"You really don't see it, don't you" and "it’s easy to confuse feelings for something they aren’t, especially when eye-contact is involved" for Giltoria, please.
(A/N) hi~! hope you don't mind I combined these requests since they're similar prompts. enjoy some very simpy casgil x arturia from meeee <3
it's all in the eyes____________
Words: 1.8k
Characters: Gilgamesh | Caster , Artoria Pendragon | Saber, (One of her exes, I'll let you decide who it is)
Ship: GilArt
Tags: Pining, Jealousy, Love confessions
The days he believed she would come to her senses and into his arms had long passed. That complacency made its ugly, shameful exit the day she fell into the clutches of another. He should have learned of Love's heavy hand when Enkidu died in his arms, but living amongst the less worthy stroked his ego. He told himself there was no one else who could capture her attention, for who could possibly compare? There was no one else whom Love could match with her.
He was wrong.
For a hellish eternity, Love punished him for his hubris, humbling the king with the devastation of heartbreak every time Gilgamesh opened his eyes. He burned when that monster held her gaze. He burned when the mongrel’s fingers interlocked with hers. He burned when she kissed lips that were not his own.
For several months he languished in the excruciating fires of envy, refusing to acknowledge that only intense longing could cause this much hurt. But time clearly dictated he could deny his feelings no longer. He loved Arturia Pendragon, and it was that same love that incinerated his soul with every reminder that she wasn’t his.
While the world saw nothing more than the gritting of his teeth, inside, the wise King Gilgamesh had been reduced to a desolate pile of ash. Bleak. Lifeless. A far cry from what he had been before he was summoned to the clinical halls of humanity’s last bastion. If it weren’t for the mission, he’d have let the wind take him away and have this incarnation’s failures dissipate. He would leave no evidence of his mistakes. No one would know that it was not a Beast, calamity, or any threat to the universe that felled the world’s first hero, but love for one damned woman.
Then, for reasons he could not fathom, the man she so treasured let her go.
Gilgamesh knew it was mere luck that presented him another opportunity; luck that the damn monster she fell for could not find it in himself to realize how deep her feelings ran. Though it killed him to know how close he’d come to total loss, he swallowed his pride and snatched his chance back. The wise ruler of Uruk who brought the early civilization to prosperity, defeated innumerable great beasts, and amassed a measureless treasury, reluctantly found himself humbled. He could not take this chance for granted. Never again.
From then, Gilgamesh stoked his dwindled hope, banishing his jealousy at his not being her first, second, or even third choice. Such things mattered little now. Gilgamesh would be her final love, for he was more than sufficient, and she would not want for anyone or anything more.
So, he tried. He learned to request her time, not demand it. With his actions, he dismissed her prejudices. With his words, he grew her fondness for him. The king that never needed to court found himself willingly dipping his toes into blandishments so she would look his way. In life, he’d dismissed courtship as an activity of his subjects such that one could prove themself a worthy partner to the object of their fancy. As king, he thought such practices beneath him, for there was no one he ought to prove himself to. However, he found it no longer mattered how mundane, how ordinary it felt to woo her. Courting her was but a challenge to overcome. Her attention was a worthy prize.
But even after all his effort, he never saw the reflection of his feelings in her deep, sea-green eyes, no matter how long he plunged himself into them. Part of him craved the days the meeting of their eyes was fleeting, for now that she granted him lasting stares, the absence of passion for him was startlingly clear.
Rage tempted him, simmering at the darkest recesses of her mind. How could she not see his feelings? How could she not return them? Where did he err in his being such that he was denied her love? Hadn’t he proven himself a wise counsel? A pleasant companion? A loyal comrade? How could she decide his qualities did not suit her, when time and time again, they proved compatible?
Though his eyes grew fiery, he never answered anger’s call. He knew Arturia was not to blame. No, she was merely the most convenient outlet for the erroneous and misguided belief that her love was something he was owed. The real fault lay with his past self, who unfortunately subscribed to that incorrect ideology, and in doing so, blinded Arturia from ever realizing the genuine affection buried underneath.
Still, he tried, even if he knew he was operating at a disadvantage courtesy of his Archer form. One day, she’d look at him without reservation. One day, she’d see the person he became, not the person he was. One day.
Then…that mongrel realized its mistake, crawling back to her, begging at her feet for another chance. Though Arturia hadn’t articulated her answer, Gilgamesh had studied her emerald eyes long enough to discern her feelings. Then, their eyes met, that damn evergreen gaze piercing him like she’d run her sword through his chest. His heart bleed with envy, knowing well the poignant feelings within those orbs were not his.
In an instant, the patience he gained over the long years of his life vanished. The long game was no longer an option. As he crossed the hallway, he steeled his will, pride be damned. He could not allow her to be with another, not again.
“Arturia.” The syllables were slow and fond as they left his lips, spoken in the breath of a lover. Though his knees hadn’t hit the floor, he felt humbled as she allowed him to take her hand. (She never let Archer do so.)
Did she know–he asked himself, as her captivating stare clashed against his–how much power she had over him? Could she ever fathom the capacity one needed to have a king–to have Gilgamesh– hanging onto her every word; holding onto the mere hope that she might love him back? Had she realized that he would give her the world on a platter if she only asked?
“Is something the matter?” So innocently, she questioned, ignorant of his rapidly beating heart and shallower breaths. Surely, he thought, she could see the heat in his cheeks; the intensifying desire burning within his eyes. Oh, how he longed to close the distance between their lips. Oh, how he yearned to taste the stubborn spitfire that played his heartstrings like a harp. But he stopped himself, staving his want by moving his fingers from her palm to her face.
She hurt him more than any foe ever had, and she hadn’t even lifted a finger. She stood there completely unfazed, immune to the ache that tormented his whole being. Of course, there was something wrong. Of course, there was something amiss. Her eyes–those damning green eyes–still stubbornly sought someone else when he was right here.
This close, when every breath they took was shared, when he could feel the heat radiating off her skin, how could she not know how he felt? Almost…desperately, he searched her eyes, looking for some proof his efforts hadn’t been in vain.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” he meekly asked. His tone was soft. Vulnerable. It was so unlike him that if she hadn’t witnessed him speak, Arturia wouldn’t believe the words were his. His arms grew slack. As he drew backward, the woman couldn’t help but think something inside him had died: extinguished, like a candle in the rain. Arturia didn’t want that.
Hesitantly, her hand closed around his before his palm could leave her cheek. With a shaky exhale, she relaxed her stiff shoulders, breaking their gaze before emotion spilled out in tears. Her eyes traveled down his silhouette. Distinctive loose garbs, a slightly less bulky frame, and a less haughty posture proved that the one who held her so closely was Caster. Caster, who had never hurt her by intention, nor berated her with words. Caster, who was patient with her despite the preconceptions she held of him due to the actions of his younger self. Caster, who hadn’t met her prior, yet looked at her like they’d known each other for ages. Like they were meant to meet. Like they were destined. Even…even back when she chose someone else.
Warmth swelled in her chest. Air was scarce already in the few inches between them, but even though she felt breathless, she stilled her mind. It was never wise to let oneself be caught up in the throes of emotion. It was easy to confuse feelings for something they weren’t, especially when eye contact was involved, she told herself, mustering the courage to meet Gilgamesh’s scarlet orbs. Something told her that she hadn’t erred in her observations. And she…she found she didn’t want to be wrong.
Her chest began to ache. It was never meant to stifle the frantic beat of her heart. It was a miracle it didn’t explode from the force once their eyes locked once more. The king’s gaze was as sharp as an eagle’s and far more piercing. As her knees turned to jelly, her mind warred with itself, unable to decide whether she’d rather drown in that gaze or let it melt her. Either way, she knew she’d lost. Caster had somehow burrowed his place into her heart. She didn’t know when, or even how, after everything that happened in the Holy Grail Wars with his other self, but he did. There was no denying what she felt for Gilgamesh. Not anymore.
“Do not be so cryptic, I implore you, I do not wish for my feelings to be toyed with,” the words left her mouth in an imperative whisper. No, a challenge. Her eyes seemed to glow in the fluorescent light, bright even in the artificial white. Within them, he could see her ramparts falling, collapsing on top of each other till only emotion remained. The wise king’s eyes widened.
“If you want to tell me something, Gil–”
He placed his lips on hers. Bold. Unafraid. Unapologetic. As he pressed her flush against him, his confidence grew. He felt her tangle her hands in his hair–god he dreamt of that for so long. The two kings stumbled, tripping over each other’s feet clumsily till they finally found the wall. Still, Gilgamesh pressed onward, deepening the kiss even as a smile crept up his lips. He’d seen it at last, hidden in her eyes until the very last moment: Arturia knew he loved her, but more importantly, she loved him back.
___
heya! hope you enjoyed this one. it's been a while since this ask was sent, but i hope yall still like it anyway :>
“ look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel something for me."
“ don’t let this one go. he’s perfect for you. “
“ do you think that this, us… do you think it could ever… be something more? “
Either of these for Beditoria mayhaps? Feel free to choose!
(A/N) Went with the third one. :> Also, I've always wondered how it would be if the FSN Bedi made it to Chaldea, so I hope you don't mind that the plot of this one is based on that idea.
