one you chose was warm and slightly citrusy. Vetiver. It made your heartbeat quicken knowing that Loki remembered your mother’s fragrance. The two of you crawled into bed and slept like you’ve been sleeping in this room for ages. You weren’t sure if it was being back on your land or something else but you felt like you were finally home.

#steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #marvel witches #mcu x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #marvel #steve rogers x reader #captain america smut

[sgtduckybucky]

coming home to you

Genre: hurt/comfort, romance, angst and slight fluff.

Warning(s): slight au

Words: 2058

A/N: euhedeuhed NO ONE TOLD ME ALFIE WAS BACK!! UJHUEHEIUED I haven’t watched s5 and i wont for a while because im watching one piece so forgive me if this isn’t as accurate as the show. that’s why I added au as a warning since i only saw a clip of alfie on youtube.

this is a sequel to farewell and a gif but can be read alone! i won’t add links since posts don’t show up with links but send me an ask and i’ll give you think!

lastly, sorry for any spelling or grammar errors!

»»————-　♡　————-««

the sound of the fire cackling in the fire place was an odd source of comfort as the harsh december wind howled outside. this year’s winter was harsh and unkind to humans. just this morning, you’ve read in the paper that five people died from the extreme cold britain’s getting this year.

you poured yourself another cup of earl grey as a new louis armstrong song began playing on the record player as you enjoyed reading The Mysterious Affair at Styles. and just as you were about to doze off three chapters, cyrill suddenly lifts his head up and trots to the window, a low whine coming from deep within him.

you paid him no mind at first, but when he started pawing at the window, you closed your book and stopped the record player before walking to where cyrill was. pulling back the shades, you picked through the snow caked windows. squinting your eyes to see what got cyrill so worked up. when you couldn’t spot anything you drew the windows and patted the dog’s head, “there’s nothing there, cyrill.” you smiled down at him, “probably a squirrel trying to hide from the snow.”

glancing at the wall clock, you were surprised to find that it was getting close to midnight. once you’ve cleaned the living room, you switched off the lights and head to one of the guest rooms on the first floors. ever since your pregnancy started showing the baby growing heavier, you’ve decided to move your bedroom on the lower level since it was way too exhausting for you to get up the stairs. the room wasn’t much, barely decorated, but it was a place for you to rest and sleep in. and the bathroom next to it had standing shower which was also another reason why you moved to this room since you had quite a scare by almost falling out of your bathtub as you were getting up.

as you settled into bed, you glanced at the picture frame on the night table. the picture was of you and alfie from almost two years ago. you were at the pier on a rare and sunny day in britain and you had begged alfie to go. it was on of the most memorable days you’ve had together. the picture was of you and alfie standing behind those cutout boards where they had a muscled man lifting a woman and, thinking it would be hilarious, you stood behind the man’s cutout face while alfie, grumbling at first, stood behind the woman’s cutout face. slowly, your eyes closed shut at the fond memories.

»»————-　♡　————-««

life as an eight month pregnant woman wasn’t easy. you can’t bend any more to pick anything so once that object is on the ground, it stays there until either cyrill picks it up or when ollie drops by later and picks it up for you. you can’t have a good night’s sleep either since the baby keeps kicking you from all sides every two fucking minutes and you were always hungry for the strangest food! oh, and you’d pee a lot too which was getting on your nerves.

however, there are small perks to being this far along. the most noticeable one, and by your favorite, is the many discounts from markets and stores. the minute they lay eyes on you, pity brimming in their eyes, they just lower the price for whatever it was you were buying.

like today for example. you were suddenly craving an orange cake and chicken for dinner so you decided to head to the market early and start cooking. maybe even have ollie for dinner if he wasn’t too busy. the elderly woman took one look at you and lowered your groceries from thirty pounds to twenty pounds. and when she heard that your boyfriend died before he could even propose, she lowered it to fifteen pounds!

sometimes, it’s great being pregnant. you chuckled to yourself as you made home. it wasn’t too cold this afternoon so you weren’t in a rush as you walked through town. however, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching you. but every time you turned around, there was no one there. it was when you started hearing a second set of footsteps behind you did you pick your pace and take the long route home hoping to shake whoever was following you off. when you were certain the person wasn’t following you anymore, you quickly made it to your home and locked the doors. and rushed to pick the phone.

“hello?”

“t-tommy.” you stuttered into the phone.

“y/n?” tommy asked in slight surprise since you haven’t spoken to each other since that day you threatened to shoot his face off when you found out that you were pregnant with alfie’s baby.

“ca-can you come over? i think someone’s following me.” you whispered into the phone as you peaked through the window to make sure that no one was standing outside of your house.

“i’ll be right over.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

it’s been two weeks and you were positive that someone’s stalking you. tommy had insisted that him and the rest of your brothers would take turns staying the night at your place and accompanying you to any appointment or errand you need to run.

you were about to protest at first, yell and remind them that you weren’t some damsel in distress but when arthur said, “what if alfie’s enemies know that you were carrying his child.” he didn’t have to continue that statement as it was pretty obvious what he was saying. what if they knew you were carrying alfie’s baby and they were trying to kill you?

shaken to your core, you placed a protective hand on your belly and nodded your head.

“are you sure you don’t want me to stay over?” finn asked you, a frown tugging at his lips in concern.

you tried not to roll your eyes at your younger brother, “for the millionth time, i’m sure, finn.”

finn bit his lips, ready to ask the same question again when your house came into view, “finn, i love you all to death but having you lots breathing down my neck and jumping to your feet the minute i feel a cramp is getting on my damn nerves.”

finn looked away in guilt, “we’re just worried is all.”

you smiled appreciatively at your brother, “and i’m thankful for you all.” you said you leaned in and kissed his cheek, “but i need some time alone before i go fucking insane.”

chuckling along with you, finn nodded his head and watched you enter your home before leaving to meet up with michael.

-

“cyrill, i’m home!” you called as you discarded your coat and scarf and hung them on the coat rack by the door, “cyrill?”

confused, you slowly and quietly made your way to the living room in case he was sleeping.

but what greeted you wasn’t cyrill sleeping soundly on the couch, but of a large and burly man sitting on the couch with cyrill laying across his lap. his hair was short and a dark brown color that turned golden under the sun. his chin was covered in a greying brown beard while his mustache dropped down his lips. the left side of his face was scarred and almost disfigured with his left eye was a hauntingly greyish white color.

“a-alfie?” you chocked. your legs shook and almost gave out had you not slammed your hand on the coffee table in time.

“in the flesh.” he replied while shrugging nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal to show up at yours and your girlfriend’s house despite being supposedly dead.

“h-how?”

“i think you should sit down, love.”

shaking your head, you lifted your finger and pointed at alfie, voice going into hysterics as you said, “you’re s-supposed to be d-dead! t-tommy...tommy shot you! you died!”

aflie just sat as he silently watched the tears falling down your cheeks and into the carpeted floor, “like i said, y/n, you should sit down.”

and as if you were a puppet being controlled by your master, you shuffled your way to the armchair across the couch alfie was sitting on with cyrill.

“where do i begin.” alfie heaved as he dragged his hand down his face, making you wince as his hand came in contact with his scarred skin.

“from the start.” you spoke softly.

and alfie did as told. he talked about that day on the beach when tommy confronted him, how he was willing to die after he found out he was terminally ill and was going to die anyways and how tommy shot him.

“you were dying.” you whispered, eyes widening in shock at the revelation, “why didn’t you tell me?”

guilt flashed in alfie’s eyes, “i didn’t want you to worry.”

you stood up on your feet in rage but the abrupt movement made you dizzy so you sat back down, a hand on your head to stop your head from spinning. all the while alfie watched with a deep set of frown.

“you were going to leave me.” you said, a dry chuckle escaping through you lips, “you were going to leave us.”

“so that’s mine.” alfie pointed at your enlarged stomach with his, “good to know.”

anger bubbled inside of you at his words and at his carefree attitude, “he’s not yours. not after what you did.” you couldn’t help the tears from rolling down your cheeks but you were angry. you were angry that your brother had shot your lover, angry that you mourned someone who wasn’t even dead,  you were angry that he kept his illness from you and you were angry that he didn’t even tell you he was alive.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you chocked on your sob as tears blurred your vision, “why didn-” your throat tightened and you swallowed thickly. you were hurt. you were hurt, alone and scared these past eight and half months. worrying if you and your baby would survive this pregnancy, if your baby could survive the harsh winter and with someone stalking yo-

“have you been following me?” you asked as realization dawn on you.

“i was.” alfie replied.

“why?”

it took alfie a couple of seconds before he replied, “i wanted to see if you were safe.”

“were you going to come back?”

alfie looked away, wether in shame or to feed you a lie, you didn’t know.

“I was going to remain in hiding, keep a low profile from the bloody police but then i saw you were with child.” he pointed at your belly with his finger, “and i had to make sure whichever bastard did that to you was taking good care of ya. turns out i was the fucking bastard.” he chuckled humorlessly.

there was a short pause before you asked, “so why are you here?”

alfie’s fingers brushed cyrill’s thick fur, his miscolored eyes never leaving yours as he answered, “i wanted to come back home to you.”

“and what if i don’t want you back?” you raised an eyebrow challengingly, “what if i wanted you gone? what if i never wanted to see you again?”

“then i’ll leave.” alfie quickly replied.

“and what about your cancer? what if you leave us again, i-”

this time, alfie got up from the couch and kneeled down in front of you, taking both of your hands into his bigger and rougher ones.

“i promise i won’t leave you.” he kissed your hands with his chapped lips.

“how can i trust you?” you whispered.

“call fate or divine intervention or whatever but when your fucked up in the head of a brother shot me, the doctors drugged me up so much for so long that it cured my skin cancer.” he kissed your hands again but when he felt a tear drop land on his nose, he sat up straighter and kissed your tears away.

“i’m giving you one more chance.” you held alfie’s face in your hands, your thumb gently caressing the scarred skin, “if you leave us again, i swear i’ll bring you back from the dead and kill you myself.”

alfie chuckled, leaning in to softly peck your lips, “it’s a promise.”

#Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders fanfiction

[missmarquin]

Wide of the Mark,

Felix never misses his mark. It's not usually a mistake, until it is. And then it's the biggest mistake of his life. Post-Time Skip, Oneshot. Sylvix. Explicit.

Read on A03 for better quality! 

....

Lightning crackles through the air, striking the ground not far from his feet. Sylvain stops dead, his grip tightening around his axe as he glances around frantically. Navigating the battlefield is hard without his horse, but it saves his life in that moment. It doesn't change the fact that he can barely see shit in the din around him, though.

A scream rips through the air, followed by another bolt. This time, the ground ten paces to his right lights up, and he turns to find the soil burnt black. Sylvain can't believe his luck. Twice a bolt has flown, and twice it's missed him. 

The Goddess must love him, he thinks. His eyes dart around frantically, looking for who is possibly the world's worst mage. The Goddess must-- 

He's so surprised by the sight of Felix, that he actually falters in his step, tripping in the mud and slick of the ground below him. The other man, his once closest friend, glares back, his face rigid. His fingers crackle with electricity as his other hand rests on the pommel of his blade, and Sylvain knows intent when he sees it. Felix isn't one to sugar coat things. No, he's precise and to the point, and the man’s resolve is incredibly clear in that moment.

The Goddess hates him, Sylvain realizes bitterly.

Five years has always seemed like a long time, but as they stand there on the bleak field and stare at each other, Sylvain is surprised by how familiar it is. Like nothing has changed, like it’s still the old days. 

Those moments in the training grounds with meager wooden spears and training blades between them. 

But this isn't a training ground, and the magic that gathers at Felix's fingertips isn't for show. He has a sword of Zoltan at his hip, and Sylvain is suddenly conscious of the Lance of Ruin laying across his own back. 

Still, Sylvain lets a smile slide across his face. It isn't full; it doesn't fill out his cheeks, or even look genuine, but it's familiar. And he can tell that it rattles Felix to the core. 

"Hey Felix," he calls out, trying to keep his tone neutral. He can't stop the waver in his timbre though, or the slight hitch in his breath. His voice doesn't hide the way that his hands shake though, tightening around the grip of his weapon. 

"Don't," Felix immediately hisses. 

They stand about twenty paces from each other, and Sylvain barely hears the snap of his voice. 

But Sylvain tries. He wants, he's always wanted, and maybe it's too late for that. But he's going to try anyway, because there wasn't a point in not doing so. 

Sylvain knows with crushing certainty that Felix will not let him live. Either his old friend feels the same, or he will strike him down were he stands. 

He can think of worse ways to die.

"Felix--" he starts again, but the other man snaps his arm out.

Sylvain can smell the bolt through the air before it snaps down and sets fire to the ground beside him. But… it has missed again, and it dawns on Sylvain that Felix actually has the best aim of any mage he's ever seen. Thoron is a bitch of a spell, and its wild nature was notoriously difficult to control. He could have killed him the moment that he saw him. 

The spell lands right where Felix wants it though, barely missing Sylvain, heat searing the side of his face.

It must mean something, Sylvain reasons. Felix wasn't the kind to hold back, to hesitate. There must be something there, buried deep in this cold, hardened version of himself. 

Sylvain risks a step closer. He doesn't let his guard down, the leather of his axe grip squeaking under his sweaty palms, but he takes the risk. "Remember when we were kids?" he asks. "Remember the promise that we made?"

Felix has already started the sequence of the spell again, but stops dead. Hesitating. It's odd, seeing the man so unsure, so torn. His posture is rigid and he's ready, but something holds him back.

"We were children, Sylvain!" Felix finally yells back. His tone is berating.

"We promised to die together," Sylvain reminds him. The fighting continues around them, but it's like they are the only ones there, frozen in the middle of the battlefield and trained on each other.

"We were young and stupid!" Felix snaps. 

"Stupid, huh?" Sylvain laughs. Its bitter and foul tasting as it bubbles up through him. "Any stupider than we are now? We're on opposite sides, Fe." 

Felix bristles at the familiar nickname. "You were the one who left. You were supposed to be loyal." 

And like most times, Felix is right. And like most times, the words sting. He should have been loyal to Dimitri. He should be fighting along Felix's side to bring the kingdom back, but-- 

That isn't what he wants. Sylvain dreams of a future without crests and the weight of his bloodline pressing down on him. He wants a future where no one will ever suffer like Miklan did, all because he was born wrong. 

