#it was a good excuse to put toni under a microscope i guess

[helianskies]

Dialogue prompt 14 for romantic engspa please 👀 I’m intrigued to see what you do with this one ❤️

. . . so i went a bit crazy with this one. there's a snippet below, but the full fic is up on ao3 (for the best!) :3c

January 1488

Arthur had been summoned. It was the first time he had been summoned to this land, and no less by a rather mysterious and unexpected letter from someone he had not spoken to in… well, he could not quite remember. 

We do not know each other too well, the writing had said, neat, slanted, carefully thought out, but I fear I am in need of services that only you can provide.

Little detail had been given in the letter about what such services would entail. However, Arthur had also been sent some coin to allow him to travel across the waters that isolated him from the rest of Christendom, so, in the end, it was not entirely a bad excuse to have a break away from home. With the War of the Roses recently ended, he… 

They had met him at the port.

They had welcomed him as amicably as they were able to, told him little, and then ushered him to the carriage that had been provided. It was only to be a ride of about three hours, they told him—his host had not wanted him to have too arduous a journey on this side of the water. Upon arrival, there would be food, he would be provided somewhere to rest, and so on… 

Really, it was only to be a short trip as a whole. Arthur was unsure whether that was meant to reassure him, them, or none of them at all.

Nevertheless, they were not mistaken with their timings. By around six o’clock in the evening, Arthur arrived at a house, stepped out of the carriage, and, at last—

“You got my letter.”

He stood at the main entrance, flanked by a few members of his staff, perhaps, and he graced Arthur with a courteous smile.

“I am glad you were able to come.”

Arthur (who found himself straightening himself up, feeling a bit out of his depth all of a sudden for reasons he could not discern) stepped towards the other personification. “Castile,” he greeted in return with a polite nod, “thank you for asking me here.”

“Come,” the other said, gesturing back towards the countryside house. “You are no doubt in need of some food and rest. Fortunately for you, dinner is almost ready.”

“How kind of you.”

“I believe they call it common courtesy.”

With that, the other patiently waited for Arthur to come along. The bag he had travelled with was to be taken to his room, and in the meantime, the two personifications could have a little talk before sitting down for refreshments.

If Arthur were being honest, this did all feel a bit cloak-and-dagger. A bit too quiet and unusual. But he had travelled all this way, and the other did not have any kind of malintent that Arthur could detect as of yet. Perhaps he was being paranoid. People did like to tell him as much—tell him things like, not everyone wants your head; it isn't yet worth the air they breathe. Yet…

The Castilian (or whatever it was these days he preferred to refer to himself as) guided Arthur through a series of short corridors and turns, until they arrived in a room warmed by reddish wood and dark fabric upholstery. Over a fireplace hung a mirror—Arthur caught his own gaze for a moment and saw his own tiredness—his journey—slowly sinking in—and the other told him to take a seat wherever he liked.

“I hope you have no complaints about wine,” he then said as he headed for a side table, the decanter, and some glasses. “I am afraid that is all I have to offer you, other than water.”

“I… suppose I should not turn the offer down,” Arthur mused, smiling somewhat wryly to himself. “If you have no objections.”

“Before we go too far, perhaps some formalities are wise.”

“Of course.”

“You are, naturally, the Kingdom of England. What is the human name you choose to go by these days?”

“Arthur,” the blond replied without qualm. “Still Arthur.”

“Mmh.” A smile crept onto the other’s face. “How nice to think that some of us will never change.”

It was not difficult to read beneath the words and glimpse an unease, a bitterness—aimed at only one person in that mirror. Arthur could only guess the implications. Though, even if they did not exist, he had been intrigued nonetheless about… whatever changes that the other had or had not gone through. 

(The limited things that Arthur knew about the Peninsula were only thanks to his relationship with Portugal, the neighbour of all these other confusing kingdoms. When he came to mind, actually… Arthur could not help but reach for one of his fingers. He wore a reciprocated gift. Perhaps, while he was over here, he could… make a detour before going home. Portugal would no doubt appreciate it.  Ah— But he was not home at the moment…)

“What about you, then?” Arthur asked his host, as the other found a seat of his own and got comfortable. “What names should I be using for you?”