Bedivere never liked when others called him brave. ‘Twas supposed to be the highest compliment; an honor to a Knight of the Round Table such as himself, but the word had never sat right with him. To be called brave was to wear an ill-fitting glove: uncomfortable at best, perilous at worst. And while he trusted himself to take care in his conduct, there was no getting away from the unpleasantness he felt when being associated with the word.
A brave man’s heart did not startle. His diction did not waver. There was no retreat in his horizon, nor was there surrender. A brave man never slumped in posture. A brave man never lost his composure when faced by adversity. He did not stutter. His cheeks did not pale.
Especially when ‘adversity’ was confessing to the one he loved.
Time and time again, Bedivere had tried. The first time, the Round Table had merely consisted of her, Merlin, Kay, and himself. But then, she met Lancelot, and with their newest addition keeping them all busy, he pushed his feelings to the back of his mind, dismissing it as a mere passing fancy.
The second, she was already wearing the crown, slowly shaping Camelot into the kingdom they dreamed it could be. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that the shining castle they envisioned also contained a queen. His emotions scratched and scraped at his throat as he swallowed them. He faulted himself. No one should dare to hope of something that could not be.
Bedivere’s final attempt came at her deathbed, his mouth failing to muster any of the carefully prepared words he’d put together as he delayed tossing Excalibur to the lake.
He returned once, a lie on his lips instead of his confession.
He returned a second time, another disloyalty on his tongue instead of his confession.
Tears burned at his eyes, from grief, guilt, and the pressing demands of regret. He couldn’t prolong his king’s suffering for such a selfish act as voicing his unrequited love.
When he returned the third time, Excalibur was gone. And moments later, so was she.
He grew old knowing they were never going to meet again. His feelings would forever go unheard, except by the tree where she died, to which he had whispered his love for Arturia Pendragon til he, too, gave up the ghost.
It was nothing short of a miracle, this Chaldea.
He doubted he deserved to be resurrected alongside the others here. Merlin, Galahad, Gaheris, Gawain and even Kay…these were all faces he believed would exist only in the memories of a soul. Even Agravain was in attendance, and while Bedivere had always been wary of the man, he could not deny that for what may be the first time, it was pleasant to see him.
But there too, standing as perfectly poised and calm as usual, was his beloved king. She looked up at him with a smile like the sun that melted winter into spring, her green eyes so damnedly clear. It was at that moment he truly felt reborn, his heart beating heavily against his chest as a flush colored his face. Now. He had to tell her now. He’d missed his chance so many times back when they were alive, but now he had nothing to lose.
Bedivere was not a brave man.
…
Arturia’s third lease on life came with many realizations. Fortunately, her incarnations had done irreversible change to her soul, such that in this life she still remembered the events of the Holy Grail Wars she participated in, and everything those experiences taught her. It made this incarnation lighter, unburdened. It wasn’t even for a wish that she’d accepted Ritsuka’s summoning. She had no wishes to make anymore. Master had asked for her help, and she’d answered. It was as simple as that.
That Kay hugged her to his chest as she materialized was a mere bonus. She had no idea that she would have the chance to see him again, nor the chance to meet her nephews, who had all stood steadfast by her side til their bitter end. Surprisingly, there appeared Merlin, who in his own twisted way, had always been her ally.
And after some time, after using herself as a catalyst had brought about many failures, bathed in golden light stood the first knight she’d ever recruited, who’d observed her rule from start to finish, yet never wavered. Not even once.
When their eyes locked, it was like the world had come to a standstill, as if bowing to the magnitude of the moment between the blondes. Something inside her burst into flame like a hearth reignited, spreading sunny warmth across her skin. She couldn’t breathe, or maintain that practiced kingly facade of hers. Arturia did not think or move, even as the rest of her knights rushed out to greet the new arrival. She couldn’t even control the stupid smile that painted itself onto her face. How could she?
She’d suddenly gained a second purpose.
“Bedivere…” she called fondly, expression so soft she looked like a smitten maiden.
He knelt in front of her like he’d always done, taking her hand in his left instead of his prosthetic, and kissed her knuckles.
That day, the Knights of the Round Table bore witness to something that in the back of their minds they’d always suspected. In hindsight, they should have known. There was never, and there never would be, someone that mattered more to Bedivere than their dearest king.
After that, there was never a day the king was without her loyal knight. It was like there was a gravity between them, one so potent it demanded they cross paths at least once before the next dawn. And even though the pair never spoke of it, the Camelot knights knew something had changed between them; something that had been stubbornly kept at bay when they were alive, but now had been set free.
Because now, she was the ruler of a kingdom long lost, and he a knight of an order long perished. Their titles were no longer a barrier. They had no duties to uphold. What remained were feelings, which obstinately stood the test of time. All they needed was a little courage to face them.
“Bollocks,” cursed Kay, bearing witness to Bedivere’s fingers faltering before he locked them with his sister’s. She was gone right after, summoned for a mission Kay knew could be delayed.
He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, twirling him around till he could glare into the timid one’s blue eyes.
“Tell her, Bedi,” he urged, something like surrender swirling in his brown orbs, because Kay had known the longest. Because Bedivere had stayed when Kay hadn’t. Because if anyone in the whole world deserved her love, it was Bedi. Because he knew she’d be happy. Because–
“Please. Are you really going to let the chance pass?”
Bedivere gently shrugged him off. Kay could only hope he’d gotten through to him, because…because he feared someone unworthy would take her away. Many of his comrades were here. Who’s to say who came through next?
It was gravity again that brought Bedivere to the Command Room, eagerly awaiting his king’s return. There was something in his chest that swelled like a balloon with each enemy that she felled on the display, as if it could sense that her return drew ever nearer. His heart was beating like a drum, the tempo accelerating as the Rayshift began. Kay had been right. He couldn’t let this chance slip away.
Bedivere closed his eyes, knowing when he opened them he’d be faced with a task more intimidating than even the beasts he used to slay back in Britain.
But when she filled his vision, he wasn’t overcome by nerves as he usually was, nor out of breath. She approached, but he was calm, warmly smiling as she joined him in the corner of the room.
“Bedi–”
The knight swept her hand up for a kiss, but this time, he kept their fingers intertwined. Warmth spread from where they touched, all the way down to his toes. It felt like heaven looking into her eyes, seeing himself reflected in them. He wished he’d been this courageous sooner.
His hand clutching hers tighter, he steeled his resolve and asked, “ Do you think that this, us…do you think it could ever…be something more?”
Bedivere didn’t even care that he’d stuttered. He didn’t care that he wasn’t enunciating his feelings as clearly as he dreamt he would. He’d have more chances to show her he loved her, no matter what she answered. The knight loved her as long as he lived, he wasn’t going to stop, even if he had to do so from afar. But in the small chance she held the slightest bit of feelings for him, then–
Her fingers tightened around his. “I believe it’s always been…something more,” she admitted, her cheeks reddening in time with his. “I just wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge it.”
_______
heya! hope you don't mind this is so late.
The FGO Camelot Singularity is actually my favorite one, and IMO the HARDEST ONE HOLYFSHIT, but as much as I love Bedi over there, I've always sort of contemplated what happened to the FSN Bedivere, whose tiny bit of content started my Beditoria journey in the first place.
I wonder if he knows another version of him found her again. And that that other version loves her just the same.
“You said I had nice lips? Who says that” for Cù alter and Artoria ?
I read you’re earlier story about the two of them being friends in high school and the part about her jumping from the balcony and Scathach driving away like a mad woman was just perfect
(A/N): U have no idea how happy it makes me that ppl like my cutoria stuff its literally mostly just me out here filling up the tag ;_; aaaaaa
funny how things turned out____________
Words: 4k
Characters: Cú Chulainn Alter | Berserker, Artoria Pendragon | Saber
Ship: Cutoria
Tags: FWB to Lovers?, College AU, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Fluff with light Angst, this is as comedic as things get with me
_____________
“Arturia,” Cú voiced, extending the vowel just long enough for it to be suspicious. Five feet away, the addressee groaned with her entire being, much like she usually did after a full body workout. There was no escaping for her now, not when the tattooed delinquent used that stern, deceptively sing-songy tune. She might as well have chained herself to the couch, because come hell or high water, Arturia was not going anywhere.
She knew exactly what he would ask before he asked it. Much as she liked to maintain the poise and grace she had grown up practicing, the business major would gladly throw it away if it meant she could hightail it out of here. All she needed was an open door. Maybe even a window. She’d survive a drop from the second floor, right? Scáthach’s house didn’t go up too high–
“‘Turia,” the young man repeated, snapping his polished nails in front of her eyes. The tattoos that ran down his shoulders and arms rippled as he tensed, the beginnings of irritation crawling up his expression.
“Ya gonna make this difficult?”
Arturia bit her lip. She’d known Cú had a short temper long before they began…whatever this ‘not-relationship’ was, but for the most part, she hadn’t evoked that side of him too often. It helped that her presence naturally tended to project a sense of tranquility, but obviously that little talent couldn’t help her now.
With one last longing look at the window, the woman finally shook her head, accepting her impending doom.
“Good,” he said, bringing a half-finished cigarette back to his slightly upturned lips. Maybe it was the sadist in him, but every time he successfully coaxed his hard-headed shortstop into submission he felt like a god. Doubly so, if he earned the bonus of a pretty little blush on her cheeks. Triply so, if the aforementioned blush was a result of anger.