Sylvain dreams of many things, actually, and those things will never be found in Faerghus, or with Dimitri. Claude has promised the moon and back, if they manage to pull a victory in this bleak and bitter war. And Sylvain isn’t stupid, he knows it will be a miracle to change the world-- but he’s willing to risk it. 

For them. For Felix. Really, it's always been for Felix. 

"For all your bravado, you truly don't hate the Boar as much as you claim," Sylvain finally says, his tone cool, knowing that it’ll anger Felix. 

“Sylvain--” the other man snaps, his fingers crackling with lightning once more.

“Really Fe, magic?” Sylvain taunts. “Can’t we settle this like old friends?”

Felix pauses again and the spell dissipates. “Shut up--”

“Don’t I deserve at least that?” Sylvain asks, eyeing the sword at Felix’s waist. He motions to it casually. “Just like old times?” It's a stupid bluff. Sylvain can hold his own when it came to spells, but it seems so impersonal.

Felix huffs, but drops his hand to his sword. It slides from the sheath effortlessly, the metal singing through the air. “I expect the same courtesy,” he finally says, and Sylvain knows what he means. He drops his axe and shield to the ground, before reaching for the Lance of Ruin. 

It’s heavy in his hands and it thirsts for blood. He hopes desperately that he won’t have to use it. 

Felix makes the first move and Sylvain expects it. He pushes back against the solid weight, swinging the lance in a high arc, but ultimately misses. Felix is too quick on his feet, dancing around Sylvain’s side and slicing toward a weak spot in his armor. Sylvain drops his stance a fraction, the blade meeting the metal of his armor before glancing off. 

It hurts though, and he grimaces at the dull pain that thrums through his ribs. 

Felix pulls back again, flicking his sword around with deft ease, as he slides back into a stance. Sylvan follows suit, gripping the lance like it's a lifeline. Not that he wants to. 

"Seems like we're about to kill each other," Sylvain says, and this time he can't stop the slight choke to his words. He watches as Felix tightens his sword grip, as his stance tenses-- and then as his lips turn downwards into a familiar frown. 

Felix is uncomfortable, and Sylvain's gaze softens. 

"Fe, I don't want to do this," he tries. 

"Shut up--" Felix starts, but he can't finish the sentence. He shakes with rage, his sword rattling in his hand. He shakes with rage, and frustration and feeling. And Sylvain knows how much this hurts. "Fuck," Felix snaps bitterly. "I don't want to do this either, I don't want to--"

Sylvain lets him have a moment to compose himself, and before long Felix is rigid again, his stance reset and his sword balanced at the ready. 

"I'm sorry Sylvain," he says, his voice quiet with regret. "You'll die first."

"I'm sorry, old friend. I won't allow it."

They meet in the middle again, Felix's sword scraping along the grip of the lance. Sylvain barely has a moment to let go and avoid losing his knuckles to the graze. His weapon is too heavy for one hand though, so he swings it in a wild arc to recover his stance. 

Felix takes advantage, sliding close, pushing at him. Sylvain loses his grip, and Felix clocks him hard in the ribs with an elbow. The impact is immediate and he drops the Lance of Ruin. 

But Felix pauses again, his sword grip uncertain and his gaze annoyed. 

"We don't have to do this," Sylvain says. 

"You've forced my hand," Felix bites back. "You've got no one to blame but yourself." There's a dangerous edge to his voice that Sylvain doesn't like, and he worries that Dimitri has rubbed off more than anticipated.

Sylvain makes no move to retrieve the lance, instead pulling his fists up. "Let's go back then," he says. "To all those years ago, before swords and lances. To when were stupid kids fighting in the mud."

Felix considers this for a moment, and then sheathes his blade. His fingers make quick work of the fastenings of his sword belt, and soon it's tossed to the ground. "This won't give you an edge," he taunts. "I won't let you leave here alive." 

"I don't doubt it," Sylvain chuckles darkly. 

Sylvain isn't as good at hand-to-hand as Felix, but if he's going to die, he'd rather it be up close and personal. He tries to remember the grappling techniques that Raphael has taught him. He mentally lists off the forms and drills that the Professor runs them through. 

He likely won't win this, but he can at least put on a good show. He wants Felix to remember this day forever. 

As expected Felix moves first. He's light and quick on his feet, throwing himself at Sylvain. He's heavier though, grappling onto Felix easily, throwing him to the side. There's no finesse to it, it's not like Felix's calculated steps, but it manages to topple him. 

Felix recovers quickly, striking out again, hand held firm and his arm snapping out like a snake. Sylvain grabs him by the arm and twists, throwing him again. There's a crunch under his fingertips, and Felix's lets out a snarl in pain. A grimace is thrown across his face, but Sylvain holds firm. 

Neither of them move, and Felix manages to say, "I won't yield."

"I don't want you to," Sylvain replies. This is the closest they've been in years, and he can see the tiredness that stretches across the other man's face. Dark lines etched into his skin, and gray circles that line the underside of his eyes. He’s more handsome than ever.

Felix is tired of the fighting too. He's exhausted, and he wants everything to end. And still he struggles against him despite his pain, scrambling in Sylvain's grip.

"Fe," Sylvain says, holding firm. "Stop," he pleads. "It doesn't have to end this way."

But the smaller man slips from his grasp and the tables are quickly turned. Felix throws his weight into Sylvain, causing his feet to slip. The rain ended hours ago, but the mud hasn't dried yet, and he falls heavily to the ground with a thud. 

Felix holds him down firmly, his legs slotted around Sylvain's hips. One arm hangs limply at his side, broken and useless, but in true Felix fashion, he ignores it. “You--” Felix starts, but stops. 

Sylvain gets it; he understands. There’s a million things that he wants to say, and not enough time. Felix has always been apathetic at his best, but there’s none of that here. Instead, he looks tortured, like he doesn’t know what to do. 

Sylvain moves to push him off, and it’s as if the spell that had fallen over Felix has lifted. He’s faster, despite his injury, and his hand whisks to his hip. And then there’s the press of cold metal against Sylvain’s gut, settled carefully between the plates of his armor.

Sylvain’s breath catches. He is stupid, he’s so stupid. He shouldn’t have let his guard down, but-- 

But this is Felix. 

At this point, Sylvain doesn’t care if it’s ill placed romanticism or not, he holds out that Felix might still change his mind. Even if he’s holding a sharp blade to the fleshy part of his stomach. 

They each wait for the other to make a move. Sylvain is stock still, just looking, and that pisses Felix off. “What,” he snaps, but his words have less bite than his pinched expression does. 

“I’m…” He’s what? They’re in the middle of a battlefield and Sylvain is about to die. It doesn’t matter if there's a war raging around them, they are solely trained on each other, and the cold steel that Felix presses harder and harder against him. 

But still not hard enough. 

Finally, Sylvain settles on, “I’m just trying to remember it.”

“Sylvain--”

But it’s already too late and he’s babbling, ignoring Felix’s plea. “Your face, I mean. Commit it to memory, or something stupid and sappy like that--”

Felix shifts above him and the blade moves, this time slipped between the plates at his chest. At his heart. Sylvain falls silent. Felix breathes heavily, his chest heaving, like he’s one shred away from hyperventilating. Sylvain knows that it isn’t the rush of battle. Felix’s hand shakes, the knife knocking against his plate armor with a soft tinkle. 

Stupid, Sylvain thinks. His hands never shake. Felix is always sure of everything. 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Felix asks, cutting into the tense moment. 

Sylvain wants to think of something witty, but there isn’t enough time.

“Any last words, for a man as pathetic as yourself?” Felix continues. Instead, Sylvain just looks at him, which pisses Felix off. There’s a crinkle to the man’s mouth, as his lips press flat into a thin line. Sylvain is silent for a moment too long, because the blade digs deeper, pricking his skin and he winces.

“Say something!” Felix screams at him, and his voice cracks. 

Finally. There it is, the chip in his carefully maintained facade. 

“Fe,” Sylvain says quietly. He finally moves, his hand sliding up Felix’s good arm. 

Felix can sense the words about to come. His reaction is instant and he tenses, his shoulders stiffening. His arm already pulling away. “Don’t--” he starts.

“You know, I’ve always been pretty late to the party but--”

“Don’t you dare Sylvain,” Felix begs him. His face is red and tortured looking, as he shakes above him. Trying to decide whether or not to plunge the knife in. 

“Felix.” Sylvain’s hand finds his face, resting there gently. Felix’s cheek is dirty and caked in mud, and he thumbs at it softly.

“You can’t,” Felix snaps, his eyes welling up. Felix has always been able to read him well, and this moment isn’t any different, it seems. Sylvain can’t remember the last time he saw the man cry though, and he can’t stand to see the tears that slip down Felix’s cheeks. 

“Felix, I love you. But you’ve always known that, haven’t you?”

Felix answers him by plunging the knife deep into his chest. 

…

Felix panics. 

He’s bad at people. He’s even worse with those he actually cares about. Sylvain finally says the words that he’s wanted to hear for longer than he’d ever care to admit, and he responds by killing him. Let it be known that Felix still lives up to his reputation. 

He panics because he wasn’t planning on actually doing it-- not really. But with the shaking of his limbs, unable to catch his breath and then-- He’d spared a glance upwards during Sylvain’s idiotic diatribe, only to see Dimitri thirty paces away with a bland look of expectation. 

Felix knows that the Boar would have killed Sylvain without a second glance, before moving on to the next head to crack. Felix also knows that it wouldn’t have been pleasant. Really, he'd meant protect him. 

Sylvain doesn’t even look angry, the bastard. His breath hitches as the knife slides into his flesh, and he lets out a groan of pain. He has this stupid placid look on his face, like he’s pleased with himself, like he’s finally done something right his life. Felix hates him in that moment. 

And he’s about to tell him that, when Sylvain’s eyes grow glassy.

Felix panics again. “No,” he snaps, throwing his knife to the side.  “No, no, no.” He buries his fingers between the plates of his armor, trying to find the fastenings, but this suit isn’t like the ones Sylvain wore when they were younger. He yells in frustration, as his gaze snaps back up to look around them. 

Dimitri is gone, having watched Felix take care of the problem. 

He’s made a mistake, Felix has made the mother of all mistakes. 

“Stop,” Sylvain groans from underneath him. 

“Shut up,” Felix demands.

Sylvain opens his mouth to laugh at his predictable response, but he coughs instead, blood bubbling up over his lips. 

It’s too late, Felix realizes, it’s too fucking late and it’s all his fault. He’s killed the only person he’s ever really cared about.

“At least…” Sylvain manages weakly, but then his eyes droop slowly, before closing. And then Sylvain goes slack underneath him. 

The blood in his veins turns ice cold, as Felix regards him for a second. And then he grips him by the shoulders hard, shaking him harder, begging him to wake up. Cursing him when he won’t. His screams are lost in the battle and the water in his eyes blur everything in front of him. He can’t see Sylvain’s face anymore, he’ll never see his face again and--

There’s a hand at his shoulder and he jumps a foot in the air. It’s so unlike him, all of this. He’s a pathetic and sobbing mess, and he really doesn’t want anyone to see that. 

It’s Mercedes at his side, covered head to toe in mud and blood, circles under her eyes and her breath ragged from exhaustion. “Dimitri is looking for you,” she says quietly. 

“To hell with that Boar,” he snaps, and she sighs. Her face is caught in a look somewhere between pity and sorrow. She’s about to open her mouth to say something else, when a pitiful sob wracks through him. “Please,” he pleads.

He watches her stiffen with the request. Felix has seen her perform miracles before. He’s heard of the time she brought someone back from the dead. It’s an impressive tale, that even years later, he hasn’t forgotten. 

And Sylvain is still laying there, fresh in his arms. 

“Felix I--” But her words cut short as her lip trembles. It’s a cruel thing to ask her, he knows. Mercedes has a bleeding heart, and she and Sylvain had been close. His betrayal to Dimitri had cut her deep. 

“Mercedes, please,” he tries again. “I shouldn’t have-- Dimitri--” Words fail him though, and he can’t articulate what he means.

Mercedes reaches out again, pressing gentle fingers against his forehead to push back his sweaty bangs. “I know,” she says. “I know, Felix.” She saw him do this, he realizes-- she saw him kill Sylvain. And yet, instead of being by Dimitri’s side on the front lines, she’s here, comforting him. 

The boar might have been a violent shell of who he once was, but Mercedes cares. She loves. 

“Mercie,” he sobs, and he knows he looks and sounds so fucking pathetic. “I can’t do this anymore,” he finishes. “I thought I could, I thought I’d just move on-- I thought that I had. But then there he was and now he’s gone. I’ve fucked this up, I always fuck it up.”

He knows he’s babbling about things he’s never really shared before, but she nods, smoothing out his hair gently. 

“Fix it,” he pleads. “Mercie, fix it.”

Something comes across her face in that moment. He knows what he asks her is a lot. He knows that Dimitri wouldn’t be pleased if he found out. Felix watches Mercedes weigh her options. He knows though, that she’s tired of all of this, just like he is. He was born with a sword in his hand, but he’s tired of the death and despair. He’s tired of blindly following the Boar. 

And she is too.

Mercedes manages a small smile, tucking a bang behind his ear and patting his cheek lightly. Her fingers are cold and clammy against his skin, but her smile is as warm as the sun. “Of course,” she finally says, “But I’ll need your help moving him.”

…

Felix has never realized how big Sylvain really was in comparison to himself, until trying to move his dead weight. Mercedes notices his wrecked arm, but he brushes it off. He sees her frown, but she doesn’t push him. She knows it’s pointless. 

“We have to move quick,” he tells her and he isn’t sure why-- Mercedes knows that better than anyone. 

He kneels in the mud, his feet slipping slightly as she helps him shoulder Sylvain. It’s awkward, but she does her best, as she arranges his body across his back. Sylvain is heavy and lifeless against him, as Felix readjusts his grip the best he can with only one good arm. 

Mercedes holds him up from the other side. “Our forces are to the north,” she says, glancing that direction. “Dimitri will be holed up there.”

“So Southward,” Felix grunts softly. 

“More Westward,” Mercedes says instead. “Dimitri will expect us to go south, but if we head towards the Empire--”

“That’s suicide,” Felix snaps. 

Mercedes is quiet, and then says, “What we’re doing now is suicide.” 