“Not ‘Castile’, for one,” the other replied before indulging in a sip of wine—perhaps to help him loosen up. “It is complicated. But you can call me Antonio for now. I think that is for the best.”

And yet, Arthur was still intrigued. “You clearly have not changed that much,” he remarked. “‘Antonio’ is going back to your roots, do you not think?”

Antonio straightened his back and chewed on nothing. “That,” he said, “is for the best, too.”

The temptation to ask him why that was so, of course, was a temptation that Arthur had to resist. It did not feel like the right time, judging by the weight of the air around them. Maybe he would have the privilege of knowing for sure eventually. For now, however—

“Very well, Antonio,” the blond said, moving on. “Am I allowed to ask why I am here? Your letter was a little bit… vague on the matter.”

“Yet you still followed it here,” Antonio returned, his smile returning.

“And you were not surprised to see me,” Arthur concurred, albeit, not entirely happily.

“For a simple reason,” the other claimed. 

“Oh?”

“I believed you would come. And so you have.”

[ find the full fic on ao3! ]

[steves-on-a-plane]

Public Relations

Written for: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021!  (& All Caps Flash Bingo!)     Words: 1563 All Caps Flash Square Filled: “That’s America’s Ass.” Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader   Warnings: none Summary: Reader and Sam assigned to film some videos for the Avenger’s various social media accounts. This happens often and with the two friends spending so much time together, will thier friendship turn into something more?

Most of the Avengers treated PR and press events like a chore. It was just something you all had to do, but very rarely wanted to do. You understood why someone like Tony who’d practically grown up under the media’s microscope would feel that way, but you didn’t. Of course, you also didn’t consider yourself the “A Team.” What had started as a joke between you and Sam Wilson had begun to feel less so over the years. The A Team consisted of the six founding Avengers, everyone who came after that was the B Team.

While the A team was out saving the world, press junkets and creating an online presence often fell into the purview of the B Team. The media team did most of the heavy lifting. They managed everyone’s twitter, instagram and other social media accounts. You were still expected to contribute here and there but the major responsibly was in appearances.  They could be in person or otherwise.

“You know, with Spider kid and the wizard we’ve got almost enough people to start a C team.” Sam Wilson commented as he parked his car in the lot where you’d be filming for the day. You and Sam had been tasked with filming a few segments for the Avenger’s Youtube channel.

“Wilson, I think we’re the C team.” You sighed, getting out of the car.

“Why? Just because they’ve got the two of us coming down here to spend our whole Saturday filming videos like ‘What Type of Cat is Your Favorite Avenger’?” Sam laughed. “You’re looking at it all wrong, [Y/N]. People like us. That’s why we get pulled to do these things so often. They think we have real chemistry.”

“Well, we should. We’re good friends.” You said, heading into the studio.

“Right, friends.” He mumbled before following after you.

As the day went on you and Sam filmed several videos, some together and some separate. A few of the others drop by for an hour or so each just to add a bit of variety. You and Scott Lang filmed a cooking video together where the entire recipe was in French, a language neither of you spoke. The PR team assured you it would get laughs from the audience while showing that Avengers can do anything even if they’d never done it before. On one of your breaks, you watch Bucky and Sam film some type of trivia video that involved knife throwing.

At long last, the day was coming to an end you and Sam had just one video left to film together. It had been nice seeing some other faces around the studio, but you knew what Sam had said earlier was true. When looking at the numbers, videos with you or Sam typically performed better than videos with any other B Team Avengers. Videos with the two of you? They rivaled those of Steve or Tony.

“You doing okay, [Y/N]? That last video looked rough.” Sam asked when you slipped into the stool next to him.

“It’s a miracle nothing caught on fire.” You confessed. “I’m glad Bucky was there because I may have burned the whole studio to the ground on my own. You?”

“I’m ready to get this over with and get some dinner.” He told you.

“Always thinking about food, Wilson.” You smiled. Someone gave you and Sam the signal so that you knew the cameras were going to start rolling. Once filming began, the producer re-explained the concept of the video. You and Sam were going to be show photos of fellow Avengers and had to guess who was in the photo. It was a nice lighthearted video to go out on.