“Well?,” he encouraged amusedly, knocking pizza boxes, records, and several wrappers of his sheets before perching the petite ball of rage upon them. “Gonna tell me why the bitch couldn’t stop laughing all day? Her cackles hurt my ears. Like a fucking banshee.”
Arturia grimaced, trying and failing to turn away because his palm demanded she look up at him. He’d just confirmed her fears. Apparently, the news of the afternoon’s incident had traveled far enough even Cú’s clingy ex-turned-reluctant-friend had caught wind of it. Then again, she supposed Medb Bombshell might’ve had a hand in orchestrating the entire scene, considering she was all up in their business for twenty hours on a good day. She could only pray the news would fly over the entire student body’s heads, but honestly, she’d be lucky if it stayed within the confines of her college.
“Who else have you heard from?” She was stalling.
“Arjuna, Hans, Emiya. Answer the question.” He knew she was stalling.
Cú shoved his thumb between her teeth before she could chew on her lips again. She colored five hundred different shades of red as he stifled a low chuckle. He was only helping. There wouldn’t be much there for him to kiss later if she kept up that stupid habit.
“Come ooooon. What’s that thing ya always say?” he asked sarcastically, boldly playing with the soft muscle that lived behind her canines. “Rip the bandage off so it hurts more yada yada…”
“Nghfft–That’s not how it goes,” she shot back, smacking his hand out of her mouth like a baby batted away an offending toy.
There was some merit to following Cú’s advice. At least the issue would finally be over with. Yes, she’d suffer for a while, but surely telling him would finally bring relief to her heart. The poor thing nearly suffered several attacks whenever someone in the vicinity pulled out a phone. Besides, she’d rather he heard the whole story from her than over the campus internet community. Damn social media and its accessibility. Damn it all to hell.
“Do you…” the sophomore murmured, a far cry away from her usual confident tone, “Do you remember the other day? In the locker rooms?”
Cú’s grin turned feral. Oh yes, he remembered. He remembered quite well. He hated rugby (because his ex enlisted him for one), but it came with many benefits like a scholarship, an endless supply of sports apparel and Gatorade, and most importantly, keys to a large and thoroughly abused locker room that he and Arturia took full advantage of. Tuesday's itinerary even included a long and very steamy shower, if the junior recalled correctly.
“Ya were mad yer lips got all swollen,” he answered, pure glee lighting up his ruby irises as he took another drag of his cig. The moment had been completely unplanned. Arturia had just somehow decided to visit him after a class presentation, which meant she’d been dressed in businesswear. Suits hadn’t really been a turn-on for him up until the other day, but he was glad to say that since then, he’d joined the men of culture who praised ties, slacks, and pencil skirts. Honestly, she should have known better than to show up looking all pretty when he was fresh off the field. He got so excited he had to bully the freshmen out of the showers to her great–but short-lived–disapproval .
He hummed, reliving the pleasant memory. “Yer a real brat sometimes, y’know. I’m bloody sure I did real good sticking my tongue down your throa–”
“Alright–Alright!” Arturia cut him off, beet red, waving her hands in front of his face. Oh, how he loved upsetting her composure. He really ought not to derive so much pleasure from getting a rile out of her–as small things tended to lash out all the more violently when cornered–but he couldn’t help it. She was so reserved most of the time. So much so that he was sure no one else had even seen the various degrees of her happiness, but he was getting sidetracked.
His not-girlfriend sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you remember that, then I am quite certain you recall why I had to leave right after,” she paused, not really expecting Cú to have paid that much attention in their high. When he gave her a stare blank as a piece of bond paper, she said, “Jeanne invited me for an pre-recorded radio interview for one of her electives earlier that day. I accepted, thinking she had selected me as an interviewee so I could speak about my major.”
Arturia then paused and reached into her skirt pocket for her phone, where a video was already waiting when she unlocked the screen. Clearly, she liked the idea of showing him the said video as much as she liked accounting, which was…well, not much.
“They hadn’t the time to properly brief me, thanks to our…rendezvous, so I was rather unfortunately put on the spot when they asked the questions,” she explained, dropping the phone into his waiting hand. She was shaking like a leaf, something very uncharacteristic of her, but Cú’s curiosity trumped his concern. He pressed play.
The clip was only about a few minutes long. In frame was Jeanne, sitting across Arturia at what seemed to be one of the university’s many cafés. It was clear that his jade-eyed partner had tried her best to freshen up her appearance, but with her damp hair, skewed tie, and lack of concealer on her neck, it was clear she hadn’t done the best job. Still, to most, including her interviewer, Arturia could pass for being extremely lacking in sleep, hence the disheveled mien. More discerning eyes, however, observed her subtly puffy lips and knew it was only another set of lips that could make them that way.
“Oh?” Cú snickered, hardly believing there existed solid evidence of the straight-laced Arturia Pendragon getting some. And fresh out of it too. No wonder Medb was hysterical.
“It gets worse,” Arturia groaned, tucking her head into her arms and knees like a perched bird. “So much worse.”
“So, Ms. Pendragon, you are in a relationship, correct?” the phone chimed in Jeanne’s unmistakable French accent. She’d asked it just loud enough that half the café was suddenly at attention, including a familiar pink-haired blogger.
“I wh–Jeanne? I believed this was a serious interview, I–” Arturia quickly shot back, but her voice was drowned out by the former’s shy and equally embarrassed insistence.
“It is, okay? Please a-answer the question!” she interjected, basically force-feeding Arturia three mouthfuls of microphone while the latter tried to swat the offending device away.
“Yes? N-No–I…do not know?!” she hurriedly answered, obviously surprised at how strong the devout catholic had gotten over the last few months. What in the Lord’s name did they do at Christian Youth Camp? Arturia, still physically exhausted from her…prior activities barely had a chance.
“Oui, then,” Jeanne insisted, and for some reason Cú felt his heart skip a beat, even if Arturia wasn’t really…hm. “Moving on!”
However disarmed Jeanne’s statement made him, it had done the same to video Arturia tenfold. She was a stuttering, red faced mess, the pixels on her cheeks practically the neon of night clubs. Even her present self, who was deep in her seventh unladylike groan of the day glowed a red he would never wear, and he was the one sporting crimson face tattoos and an obscene amount of piercings. To make the situation worse, the café’s entire customer base decided to coo and whistle at her. Poor Arturia looked like a tea kettle right at the brink of boiling. Any moment she was gonna squeal.
Over the hollers, Jeanne apologetically continued the interview as Arturia tried her best not to hyperventilate. This was way too much emotion to handle for one day. She’d blown her quota out of the water. It was back to stoicism for the next week, creative electives be damned.
“What do you like most about your boyfriend?” the frenchwoman asked, forgetting she wasn’t supposed to be revealing anything about her interviewee’s sexuality, and certainly not about Cú.
“I-I mean girlfri–S.O.! Your S.O.!” she followed up, smacking her head. Arturia probably wouldn’t be mad at her for this, but still, her guilt suddenly skyrocketed. Her last fumble finally pushed Arturia over the edge. Her kettle was boiling. Glass overflowing. Balloon bursting. Their uninvited audience was now at the edge of their seats cheering for the poor business student to answer.
Brain sufficiently fried, Arturia scrambled to for a lie, brain desperately latching onto the closest available memory.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Cú screamed, doubling over onto his dusty carpet with two tattooed arms clutching his rapidly undulating torso. The phone had fallen from his hands, forgotten in the sudden out-of-character fit that had forcibly overtaken the tall delinquent’s body like a possession. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he banged his fists on the floor, trying and failing to suck in enough air to breath.
“You–HA!--You said I had nice LIPS?!?! WHO SAYS THAT?!?” he shouted at his horribly cringing not-girlfriend, chuckles erupting between every word. He was pointing at her like a kid bully now, rolling around on the floor like an idiot, sharp teeth on full display. And like the bullied, Arturia puffed up her cheeks and groaned.
“You know, Cú,” she warned, her serious tone completely flying over the head of the manic wheezing hyena currently making hilarious love to the carpet. “You do hold some fault in this situation–”
“Why? ‘Cause of my nice lips?” he countered, breathless but still shaking from the adrenaline rush.
“Nice lips. Nice lips. Nice lips,” her traitorous phone chimed in unhelpfully in her voice, sending the rugby team’s ace onto another level of mad glee. For the nth time, Arturia groaned.
...
Later, when he had finally calmed down (special thanks to Scáthach for banging at his door with a noise complaint), Arturia found herself tucked under a stone-faced, but obviously happy Cú, who had convinced her the exams were a worry for another day by literally pinning her under his weight. He was still replaying the stupid video, but the hilarity had long passed.
“Yer fucking lucky this was a campus radio gig, shortie. Ya looked like an ugly tomato,” the older one teased, flicking her nose with a polished fingernail.
Arturia smacked his hand away, but to his dismay, she didn’t take the bait. A shame, he was looking forward to her scathing, hifalutin, meticulously worded comebacks. She also tended to speak with a thicker Welsh accent when she was annoyed. Instead, she looked over to the side, refusing to meet his eyes.
“It was funny, ya gotta admit,” he said, irritation rising as he realized he might have to apologize. He hated apologies. He didn’t make fun of her that much, did he?
“‘Tisn’t that, Cú,” she replied, eliciting a subtle sigh of relief from the unwilling jock.
“Ya gonna make me ask?” he muttered at her silence.