Felix snaps his mouth shut and heaves a heavy sigh. “Southwest it is,” he begrudgingly agrees, as he heaves a heavy breath. They manage an awkward shuffle towards the tree cover, and the confusion of battle works in their favor. 

A half hour later, Felix can’t hold him anymore. Mercedes says nothing as his knees buckle, and he throws Sylvain to the ground with little grace. Felix tumbles down beside him, laying across the ground, not caring how dirty it gets him. He’s already coated in mud and blood, what’s a little more?

Mercedes checks Sylvain first, throwing a concerned glance around them. “It can’t wait any longer,” she says quietly. “It isn’t safe here, but--”

“Then get on with it,” Felix replies harshly, but immediately grimaces at his tone. Mercedes has thrown herself into this with him, and therefore her future. He should treat her with far more respect. Sitting up, he wipes his brow with his sleeve, trying to get the sweat out of his eyes. “I’m sorry Mercedes--”

He’s cut off by gentle fingers on his bad arm. His mouth snaps shut, as Mercedes wordlessly pulls at his tunic closure, pulling it half off. His arm is purple and swollen near the elbow, and it’s clear that it’s broken clean through. Felix barely spares the injury a glance. “Sylvain managed to--” he starts, but Mercedes interrupts him. 

“I know,” she says, pulling his arm into a certain position. It’s a searing pain, and he yelps.

“I don’t deserve it,” he murmurs. He doesn’t deserve his arm to be fixed. It would serve him right, for his arm to be mangled the rest of his life, for what he’s done.

The healer tuts at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“But Sylvain--” he tries instead.

“One moment won’t make a difference. Yours is a simple matter.”

It isn’t often that Mercedes is firm with her words, but he hears the finality of her tone. She won’t take no for an answer, no matter how he tries to persuade her. Instead, Felix finally looks at her, and then at her hands. He watches as her fingertips glow warm, caressing over his skin. He grimaces as his bones knit back together, but she soothes the irritation with soft words. Kind words. Words that he doesn’t deserve. 

“You must think me a fool,” he finally says. 

She lets out a soft hum and then, “You are a man with very clear values.”

“He left us, Mercedes.” He can’t hide the pain in his words. 

She doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, she pokes and prods at his arm, carefully making sure that she’s repaired most of the damage. His arm aches bone deep, but he can still feel the warmth of her magic as she checks for leftover cracks. 

“Why did you stay with Dimitri?” she finally asks. 

Felix blinks at the unrelated question. “What does that--”

“You hate him,” she says simply. “You love him as well. You admire him and he’s your friend, but you also hate him. Despite everything, you care for him. And so you did for Sylvain as well.” She deems her work done, motioning to his tunic once more. She helps him slip it back on and refasten it. “What was the one thing in the world that Sylvain wanted?”

“The be free of his responsibility,” Felix snorts. He shakes out his arm and then rotates it, seeing his range of motion. 

The look that Mercedes wears is a strangely calculating one, like she’s disappointed with him. “Perhaps you didn’t pay enough attention then,” she surmises. 

Felix stills, his heart pounding. It wasn’t that he never paid attention, it’s that he ignored it. He ignored the closeness they had. He ignored Sylvain quite entirely, because of all the things that he thinks about himself, it’s his glaring inadequacy that stands out the most.

And now he regrets it. 

He’s about to reply, when she stands up carefully, moving to sit beside Sylvain. “There was only one thing Sylvain ever wanted, Felix, and that was you. He knew that wasn’t a possibility if the Kingdom won.”

Felix stares at her back, his lip trembling slightly. He’s underestimated Sylvain, it seems. The man probably bemoaned his woes to the woman, and Mercedes had probably listened with an open ear. 

Part of him is jealous, and part of him is relieved. 

He moves to her side, helping slip off his armor without a word. And as she works, he protects. He will protect them with his life, if he has to. 

It’s the least that he can do.

…

It’s been a long time coming, Mercedes thinks. 

Sylvain is cold to the touch, but there’s a little color still clinging to his skin, so it’s not too late. She hopes. 

She is perhaps the only person who was not surprised by Sylvain’s departure, but honestly, Felix should have known better. Felix isn’t stupid, he’s just fucking blind, and yes, she means the swear. 

Really, these boys. 

The wound that Felix left is messy, so unlike his usual precision. It’s a testament to his shaking hands and barely contained rage. Bringing someone back from the dead isn’t an easy ordeal, and even if she’s been successful before… Well, she’s almost positive that it was a fluke. Felix at the time had only been mostly dead, not entirely dead.

And Sylvain was definitely entirely dead. 

Felix is off to the side, cradling his arm, his fingers wrapped around his elbow gingerly. She knows that it hurts. Resetting a bone isn’t hard, but knitting it back together is a painful process. Despite Felix holding a strong face and barely flinching, she knows that there’s a residual ache that is hard to ignore. 

And still, he sits there on a rock. Ever vigilant. The tree cover around them is thick, but they aren’t safe. If Dimitri realizes that they’ve deserted and comes looking for them this way… Well, she tries not to think about it. He sits with a knee up, his sword across his lap and ready for a quick draw, and his eyes dart around frantically. High alert. 

She turns back to Sylvain and smiles weakly. He’s grown so much, she thinks, her fingers sinking into his grimy hair. Handsome as ever of course, but his face is relaxed in a way she only saw when he was in the presence of a certain someone. 

Mercedes remembers a certain night suddenly. Sylvain drunk beyond compare, bemoaning his family and general existence. 

I don’t know what to do, Mercie. They want me to marry off, and then there’s crest babies, and I just don’t care much for that.

It hadn’t been anything new to her, she remembered thinking, but she had listened all the same. And then Sylvain had uttered words that surprised her. 

I’m a fool aren’t I? To love him so much.

Him?

Felix, of course. Who else?

Mercedes has nowhere to go, so she follows Dimitri with blind faith. And Dimitri has led to Sylvain’s death and his cold body before her. The anguish on Felix’s face, as he shoved the knife between the armor plates, his scream when Sylvain fell limp in his arms.

Fix it, Felix sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Another memory had struck her in that moment. A different man, red hair and blood-stained armor, cradling someone close to his chest. Felix had looked so small in his arms, broken and mostly dead. 

Fix him, Sylvain had begged, barely able to stand in the medical tent. “I don’t care how, just find a way, Mercie.”

Of course she will. Her heart aches for these two, her precious boys. They always seem to do things backwards.

Dimitri was so lost that she wasn’t sure that she could find him again. He was beyond healing. 

But there was still hope for Sylvain.

…

Everything hurts. 

Everything really fucking hurts. 

He feels like he’s been put through a mortar and pestle, ground to a fine dust and then somehow put back together. The groan that rips out of his mouth is barely a sound. His throat is dry and parched, and he feels like he hasn’t had a sip of water in a year. 

It feels like he-- 

Suddenly he remembers. Felix’s handsome face, dark circles cut deep under his eyes and his signature sneer replaced by red-hot frustration. The glint of metal and the sharp prick against his skin, just before Felix goes rigid and--

Sylvain throws himself into a sitting position and immediately regrets it. There’s a lancing pain across his chest and it’s almost as though the breath has been kicked out of him. He presses a hand to his chest and tries to suck in air. 

He remembers floating through the dark and cold. He remembers the feeling of nothing.

He should be dead. 

Felix stabbed him and he should be dead. Really, really dead. 

There’s a gentle hand on his thigh and he jumps. It’s Mercedes, all serene smile and soft fingers. She squeezes his leg softly. “Shh,” she soothes, guiding him back against the pillows.

He wants to ask, but he can’t find the words. His throat feels like the grinding papers that Felix-- 

Felix.

“He’s right over there,” she says quietly, jerking her head in a direction past him. Sylvain turns, barely able to make out a person shaped lump on another bed, wrapped tightly in blankets. “He needed rest, so I cast sleep on him. He won’t be happy about it when he wakes.”

That makes him laugh, but it comes out like an awkward squawk. Still, how very like the both of them. Mercedes pats his knee gently, before she lets go and leans closer. She presses her fingers against his forehead, testing the temperature. 

“Warm. Good.”

Which implies that he had been cold. Which implies that he had been dead. 

Why wasn’t he dead anymore?

“Mercie,” he manages finally. The words are dusty, but understandable. 

She smiles in return. “It was a close call,” she admits. Sylvain realizes that her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure that it was past close.” It’s the first full sentence he’s managed, and it’s difficult to articulate. It’s kind of like his mouth doesn’t want to move, and he has to really work at it. 

He wants to ask about Felix, but he can't. Not yet. Not when his head is still spinning, and he has to think to make his body work. So instead, he asks, "Where--?"

"Nowhere safe," she murmurs. "But we've left the company."

The implication of her words isn't lost on him. If they aren't on the battlefield any longer, then that means that they've deserted. And as far Dimitri was concerned, he probably views that particular complication as a death sentence. 

“Felix--” Sylvain finally manages, but the question remains lodged in his throat. 

There a sudden dip in her expression, a slight furrow in her brow. “Sylvain,” she starts, and moves to interrupt her, but he stops when she grabs his hand gently. Her fingers are soft, and her skin is warm against his palm. “Don’t hate Felix.” 

"How bold of you to assume," he says with light humor. His voice cracks slightly as he chuckles. “Mercie,” he continues, unable to hide the fondness in his tone, “I could never hate him.”

It’s a long moment as she watches him, but finally she smiles. She reaches out, straightening the collar of his his dirty and torn shirt. “It’s not that I doubted you,” she says lightly. Her laugh is a balm across the tense moment. 

“I’m angry,” he admits. “I’m so angry but…  I love him, so it’ll be okay.” And then Sylvain paused, a pained grimace coming across his face. He wasn’t sure if it was wound, or Mercedes’ kindness, or the idea that maybe things won’t actually be okay, despite it all. 

Then he realized exactly what he had said, and while it’s not like Mercedes doesn’t know, it’s still pretty embarrassing. But the crook of her mouth in response lights up the room, and for the first time since he’s woken up, there’s a small sense of peace. 

“He’ll need time,” she finally says. 

If there’s one thing about Felix, it’s that everything he does is wholeheartedly, but he doesn’t know how to articulate those feelings. Sylvain would bet the rest of his life that Felix will avoid him for as long as possible, so he doesn’t have to come to terms with things. 

Still, it’s endearing, if anything, and Sylvain’s expression softens. “Yeah well, I would say that he’s worth the wait, you know? I’ve been to death and back at this point, what’s a little longer?”

Mercedes laughs quietly, before telling him to rest. 

…

Sylvain sleeps for nearly three days straight and the next time he wakes, it’s not Felix by his bedside. 

Not that he really expects him to be, if he were to be honest. What he doesn’t expect however, is a hearty slap on his leg and the charming laugh of Claude.

“You look like death warmed up,” the man says with humor, pulling away when Sylvain hitches slightly in pain. The ache is still there, but it’s better. He thinks. 

“Well, I mean--”

“No need to explain,” Claude cuts him off, holding up a hand. “Mercedes already did.” Then something somber falls across his face, and he continues with, “When the battle was over and we couldn’t find you, we thought the worst.”

“Ah well, you know me,” Sylvain jokes, “Spurned lovers and all of that. Figures it’d be Felix to finally do me in.”

“Felix?” Claude asks, and Sylvain realizes that he’s made a mistake. While Mercedes had filled him in, as it were, she hadn’t given him specific particulars. Such as Felix being the one to do him in. When Sylvain doesn’t answer immediately, Claude presses his fingers to his chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not surprising,” he says carefully. 

“It’s… complicated,” Sylvain replies. 

Claude taps his chin. “Is it though? Or is that an excuse?”

It isn’t the first time that Claude has imparted his surprising and unwanted wisdom. Sylvain sighs, pressing back into his pillow and staring at the ceiling. “Claude, why are you even here?” he asks, desperate to change the topic. 

Claude regards him carefully, but obliges. “Who do you think I am?” he asks, affronted. “You’re one of my men Sylvain. We looked for you in that blasted field for more than a day. I was expecting to have to bury you in pieces.”

“Claude I--”

“You split off on your own,” the other man admonishes. “You ignored Teach--”

“I was thrown from my horse,” Sylvain interrupted. “A bolt of Thoron spooked her, and with all the mud and fog, I got lost. And then there was--” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “There was Felix. It wasn’t that I didn’t think he wouldn’t… It was more that hoped that he wouldn’t… well, you know.”

Sylvain watches Claude think. He watches as his eyebrows draw tightly, and as he takes a deep breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Claude says, “but the two of you have always read like an open book. I mean, have you seen the both of you in a room together? Whatever it is between the two of you… you could literally choke each other with it.”

Sylvain turns his gaze towards the golden-skinned man who sat at his bedside, his arms crossed smugly. “Honestly,” Claude continues. “It’s about fucking time for the two you to start talking about feelings.” 

“Claude, he murdered me in cold blood.” 

“I mean, yeah, that’s pretty bad as far as arguments go. Makes for a good story to tell the grandchildren, though.” 

Sylvain groans at first, but he can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips. “I think that we both know there aren’t going to be grandchildren.”

Claude hums thoughtfully. “Do you remember what you told me a while back, when we met at Garreg Mach again?” Sylvain blinks, because no, he doesn’t quite. That was months ago, and time seems to drag on forever when war was involved. Things are lost and easily forgotten, when you’re so distracted. “You told me that you wanted to forge a world who didn’t give a crap about who you are. You maintain that your motivation is entirely selfish, but it isn’t. Everything that you’ve done, has been so no one will have to suffer like your brother did. Like you still do. And that’s my goal, you know? I want people to live the life that they want to, not that is expected.”

“Claude, if this is another one of your unwanted snippets of advice--”

“You’ve been given another chance, and you really shouldn’t waste it.” 

Sylvain looks to Claude, whose green eyes glimmer back at him. He’s amused. And slightly annoyed, but mostly amused. He slaps at his knee again, and then says, “Now then. When are you cleared for field duty? It’s high time we get back to base.”

Claude stands up, stretching his arms high above his head, prompting Sylvain to lean forward in the bed. “You can’t expect me to leave him here,” he says, his voice wavering just a tiny bit. Not when they’ve just found each other again. Not when they haven’t even properly talked about it all. 

And Claude blinks back at him, baffled. “What? Of course not. He’ll come with us, of course. I won’t take no for an answer.”