“So it’s like a weirdly specific game a Guess Who.” Sam summarized. “Okay let’s do this. The first photo was of an elbow. Immediately Sam started to laugh. “Now c’mon y’all! How am I supposed to know who that is?”

“It’s Clint.” You answered without hesitation.

“That’s correct. This elbow belongs to Clint Barton.” The producer agreed.

“How the heck?” Sam looked over to you with surprise.

“You can see bruises on his forearm from his recurve bow.” You pointed to the area of the photo where the bruise was barely visible.

“Okay, well I’m gonna need to step it up then. Next Picture.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. The next photo was a zoomed in image of what looked like brunette hair.

“That’s Bucky!” You exclaimed. “I’d know those chestnut locks anywhere.”

“Do you have an answer sheet over there or something?” Sam questioned. He looked around the set, pretending to search for an answer sheet written somewhere.

“No, but we did just have lunch today so maybe he’s fresh on my mind. Tell you what I’ll let you get a head start on the next one.” You offered. The photo changed to someone’s backside. Almost immediately you recognized a pair of what could only be described as “dad khakis.” You knew that derriere could only belong to one Avenger. Sam took a few minutes to scrutinize the photo before looking to you.

“Go ahead.” He said impatiently. “I can see you biting your lip over there trying to hold back.”

“I-ah…” You realized he was right, you’d been biting your lip since the producer changed the image. “C’mon Sam, it’s an obvious one!” You gestured towards the photo trying to help him out.

“Obviously not!” Sam quipped.

“That is America’s Ass!” You said, leaping up of your stool. Sam began to laugh again. “Can’t you tell that’s Steve?”

“Well excuse me for not knowing what all of my co-workers butts look like!” He chuckled. The producer changed the photo again and announced it would be the last one. This time the photo was a close up of an eye. It was a beautiful eye with slight flecks of gold towards the edges. It was gorgeous, but it was ruining your perfect streak because you couldn’t identify who the eye belonged to.

“Cmon!” Sam was grinning widely now. “You don’t know whose eye that is?”

“Oh, and you do?” You raised an eyebrow at him and laughed. “You haven’t gotten one of these right yet!”

“As a matter of fact, I know exactly who those eyes belong to. Those stunning eyes belong to the equally as stunning [Y/N].” Sam answered confidently.

“Correct. [Y/N], those are your eyes.” The producer agreed. You and Sam wrapped up the video, by filming a quick outro. After getting all clear from producers, you and Sam were done for the day. You left the studio and walked back towards his car.

“You know it’s crazy how observant you are.” Sam commented. “I mean that thing about Clint, that wasn’t scripted right? Or did you actually notice that?”

“No of course it wasn’t scripted.” You answered. You’d reached his car by now. The two of you were talking to each other over the hood of his car. “But I mean I obviously wasn’t that observant. I didn’t recognize my own eyes. What an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, you’re just not used to looking at your own eyes. Who is?” Sam shrugged from the other side of the vehicle.

“Are you saying that you knew those were my eyes because you’re used to staring at them?” You teased him.

“I been lost in them a time or two.” He confessed casually. You felt your cheeks flush at the compliment.

“I’m glad we got to spend the day together, Sam. Believe it or not, I look forward to our Saturday Studio dates.” You said before getting into the passenger’s seat of Sam’s car.

“You know,” Sam opened his driver’s side door and leaned into the car. “We could make it an official date. I’m thinking dinner and a movie?”

“A date with the oh so charming Sam Wilson?” You questioned in an old timey Southern Belle voice. “If I should be so lucky!”

“Alright, alright, it was just a suggestion.” He shook his head and climbed behind the steering wheel. “You don’t have to mock me.”

“Sam, I wasn’t trying to mock you.” You promised very seriously. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“You don’t have to pity me.” Sam said, a smirk already working its way onto his face as he back out of his parking spot. You reached over and put your left hand on his right knee.

“I’m not pitying you, but I am a little exhausted, so you’ll have to forgive me if this comes off as less than authentic. I’ve been hoping that you’d ask me on a date since Steve first introduced us. I even though about asking you out a few times, but then we started working together more and I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship or make it awkward…”

“Awkward?” Sam repeated. “Impossible, we go together like Peanut butter and jelly!”

“I don’t like jelly.” You told him wrinkling up your face in disgust.