Arturia bit her lip. He really had to get her out of that habit. The poor flesh wouldn’t be able to stand both her fidgeting and his teeth. Sighing, she met his eyes with serious forest orbs. It was the kind of gaze she used during her presentations in class, but softer. Fonder.
“I thought you’d be more cross with me,” she admitted, glancing at the phone to clarify what she meant. Honestly, he had no idea what the brit was on about. Logically, she should have been pissed off, considering he hadn’t let the issue go for what, three hours? Four?
As he met her gaze with one uncomprehending, she lightly pushed on his chest. They both sat up, facing each other on Cú’s rickety bed.
“You were adamant about not wanting to be attached to me when this started. No labels, we agreed,” she said, putting her phone, with the interview thumbnail still displayed upon it, between them. “This interview implies otherwise.”
Cú’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Even if Arturia had not directly confirmed whether he was her boyfriend or not, Jeanne’s poor phrasing of the question certainly alluded to it. She was right. He just…didn’t notice. It wasn’t that he was too caught up in the comedy to realize it either. They must have watched the video at least twenty times now. Twelve repetitions in, he wasn’t even audibly chuckling anymore.
He should have noticed. Relationships had been a touchy subject for him following the possessive disaster that was his last. Even though he’d forgiven the ostentatious pinkette following her decision to finally see a shrink instead of terrorizing men, he couldn’t forget how…controlled he felt back then. After Medb, it had been one night stands, fleeting fancies he cut off before he could get too attached, and a bunch of other people he didn’t even remember.
Arturias recounting of their agreement, though brief, was rather suitable. It had been a few weeks after Cú (his older brother, not himself, who knew Arturia through his boyfriend) had introduced them at a frat-hosted formal dinner. Before they even had their foot in the door, he slammed down a full dictionary’s worth of words detailing his boundaries and what the two of them wouldn’t be. Frankly, Cú was surprised the short girl didn’t run away that second. Hell, he still couldn’t believe she came back when he texted the following night. And again the next week. Before he knew it, he was a junior and she was still around.
Now, she didn’t even have to knock when he invited her to his house. He climbed through her dorm window. She brought him soup when he got sick. He got her pizza. She helped him study. He took her to his games. They watched movies. They got groceries together. They both sucked at cooking.
Fuck. Had he been tricked into a relationship?
“Are you angry at me after all?” she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. As red clashed against green, he realized he was a complete fool for ever letting that thought cross his mind. He hadn’t been deceived at all. Arturia was too stupidly good to even attempt such a thing. She kept Jeanne’s devout catholic tushie in her posse, for goodness’ sake. Even if she somehow hated him, he doubted the blonde would ever manipulate him like that.
So what, then? Had his brother set him up? Was this all some elaborate plan Medb concocted to coax him back into her arms? Some drama Hans’s theater friend had arranged? Or maybe...
Maybe Cú had just stumbled across the kind of person that he wouldn’t mind being in a relationship with–that he wanted to be in a relationship with. Everything had just fallen into place so naturally, he never stopped to question where this…this thing was going.
“No,” he stated after a tense period of silence. His attempts at nonchalance failed miserably. “Wasn’t yer fault, idiot. I ain’t blaming ya for that.”
Come to think of it, he’d never actually asked the tiny woman across from him her own opinion on coupling up. He’d just shoved his own views into her hands a year ago and she accepted them. Good god, he was getting a migraine from all this nonsense. Since when did he care so much anyway? He wasn’t supposed to. She wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a solution to his cravings.
Then, the scene suddenly dawned on him. Arturia was here this afternoon because he had asked her to come, but it wasn’t a booty call. Hell, it had been hours and he hadn’t even thought of coaxing her clothes off. He’d invited Arturia because he wanted her around, because he wanted to hear what Medb told him about straight from her mouth, because he wanted to see how she’d react. Why would that have mattered to him? Unless he–unless…
Oh, fuck.
“‘Bout you? Aren’t ya even a bit pissed off you’ll be known as my “girlfriend”?” he asked, not knowing why sitting this close to her suddenly felt awkward, when he’d literally been in her pants just the other day. She tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy, as if the answer should have been obvious to him.
“That is not what you want, of course I’d be quite irate–”
“But what do you want?” he interrupted impatiently, refusing to break their eye contact. She was such a pain sometimes, this tiny girl, always going on and on about what was right and what was proper, and what was appropriate and what was polite, jeez. Even in his less rebellious alternative days he wasn’t quite so straight and narrow.
His question made her stiffen, and for the first time in the many months he’d known her she looked like she wanted to curl in on herself like a wilting flower.
“I do not think it wise to discuss this,” she answered hurriedly, shuffling off of the bed to find her sneakers. “We have made the terms of this arrangement clear before. I apologize for bringing it up–”
Cú grabbed her wrist with the same grip he used on footballs, preventing any chance of escape. Even when the blonde pulled on her arm, she knew it was futile. She should have known better than to broach the subject. She’d just been too distracted by the video she didn’t realize she’d tripped into her own trap. It was impossible to get away now.
Arturia quashed the giddy feeling that bubbled to the surface when they locked eyes. It had been getting stronger the last month, almost too strong to bear. Logic told her she’d be wise to end this “arrangement” with him before it got worse, but like an idiot, she stayed.
When they started this all, she only agreed because she didn’t think she could fall for him. He was crass and rude and terribly serious and on top of all that, he was the younger brother of one of her friends. Even physically, they looked like the worst match, with his alternative style and her plain preferences. But that also made him a good secret. No one would ever suspect anything between them, and she could deal with the aftermath of her last relationship in peace.
Within the third month, however, she’d stopped thinking of her ex entirely, even if she still saw the archer quite often in athletic meets. On the sixth, her attention had shifted completely, the grayish eyes that haunted her dreams replaced by piercing ruby ones. On the ninth, Cú had become more than a bandage on a wound, or a salve to a burn. His room had legitimately become her home too, untidy as he liked to keep it.
She’d been wrong and terribly shallow to evaluate him with what she saw on the surface when they first met. He was a soul that lived in the shadow of his brother, a bit bitter, but still seeking for the chance to prove himself. He wasn’t unkind, just frank and a little harsh with his criticism. Like her, he was still trying to redefine who he was after being with someone who thoroughly changed him. It made him grumpier than most, but who could blame him for that? She, of all people, who was still trying to unlearn the impossible desire to be who others expected her to be, knew exactly how difficult finding oneself could be.
In knowing him, in learning more about him, in spending more time with him, her feelings had grown without her consent, slowly spreading throughout her consciousness like grass in a fertile field. And though she’d kissed him more times than she could count, though she knew his body more than she knew her own…she began to crave holding his hand and staying for breakfast the morning after, and evenings like this, where they simply enjoyed each other’s company without the passionate need to reach for the rubbers in his bedside table.
But that’s not what he wanted.
“I want something you can not give me,” she declared, pulling on her arm to get free, “And I accept that–”
“Damn it,” he interrupted, roughly yanking her toward him til he captured her mouth with his. His arms locked around her back as he pulled her body as close as he could. He tangled his fingers in her hair, anchoring her to him so she couldn’t leave.
“Damn you, shortie.” His voice was low, the words whispered between heated breaths and quiet whimpers. Arturia’s will to escape melted like ice in the summer sun, her attempts at pushing at his chest whittling away with every moment that passed. Cú didn’t know what it was, but something had reached forward and latched onto his heart and hers, never again to let go. As he deepened the kiss, he knew his life was about to change once more, irreparably, irrevocably, but he knew neither of them had the strength to resist it.
“Give…” Cú huffed breathlessly, pulling away till only their foreheads touched. Arturia stared at him with eyes full of guilt and sorrow, both emotions he hoped he’d never evoke in her again. But there was love in her sea-green eyes, Cú could feel it, warm as she had been to him all this time, he was sure of it.
The man spent so long wallowing in the murky depths of his last relationship, he didn’t recognize the sunshine disguised in pressed clothes and blonde hair. Now that he did, he wasn’t letting her go. He didn’t care if it was selfish.
“...Give me time,” he demanded, weaving his fingers in between hers.
The junior knew how unfair he was being, asking her to wait, but it was necessary. Cú wasn’t ready. He had a mountain of leftover baggage to unpack before he could even think of asking her to be his. They’d been helping each other out in their arrangement, but there was no way in hell he was saddling her with the brunt of his issues.
With her free hand, Arturia touched the soft pads of her fingers to his lips, soothing the rough, chapped skin. She could hardly believe this conversation had all started with a stupid video. It seemed to matter so little now.
“Alright,” she whispered, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. She still had more healing to do herself, but she was glad she didn’t have to do it alone. She moved slowly, leaning in for another kiss. “Besides…I believe I need some time too.”
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wheeee hope you liked this! im super fond of college au cutoria. it just seems to fit them so well. Also omg im happy u still remember that fic, anon its been a while since i posted that ahahaha
anyway, hope yall are doing great, get some sunshine, stay healthy mahdudes
Hey, hey, hey this one “ i’m worried, that if we go there…. things might never be the same. “ for lancer artoria/ Caster gil. Man have I been expecting this
Tags: Pining, why is everything im writing pining, Merlin the relationship therapist
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There were a great many things Artoria Pendragon kept secret, even post-mortem. She will admit that one Ritsuka Fujimaru had succeeded to some degree in helping her open up, especially when it came to her knights, but there would always be things she believed were safest in the recesses of her mind.