…

The trip back to Garreg Mach takes longer than expected, and it’s mostly Sylvain’s fault. 

Mercedes imparts her delight whenever she can, as to how well he’s recovered thus far. Not that he feels any useful. He can barely stand, let alone walk on his own, and he’s quarantined to the supply cart under the guise of easy transport. 

Even if he’s doing better than expected, he’s not happy to be sleeping next to wheels of sharp cheese and eggs that are slightly past their prime. 

Felix still keeps to himself. Sylvain still expects it, and he tries to tell himself that it doesn’t really hurt, but it does. It stings, and that burn gets worse every day. It’s because he misses that man’s stupid face, even if he can imagine the expression that he’ll carry. 

But Dimitri is dead, he’s learned, and until very recently, he was too. Felix’s mind must be reeling with emotions that he really doesn’t want to deal with. 

Shame and embarrassment, Sylvain thinks. Claude banks on utter disregard instead, touting that Felix was a prime example of someone who internalizes everything. He isn’t wrong, per se. Regardless, Sylvain aches, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s recovering from being very dead, or a severely broken heart. 

“It isn’t broken,” Mercedes hums. It’s their last night on the road, and they should see the monastery cresting the horizon sooner than later. 

“Yet.” 

It isn’t often she frowns, but she directs one right at him, pulling his bandages just a smidge tighter than usual. He yelps slightly in return. “I told you to give him time,” she reprimands softly. 

“It’s been over a week,” he says morosely. “I really am a fool,” he sighs. “Muttering such stupid things in the haze of death. He probably thinks the worst of me.”

Her fingers pause momentarily and she sighs. “He thinks worse of himself,” she says, and the moment the words leave her mouth, Slyvain knows them to be true. 

“He should know me better than that,” he replies. 

“Whatever does that mean?”

“It means that he should know that I forgive him.”

She finishes the rest of her mending in silence, before helping his shirt back on. It’s a spare from Claude, and it’s a little tight, but he makes do. Once he settles back into the cot, she fusses over his hair, brushing back his bangs. “It’s not you that he’s worried about,” she finally says, “And you know that. He won’t come to you until he’s forgiven himself.”

“Fantastic,” Sylvain groans. “I’m to be single forever, then. Spend the rest of my life in lonesome misery.”

Mercedes gives him a gentle smile, before slapping his shoulder hard. “Oh don’t be so dramatic.”

He doesn’t say anything back though, just smiles at her as he rubs at his bruised shoulder.

…

It’s been two weeks, three days and about four hours, since the last time Sylvain has seen Felix. He’s been bored enough to count, and worried enough to think that the time actually means something. It doesn’t, really. He knows this. Claude knows this, Mercedes knows this, the entire Golden Deer house knows this. And everyone knows by now. No one really talks about it and they’re careful about what they say around him, but their encouragement lingers. Their kind words mean something at least. 

And then Hilda says something that actually tips the scale. “All this time you spend complaining about his dumb ass,” she says to him one night, “when you could have easily just gone to him instead. Your legs aren’t broken as well, are they?”

Yeah, he was pretty stupid to not think of that, but he’s also distracted. He still hurts and he still feels off sometimes, and he spends most of his time trying to be normal again. It’s harder than he would care to admit.

Felix is predictably at his usual haunt. The training grounds are hot and humid, and smell like day-old sweat. Felix has his back to him. He throws around a blade in familiar arcs near the center of the room, but his footwork his sloppy and his efforts seem half-hearted. 

Something about him looks broken. 

“Go away,” Felix calls out, not even bothering to look. “I’m tired of your pity and pep talks. I don’t care who it is, just leave me be.” 

Sylvain sighs, stepping closer. His footsteps seem loud in the room, but Felix ignores him. Instead, he slices at the training dummy. The blade slaps flat against it with a dull thud. There isn’t any heat to his strike, and it’s so unlike Felix that it damn near breaks Sylvain’s heart. 

“Felix,” he finally says, and the other man stops dead. Sylvain can see him trembling, he can see him about to run away, like a startled deer. “No,” he says before Felix can do so. “Don’t--”

“I said to leave me be,” Felix snaps, still not looking at him. 

“We need to talk,” Sylvain replies.

“Go away!” Felix says once more, his voice heated.

A swell of emotion falls over Sylvain, and he snaps as well, a rare moment of anger. “You owe me that much,” he yells back, and even though Felix is looking away, he can see the way that his jaw clenches. “I said some things,” Sylvain continues, his voice falling quiet. He’s close enough now to see the tired sag of Felix’s shoulders. “And it wasn’t easy, Fe. None of that was easy for me.”

“Fuck off,” Felix replies, moving to hone on on the dummy once more. His voice lacks bite though, and it wavers with frustration. 

“Stop,” Sylvain asks, but the other man makes no move to do so. When he strikes this time, it’s harder, with intent, and the blade cuts into the wicker of the trainer viciously. “Felix--”

“I won’t warn you again,” Felix cuts in with. There’s another thwap and his blade slices clean through the arm on the dummy. 

“You’ve already killed me once,” Sylvain jokes, but the words taste sour in his mouth. This isn’t how this conversation is supposed to go. “What could you possibly do to me now?”

Felix hesitates, his sword dropping an inch. Then he tenses again. “Then you should know better than anyone that I follow through on my threats.”

“You don’t mean that--”

“I’ve killed you once, I can absolutely kill you again.” The other arm falls from the dummy, Felix’s blade slicing through like butter. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You lasted like two minutes before you changed your mind. Admit it, you love me.” 

Felix lets out a growl, and Sylvain winces. Yeah, he doesn’t like his tone either, but he wasn’t good with things like feelings-- neither of them were. He masks his discomfort with badly timed humor, and that rarely actually works for him.

Felix pushes harder, sword swinging faster and sweat dripping from his brow. His form is sloppy again, his footwork slipping and--

“Felix,” Sylvain says, reaching out to grab at his wrist. “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Felix yells out in frustration, but drops his blade. It clatters to the ground, metal scraping across the stone floor. And then he pushes at Sylvain. His hands are hard against his chest, and Sylvain grunts slightly. The area is still tender and aches, but he holds his ground. 

It annoys Felix. “You had to ruin things,” he finally snaps. “With your fucking feelings. Why couldn’t you--” He growls and pushes at Sylvain again. “You should have just-- I don’t know why--” Felix lets out a groan of frustration. “You left. You promised me, and then you just left.”

Oh. That’s what this is about. Sylvain catches his forearms before he can push at him again. Felix’s face is red, contorted in anger, like a feral beast. He tries to pull away, but Sylvain is bigger and stronger. 

“You’re so stupid,” Felix hisses. “So fucking stupid. So-- so--”

Sylvain shifts, pulling Felix in close. Felix fights the grip, prompting Sylvain to quiet him. “Hey, it’s okay.” One hand threads through Felix’s hair. It’s thick and oily because it hasn’t been washed, but he doesn’t care. Felix crumples under the touch, allowing himself to fall into his chest. 

“You trusted me,” he says against Sylvain’s shirt, his voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t have trusted me. You know that I don’t bluff.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sylvain murmurs, pressing his cheek to the crown of Felix’s head. His fingers dig into his scalp, and Felix sighs. 

“You really are stupid,” he repeats. 

“Yeah,” Sylvain says. “But I meant them, you know?” His voice is quieter this time around. “All those things that I said at the end.”

“Sylvain--”

“And I mean, if I’m going to die, I’d rather it be by your hand you know--”

“Sylvain--”

“It wasn’t so bad. I mean, it fucking hurt, but it really wasn’t--”

“For the love of the Goddess, stop.” 

Sylvain does. Felix is gripping shirt tightly in his fingers now, and they just stand there. And then Felix tenses under his hands and then he’s shaking, and suddenly his shirt is wet, and Oh God no, please don’t do that. 

“Mercie told me you begged her,” Sylvain says. He rubs his hand along Felix’s back, trying to soothe him with the gentle circling of his fingers. “That’s something I’m trying to imagine, you begging.”

Felix snorts, but Sylvain feels a chuckle shudder through the man. Well, that’s an improvement at least. 

“I get it though,” he continues. His cheek still rests against Felix’s head, and there’s hair in his mouth, and it’s kind of gross, but it’s also what he needs. It’s what Felix needs. “I did the same, all those years ago. I literally couldn’t think of living without you.”

“I panicked,” Felix finally says. 

Sylvain blinks at that, and then he laughs. It’s short and curt, half amused, half insulted. “That’s one hell of a way to panic.”

“I wasn’t going to, of course. As if I wanted to-- but then there was Dimitri, and he gave me this look. And I knew that if I didn’t, he would…” His voice trails off, and they both know exactly what he means. 

“So you understand then, why I left,” Sylvain asks him. 

“You didn’t ask me to go with you,” Felix accuses. “All this talk about how you didn’t want to live without me, but you left me behind.” 

Sylvain pulls away to look at him, but Felix refuses to meet his gaze. He’s not surprised; Felix has always been bad with eye contact. Instead, the man wipes at his nose, his face ruddy and tear-stricken. Sylvain takes his cheeks into hand, wiping at them with his thumbs. Felix snorts, somewhat annoyed, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Yeah, that wasn’t very smart of me,” he says. There’s a moment between them, and Sylvain watches Felix fidget under his touch. “Hey Fe,” he finally says. “Look at me?”

To his surprise, Felix does. He looks tired, and heavy bags under his eyes show that he hasn’t slept in days. Red-faced, with wet cheeks and a stern scowl that tugs his lips downward. But he’s gorgeous, Sylvain thinks as he rubs at his cheeks again, thumbing over the soft skin. 

And Goddess, he wants to kiss him. But the moment is tense, and they still have more talking to do, and he thinks that it needs to wait. 

“I love you,” he says, and something flashes across Felix’s face, as he makes a move to say something. But Sylvain holds his face firm. “And I forgive you,” he finishes, and then he leans forward and kisses his forehead. 

Felix doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t need to. Sylvain pulls him close again, and Felix just hangs on. He hangs on for dear life, like he’s afraid that he’s just going to disappear from under his fingertips. 

…

Things are weird, for Felix. 

There's a part of him-- a very large part-- that craves for Sylvain's constant attention. And there's this other part that just wants to run away and never see him again. That's a small part of him, minuscule even, but it's enough to give him pause. 

The crux of it is pretty simple. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see him, it’s that he has no idea how to approach the man. It’s stupid really. He’s waited years to see him again, and yeah, he’d hoped it would be under better circumstances. He’d hoped that it would be off the field, Sylvain coming to Dimitri’s aid, like a knight coming home. 

Instead, they’d met as enemies on the battlefield and Felix had killed him. His hand still shakes at the thought, at the memory of the biggest fucking mistake he’s ever made in his life. He swallows thickly. What if Mercie hadn’t found him? What if she hadn’t been able to save him? What if--

No. What-if’s won’t change anything. 

Sylvain has forgiven him, but how can he? Were it Felix killed and Sylvain at fault, he’d never--

Well no, that’s a lie as well. Felix will forgive the man for literally anything-- and really he already has. Why else would he consign himself to a life of misery by loving the most well-known philanderer of their school days? Even now, Sylvain still flirts with anything on legs. Provided he doesn’t sneak them back to his room anymore but…

Well, once a duck, always a duck, Felix supposes.

Felix is sitting in the courtyard, polishing a blade, when Sylvain appears and drops a satchel before him. Felix blinks at it momentarily, before turning his gaze upwards. Really, it was ridiculous how tall the man was. 

“What’s this?” he asks, nudging with the hand holding an oil cloth. 

“Tea,” Sylvain says simply. “It’s high time I take you on a date.”

Felix is almost positive this is a dream, because there was absolutely no way in seven hells that Sylvain just offers something like that. But the man waits, his gaze lit by excitement and expectation and-- 

Felix drops the cloth and settles the sword across his lap, moving to open the gift. His gaze narrows as he regards the other man shrewdly. “You don’t even like this brew.”

“Well, no, but you do.” 

“Sylvain, I’m not sharing tea with you.”

“Felix--”

“I have other things to attend to.”

“If it weren’t a date, would you?” The question is quiet and while Sylvain doesn’t seem angry, there is a slight strain to his tone. Things have been… weird since their moment of bonding the training hall the week before, but Felix prefers to not think about it. In fact, he prefers to just ignore anything regarding Sylvain. 

Clearly the other man is taking the opposite approach. 

Felix sighs. “That’s not-- no,” he finally manages. “It’s not the date that’s the problem.”

“Perfect. One hour--”

“Sylvain--” Felix starts, standing up from his seat. 

“By the docks.” Then a cheeky smile spreads across his face. “Unless you’d prefer my room--”

“Two hours,” Felix snaps, resting a hand on his hip. “At the training hall.” He can’t meet Sylvain’s face because he’s embarrassed by how easily he’s given in, as well as the other man’s bold insinuation. Even if he’s not wrong, that doesn’t mean he’ll give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“Outside the training hall then,” Sylvain amends. “That little bench off to the corner. There’s a nice view.” He pauses and blinks. “Then again, anywhere you are is a nice view--”

“I swear to the Goddess Sylvain, never say something like that again, otherwise I will gut you.”

“Well, it’s not as though you haven’t before.” He snatches the satchel back up, leaning forward to press a kiss against Felix’s cheek. It’s a quick peck but Felix turns red and blubbers, and before he can push him off, Sylvain is already gone. 

His tone had been teasing, amused even, but his words cut deep. 

It’s not as though you haven’t before. 

Ridiculous, to joke about such a thing, but isn’t that what Sylvain has always done? He’s always been a master at hiding his true feelings, manipulating people to think what they want. Felix is mildly annoyed that he’s used the tactic on him, of all people. 

The words settle deep into the pit of his stomach, souring his entire mood. 

…

Felix doesn’t show up for their date. 

It’s a shitty thing, he knows. At first it’s because he loses track of time. When he glances at the clock, he cringes. He’s always thrown himself into his training, but it’s been different lately. He looks at the dummy next to him and cringes again. 

Shamir wasn’t one to get annoyed, but if he keeps up with his current rate of destruction, she will. 

He’s sweaty and gross, hair sticking to the back of his neck. There’s a mirror that he glances in before he moves to leave the grounds, and Goddess above, he’s a mess. He can’t see Sylvain like this, so… unkempt. 