“What about Nutella? You like Nutella? Of course, you do, everybody does. We’ll be peanut butter and Nutella then.” He amended his statement.

“Mmm now I kind of want peanut butter and Nutella crepes.” You hummed, imagining the sweet flavorful pastry.

“Well, lucky for you, I know an amazing creperie on the other side of town. It’s a perfect place for our first date.” He decided.

[a-simple-lee]

Systematic Error

Bruce Banner, Reader

Synopsis: Getting a lee mood in the middle of conducting research is definitely not convenient, but you plan a way to make it work. It does, just not how you were expecting.

A/n: In other words I’m a massive science nerd, so here! Have this highly self indulgent fic inspired by hcs @squirmycuddles and I have made at like 2am lmao

___________

You’re not sure why you’ve decided to sneak up behind Bruce - well, that’s not true, actually. You’re fully aware that you’re in a massive ‘lee mood right now, and are weighing up the odds of Banner t-wording you if you pester him. Tony seems to accomplish it easily enough, anyway; on a regular basis, too… You pause in your musings, fingers drumming against the lab bench. It occurs to you that you may not be the only touch-starved scientist in the labs.

   The centrifuge beeps almost angrily, loud enough to interrupt your train of thought. You remove the samples, and add drops of indicator to a couple, before placing the next rack of samples inside a water bath and setting a timer for half an hour. It only takes a few more minutes to jot down your observations, and you find yourself left to wait for the next round of samples.

   You glance to your left; Banner’s hunched over his lab stool, adjusting the coarse focus on his microscope. The pair of you talked for the first few hours, then settled into comfortable silence a while ago. Now or never, you suppose. Your glass of water’s empty, anyway - a good excuse to be getting up. You realize you’re overthinking this way too much.  Getting up and striding alongside the bench, you reach out and poke Bruce’s side as you pass. He flinches.

“I’m getting water. You alright? Need anything?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Banner doesn’t look up. Darn. He does start readjusting the fine focus, though, and you feel a little guilty for jogging him. 

“Okay.” A temptation to toe the line encroaches, and you succumb to it - trying not to let your heart jump into your mouth, you pinch his side gently as you turn away, and keep walking. It’s difficult not to look behind you to see if he reacted, but as you push open the glass door on your way out, you catch him looking at you with confusion in the reflection. 

You proceed to take twenty minutes 'getting water' - which mostly consists of you filling a cup, pouring it out, crumbling against the kitchen counter in an attempt to compose yourself, and refilling the cup, before repeating the process. It’s only once you remember you have 10 minutes left on the water bath samples that you feel ready to head back down, all the while lamenting the fact that Tony makes irritating people look so easy. 

Fortunately, Banner says nothing as you enter the lab again, now finished looking at samples and instead drawing up diagrams. 

“Hey, how’s it coming along?” You put down a glass of water for him and put your hand on his shoulder, brushing his neck in the process but pretending you’re none the wiser. Your lab partner twitches and puts his pencil down.

“Good. I- the number of cells in anaphase is higher than the other samples, we might have to disregard this one in calculations.”

“Huh. Odd.” You say, pretending to listen whilst trying not to walk out for another twenty minute water break. 

“Yeah. How are the other batches doing?”

“Two are finished, one’s still in the water bath for-” You pause to look at your watch. “-9 minutes.”

“Okay. I might take a break, then.”

“Me too.” You pull your stool over, and sit opposite Bruce as he moves to a clear space on the desk, pausing to check his phone. 

“Are you feeling alright today?” He asks.

“Yep, yeah. Why?”

“I dunno, you seem kinda antsy.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He definitely doesn’t believe you, but lets the subject drop. 

“Uh- what about you? Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah! The tests are really interesting, I’m looking forward to finishing them.”

“Same. I should check to make sure they’re not boiling over…” You nod towards the water bath, managing to throw in a quick prod to Bruce’s ribs on your way over. The samples are doing fine; they’ve changed colour slightly compared to before, but if anything look like they could do with a bit longer in the water. 

“Did Tony tell you to tickle me in his absence or something?”

You almost drop the test tube rack you’re getting out.

“Sorry- what?”