For better or worse, this restraint was at the core of what used to rule Camelot. Her world would not have trusted her, had she been a man, for society then did not allow it. Her knights would not have followed her, had she put her true feelings out on display. Her influence would not have solidified if Guinevere ever found out about what happened with Morgan.
But there had always been one that was privy to all her secrets. Whether as simple an issue as what sat between her legs or as damning as the death toll for the towns she’d sacrificed, he always knew. It didn’t matter whether she wished him to know or not. He just knew.
That was the prime reason that despite his whimsical nature and his rather detached, inhuman point of view, Merlin remained her advisor.
“So you do have feelings for humanity’s oldest king after all,” Merlin drawled drunkenly, despite the absence of alcohol in his system. “My, my, Artoria, what a pleasant surprise.”
The blatant fib in his expression told the stoic, stone-faced king that on the contrary, this was not surprising to him at all. The Lancer tried not to show an expression of complete distaste, but she doubted her success in that matter. Before Merlin, she was more than an open book. She was a novel that the old wizard could recite backwards, forwards, and from any point at all.
“So?” the silver-haired, silver tongued menace queried, smirking as he flipped through one of Da Vinci’s magazines. “What brings you to my room instead of his? If I know him at all, you’ll find much more comfortable accommodations over there, my lovely lion king.”
True, her rump would certainly appreciate one of Gilgamesh’s many, many impossibly soft pillows over the tree stump Merlin mysteriously had in his room, but she was not here for comfort. In fact, the subject matter was rather...uncomfortable for the serious, straightforward king.
“Ahhhhh~,” the wizard voiced, his eyebrows jumping up and down at such a frantic pace that Artoria thought they’d fall off. “I understand now. Well, I can firmly say you are not lacking in assets, at all my Artoria, and if you’re looking for lingerie, then I’m sure I can conjure—”
“Merlin,” the king warned, ire burning through her usual icy tone. She pinched the bridge of her nose, glad there was no one around to see Merlin make a fool out of himself. The sensible part of herself told her she ought to take her problems elsewhere—though she doubted anyone else in Chaldea would be a better confidant, unfortunately—while the less sensible told her she ought to have Llamrei ram the damn mage into the wall. The latter solution might not ease her woes, but she would certainly feel better afterward. Much better.
“Alright, alright,” her weird uncle said, waving open palms in front of himself in a placating, undoubtedly defensive, way. “Your old wizard’s listening.”
A long, tense breath escaped from Artoria’s nose. She observed her wizard. To his credit, he was actually ready to listen this time, twiddling with a flower while he awaited her answer to his earlier query.
It took months before Artoria began speaking with Gilgamesh beyond the conversations of comrades. Caster had always initiated such conversations, but she had never known how to respond.
Artoria had learned from her Excalibur-wielding version along with Gilgamesh’s own younger self that anything between them would always end in a clash. Whether debating kingship, battle strategy, literal spars…Saber and Archer always ended up butting heads. It surprised many when after the Solomon Singularity, the two had shared a kiss. Hell, Lancer was quite sure some of her knights had been bloody distraught.
The older Gilgamesh had begun showing interest in her while Master took care of Shinjuku. At first, she was hesitant to engage, believing it best to avoid a tumultuous relationship such as that of their younger selves. But Caster was patient, and Caster was wise, and Caster gave her the solace that no one else could provide. Because while her knights could reassure her about their past, while Master gave her comfort, having not been kings themselves, there was only so much they could understand.
Gilgamesh understood.
She’d kept her guard up, expecting the worst when she finally entertained his attempts at speaking with her. But while their ideologies did not always align, talking to him was strangely easy. He could still be judgemental, quite haughty, and it seemed every Gilgamesh that existed had an element of vanity to them, but Caster’s pride was never baseless. She found that deciphering the labyrinth that was his learned mind was quite…’riveting’, to borrow from his own highfalutin vocabulary.
In Gilgamesh, Artoria had found a friend, even if she respected that he would never use that same label with her. And so, she was brought to her current predicament.
The ruby-eyed king had always been straightforward with what he wanted from her. He was never looking for another friend. Enkidu already fulfilled that quota. She was not blind to his feelings either. There was only so much Artoria could ignore before she realized he treated her differently compared to everyone else and only so much she could take before she finally acknowledged the fluttering in her stomach whenever Gilgamesh was around.
“It is a relationship that he wants, Merlin. However, I am..” Artoria finally said, her words making the wizard pause his fidgeting. “I’m worried that if we go there...things might never be the same.”
Her wizard blinked up at her, his violet, all-seeing eyes searching through the sea-green eyes he had created long, long ago. Artoria wondered what he could see; whether the answers she was seeking, she already knew.
“Artoria,” Merlin spoke, one corner of his lips twisting upward. Doubt was an emotion he seldom ever saw on his king’s beautiful countenance. He was privileged to have witnessed it, and even more privileged to put such doubt away.
“Do you truly want things to stay the same, or are you willing to risk the status quo for something that may be greater?” the wizard asked, placing the flower he had been playing with in her hands.
“I—” Artoria hastily began to answer, but it was clear to the pair she wouldn’t find the words. The king sighed, looked down at the flower she’d just been gifted, then back at her wizard.
“I wish you would not be so cryptic,” she stated, turning and exiting Merlin’s room.
The old wizard leaned back into his bead, yawning like a cat laying out in the sun. As he crossed his arms behind his head, he began to count the seconds as they ticked by. In a moment, Artoria would stop her stomping down the hallway. She’d turn, and she’d walk down the path that she came, beyond his room and over to the section that housed the Babylonia Servants. She’d pass a temperamental Ishtar, a knowing Enkidu, and finally stop at an ornate golden door, only surpassed in gaudiness by a similar one down in the opposite wing.
Before her knuckles could even touch the metal, Gilgamesh would appear in the doorway and accept the flower before she even gave it. Almost like he saw her coming.
Merlin snorted out a laugh, wondering what the hell his king was so worried about, then wisely turned his clairvoyant eyes to a different target.
Artoria would probably want to keep the next few hours a secret.
An extremely ballsy manouver from Kojiro to push a lovestruck Lancelot to tell its emotions to Arty.
(A/N): my good fellow, I did not know whether you meant Zerkerlot or Saberlot.
...anyways I made *both* HAHAHA I'll reblog this post with the Saberlot one enjoy~~~~
beautiful catastrophe_____________
Words: 1.8k
Characters: Lancelot of the Lake | Berserker, Artoria Pendragon | Saber, Kojirou Sasaki | Assassin
His gravity shifted the day he met King Arthur, her brilliant green eyes destabilizing the axis that he’d been spinning on all his life. In an instant, his whole universe changed, destroying and rebuilding itself ‘til she was its center, its focus, its reason for being. Before long, he’d forgotten all the history she’d replaced and all its weight, because it didn’t matter, not anymore. His life revolved around her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He had been happy with that life. Serving her, worshiping her, cherishing every moment of her time that he was given. She shined a light so bright Lancelot wanted nothing but to bask in her glory, and he did just that, glad to be designated her strongest, her most trusted.
But, he would come to learn, the brightest light casts the longest shadow.
It was Guinevere that first shattered the image of Arturia he’d come to know. The queen pointed out every flaw and imperfection she could see, familiarizing him with all the cracks in their king’s beautiful facade. But she hadn’t done so out of malice, and somehow that made it even worse. The two of them thought they could heal all their beloved king’s gaps and imperfections. Instead, they became the hammer and nail that together shattered King Arthur’s castle of glass.
But even suffering through the madness that overcame him after his king's death–the same madness that eventually led him to his own grave–she was his one constant. In his world of aimless wandering, she was his direction. She was the one coherent thought in the insane chorus blasting throughout his mind. Through his despair there was Arturia. Through his pain, there was Arturis. Through the manic glee, through the blind rage there was Arturia, Arturia, Arturia.
It was no surprise that the mere infinitesimal chance of meeting her again brought him to the Fourth Holy Grail War. Nor was he surprised to wake in Chaldea, vision filled with blonde hair, green eyes, and royal blue. His obsession with the King of Knights was just so potent, so deep, so obviously undeniable, that even the Throne knew to reunite the black knight with his king lest it suffer his wrath. Lancelot would grab fate itself by the neck if he had to, if it meant he would be with her once again.
Now that they were together, however, he hesitated.
The fact burned through his veins, igniting every single one of his cells with rage and making him teeter right at the edge of insanity, but it was quite apparent.
Lancelot was not alone in his love for her.
There were others that dared venture into her space. Unworthy hands that held hers for too long. Dirty fingers that snuck up the curve of her waist; traveled the delicate shape of her neck. There were others that spoke to her so familiarly, made her smile, made her laugh, made her circle through a range of emotions he had never even seen from her before. There were others…and they made him doubt the validity of his claim on her, and whether or not their shared history held any weight at all.
Top of that list–as well as the list of people he wanted to murder in their sleep–was Kojiro Sasaki. He stood out from the rest because he was no knight, or king, nor some monstrous bastardization of either. His title was a fabrication. His summoning, illegal. Sasaki was a swordsman shoved into the honorless, cowardly role of an assassin, and yet he dared believe himself worthy enough to stand beside Lancelot’s king without the slightest hint of shame. He spoke to her with no shame. He touched her with no shame. And though Arturia had not quite realized it yet, he lusted with no shame.