Besides, he’d overstayed his promised session by nearly two hours. There was no way that Sylvain was still--

He is absolutely still there, sitting on that bench. A tray with a teapot and cups sitting by his side. He’s not angry, he’s jittery, bouncing his leg up and down, running his hands along the fabric of his pants. This is an emotion that Felix knows, but rarely sees on the man. 

Sylvain is nervous. 

Felix pulls back into the grounds, closing the door behind him. No, no, no, he definitely can’t see him like this. He owes the redhead that much at least. 

Climbing isn’t his specialty, but he manages to scale the wall and pull himself through a window. He shimmies along the ledge and around the corner to the side of the building opposite Sylvain. 

Yeah, he’ll go freshen up in the bath. Rinse off, put some fresh clothes on and then he’ll meet his doom. 

But even after his bath, he doesn’t go to him. 

Nor does Felix show up for dinner. 

He wants to, Goddess knows that there actually isn’t anything more that he wants. Just-- the problem is-- Anxiety is a pesky devil. Felix can’t forget. He can’t forget what he’s done, and even if Sylvain has forgiven him, it digs deeper and deeper and deeper and--

So he sits in his room, a fidgeting mess. He’s like Sylvain earlier, but for an entirely different reason. At least he’s clean. His shirt is a little large on him, hanging loosely on his frame. His hair is wet and heavy, limp around his face. At least he’s not stinking of sweat any longer. He can finally try to relax, to think, to try and sort things out. 

He’ll figure out an excuse to feed Sylvain. 

A knock at his door snaps him from his thoughts.

“Felix.”

Of course. Felix’s fingers tighten, twisting his pants leg.

“I know you’re in there,” Slyvain says quietly, his voice muffled by the door. 

Despite everything, Felix cannot refuse him. He’s tried over the years, and it’s left him a miserable heap of shit, but he’s always drawn back to Sylvain. And the one time he held his ground, the one time he followed his own path-- Well. It was a path that didn’t end so well. 

And like always, he immediately regretted it.

He stands wearily, shuffling over and pulling open the thick oak door. Felix tries to find the judgement on the other man’s face, but Sylvain has the gall to not be angry. He just stands there, that stupid goofy smile stretching wide across his face, looking at Felix like he’s some sort of fucking treasure. 

Felix immediately scowls, falling into his familiar habits. “Look, I--”

“It’s okay Felix,” Sylvain says easily. 

Felix can’t do this, he can’t. He moves to shut the door, but Sylvain is quicker. He wedges his boot between the door and the jam. “Felix,” he says again, reaching out to grasp at his hand. Felix let’s him, calloused thumbs smoothing over his knuckles. He can’t stop the shaking of his fingers. “Felix-- hey, will you look at me? It’s okay.”

Felix does look at him. There’s a furrow in Sylvain’s brow, and that smile is suddenly pulled tightly at one corner. The squeeze around his hand, anchoring him and-- 

Oh. 

It’s odd, Felix thinks, for Sylvain to be worried. “Can we talk?” he finds himself asking before he can stop himself. “I mean-- what I mean is that I want to try--”

“Whatever you want, Fe,” Sylvain cuts in, still rubbing his thumb across the back of his hand. His tone is so earnest that it warms Felix down to the core. He pulls his hand away and steps back from the door, motioning him in. 

Sylvain does as he’s told, and Felix shuts the door behind them. 

“It’s been years since I’ve been in here.” There’s amusement in his voice, but it’s underlined by a tight sadness. “It looks the same.”

“It’s not like I’ve had time to redecorate,” Felix snaps.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s right,” Sylvain says quietly, and Felix immediately regrets his words. 

Sylvain stretches his arms high over his head, before falling onto the bed unceremoniously. Felix starts at that but-- but what’s he going to do? Kick him out? Sylvain won’t budge, he’s certain of that. The man is stretched out across the mattress, already snuggled into the blankets. 

Felix swallows thickly. He’s imagined this scenario more times than he can count, and in varying degrees. 

“Mercie told me to give you time,” Sylvain suddenly says, his voice muffled slightly by Felix’s pillow. He turns slightly, pulling himself up from the mattress, and moving to sit across the bed proper. “But Felix, you can’t hide from me forever.”

He can, Felix thinks. He can absolutely try. He’d been fairly successful the entire day, in fact, until Sylvain had come right to his door and-- Oh. Felix is still standing there, trying to find something to do with hands in the awkward silence, but fails miserably. There’s nothing natural about randomly dusting things in a messy room, or moving to pick up errant and dirty laundry. 

Sylvain watches him. It’s without judgement. It’s with patience, something that Felix isn’t aware that Sylvain even possessed. Finally the other man decides that he’s had enough of Felix’s fidgeting. He reaches out and grabs his hand, only for Felix to yank it back quite suddenly. And Sylvain isn’t offended, but there’s a cloudy expression of something there and--

Oh, there it is, Felix thinks. This is that moment, the one where Sylvain realizes what a mistake everything is. Felix can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t and--

“Felix, talk to me,” Sylvain pleads, interrupting his thoughts. 

“None of that was easy,” Felix finally says, unable to meet his gaze. “That’s what you said the other day about-- well, when you said some things. That’s how you described it.” Felix lip curls slightly at that. “As if you’re the only one who has suffered through this. Do you think it was easy for me? Sylvain, I was the one who-- I--” 

His hands find his hair, yanking at it, as he lets out a frustrated yell. “I never wanted to, I fucking swear it. But I did. I did, Sylvain. I killed you, and it’s my hands that is stained with your blood. It doesn’t matter how much I wash them, or scrub at them, they will never come clean.”

He’s breathing heavy when he pauses, his words just bubbling forth. He can’t stop them, he won’t stop them, but it doesn’t make it feel better. All the pain, the regret, the guilt. He’s at a tipping point, and it’s only a matter of time before he falls right over that cliff. 

“Oh, Fe,” Sylvain whispers. He stands and before Felix can push him away, he pulls the smaller man to him, hugging him close. “I didn’t know,” he says. “The burden that you’re carrying, I had no idea.”

Felix thumps his chest with his hand, but then his head falls forward, his brow resting against Sylvain’s collarbone. “How can you love me?” It’s a question that’s been burning in him for weeks now. Sylvain is such a wondrous man, with his smiles and his feelings, and this new-found intimacy. 

It’s too perfect and Felix is still waiting for the dream to end, and for him to wake up. For Sylvain to be dead and bloody in his lap. “How can you possibly bear the sight of me?” he continues with. “I called his Highness a Boar, but I’m no better, I’m worse, you should hate--”

“Don’t tell me how to feel about you.” Sylvain’s polite tone practically cracks Felix’s heart in two. He pulls away from the other man, intent on putting as much space between the two of them that he can.

“Felix--”

“Don’t--”

“No, you’re going to listen,” Sylvain cuts in firmly. 

Felix blinks, but falls onto his bed without question. It’s Sylvain’s turn to fidget. He paces across the room, trying to gather his thoughts. 

“I was a dumb kid,” he finally says. Felix resists the urge to agree. “I was really dumb. I thought that if did what my father asked, flirted with whatever girl came my way, losing myself in late-night trysts and--” He sighs, the hand he’d been gesturing with falling to his side. “It was hopeless though,” he admits, a wry smile falling across his lips. “I was already in so deep, when it came to you.”

Felix shifts on the bed, opening his mouth to reply, but Sylvain shot him a warning look. 

“I couldn’t fool anyone, really. I mean, Mercie knew, and if you think she was the only one…” Sylvain slides a hand through his hair, tugging at the red locks. “My father knew,” he says next, and Felix felt his blood run cold. 

Finally, Sylvain looks at Felix, his brown eyes simmering with old hatred and barely contained anger. “I knew that the Kingdom would never allow us to be… Dimitri is--” He pauses, winces. “Was a good man, but even he wouldn’t be able to change things. If the Kingdom survived, I’d have to go back home and do my so-called divine duty.”

Felix’s throat is dry. This is something he knows well, being a Duke. 

“So I left.”

“You abandoned Faerghus--”

“There’s no future for me, without you in it, Fe. Which means there’s no future in a bitter-cold Kingdom, who won’t allow people to love.” Felix snaps his mouth shut at that. “Claude proposed a united front,” Sylvain says next. “He promised change. He promised a place, for everyone.” He pauses. “He promised freedom.”

“Sylvain--”

“I should have told you,” Sylvain cuts in. He goes to Felix, dropping to his knees before him. Sylvain is shorter this way, but they're on a closer level. “I should have asked you to come, but for all I knew, you didn’t feel the same. I thought-- Well, I thought if I had a plan at first, maybe you’d actually listen. But it was wrong of me to leave and not tell you.”

“I was angry,” Felix starts, “when I saw you on that battlefield, but it wasn’t--” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “The Boar-- Dimitri changed, and when he did, I felt that I had made the wrong choice. We were marching through the mud and the rain for what seemed like the thousandth time. Battle after battle, and it wasn’t ever getting better.

“And then there was you. You looked good, and I just wanted to go back to when we were young, to turn back that clock and just forget.”

“I would have asked you to come, but you never gave me the chance.”

Felix laughs at that, at the bitter irony. “Sylvain, I-- You must know that I care for you.”

Sylvain is still on his knees before him, and the floor cannot feel good against his bones. But the other man looks at him fondly, his hands pressed against Felix’s legs, squeezing them. “I mean, not exactly what I want to hear, but I suppose it’s as good as I’ll get, coming from you.” 

“He would have killed you,” Felix whispers. Sylvain cocks his head to the side, waiting to hear more. “Dimitri. I was about to stop, about to throw the knife to the side but-- there he was, and I knew if I didn’t do it, then he would have. And it would have been worse.”

Sylvain hums at that, stroking his thumb along Felix’s thigh. “I was prepared to die by your hand. I mean, I didn’t want to, but if it had to be someone… Well, I wasn’t lying about that part.”

“We’re pretty dumb, aren’t we?”

“That’s what Mercie says. Even five years ago, when I was in my cups and crying to her about you.” 

Felix reaches out, pressing his hand into Sylvain’s hair. It’s coarse and thick, so unlike his own silky strands. He curls his fingers into the tresses, pulling at them lightly. He loves this man, truly he does. More than anything. 

And he believes Sylvain, when he says that he left to carve a future where they could be together. 

“I love you,” Sylvain says, as Felix’s hand ghosts down his cheek bone. 

“I… am rather fond of you,” he replies, and Sylvain laughs, turning to press his lips against Felix’s hand. 

Eventually, they both find their way into his bed. It’s a tiny double, not meant for two full grown men, but they roll onto their sides and Sylvain pulls Felix close. It’s too warm under the covers, but Sylvain smells good, like his sandalwood soap and saddle leather. Felix smoothes a hand over the other man’s chest, and opens his mouth to say something else but--

Sylvain is already asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. 

Felix decides to let it be. 

…

Sylvain’s lips are moving, but there’s no sound. His eyes are wide as he suddenly winces in pain, blood bubbling over his lips. Felix feels the panic swell in him. No, no, no, this isn’t supposed to happen, this was never his intention. Sylvain isn’t supposed too-- What on earth has he done?

This was a mistake, Felix thinks, shaking Sylvain. The other man struggles to keep his eyes open, and Felix shakes him harder. A mistake, a mistake, a mistake. Felix is so fucking stupid, but it’s too late. It’s too late, as Sylvain falls limp in his arms. Felix cries out, he screams, tears streaming down his face.

When he looks down at his hands, all he sees is blood, Sylvain’s blood, running red. They can’t die without each other, they can’t. And so Felix pulls the knife from Sylvain, turning it towards himself, plunging it in without a second thought. The blade rips through him, through skin and muscle and sinew, straight into his--

Felix jerks awake, his hand flying to his chest. It hurts, everything hurts. This is wrong, this is wrong, Sylvain is dead and he’s supposed to follow. He cannot live alone, he cannot do this, how can he live with himself, he promised--

There’s shuffling on the mattress next to him, as it dips under someone’s weight. “Felix--” Sylvain starts, his voice tired and full of sleep, but he doesn’t quite register it. 

Felix’s stomach recoils and he heaves, but nothing comes up. His sweaty bangs are stuck to his forehead. Such pain, he thinks. Goddess above, such pain and-- 

Sylvain surely must have felt more. He’s--

“Felix,” Sylvain says again, this time more awake. His hands move to cradle his face, large and warm and comforting and--

Sylvain is alive, Felix remembers. Sylvain is alive, alive, alive. He can’t help that sob that rips up through him, his throat tight, his breath catching. Soon he’ll be a snotting mess, like when they were children, and Felix would come running to Sylvain to cry just about anything. 

Sylvain thumbs his cheeks softly, pressing their foreheads together, offering sweet words. Felix focuses on them, on his comforting voice and the warmth of his being. 

Sylvain is alive. 

“Shh,” Sylvain says, “It’s okay, Felix. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Felix finally says, his voice cracking. “You’re here.” He says it, like he’s trying to convince himself. His fingers find purchase in Sylvain’s shirt, gripping it tightly, pulling him closer. 

Sylvain hugs him close, running his fingers through his long hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Felix, talk to me,” he whispers into the crown of his head. 

“This is-- the dreams,” he finally says. “Every night. It comes back-- the blood on my hands, Sylvain. Your blood on my hands. It’s all I can think about.”

“Felix, look at me.” Sylvain pulls away, gripping his cheeks again, forcing Felix to do so. His brown eyes are inviting and so full of love, and Felix wants to crawl into them, and never leave. 

Felix was a fool to never ask for this. He was a fool to wait so long. Even stupider to pick a fight on the battlefield, to think that he could actually live without Sylvain. “I don’t deserve this,” he manages. 

Sylvain doesn’t pull away. He caresses his cheek with a soft thumb, his lips spreading into a smile. “Felix, you deserve the world. That’s why I left-- the entire reason. You refused to carve a path for us, so I did instead.”

Felix throws all caution out the window, pressing a hand to the back of Sylvain’s head and pulling him closer. He presses their lips together, his other hand tightening its grip on the other man’s shirt. It’s their real first kiss, not a peck on the cheek or head, but an honest to Goddess kiss. Sylvain is surprised, but he falls into it, a hand slipping to the back of Felix’s neck.

“Stupid,” Felix whispers against his lips. “You should have said something.” 