“You keep tickling me. Why?” This shouldn’t be a surprise to you at all - this acknowledgment of the situation is what you’ve been waiting for, but suddenly you’re praying for the floor to open up. You stay facing the bench, refusing to look at Bruce.

“Just bored, I guess.”

“You sound like Tony right now.”

“I do?” Your equipment’s set up, so you can’t really do much else except for return to your stool opposite.

“Yeah. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were asking for attention.” Banner smiles slightly as he says it, and you instantly wish you’d stayed at the bench.

“Pfft,” You start, but find yourself scrambling for words. “I can assure you, I’m not Tony.”

“Good to know.” He grins, shifting his stool to get back to work. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

“…But if you do it again, I’m gonna have to assume that you are.”

“Meaning…?”

Bruce says nothing, but you catch his fingers wiggling as he reaches for a pencil fully in your view.

Your timer goes off, and you rush to unplug the water bath, jotting down the presence and colour of any emulsions. 

“Okay, that’s done.” You mutter, gathering up your notes and carrying them over to Banner.

“Good. Thanks.” 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. Most of these are in line with the hypothesis.” As you speak, your hand reaches out to nudge his ribs. 

You feel Bruce grab your wrist before you can reach him. Shit.

“Uh-” 

Banner stands up, still holding your wrist. “Oh no you don’t.” 

   You’ve left your lab coat unbuttoned - almost definitely on purpose - and your friend quickly takes advantage of this, snaking his hands under it to wrap them around your sides, fingers latching onto your abdomen before repeatedly squeezing over and over. Laughter swiftly takes over your frame, and you don’t have a chance to move before he backs you against the lab bench. It’s exactly what you were hoping for, but also ten times more embarrassing than you’d expected.

“Bruce-wahahahait!” Your hands find his wrists, and it takes every bit of your resolve not to push them away. Suppressing your impulses to squirm becomes increasingly difficult, so you settle for sinking down a little against the bench, letting go of Bruce’s wrists momentarily to flail your arms out in an attempt to catch yourself.

“Careful, don’t knock over my equipment!” He tuts, darting one hand under your arm - you shoot your hand down to protect yourself, resulting in you slipping clumsily downwards, and his fingers becoming trapped next to your torso. Your attacker follows you down for a bit, before catching you, keeping you cornered between him and the work space as your legs grow weak from laughing too hard.

“Ahahahaha, nohohoho!” You’re sort of propped up against Banner now, trying both to override your reflexes and escape the fingers spidering over your skin - you lift your arm up in the hope that he’ll shift his focus away, but Bruce instead takes it as an invitation to tickle you more, speeding up and digging his thumb gently into the sensitive spot; your arm comes crashing back down, and another wave of hysterics hits as his other hand counts your ribs.

“Any particular reason you felt like being a pain in the ass today?” He starts conversationally, at long last moving his trapped hand to claw at your stomach.

“Nahaha- I told you alreaheheady! I was bohohored!”

“Really? That old excuse? Think of one I haven’t heard from Stark twenty times already, and get back to me.”

“Nohoho!”

“No? What, you want me to guess? Okay, I think you wanted me to tickle you. Because you wanted attention, or- I don’t know, you’re touch starved. Which is fine. But you could’ve asked instead of trying to annoy me.” Bruce starts, slowing down the tickling slightly so he’s audible over your giggling. You’ve never felt a blush run up your neck so fast before.

“Lies!” You cry, trying not to sound as if Banner hasn’t just completely called you out and considering that it should’ve occurred to you that multiple PhDs make somebody observant as well as intelligent.

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been trying not to push me away for a while now.”

“I- shuhuhut up!” It’s the most you can muster with your growing embarrassment, but it seems to act as proof of theory for him. 

“So I’m right?” He steps away, leaving you to regain a small amount of your composure with a smile. 

“You don’t need to be so insistent, but yeah.” You mumble, doing up your lab coat and standing next to him.

“Sorry?”

���…I said yes. You’re right. Maybe.”

“Okay.” He nods. “So I have two attention-seeking geniuses to work with. That’s fine.”

“…It is?”

“Yeah. Just ask instead of tickling me next time, okay?”

“No promises.” You grin, striding away to your work as Banner sighs. Your days in the lab have just gotten even better.