Indeed, it seemed if not for Lancelot’s constant vigilance, the slimy bastard would have weaseled his way into her bed by now. But what irritated the French knight the most, what ate him up inside, was that Arturia likely wouldn’t refuse.
It was all Lancelot could do to grab her wrist and yank her away whenever the worm got too close; to distract her with spars, to keep her eyes trained on himself instead. However, Lancelot didn’t need to be completely sane to know those measures wouldn’t last. Though he tried to be gentle, he knew she was tired of bruises on her wrists. He knew she grew impatient waiting for an explanation beyond his angry grunts and ill-worded thoughts. He knew that one day, she would no longer tolerate how roughly he treated her–
“Lance, enough!”
Arturia ripped her arm out of his grasp with a vengeance, caring not that the force made him stumble. Her expression looked like it had been set aflame, a scowl and crossed eyebrows marring her usual placid face. Her shoulders rose and fell with her every hastened breath. Had she been speaking? How could he not have noticed?
Arturia rubbed her wrists, concealing the red marks on her porcelain skin from the Assassin that stood speechless behind her.
"I cannot forgive this conduct any longer, my knight, no matter how much favor you've incurred with me in life," she nearly shouted, her words echoing down Chaldea's halls and stopping Servants in their tracks. "Either you explain your behavior to me this instant, or I'll be forced to rescind whatever friendship we've managed to salvage thus far."
She must have intended for her words to be more scathing, but her voice wavered in the latter half. There it was again. Proof to all that against all odds, she still went soft for her First Knight. Kojiro liked to think she did so out of guilt. In reality, it may have been the same complicated feeling he'd been harboring for her the last few months.
"If…if you would just tell me why…" she mumbled, prompting him again when he didn't answer.
Lancelot stared down at his king, mouth hanging open to reply. But no matter how much the knight tried, he choked on every word that rose to his throat, and it was silence that filled the air instead. Silence was not what Arturia wanted to hear.
So, she filled the space with a long and melancholy sigh, shoving past the Berserker before he could reach for her again. Suddenly, Lancelot was left with company he didn't want, company that consisted of the very man he hated almost as much as he hated himself.
Arturia wasn’t even out of his sight yet, but he began to ache for her presence. He wasn’t calm when she wasn’t around. He couldn't be held accountable for what he was about to do.
Before the second was over, an armored fist shot out toward the Assassin, speeding straight to his jaw with a velocity that would surely pop it out of its socket before the clock ticked. And right on time too, when they were both safely in Arturia's blind spot. Milliseconds to spare, Lancelot began to grin, the satisfaction of putting this nobody in place already catching up to him. He would have been able to savor the moment too, if Kojiro hadn't predicted the blow.
A quiet, metallic whoosh resounded through the hall as Lancelot's fist missed its target, who maneuvered out of the way just before impact and locked an iron grip around the Berserker's wrist.
"She wouldn't endorse violence for these petty matters," the Japanese legend drawled lazily, unfazed and slightly amused by the knight's actions, "But I guess I shouldn't have expected the lioness's righteousness to trickle down to every one of her cubs, even if you are supposedly the best of the best."
Lancelot's anger flared and dissipated like sparks on wet flint. Even if the madness began to cloud his consciousness, the bastard was right. But what did he know? Kojiro had only met Arturia twice—thrice?—before they reunited in Chaldea. How much could one glean from the life of another with such little time together, especially when on opposite sides of a war? Sasaki didn't have the right to speak of how she would deliver judgment. Sasaki didn't have the right to speak for her at all.
"Stay...away…from my king," Lancelot grunted between huffs, jerking his hand back.
"And what? Watch you prance around Arturia like a sickly swallow, never giving her rhyme or reason for your mad little dance?" Kojiro queried, raising a sarcastic eyebrow to him in question. It made some of the passers-by wonder if the Assassin had a death wish. Even as Heroic Spirits, it was still quite terrifying to anger the more…unhinged of the Berserkers.
"I don't think so," the ponytailed man continued, hand loosely held over his katana. "She is a beautiful creature that I've already let slip through my fingers once. I will not let that happen again. I believe you know the feeling, don’t you?"
His provocation evoked exactly the reaction he expected it to: a black sword held an inch away from his jugular, and no more—an inch that told the Assassin that the mad dog still cared about Arturia's opinion of him, but more importantly, that Lancelot realized Sasaki meant something to Arturia.
In a sudden wave of arrogance, Kojiro opted for one more jab at the Frenchman, not knowing just how much he’d come to regret it.
"You have the rest of the hour. If you refuse to make a move, I will. This time, I'll make it count," the Assassin shrugged nonchalantly, "You and I both know she will not say no to me, fake hero or not."
A smirk swept across Sasaki's features. Lancelot's grimace deepened. Then the latter turned and stomped the way Arturia had gone, because he knew exactly what would happen if Kojiro succeeded.
His gravity would cease to work. Whatever had kept his gears turning would suddenly stop all function. Before he could fully get a handle on things, his whole universe would implode and scatter, no longer finding purpose to repair itself. Everything he knew, everything he loved, everything that tied his fragile mind to the name 'Lancelot du Lac' would simply disappear. When that happened, he would truly only be a mad warrior, one with no reason to exist, no direction, nothing.
Lancelot knew she would be in her room dealing with her emotions alone as usual. It was almost too easy to find her, to grab her wrist once more, to make her face him. What was difficult was telling her how he felt. So he didn't.
He kissed her. He kissed her, and rain began to pour, lightning peeked over gray clouds, large waves crashed onto the unsuspecting shore. He kissed her and hurricanes ripped the roofs off of houses, volcanos shot toxic fumes into the air, earthquakes tore chasms into the Earth’s surface. He kissed her and snow tumbled off the mountaintops, crashing down, down, down, leaving a trail of icy death behind it. The planet froze over, melted, flooded, dried, lived a million times, died twice over.
But the world continued spinning.
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thanks for reading! I still wanna do some of the prompts I got from this list, although its been so long. lotsa stuff has just been getting in the way aaaaaaaa
There was more than enough chaos going round what with there being three Gilgameshes and…an alarming amount of Arturias. The situation was, of course, made worse by the simple fact that the former would always pursue the latter, no matter what shape, form, or method, with a limited amount of success.
In fact, such success was so unreachable, so out-of-this-world, so unthinkable, that nobody in Chaldea could imagine the blue Saber ever letting Gilgamesh’s mouth land on her lips.
But she did.
The whole world’s gravity shifted. Staff stopped typing at their computers. Servants’ hair stood on end. Ritsuka felt his jaw drop. No one, absolutely no one could even breathe. Not for the next minute.
And then the bluest Arturia pulled away, loosening her grip on the wide collar of Caster’s nonsensical vest.
Several crashes resounded through the hallways as the Earth began to turn again. Shakespeare tripped over Hans. Iskandar bellowed an unwarranted congratulations that rendered both Ozymandias and Napoleon deaf. Phantom screamed an unholy chorus of Christines. Mash’s shield clanged onto the floor as Ritsuka innocently turned toward her. Every Berserker began to howl amidst the chaos.
Seemingly, the only truly unaffected person in the entirety of Humanity’s last bastion, was Arturia herself. She calmly retreated without a sound, leaving behind a slightly flushed CasGil who gently held two fingers to his lips. Caster seemed like he was lost in a world of his own, completely oblivious to the teasing of a laughing Lancer Cú and the slaps on the back from an ecstatic King of Conquerors.
“So…” said the youngest of the Gilgameshes, kicking up non-existing dust while his lovely flower fanned her burning blush away. Lily had reacted to “the kiss” the least violently out of all her counterparts, fainting instead of deciding to go on a manhunt. In Ko-gil’s opinion, hers was a reaction a little more appropriate than what the other kids proceeded to do.
Nursery Rhyme was still screaming incoherently as she scrambled between covering Jack’s eyes or her mouth. Alexander had his face frozen with his tongue out and was slowly turning greener by the second. Sétanta was wringing his hands, shouting his fifteenth “EW!” as he jumped around.
But now that Lily was awake again and her blush was beginning to subside, Ko-gil had a chance to act on his envy.
“...Can I get one too?” he asked slowly, tilting his head to his head to the side as the taller girl turned to look at him.
Lily froze faster than water in a snowstorm. For a while, the child in modern clothes wondered if she had even heard him. By the blank expression on her face, it sure didn’t seem that way.
A beat. Two.
“E-ehh?!?”
Lily’s fair skin glowed tomato red for a second time, blood rushing up all the way to her ears. However, the tiny Archer was unfazed, tilting his head a little further with a smile like sunshine on his face. She could be so cute sometimes, and so pretty. Ko-gil really did think she was like a white flower bud about to bloom. This time, however, he supposed she was more like a rose bud with how red she was getting.
Arturia Lily floundered around, her arms flying in front of her face. Whatever grace and poise her foster mother and Merlin had instilled in her evaporated in an instant. Meanwhile, the nicest Gilgamesh kept up his tiny grin, making her realize he was being serious.
“W-well…” the young squire started, shyly twiddling her fingers. The small Archer looked up at her expectantly.
“To be completely honest, Ko-gil, I think we’re a bit too young?” she said, a little doubtful of her own words. Servants were a little tricky when it came to age, but she was sure she still classified as a child, and so did Ko-gil. It was literally in his name.