“Yeah, I can be pretty dumb,” Sylvain admits. “But you can be as well. How long Felix? You said that you were angry that I left you behind but--”

“Forever, you dolt." Felix, for once, isn't embarrassed by the words. Sylvain looks at him like he’s just given him the entire world, and his chest just fills with this warmth. Felix presses his hands against Sylvain’s chest, pushing him back. Sylvain follows, resting against the headboard, his pillow propped against his lower back.

“For as long as I can remember,” Felix continues, sliding up along Sylvain’s body, arranging his legs on either side of the other man’s thighs. This is dangerous territory now, Felix can tell. Sylvain’s breathing has caught, his hands finding Felix’s hips, squeezing gently. Wanting to pull his hips forwards, just a little bit closer. He doesn’t though, settling for gripping at Felix tightly.

Felix drags his hand up to the linen shirt Sylvain wears. It’s open around the neck, falling loose and showing off his collarbone. His fingers run the length of it gently. “I’ve dreamt of this,” he says to Sylvain, “of you below me like this.” He’s dreamt about this man underneath him, in the throes of passion, wanting him. It’s been a pathetic five years for him, with only his memories and his hand to accompany him.

Sylvain looks like he’s on fire, like he wants to eat him alive, and Felix thrives on it. 

“Felix, you don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Felix interrupts, pulling back slightly to catch the edge of his own shirt in his fingers. “Idiot,” he adds as a punctuation. But then there’s that fear again, that hesitation, and he can’t stop the words before they leave his mouth. “Unless you don’t--”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Sylvain cuts in. “Goddess, Felix, as if I couldn’t want you.”

Felix hesitates, before pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side. Sylvain follows suit, but then pauses, his hands halting. “I can-- I can keep the shirt on,” he says quietly. “If you’d prefer.” 

Felix’s gaze falls to his chest, confused, as his hand slides along Sylvain’s abs. 

“There’s a scar,” Sylvain murmurs. “It’s healed well enough, but it’s uh… It’s not exactly handsome.”

“Sylvain, I have terrible scars as well. It doesn’t--”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Sylvain sighs, thumbing at Felix’s hip bone. “I mean from… you.”

Oh. Oh. It hits him at once, that Sylvian's worried about him. It's evident there, in his concerned gaze, the way that his thumb runs circles into the skin near his waist. 

"I cannot run--" Felix cuts himself off. "I will not run away," he finishes. He rucks the shirt up Sylvain's chest, ghosting his fingers over his golden skin and old scars. Up his chest to his heart and--

It's a nasty scar, still pink with freshly healed skin. Puckered and jagged at the edge, showing how Felix had stabbed him with shaking hands and immediate regret. His fingertips smooth over it. "This is a part of you know," Felix says, his voice suddenly hoarse. Then he leans over, pressing his lips to it in a gentle kiss. "It's a part of me as well."

And then his tongue snaked out, licking over the ridges of the scar. He felt Sylvain shift under him, his breath hitching as his hands found his hair, yanking-- 

Felix smirked against his skin, pressing one more kiss to it, before leaning back to pull off the shirt entirely. Sylvain helps, pulling away from the headboard, frantically trying to pull the linen away. 

"Easy," Felix tells him, running his hands back down Sylvain's sides, taking in the hard muscles there. "I'm not going anywhere." A pause. “You aren’t going anywhere. We have plenty of time.”

“Felix,” Sylvain says, sliding his hands from his hips, dragging them down his thighs, squeezing and-- “You’re killing me here.”

“I’ve already done that.” The joke feels strange on his tongue, but Sylvain cracks a smile. 

“Yeah, well, at least I’ll die happy this time.”

Felix hums. “That depends on what you’re expecting.” His fingers drag along the waistband of Slyvain’s sleeping pants, hooking just barely into it. “Come on Sylvain, use your words.”

Sylvain’s moves to grab him by the hips once more, pulling them down, forwards, closer and oh-- He’s already hard against him, and Felix’s cheeks burn at the idea, but he can’t pull his hips away from that delicious friction. 

Felix rolls his hips forwards again, but stops just short of where they both really want him. “Felix--” Sylvain starts, but his words come out strangled when he feels Felix lean over to press his lips against his throat. 

“Better,” he whispers against the skin there. “But not enough.”

“Felix.” 

Felix smiles against him, kissing the length of his neck, his tongue snaking out along the softness there. His hand is bolder though. “Tell me,” Felix says. He pulls his hips back, his fingers brushing across the top of the bulge in Sylvain’s pants. “Beg for it.”

“Fe, please.” 

It’s delicious, Felix thinks, that broken tone of his. It’s better than anything dreamt up, more so than he has ever imagined. Sylvain, pink in the cheeks and breaths already heavy, hard under his hand and--

If Felix has any doubts whether or not Sylvain actually wants him, they’ve flown right out the window. He knows that Sylvain won’t bare himself like this for anyone else. 

He palms Sylvain’s cock through his pants and the man keens under his touch, his head falling back against the headboard with a thud. Felix presses harder, his fingers cupping him, squeezing lightly and--

Sylvain’s already grabbing him, already pulling his hand away. 

“So soon,” Felix chides. 

“No, no, but Goddess get these pants off of me.” Felix doesn’t move, only squeezes him again, and Sylvain bucks against his hand. “Fuck-- Please,” the man grits out, and Felix smiles at him. 

He pulls off of him, and Sylvain manages to get his pants to his knees, before Felix has his hands on him. Thick and long, perfect against his hand-- Felix drags a finger along the side of Sylvain’s cock. The sound that rips from the man flows through Felix, settling low in the pit of his stomach. 

He grips him tighter, fingers wrapped around him. Up and down, pulling at his skin, twisting around the crown and spreading the moisture there. Sylvain’s eyes are closed and his face red, as he surrenders to the touch. His hips buck into his grip and Felix let’s go. 

Sylvain is immediately alert, eyes open and frantic when he meets Felix’s gaze. And then they see where Felix’s fingers are hooked into his own pants. 

Felix pauses, slipping his fingers just under the waistband, trailing along the dusting of hair underneath his bellybutton. Sylvain just stares dumbly, his eyes wide and bright. “What is it?” Felix asks, teasing him. 

“That’s… that’s my shirt,” Sylvain replies dumbly. 

Felix looks down at the garment, a grey cotton shirt that’s far too big on him. He scalped it from Sylvain in their school days. “Oh this old thing?” Felix finally replies, bringing a sleeve to his face, rubbing it along his cheek. “You know, the things I used to do with it-- It’s kept me a lot of company, over the years. Rutting into it was sometimes a better alternative to my hand-- but it was always with you on my mind--”

“I must be in Heaven,” Sylvain murmurs. “Or actually, this is hell. There’s no way you’d actually admit to something like that.”

Felix decides to leave the shirt on. He slides his pants off smoothly, throwing them to the side, and then he’s over Sylvain again, slotting their hips together. Sylvain’s cock is hard and heavy against him, and Felix can’t resist a slow grind, skin already slick with sweat. 

Then he reaches between them, only for Sylvain to bat his hand away. “I want to,” he says, his fingers pressing against the base of Felix. “Goddess, please I--” But Felix only laughs, pulling his own hand away. 

Sylvain swallows and licks his hand indelicately, before pressing their lengths together. It’s Felix’s turn to moan. Sylvain’s hand wraps around the both of them, wide and warm, and calloused and fucking perfect and-- 

“Sylvain,” he moans, rutting into the grip, trying to get more friction. 

The other man tightens his grip, sliding his hand up and down, squeezing at their bases. Rolling his wrist near the top, collecting the precome, spreading it wide with his palms. Felix’s hand joins him, squeezing tighter, moving faster, trying to set a more frantic pace.

Sylvain thrusts into the tight grip, his thighs tensing underneath Felix. The moan that rips from his throat is worth one thousand deaths, Felix thinks. Sylvain is worth one thousand deaths. He would die for this man, and he would do so over and over and over again because--

“I love you.” 

Sylvain pauses the motion, staring back up at him with wonder, and it takes Felix a moment to realize what exactly had slipped from his mouth. 

“Fe--”"

"Goddess, I love you," Felix repeats. He grips Sylvain's hand around their cocks again, his other threading their fingers together. "And look at you under me, perfect and all mine. Always mine. Forever mine." 

Sylvain works a slower rhythm and Felix chases his hand with his hips, pressing into his fingers frantically. 

"Again, please," Sylvain begs.

Felix says it again, because he can't deny this stupid man anything. Sylvain's hips thrust faster, his hand gripping tighter as Felix holds on. Their other hands are clenched and finally, Sylvain throws his head back, tumbling over that edge. 

His come is warm and slick, and Felix ruts into the grip several more times before following, pressing his sweaty forehead into the crook of Sylvain's neck.

Sylvain's stomach is a mess. Felix pulls away long enough to pull his shirt off, wiping him clean.

"That…" Sylvain pauses, breathing like he's run the length of a battlefield. "Felix, there aren't words to describe that."

"Are you saying that I've fucked you speechless?" 

Felix is only teasing, but then Sylvain smirks. "Oh darling, you haven't fucked me yet. That was just a teaser."

Felix turns into a red and sputtering mess, pushing away from the other man. Sylvain laughs, pulling him back closer. "I'm only teasing." Felix allows himself to be pulled flesh with him, Sylvain pressed against his back. "Except for the fucking me part. That can happily be arranged."

"Insatiable," Felix half-snarls, but it lacks heat. 

Sylvain hums in response, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "Only for you."

"Idiot."

"Right back at you." The banter is so… primary school, but it brings immense comfort. Sylvain can tell that he's thinking though, because he asks, "Feel better?" 

"I--" Well, anyone would, after a performance like that. There's no use in denying it. "Yes." Sylvain hums at that, noting along the soft skin of his neck. 

"It will take… awhile, for things to get better," Felix says into the quiet room. 

"I know Fe. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay." 

Felix tries not to cry at his words, really he does. He's done a lot of terrible things in his life he doesn't deserve this but-- Well, Sylvain does, at least. 

Felix turns around, pressing his cheek against Sylvains chest. The other man runs soothing circles into his back, murmuring words of endearment. 

Yeah, he doesn't deserve this, but maybe one day he will. 

…

It’s weird to think that her bloodline will end with her. 

It’s not a bother. It doesn’t keep her up at night. She doesn’t need her own children, she already has plenty. She keeps a watchful eye over dozens of them, and her orphanage is a refuge for an ever growing number of bedraggled  bodies that roam in off of the street. 

But still, it’s a weird thought. 

It’s also weird to think that it will be the same for the houses of Gautier and Fraldarius. Felix has never cared much for his own blood, but Sylvain was raised to do so. And even if he still brushes it off to this day, he cares, he will always care-- just a little bit. That part of his life has brought him too much pain and loss. 

It’s impossible to separate from it. 

But-- But-- The fire is warm, and the room is cozy, and there she sits with a soothing pot of tea--

“Ugh, Bergamot?” Felix sounds positively offended. His voice is quiet, but still holds the sharpness he’s so well known for. Even if it’s been softened around the edges a little bit. He looks older, the circles under his eyes cut deeper. His hair is long enough to hang over one shoulder, loosely braided. The silver that streaks through it, sparkles in the firelight.  

“What did you expect?” Sylvain scoffs. “Holiday tree needles?” Time has been better to him. There are wrinkles and crow's feet, but he looks largely the same, aside from his short-cropped hair and generally tired disposition. 

“Almyra Pine Needles are a perfect brew, and--” 

“The only places those leaves belong, are on a Yule tree. Preferably with presents underneath it--” 

Felix launches himself from the other end of the settee, swatting at Sylvain. The red-head yelps with supreme exaggeration. “Mercie,” he cries. “Tell him-- tell him that he’s wrong.” The words come out in a rush, because he’s laughing as Felix swats at him again.

Mercedes feels the smile spread that spreads across her lips, deep in her bones. “Now, now, the both of you know that I prefer fruity blends-- which is precisely what I’m brewing. Behave, or I’ll leave before we even get to enjoy our visit.”

Both of the men pause their teasing, but Felix is the first to sit back down. Business as always; some things never change. It’s not far to their estate in the north, but it’s far enough to be inconvenient. Mercedes doesn’t get the chance to visit nearly enough.

Sylvain tugs at his collar slightly, but he practically glows. “Behave is my middle name.”

At that, Felix scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. But then he leans against the arm of the furniture, pressing one his feet into Sylvain’s side, and the red-head yelps, jumping. “Fucking Goddess-- your feet are like ice.”

“‘Behave is your middle name’,” Felix taunts, but his voice is smooth and amused. Endearing. It’s an amazing look for him, a brilliant way that he holds himself and Mercedes feels blessed to watch it. And despite the decades that have passed, he looks younger than she’s ever seen him.

Sylvain laughs though, pulling that foot into his lap, kneading the arch of it. Felix relaxes, practically melting against the soft fabric of the couch. Mercedes has never seen him relax, she’s never seen him just drop his guard like that and--

Really, these boys. Time has done them well, and she cannot believe that she’s privy to seeing them like this. Content. Happy. In love. 

It’s hard to think that there was a time that Sylvain was dead, and that there was a choice that had to be made. Often she thinks of what might have happened if she had refused. Where would Felix be then?

Dead as well. He would have never left that battlefield, and that’s a fact, not an opinion. 

No, this is far better; it’s everything that she could have ever hoped for. 

They fall into a comfortable silence, as she pours out a cup for each of them. Sylvain likes fruit blends, even if he pretends not to. Felix despises them, but will drink it without complaint. He doesn’t disappoint, sipping at the cup with little issue. 

“And so,” she says quietly. 

“And so,” Sylvain parrots. 

“I think I might have found a match.”

Felix drops the cup in his hand almost immediately. It hits the parlor table, smashing into dozens of pieces. He doesn’t even care about the spilled tea. “What--”

“I know it’s not what I came here for, but--”

“A match,” Sylvain repeats quietly. Felix is sitting up straight again, both feet flat on the cold stone floor of their sitting room. He reaches out, pressing a hand to his husband’s leg, trying to ground him. 

“I know it’s sudden,” Mercedes says. “I know that you just wrote to me about this barely a few months ago but--”

“What makes you think that we’re suited?” Felix asks. Sylvain is still quiet, his adam’s apple bobbing as his disposition turns severe. It’s rare to see him look so serious, but it’s a sight to behold. And probably something he picked up from Felix. 

“He’s older than the others. Rough around the edges, but educated. He can read and write. He’s run away from home. Something about expectations and bloodlines and crests. I think you know why.” 