The boy pouted before she even finished her explanation. “Aw, come on, Lily, it's just an innocent kiss,” he reasoned, folding his arms. Lily thought it wise not to comment on how much he resembled his older self (the one with the updo, who had been leaning on the wall after 'the kiss', looking a little disgruntled).
“Still,” she argued back, still fanning her face as Ko-gil’s pout increased in intensity. The bluest King of Knights used to complain about how much of a brat both adult Gilgameshes could be. Apparently those tendencies took root a little earlier in life, even if Ko-gil was still the most polite of the three. And the sweetest. And the cutest.
Bollocks. Lily said internally, mimicking her older brother’s exasperated tone. What am I thinking? Ah, no, no, no. A king should be more resolute. But then…
Lily’s shoulders slumped as she gave a heavy sigh. She motioned for the smaller boy to come forward, heart once again beating like a frantic rabbit’s.
His pout now replaced by a charming grin, Ko-gil got on his toes and puckered up, only to feel her hands gently pushing his bangs away. Not a moment later, a soft set of lips landed on his forehead for a brief, but precious, second.
And then Lily stiffened like a board, scrambled to find words to say, and bailed. She ran, probably to Merlin, with her hands covering a furiously blushing face.
Ko-gil stood stunned as Alexander and Sétanta erupted into a fit of hoots and hollers. He didn’t move even as his two friends poked and prodded him, busy holding two gentle hands to where Artoria Lily had bestowed upon him a kiss. Slowly, his face began to color, his skin burning with a feeling somewhere between happiness and embarrassment.
Sétanta’s glance traveled between the frozen Ko-gil and Caster Gil. The latter still stood with a hand to his lips in the middle of the hallway, steady as stone while Cú Chulainn snapped his fingers in front of his face. Iskandar met Alexander’s eyes. They both shrugged. Guess it was a Gilgamesh trait, no matter what age.
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Hope u liked this! Haven't written pure fluff in a while lmao
ty for the ask!!!
The rain beat on the windows like fingers to a drum, performing a quiet rhythm of white noise in between the pair’s words and laughter. The rain sent shivers down the backs of scurrying passers-by, all of them hurrying under the nearest roof they could find. But the rain, in all its gloomy and dark presence, barely caught the attention of the two childhood friends, whose busy schedules had finally allowed for them to meet.
Arturia hadn’t changed much since he last saw her. Her hair was longer. There were a few more lines below her eyes, no doubt from her work. But, she was still short, stubborn, acutely competitive and…beautiful. She had always been beautiful.
Diarmuid shifted the green, plaid quilt they shared, pouring an expensive, specially procured champagne into both their flutes. Acquiring it had been no small feat. The brand was quite in demand and many liquor stores did not stock it. His wallet had taken quite the hit. However, the mere sight of Arturia’s pink lip curling upwards as she tipped the glass to her mouth made him believe it was worth it.
The raven-haired man wasn’t aware he was mirroring her, his own lips quirking into a warm smile for which Arturia was the only audience. He suddenly felt a lighthearted envy for her crystal wine glass. It had the privilege of being held so gently; of feeling her kiss. He suddenly felt jealous that she perched the flute at her side, so close to her, when there sat a finished game of chess between them. He had won, of course. They might have stopped playing if he let her win.
The wooden pieces thudded softly against the checkerboard as he began resetting the game. Arturia joined him shortly after, her fingers colliding with his as they reached for the two pieces that had fallen off the couch. They placed them on each other's side of the board. Black king. White knight. Diarmuid hoped she wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating.
She didn’t. She was busy keeping her own at bay.
Diarmuid had changed. At least, change was what Arturia attributed the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach to. She’d met up with Diarmuid less after college. Even less, when she had started working for her father’s company. Eventually, there were long months in-between their catch-ups, the responsibilities of adulthood forcing them in opposite directions.
Because of that, in the rare times she saw him, she began to notice all the little things. He began to dress more frequently in blue. His curly hair was even thicker, barely held together by that sweet smelling gel he liked to use. The laugh marks on his face were a little deeper. His gaze, gentler, like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.
Arturia banished the thought, but not before wondering whether he’d always looked at her like that. Diarmuid was her best friend; someone who she held near and dear to her heart since they tripped and fell over each other as kids. He must have missed her, perhaps just as much as her recluse, secretive heart did him. At least…she hoped he did.
She moved her knight, a strategy that Diarmuid had predicted even before she made it. He knew her too well.
Before the man could make his move, two short vibrations shook one of the phones on the coffee table, which hadn’t been touched even once since Arturia arrived. The blonde pressed the device to her ear and retreated from the couch, a soundless apology shaping her mouth.
The rain continued to beat down on the glass window, its soft pitter-patter echoing the solemn, quiet prayers of everything and everyone within the small, but warm studio apartment. Stay, said every piece on the chess board. Stay, said the bottle of champagne, condensation dripping down its sides like tears. Stay, said the plaid blanket, too big for Diarmuid to use alone.
But Arturia turned to Diarmuid with pursed, uncertain lips, and he knew the wonderful night they’d shared had come to an end.
“I...I apologize,” Arturia said. She’d said these words so many times, she wondered if they still held any weight. Too many times for such a close friend to hear over and over. “My father requires me to fly out tomorrow.”
The woman glanced up at the clock ticking dejectedly at the corner, as if the timekeeper deigned to tell her the time. It was barely eight.
“‘Tis quite alright, Arturia,” Diarmuid interrupted, a soft smile on his features. It was not the same smile he gave her a short time ago. This one held the bittersweet undertones of goodbye. “We can finish our game some other time.”
With that, Diarmuid picked up the horse piece, put it in the palm of her hand, and closed her fingers around it. It was like he’d entrusted the tiny knight with a mission; a promise to bring her back the soonest it could, and safely. In the meantime, he’d wait, as incomplete as his chess set, ‘til the day she returned.
“I’ll take you,” the man said gently, trading the three words he’d been dying to say with three that were far less risky. He tucked an umbrella to his side like a sword and offered the short woman his elbow. Arturia slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, like she had at competitions, at prom, at graduation, and they made for a more dreary destination.
Outside, the rain still poured, but no longer gently. It bore down on the pair like a vengeance, rejecting that they should part so early. Diarmuid pushed on anyway, tilting the umbrella as they made their way to Kay’s waiting car. Only when she was safely in the driving seat did he move the brolly to fully cover himself, but by then, his left was cold and wet. He didn’t really mind.
Her eyes locked with his one last time before he turned back to his apartment building. God, they were beautiful. How he wished to see them flutter open in the sunlight as she woke next to him.
Maybe…some other time.
“I could have come later if you wanted, Arty,” Kay murmured, watching his sister as she stared out the car window at Diarmuid’s slowly retreating back. He wasn’t sure how the guy had managed it, but it was like the rain hadn’t even touched Arturia, save for her boring, black office heels.
“You know father would disapprove,” the blonde whispered back, her voice deceptively placid. She didn’t even look at Kay, her forehead softly resting against the door of the passenger’s side. “The company needs me in Japan.”
Kay hated when she did that. He could always tell when she was upset, even if she could fool most with that irritating, unfeeling mask. Out of anger, he put the car into drive, but found himself bringing it back to neutral before he could take off.
“The hell it does,” her brother retorted as she turned to him, wondering why he shut off the engine. “I can go. So can Gawain. We can represent the company just as well as you can.”
Arturia didn’t deny his statement. Kay had a silver tongue. Gawain had a natural charisma, even if he wasn’t as sharp. But, the fact remained that she was the face of their tea company right now. In a market like Japan, a country with a culture closely tied with tea, it was important that she was present.
“Kay, you know the company has to come first. We barely reached our goals this year—”
“You love him, don’t you?” the man interrupted, thunder resounding dramatically as the words struck Arturia’s hardened heart like lightning.
Several seconds passed with nothing but the rain and the low rumbles filling the air.
“Of course I love him…we’ve been friends for ages,” she said finally, voice quivering as she held her brother’s piercing brown gaze.
“Bollocks. Not like that, Arty,” he huffed, insulted that she still thought she could trick him with words. He was the better of them in that regard. Slowly, he glanced over his sister to see Diarmuid nearing the building lobby. The curly-haired man was no stranger. Kay had known him just as long as Arturia had, and so he knew what these two had yet to fully realize. Idiots, both of them. Too bloody considerate for their own good.
“What will his life be like with me? I have barely spent two weeks in London this entire year,” she brooded, her fists slightly trembling as she gripped the white chess piece she’d been holding on to. Arturia turned back to the window to see Diarmuid shaking the excess water off his umbrella, hair sticking to his forehead.
Kay sighed, realizing he may have contributed to how utterly…selfless Arturia could be sometimes. All the time. He ought to have been a better brother. Lightened her load at work at least. Perhaps then, she might not have felt like she was carrying the whole damn business on her shoulders. Perhaps then, she might have given herself more happiness than a few stolen hours out of a year, spent in secret with the one person who treated her right.
“Whatever it may be like, I imagine it would be less miserable than it is,” Kay answered, seeing Diarmuid slouch as the dark-haired man readied himself to go back to his apartment alone. “You should see the way he looks at you, Arty. He’s looked at you like that since fifth grade.”
Just like it was fated, her childhood friend caught the image of their car reflected on the lobby’s glass doors, and turned back to the roadside, wondering what was wrong. Their eyes locked, solemn orange irises reaching out to green. Arturia’s breath hitched in her throat, and suddenly she couldn’t move, caught between responsibility and a long-running, neglected want.
“Work it out,” her brother urged, his words finally convincing her to give the latter a chance.
He opened the door.
Arturia stepped out into the rain uncertainly, kicking off her heels as she began to walk the cement pathway that led to him. Puddles splashed beneath her feet as her steps became surer, as her heart finally beat unimpeded by doubt. Diarmuid broke out into a run the same time she did, his umbrella left unopened and unneeded on the stairs. Neither of them took their eyes off the other, not even for a moment.
They collided like the rain on the pavement, a beautiful, bursting chaos of emotions that no words between them could possibly encapsulate. The same cold shower that had accompanied them tonight seeped into their clothes as they wrapped their arms around each other, but they couldn’t even feel its chill. Between them it was warmer than a hearth, for two souls that had burned for each other for a lifetime had finally, finally become one. For the first time, their embrace wasn’t bittersweet. For the first time, she clung to him without restraint. For the first time, he held her and knew she would stay.
Kay smiled, driving away.
Dripping wet, Arturia returned the knight piece to the chess set, smiling softly as Diarmuid draped the green blanket over her ruined suit and pulled her towards himself. He had been right, they could continue their game some other time.
The rain played a happy rhythm outside as his lips finally pressed onto hers.
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Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun making this. Hope you enjoyed :>
-akampana
P.S. I'll tag these with "oblivious idiots asks" so you can see it on my blog easier :>
akampana: this is a little different from what i usually do, but i hope you enjoy anyway!
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Enkidu considered being regarded as Gilgamesh’s friend a privilege. Their whole life and even until now, they didn’t know how they’d come to deserve such a designation, when they were satisfied being the King of Heroes’ tool, but they were grateful nonetheless.
Their first life, they liked to think themself important, at least important enough to Gil that they played well-defined and not easily fulfilled roles in the King of Heroes’ life. An enabler, oftentimes a limiter, a confidant, and most of all a companion. Here in Chaldea, they were glad to find out that even after their death, Gilgamesh lived on—even if he stalled for a while—and ultimately fulfilled the destiny laid out for him in relative peace.
Their second lease on life, however, Enkidu found themself constantly carrying out the second of their roles, at times unintentionally. See, although they returned Gilgamesh’s honor, by regarding their king as the only one in the world that would be their friend, that did not stop them from forming amicable relations with others. Enkidu particularly enjoyed the company of the traitorous knight, the Chaldea children, Frankenstein’s mon—Fran, and even that troublesome butterfly gentleman.
With Gilgamesh, it was different. Some way or another, he was using the Chain of the Heavens as a shield. Even a fallback, at times. Gilgamesh never admitted to himself that he liked spending time with Iskandar, or even Ozymandias, shutting them out before he grew too fond. And when it came to matters dealing with the King of Knights, Gil was even more terrible, sour-graping every time she rejected him (which…was a grounded decision, in Enkidu’s opinion) and seeking out his one and only friend claiming they were the only one he needed. Suffice to say, the shapeshifter did not appreciate this conduct at all.
“Gil,” Enkidu chided sternly, roughly pushing the king off their lap before he could relax. They ignored the exaggerated yelp that came with his rump hitting the floor. Gilgamesh had endured worse beatings, most of which Enkidu had inflicted themself. “You’re being a child.”
The king shot up, ignored Enkidu’s disappointed glare and folded arms, and plopped back onto the bed he dragged out of his treasury. The huge thing dwarfed the standard issue Novum Chaldea room, but Gilgamesh’s questionable taste in interior decoration was often overlooked by Master. Ritsuka had much more to think about rather than scold the more emotionally difficult Servants.
“You’d dare attribute infantilism to your king, Enkidu?” the brat retorted, the usual bite to his tone obviously absent.
The grassy haired clay humanoid scoffed. They had had quite enough of Gilgamesh’s behavior, although part of their software did understand why the king behaved like a hormonal adolescent whenever the King of Knights was involved. It was no one else’s fault but Fate’s, that the only person Gilgamesh could truly fall in love with was born eons after he came into existence and left it.
No wonder Gil acted this way. Of all the things the King of Heroes possessed way back when, romance was not one of them. Of course, Gilgamesh had acted on his lust (many, many times, at that) and even Enkidu had been a participant in satiating that feeling, but it was hardly the same. Enkidu loved Gilgamesh, but Enkidu loved Shamhat. There was a difference, no matter how thin the line between the two emotions became.
“Yes,” hissed Ritsuka’s ‘best clay’, pinching the bridge of Shamhat’s perfectly mimicked button nose. “You are stewing in a rather undignified sulk for the fifth time this week alone. I’d say you are even being quite pathetic. I’m sure the King of Conquerors would agree.”
Gilgamesh’s non-reply permeated the room for the next few minutes.
Enkidu’s shoulders relaxed as they sighed. He could be such a baby sometimes. Enkidu would not claim that their programming allowed for a perfect perception of love, but they would not deny their understanding of it was quite comprehensive. It was certainly sufficient to understand why Gilgamesh was so fascinated by Arturia Pendragon.
She was delightfully complex, her existence both a complement and a contradiction to Gilgamesh’s own life. Of the stories Enkidu had gleaned from Mordred out of curiosity, Gil’s rule had been far more emotional and spontaneous than her straight-laced, strict methods, yet both their stories were so widely known in present day. Arturia was also quite…prideful, to say the least, and she never bent herself to the King of Heroes’ will. From experience, Enkidu could say that was a huge turn-on for their ruby-eyed friend.
In addition, Britain’s most renowned was not too bad to look at. Gilgamesh was never one for large chests, if Enkidu recalled correctly. Then again, their friend had rather diverse tastes, seeing beauty in totality rather than individual parts. In their humble opinion, Arturia Pendragon was not as beautiful as Shamhat, but no woman ever was, not in Enkidu’s eyes. The tiny king had a charm all her own, with her unnaturally glowing green eyes, lightly freckled skin, and hay-colored hair.
Of course, she had her own issues, which made Gilgamesh’s task even more difficult. However, all in all, she was a beguiling specimen. And not just to Gil. Enkidu’s calculations discerned there were quite a few men and women who were interested.
“Why is it so difficult for you to be honest with her? You do not lie, Gil. Dishonesty has never been one of your qualities, and yet somehow, you never get your meaning across,” the shapeshifter said, whirling around to face their dejected king.
“It is far more involuted a predicament than you realize, my friend,” the man mumbled as he turned over.
Right, Enkidu recalled, bringing up what their king had shared with them about the Fourth and Fifth Holy Grail Wars. Even a programmed clay humanoid like Enkidu could tell that Gilgamesh did not leave a good impression. Far from it.
“I can accept that,” answered Enkidu, slowly. They refused to believe Gilgamesh’s latest quest was hopeless, but they could not deny that the demigod had painted himself into a corner. “Why then, pray tell, do you insist on pouring out your woes here with me, rather than return to Saber at this moment? Surely, you can understand the latter is more productive if you truly wish to earn her affection.”
“She shut me down last time, remember?” the king answered, uncharacteristically colloquial thanks to his heightened emotions. “Why, pray tell, shall I spend my time chasing that foolish little wench when I can have a much more pleasant and salubrious interaction with you?”
Enkidu’s anger flared like fire fed gasoline, not that their placid expression gave anything away. There it was again. Their friendship reduced to a simple emotional shield to coddle the hopeless romantic that was the King of Heroes. This was getting out of hand.
“Well,” Enkidu seethed, stomping their way to the double doors, “you can consider that ‘pleasant and salubrious’ interaction revoked. I say this with all the love I have for you, Gil, you have become quite intolerable as of late. I doubt even Siduri will have the patience to deal with you as you are.”
“Enkidu—”
“My advice, dear king, if you wish to accept it, is that you untangle that messy web of pride that has you by the neck and speak to Arturia Pendragon unimpeded. Else, I fear there will be no remedy for this…this,” the Servant said with finality, turning to gesture at all of him, before facing the door. They intended to Rayshift to the forest. Perhaps being immersed in nature would be good for their system.
The metal double doors couldn’t open soon enough, and in their anger they almost trampled the tiny Servant that stood with her hand raised up to knock.
“Enkidu,” came a level, pleasant alto voice, as its owner stared up at them, surprised. “Have I perhaps come at an inconvenient time?”
Over her shoulder, Enkidu caught a glimpse of Merlin, who looked just as exhausted as they felt. Enkidu could guess what the wizard’s presence meant. Arturia Pendragon’s presence here was no accident.
“Not at all,” the lime-haired Servant voiced pleasantly, meaningfully glancing at their king before moving aside to let the shorter king enter. Without her noticing, they gave Gilgamesh a death glare that promised a royal beating if he screwed this up again.
Merlin invited himself to Enkidu’s stroll, but they didn’t mind. Besides, the whimsical mage’s clairvoyance was quite the nifty thing, providing them both with a play by play on their kings’ conversation while they relaxed beneath the trees.
Thankfully, it seemed both friend and court mage would soon be free from being relationship therapists. What a bloody relief.
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thank you for reading!! <3 i hope you liked the way i tackled this prompt hahah this threw me for a loop for a while there.