Despite a United Fodlan front, under the careful guise of Byleth, there were still traditionalists. They clung to those old ideals, the ones that most saw as long-lost and outdated. The ones that Sylvain and Felix stand against, just by their relationship alone, and the combination of their lands. They’ve worked so hard to get to where they are.

Mercedes wonders if it’s cruel, to bring it up.

She watches Sylvain swallow thickly. “He.” 

She nods. “He’s ten. Good kid though. He’s been settling in well, and he helps the younger ones--”

But she already sees the look on his face, lit up with wonder. Felix sees it too, because he’s already leaning forward, a warning already tumbling from his lips. “Sylvain--”

“Felix,” Sylvain practically croaks. And he reaches out and takes Felix’s hands, and that’s all it takes for the man to crumble. 

The Felix of a war-time gone past would absolutely hate himself at such a pitiful display. Mercedes loves it, she loves them. She loves to watch them, it will never get old, knowing that she’s given them this chance. 

And now, there is this boy. 

“What’s the boy’s name,” Felix asks. There’s a scowl on his face, but Mercedes has learned over the years that every scowl is in fact, different. Loving. Annoyed. Exasperated. This one is Tender, and he fingers at Sylvain’s palms with a nervousness usually found in someone like Annette. 

“Spero,” Mercedes says. “He’s of a minor house I believe, but he won’t tell me which one--”

She doesn’t even finish, when Sylvain interrupts. “Spero Fraldarius-Gautier,” he tests. 

“We haven’t even met the kid yet, and you’re already dreaming,” Felix hisses. But he’s hopeful too. This is something they both want. They’ve discussed it at length with her, even if it’s taken them a long time to get to the point of seriously considering it. 

“Well he wants to meet you,” she says. Both men freeze, looking toward her. “He’s got the beginnings of sword training,” she continues. And then she turns to Felix alone. “And of course he’s heard of you, everyone’s heard of you. You’re somewhat his hero.” 

“He’s perfect,” Felix immediately says, and that causes Sylvain to finally gather himself, bursting into laughter. Felix levels him with a half-hearted glare. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Sylvain swears. “You just never disappoint you know. You’re always so… you.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Why would you think that it is?

Felix shifts on the settee, turning towards his husband. “Because you’re so--”

“Hey remember that time that you killed me?” 

“Fuck off, Sylvain,” Felix hisses. “I’ve done it once, I’ll do it again--”

“How convenient. Mercie is right there to fix your mistake then, Goddess knows you make enough of them.”

They’re arguing again, they always argue, but it’s not like the old days where it was nothing but hard jabs and heated words of anger. This is lighthearted and teasing. It’s entertaining. It’s love. 

“Do you think this is a mistake?” Felix asks quietly. “Thinking about raising a kid?”

“Of course not,” Sylvain says, squeezing the other man’s hands. Sylvain leans forward, pressing a kiss against Felix’s forehead, before resting his own against it. “Nothing has ever been a mistake with you.”

It’s almost like they’ve forgotten she’s there, the moment is so tender. 

Felix struggles with this, even now. Even with all their joking and everything they’ve overcome-- he will always struggle with this. And she’ll always see him, on the muddy battlefield and a very dead Sylvain, begging for her to fix it, to fix his mistake. 

She’s never told him this, or Sylvain, but she almost didn’t. 

There was a very small moment, where she remembered her loyalty to Dimitri and their cause, and she very nearly turned on her heel and walked away. 

She’s ever so glad she didn’t, because she would forever have hated herself. She’s absolutely convinced that she chose the Goddess’ will. 

“Well arrange something then,” she finally says. “But I’m sure that it will all work out. It always has for the two of you.”

Sylvain starts at that. “Mercie--”

But she holds her hand out and he stops. “None of that,” she says happily. 

Her bloodline will end with her. And Sylvain’s with his. And Felix’s as well. But they aren’t losing, they’re winning-- they can forge a new future, with new blood. A family that is truly of their own making. This wasn’t a future that could have ever been realized, with a mad boar on the throne. She likes to think that the real Dimitri, the one that Sylvain and Felix had grown up with-- would have preferred this. 

She wonders if fate exists. No, she knows that it does.

Mercedes watches as Sylvain leans forward, trying to press a kiss to Felix. The shorter man shoves his hand out against his face, pushing at his cheek, using what could be seen as excessive force. But his cheeks burn red, and it’s only that he’s too embarrassed to indulge around her. Sylvain retaliates by leaning his entire weight on the man instead. 

Mercedes leaves her seat to pick up the broken shards of the teacup from earlier. She blots at the wet floor with her shawl. 

She’s tried again, over the years. She’s tried to bring other people back from the dead, but she could never manage it. Only twice, only with these two stupid, dearly beloved boys. After that, her miracles faded away into obscurity. 

Both of the men have fallen silent, and she turns, only to find that Felix has finally accepted the kiss. He’s muttering what sounds like stupid, and idiot and oaf against Sylvain’s lips, and the red-head laughs. There isn’t a more perfect picture, she thinks. Not a single more perfect moment.

That is, until Felix smiles.

#felix/sylvain #Sylvix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #felix and sylvain #fire emblem fanfiction #fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses

[minyoongisjiminie]

(M) “want my attention? make me give it to you.“

(gif cr)

ship: namjoon x reader

genre: smut

disclaimer: fingering, dirty talk, face riding

synopsis: your boyfriend was once again very busy in his studio. Working on some tracks. But you wanted to spend time with him, yet his tracks seem more important. Good enough for you, that you knew how to lure him out...

words: 2.4k

a/n: yeah.. idk.. i'm sorry for this I guess ahaha. I really wanted to write some smut again but yeah I guess I suck at it. I guess learning by doing haha :') also sorry that it took me so long to post this :( I had an exhausting week, and couldn’t find the time to look over it :’) But yeah.. hopefully you’ll like it <3

-

It was already passing 2 am, and you almost waited 2 hours till Namjoon gets finished with his work at the studio. Of course you didn’t wanted to bother him while he’s working, so you sat outside of the studio on a coach and waited for him. 

It was a hard day, you were completely cramped from all the work you needed to endure today, so you anticipated to see your boyfriend after a long time. You knew that he was always so busy with his work, so you made sure that you didn’t disturb him on weekdays. But since it was friday night already, you just wanted to spend some quality time with him and relax yourself from all the stress you went through. However as it appeared to be.. Joon had different plans. 

Right now, at this moment you could just go home and lay yourself to sleep! Gosh, you did not needed to wait for him at all, but he assured you that it will not take up so much time, that he will be finished soon and you both will grab some ice cream as a late night snack. Well... 2 am in the morning was a very late night snack.

Soon the clock shows that it’s 3 am, and you were done with the waiting. You stood up, furious and knocked on Joon’s door. 

No response.

You keep on knocking, with every knock you put in more strength in your fist. But still there is rarely a response from him. Carefully you put an ear on the door, to listen if you could catch any sounds that came from him. You could swear that you heard repeated little sighs coming from him, probably because of your loud knocking. 

‘Oh you want it like that? You’ll get it like that!’

You knew Joon’s code for his lock, but he always requested that you wouldn’t use it as long as he was living behind the doors. He still gave it to you, because he trusted you and also wanted to give you a code so you could be helpful in dangerous situations.

If this wasn’t a dangerous situation for you... then you didn’t know what was. 

Quickly you typed in the six digit number, and opened the large door.

“Are you completely crazy?!” You started to scream, you realised how angry you actually were, and how disrespectful it was from your boyfriend to keep you waiting, so that he could work on his important tracks. 

He spinned around with his chair towards you and just sighed. His eyes were completely red, which didn’t surprise you since you knew that he didn’t sleep for days and was just chained towards his computer.

“Y/N..” He started. He layed his hands on his strong thighs and turned his head slightly towards you. “You know how  important these tracks are right now... If I invest the times in those, we can spend the entire week together!” His voice sounded calm as always, he was not the type of person who would start to scream around filled with rage. He wouldn’t lose his coolness.

Shortly, he wasn’t you. 

“I’m waiting for literally 3 hours! That’s not fucking fair!” You continued to pull out an discussion with him. “That’s not.. fair..” You repeated, more to yourself, with a exhausted undertone. “Y/N.. don’t be like that.. It sucks to see you like this..” You knew that he hated it when you would pout sadly like that, he also exactly knew that he couldn’t leave you alone like this, he couldn’t escape you easily, if he wanted to. 

He scratched his forehead, and let out a deep sigh. “Come here..” He stood up and grasped your wrist. However you still stood there, glued to the spot, and didn’t saw a reason to give in that quickly. “Y/N-ie..” he called again cutely. You breathed out shortly and followed him to the spot he leaded you. He put his index finger on his bright macbook screen, that showed some white thick lines and numerations. You had no single clue about anything. “Are you satisfied with those tracks?” You reply to his gesture, and felt how your legs slowly started to give in. The wearyness kicked in, and it didn’t wonder you at all. You needed to stand the entire day and talk with customers. It was exhausting.. “Hmm.. Kind of I guess..” he said delayed. He put his one hand on your waist and you felt the warmth of his skin clearly. “Joonie.. I’m so tired.. But also so tensed that I already know that I can’t sleep at all..” Namjoon smiled his cute little crooked smile and guided you onto his lap. “Hmmm.. what can we do about that..” His hands were intertwined with yours and you realised how you softened a little. You layed your head on his shoulder and hugged him, showing that stupid computer your back. You recognized how relaxed you already were. That was the magic of Kim Namjoon huh?

“Can’t we just go to bed already?” You said, while your head was still resting on his shoulder. “I told you I needed to get this done.. hm?” He responded, pretty sweetly, and it reminded you of a mother who was telling her child that she wouldn’t buy her child the toy but assured she would when the child would be a good kid.

lol you weren’t a good girl.. and joon knew that. 

One thing he couldn’t resist.. was you. But you as the tempter you turned into, when you wanted something. You bribed him with specific things that you would never do in bed, or specific things that he wanted to do to you so dearly, but you didn’t feel ready for. You guys were together for about one and a half years, and of course you had sex multiple times. Nevertheless it was nothing too spectacular, just normal boring sex. It wasn’t like, you didn’t try to add some spice to it.. but you just were too shy.. even when joon tried to tell you so often what he wanted to do to you.. he was still a gentlemen and didn’t force you to do things that you didn’t feel comfortable with. 

Currently, you were sitting mostly on his thick thighs than anywhere near his crotch. You changed that quickly. You slipped way to the back, until you got really close to his dick. You hear a little fuck that comes out of his mouth and he cleared his throat roughly. As a response you smile lightly. That’s what you wanted in the first place.. Now the second method starts: You lay way back until your neck was just milimeters apart from his lips, and made little gestures with your arms as if you were stretching yourself. You yawn fakely. “Y/N..” He started to spell out your name carefully and slowly, yet still hungrily. You go back to your first position and turn around to the point that you can face him. “Shh..” You whisper silently. Putting your index finger on his perfect full lips. “Should we try something new?” Is everything you said and you could see how his eyes started to sparkle. “Wha-” He cleared his throad once again. “What.. do.. you mean with.. that..?” he replied and you realised how he started to stutter. He was so cute.. fuck.. 

You gradually came closer to his ear and played around with his shirt that was sticking onto his chest. “You heared correctly..” You whispered fierily into his ear, and you recognized once again how his dick was happy as well. “But my trac-” He started, but you quickly put your finger on his lips, to stop him from talking. After looking at a quite cutely looking namjoon that was staring at you with a puzzled look on his face, you put your lips on his. Quickly you started to explore his tongue with yours. Hmm.. he tasted delicious. Even though he worked for such a long time, and one could think that he tasted not right, or that it could be unhygenic, you didn’t tasted that. He tasted so delicious, like tiramisu and raspberries at once. 

He cupped your face and started to bite on your underlip. He indeed was confused on why you were so eager to try new things. You both rarely tongue kissed each other, and you realise that he wants to enjoy the moment as soon as you feel like doing it. 

“Shit.. what are you doing to me..” He said while pecking your lips. His fingers automatically started to pull your straps from both your top and bra down, and started to kiss your neck. His favorite body part as mentioned. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning a little, and he smiled. “Who thought that you’ll turn into such a... bad girl..” Just these intense words of his made you shiver. He literally called you a “bad girl” and even though you hated dirty talk, especially in movies, you now realized how much you loved it when Joon was saying it. These words came out of his mouth so quickly and dark, you wanted to gift him any allowance, to do things that he never managed to do to you. 

You slowly started to grind on him, and you also made sure that you stare at him to find out if he liked it or not. And you were happy to see that his eyes shut together and his lips escaped a few little moans. 

“You love that.. huh?” You said back, also trying some darker undertones. “fuck.. yes..” He replied, his hands pulling slightly on your hair, which you loved. It wasn’t rough pulls, but it was intense. You fastened your pace just to see how he would react and he almost went crazy. “SHIT... stop it or..” He started, but you grinding on his thighs made him go to a different universe. Joon tried to hold back his moans but he really couldn’t. 

“You get that back, princess.” He said quickly in your hair. 

You felt how his fingers came closer to your core, you stared at him, and there was no familiar joon to see. You saw a whole new joon. Someone who was ready to punish you.. 

He teased you a little with his index finger and you could feel how the fabric of your underwear started to soak. “Ahh..” You laid your chin on joons shoulders and let him take control over your body. You never ever let him finger or taste you. Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you were too uncomfortable.. Nevertheless Joon was always so eager to do it. But you always pushed his hands away and redefined that you weren’t ready. 

Now you were hun. 

After his little teasing he pulled your underwear away and started to discover your core with his index finger. For the first time. You never realised how good this would feel like. You imagined that this literally feels like a trip. Eyes stayed shut and with every change of pace of his fingers, you saw different things flying around while your eyes were closed. First there were some light asteriks, then there were stars and with every fastening pace he did you saw explosive red and yellow colors.

But even after that color festival, Joon was indeed not finished with you. He started to take a second finger with him and you almost went crazy. “ahhh, joon-” You started to grind on his finger, and he continued to kiss your neck, making sure to leave love bites. Then he suddenly stopped. 

“Whaa-” He touched your shoulders and made you face him. 

“Can I try something princess?” You loved that he called you like that. It was fucking sexy, and you always wanted him to call you like that. 

You also were sure that you would love it, so you just nodded slightly. You turned shy just in a second, because he looked at you so hungrily that you felt how your heart beat got faster. He made me stand up from his lap and once again took my wrist. He sat down on his big coach and leaned back. For a little moment he just stared at you. Giving the name eye fucking a whole new meaning. “Joon..?” You started to wake him up from his little day dream. 

“How about princess, sits on my face?” 

You gulped. That was something you didn’t expect. Not at all. But you wanted to know how it feels... you also trusted joon. 

You quickly obeyed and pulled your skirt a bit higher, your underwear was not really needed so you made sure to just take it off. Joon just looked at you, still eye fucking you. He gave you all the time you needed. And that was one of the reasons why you loved him. 

You went to the coach and already saw from the corner of the eye that he was positioning himself so you could sit comfortably on his face. You were really anxious and didn’t want to ruin the moment but he just smiled at you, making you feel okay about this. You laid your legs on the bottom and positioned yourself over the low coach and made sure your core was just centimeters away from his mouth. He quickly started to explore your core and made sure to catch every single drop of your essence. He started slowly but his pace went crazier with every lick he took, until finally he just ate you out. You stopped holding back your moans and shouted his name several times. That made him just grab on your thighs tighter and he ate you happily out. “Fuck.. didn’t know you were such a slutty princess..” He responded, and licked layers of hot skin from your pussy. Slurping every drop that was escaping from your core. 

After this moment you were so relaxed that you could feel how your eyes felt weary. “Just sleep, princess. Now you can sleep.. fully relaxed..” He said, pecking your lips. As soon as the dominant joon came as soon he was gone.

He took his ryan pillow put it under your head, quickly took your underwear and made you wear it, and also pulled a comfy blanket from the sofa crack of the sofa. 

“Also thank you for that good meal..” He raised his eyebrows and went back to his computer. 

#bts drabble #bts smut #armiesnet #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #namjoon fic #namjoon drabble #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #rm bts #knj

[dezzyparrish]

Rambo, John J. ! (all 5 of the Bloods)

... This is not a review.  This is more of a rant.  Content Warning.  This post is going to have so many bad things in it.  Racism, mysogyny, graphic violence, rape, forced drug use, post-traumatic stress, torture, war, and hate.  I can’t stress this enough and I’m serious, there is some seriously ugly shit that I’m discussing. Don’t read if you don’t want it in your brain.

I also might need to get better at my Content Warnings, when I’m nervous I try to be entertaining, and the above elements are not entertaining subjects.

I saw Rambo: Last Blood while Physically Distancing (I misspelled that Psychically Distancing and it’s kind of appropriate too!)

If you have not seen this movie, don’t.  It leaves a stain on your soul.  I’ve been worried about even writing about it, because in the writing, I’m giving it attention and as POTUS45 has shown us in SPADES for the past 4 years plus, Bad Attention is just as good as Good Attention.

Sigh.  I hate this. It’s just a matter of time that someone is gonna discover this blog and give me shit.

So, the Rambo flicks.  I watched the first four. Except for the first movie, First Blood, they’re all mediocre to bad movies, but fun.  First Blood is a good movie, it deserves all the credit it gets.

I watched the trailers for Last Blood and was really interested in this movie.  It looked like a book-end to the long (damn near 40 year) story of Captain John Rambo.  When we meet John, he’s a drifter, a Vietnam Veteran only a few years out of his war.  He’s hitch-hiking and visiting his old brothers-in-arms from the war, finding that, over the years many have died, others are in the same PTSD place he’s lived in.  We learn, by “drifter”, we mean “homeless”.  He wanders into the wrong small town, the sheriff and his deputies arrest him, abuse him, trigger his trauma as a Special Forces soldier and a Prisoner of War, and Rambo snaps and falls into his dark and scary mental spot where he is *back* in the Jungle fighting for his life.  The movie ends with the Sheriff’s office destroyed, the Sheriff machinegunned by an M-60 and bleeding out on the roof, and John’s old unit Commander, Colonel Trautman talking him back to reality and the present world.  John gives a monologue that gives powerful voice to the injustice, frustrations and rage of the soldiers who came home from Vietnam only to find that they couldn’t really come home.  This was in 1982, and as a society, the US was still wrestling with the divide over Vietnam, First Blood is fully in the “Vets are forgotten and hated by their country” camp.  My personal politics have evolved over the decades but even today as a long-haired pinko almost-Commie in California I still find it powerful.  This is John Rambo’s first story, he came home from war and found no peace, no end to his war.

Rambo: First Blood part II went from a drama with a little action to a full blown blockbuster style action flick.  Trautman recruits John from jail (since.. in the first film he destroys a town, and shoots the shit out of everything) for a special mission to return to Vietnam and win the war by saving forgotten POWs.  First Blood part II is two hours of explosions, stabbity, arrow grenades, strafing the ground from a helicopter, betrayal from the CIA, Russkies!  blood, blood and more blood.  First Blood part II really establishes the franchise as movies that aren’t very deep and John Rambo as an Action Superhero (with an Action figure toy line and a Saturday Morning Cartoon).  It’s “fun!” and ridiculous.   Rambo kills the Bad Guy (TM) by shooting him *WITH AN EXPLODING ARROW*, blowing Bad Guy to Hell in a shower of gobbity bits.  John Rambo’s second story, he starts in social isolation (prison), gets dragged back into War, then ends up walking into the distance searching for peace.  Remember that, it’s gonna come back over and over again.

Rambo III finds John in a Monastery somewhere in the world trying to find peace.  Trautman finds him (which is another recurring theme.. no matter where John goes in the world, War finds him and drags him back) and recruits him to fight the Russians in Afghanistan.  John refuses and Trautman has to start the secret mission on his own, and is captured by the Soviets, drawing Rambo into the conflict.  We’re gonna pause right here to bring up some history and some theming..

Rambo III tried to pay off on two real life promises.  The first is a theme in the franchise.  First Blood was about Vietnam, which the Soviets are indirectly referred to as a power using the war as a proxy for the US.  The Soviets are at this point are indirectly an antagonist.  In First Blood Part II, we see a Russian Spetznaz (spelling) “advising” the Vietnamese army on how best to use all those American prisoners.  The Soviets aren’t the main antagonist of Part II, but they make an appearance.  Rambo III pays this off by finally squaring Rambo off directly against the Red Army in a slug-fest.  The Hollywood version of the prize-fight war between the United States and the USSR for the SUPERPOWER CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WOOOOOOORRRRRLD!  hypehypehype!  Rambo III also makes a second promise because in 1989 the Soviet Union was fighting a 10 year long Guerilla War against the Mujahidin in Afghanistan.  The US was supporting the Mujahidin fighters with support and modern weapons, tipping the balance against the Red Army.  Rambo III was supposed to be the cinematic Call to Arms for the US to enter Afghanistan and throw a knock-out blow against the hated Russians.  Except, in 1989, just before the movie was released, the Soviets *withdrew* from Afghanistan.  They ended the war and went home.  There was an historic profession of the last column of Soviet Tanks crossing back into the USSR, and in the last tank, the Red Army Commander was the last soldier to pull out in defeat.  Before Rambo III was released, but after it was made.  So that movie flopped.  It was a call-to-arms for a war that was over.

CONTENT WARNING: HARD CORE RACISM HERE

Ok, back from that aside. Rambo III starts to get more cringy, but we’re still in the ‘80s, almost the ‘90s and This was Reagan’s America as it became Poppy Bush’s New World Order.  So, John Rambo coming to Afghanistan and becoming a better Afghani than the people who live there is pretty par-for-the course.  I mean there’s a scene where John plays Horse Soccer with all the fighters and using a severed goat head as the ball.  Bloody, severed goat head. (Message: Brown People in other parts of the world are unsophisticated, and savage.)  John almost single handedly wins the sport for his team and is accepted as one of the fighters.. all the Mujahidin surround him with cheers and congratulate him in broken English.. because again, when you are in your home freaking country playing your own sport, you must try to appease the American Demigod by only talking to him in English, the language of Awesome!  There’s more wartime violence and torture with shooting, and stabbity and explosions.  

At one point John is wounded (OH NO) and has to crawl into a cave by himself.. bleeding and dying. He pours the powder from a bullet into his wound and lights it on fire to cauterize it. He’s all better after the scene transition.  Everything is good. Then goes back to killing Russians, rescuing Trautman and winning the proxy war against the hated Commie Red Russians.  This is John Rambo’s third story, he starts in social isolation, is dragged back into war, and ends up walking into the distance looking for peace.

John Rambo, Rambo IV is more of the same.  it’s the first Rambo movie I didn’t see in theatres but, I did cue it up the first time I saw it pop on to the streaming networks.  It starts the same way that al the previous installments do.  John Rambo living a solitary life, trying to come to grips with his life.  This time he’s back in Southeast Asia when some Christian Missionaries contact him to serve as a guide into Myanmar (which was in the midst of a Civil War).  John warns them off and refuses the offer.  The Missionaries go anyway and vanish into the jungle, taken prisoner by the Army (strongly implied if not outright mentioned, I honestly can no longer recall, of the Real World Authoritarian Totalitarian Government that siezed power at that time).  Rambo is once again pulled into a war to save the White Christian Missionaries from the Evil Heathen People. 

CONTENT WARNING - RACISM, MYSOGENY, RAPE and GRAPHIC VIOLENCE.

During the movie, somewhere in Act 2, we see the Missionary Woman prisoner of the Army, locked in a little bamboo cell just like the ones in the Vietnamese POW camp in First Blood Part II.  In comes the guard to get himself some rapin’ done.  Leering and laughing, the woman terrified.. and just as the music gets to it’s most menacing, guard gasps in surprise and Rambo’s beefy hand grabs his throat from the darkness.  Then, over the next 20 seconds, John Rambo digs his fingers into the guy’s throat, blood gushing and going everywhere, then Rambo tears his god damn throat out.  With his bare hand.  Rambo has murdered his way through two and a half movies by this point we’ve watched countless faceless goons, soldiers and thugs shot, stabbed, blown up, gunned down.  In fact the only movie where John Rambo doesn’t commit mass murder is First Blood.  One guy dies, by accident, by his own foolishness and John doesn’t kill him, dude falls out of his helicopter.  There’s an argument that the sheriff dies of his wounds, but if he did it was off-screen after the credits and we see him wheeled out by paramedics. But this poor bastard.. rapey guard, we get to linger on his very bloody, excruciating death for 20 fucking seconds.  I mean at least the previous 400 guys died fast.  During the Escape of Act 3, Rambo commandeers a mounted heavy machine gun in a truck and turns it on the pursuing soldiers.  This is a huge gun, an old Soviet anti-aircraft weapon designed to shoot down Attack Helicopters and the first thing Rambo does is turn it on the poor guy in the drivers seat of the truck  like a foot and a half away from the muzzle and vaporize him (at least he went fast, if gruesomely), then turns the gun on the soldiers, who attack in waves and we get a montage of dudes getting blown to little bitty pieces by a Heavy Machine gun.  Missionaries saved, woman’s virtue preserved, lesson learned (don’t spread the white man’s faith to godless heathens in a war zone).  and John Rambo walks into the distance, looking for peace.

CONTENT WARNING - EVERYTHING

Rambo V: Last Blood had some promise.  I saw the trailers and they showed John back in the US, on a farm, with a family.  I was looking forward to the book-end of John Rambo’s story.  One last fight for an old soldier.  John would likely die in the end, he’s mortal man after all, and looking back through the movie history, he had to be seventy or more by the time this movie opens.

HOOO BOY WAS I WRONG

Look, I’ve spent a LOT of words giving context in detail of the four previous movies, and I’ve been critical of all of them.  But even the most problematic of the Rambo Movies, there was a break in the cringe.  Maybe they’re a product of the time in which they were made, maybe it was that the violence just became cartoon-silly after a while.  The Rambo movies were.. fun.  Stupid, hyperviolent, problematic fun, but there’s a whole pop-culture subgenre of making silly references to Rambo.  From Hot Shots to Tropic Thunder, a thousand short comedy skits.  This movie though.

I can’t go into detail like I did earlier.  It’s that bad.  But John Rambo has finally found a home in the Southwest of America.  His Country has taken him back in.  He is a father-figure to a daughter who is on the verge of going to college.  He breaks in horses like a cowboy.   He has a tunnel complex dug beneath the whole of the property where he has every personal weapon known to mankind and a forge where he blacksmiths knives and a damascus steel letter opener as a “go to college present for said young adult adopted daughter.

Girl learns of her birth father in Mexico, just across the border.  Daddy Rambo warns her not to go “You don’t know the DARKNESS in men’s hearts, I do”.  Girl ignroes Dad (of course) and goes in search of birth Dad.  Mexico in this movie is a Brietbart/ Alt-right Nightmare of unwashed hordes on our doorstep. Tragedy strikes, birth father is a slimeball, girl is kidnapped, cartels are evil, huaman trafficking, graphic violence, forced drug use, and rape.  Rambo goes in to save girl and murders his way through dozens of thugs, using anything at hand.  He finds girl, takes her home and she dies on the way back, from an overdose of drugs and all the torment.

John Rambo returns to Mexico and takes his vengeance.  It’s like an ‘80s slasher flick except the camp counselors aren’t innocent teenagers but harden cartel gang members and we’re expected to root for the Killer.  This draws the rest of the Cartel Soldiers back to John at his farm as act 3 opens.  Entering the United States through a Tunnel, kitting up like a Fortnite Group and heading out.

There is 10 solid minutes of Carnage filmed with the most skill and care that the film-makers, including Sylvester Stallone who has now a 44 year career of movie making under his belt.

John has a closing voice over monologue after killing the Last Bad Guy (TM). The last scene is John Rambo rocking on his front porch musing about how he will *ALWAYS* defend his country against all its enemies.  He Lives.  There’s an opening for a Sequel.

I had to shower.  its been continuing to bounce around in my head, which is why I’m writing it down here.  Rambo: Last Blood, in ANY OTHER UNIVERSE would be nothing more than an underground film passed around White Power rallies, “here’s your copy of the Turner Diaries, Hitlers speeches, and watch this bruthr”.  It seems like I might have went on for a long time when I started out that I couldn’t add details, I didn’t.  This was without details.

So, avoid this movie.  Just. Save yourself the stain in your brain and not watch this movie.

#movie #the80s