Okay, Bit Of A Long One That Went From Headcannon To A Fic Snippet As I Wrote It But Whatever.

Okay, bit of a long one that went from headcannon to a fic snippet as I wrote it but whatever.

So, it's a pretty common and cannon supported (from what i recall) take that Tuckington as a pairing can read eachother like picture books, they know eachothers tics, are really good at spotting them, etc.

However, I find it to be best (and very funny mostly) if taken to the hardest extreme, to the point where their weird silent communication but just looks like straight telepathy from the outside.

I like to envison this happening on Chorus because I think it would happen alot at practice and stuff, and the luitenants would be the most weirded out by it, (unlike the other Reds and Blues because honestly they're used to it), usally going something like this:

(Ps, they're all out of armour for the sake of this scenario, just dont worry about it)

Wash is watching over practice, or rather he's supposed to be, his gaze instead catching on Tucker, maybe even tracking a little further down the aqua soilders torso than it really should as he stretches, preparing for his first lap.

Tucker glances over his shoulder mid stretch, barely catching the slight shift in the height of Wash's eyeline.

Tucker's left eye twitches, and his brows pinch slightly, ("Were you just?")

Wash's eyes widen just barely, relaxing away from his usual glare at training, and it's only for a half a second---

Tuckers already grinning, ("oh you so were.")and Wash's expression snaps back, attempting to hide the small panic of being caught as fast as possible. "I was not!"

"Yeah right! My eyes are up here, Wash!" Tucker called back, the rest of the training hall pausing to look between the two like a tennis match.

"I'll make you run laps." Wash threatened in one last ditch effort.

"What? So you can get a better view!?" Tucker mocked, standing up and already making a start on said laps.

Wash restrained a groan down to a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as he willed his face not to go red.

"Uh, sir?" Palomo questioned, suddenly beside him.

"Yes Palomo?" Wash replied, not looking up.

"What the fuck was that?" He followed up, and Wash finally glanced up to find almost the entire stadium staring at him with a confused look, all except for Tucker, who was happily running his laps around the gym.

Fuck.

Part 2 of the God!Tucker au (Part 1 here)

It takes a couple months for Tucker to gain his strength back, especially since Wash can’t be at his temple during the peace talks. He finds every excuse to pray to him, however, mumbling reassurances and promises to treat him right when he gets back. Tucker melts at every word, the glow in his godly skin returning bit by bit as Wash gives him all his devotion. He’ll take whatever he can get while he’s too weak to leave the temple, basking in the worship he hasn’t felt in ages. 

Once Wash does get back, oh. There’s nothing stopping Tucker from running into his devotees arms, grinning ear to ear as he twirled around with the same enthusiasm. 

From there, things only grow, Tucker completely besotted by this mortal so set on worshiping him with nothing but himself given in return. It’s a strange feeling to have, being pampered and praised and prayed to with nothing but his attention and adoration asked in exchange. It’s empowering in a way trinkets and food could never be. A form of worship that fills Tucker to his core and leaves him feeling warm and content.

Wash watches in great detail as his god transforms, the softness of his body returning, the glow in his eyes grow brighter and brighter, his godlike power coming back tenfold. Something rather prideful, maybe even a little possessive, burns in him knowing that it’s his offering of affection, his time spent worshiping him that is bringing Tucker back to life. It makes him treasure each kiss a little more, hold on to Tucker a little longer, let a bit more praise slip out than necessary. 

This is his god, his one true deity, and Wash intends to savor every moment with him.

Wash lays on his side on the pile of blankets and pillows he’s set up as a makeshift bed while he rebuilds the temple, eyes glued as Tucker twirls around; the animals that have made their home here are just as mesmerized at Tucker’s dancing as he is. He spins and dips and leaps all around the room, floor now clean of debris of tripping vines to show the beautiful marble underneath for Tucker to prance on.

He finishes with a flick of his hands and a twist of his feet, sinking to the floor just a few feet from Wash. Wash knows what he’s doing as he lays vulnerable on the ground, eyes half lidded as they look at him for approval. 

They light up brightly, irises shining as Wash claps and nods his amazement. Tucker smiles wide as he sits up, hair draping messily over his back and shoulders. 

With the sun streaming in through the hole still in the roof and Tucker’s skin glowing from sweat and the butterflies fluttering around him like a veil, Wash doesn’t doubt for a second that this man is—

Wait, butterflies?

Tucker all but shouts in joy as he clambers to his feet, arms reaching out for the swarm of colors hovering around him.

Wash watches in confusion as Tucker bounces around with the critters, scooping some of them into his hand and gently offering his face down for them to lean into. “Tucker? What’s going on?”

He turns then, proudly showing off the glittering colors fluttering in his hand to Wash as the man tilts his head curiously at his bubbly god.

“My babies are back!”

Wash tilts his head. “Babies?” 

Tucker nods excitedly, grinning wide enough to show all his pearly white teeth. “Each one is a spirit, a lost soul in need of guidance through death. They stick by me as loyal companions until they’re ready to move on.” 

He looks over the handful of shining critters, a few flying out of Tucker’s hands and into Wash’s face. If Wash didn’t know any better, he’d say he was being kissed by them.

“Aww, they like you.” Tucker coos at them some more, feather light touches brushed against their wings as the shimmer in the sun. “A lot more stuck around than I was expecting. I thought they’d have all moved on by now…”

Something in Wash’s heart aches at the prospect that Tucker wasn’t expecting anyone to care that he was gone, that someone choosing to stay by his side would be a surprise rather than the norm. Wash tilts his head as the butterflies sweep over him, curious about the new stranger keeping their god company. “Will I become one when I die?”

Tucker snorts, shaking his head with an amused smile as he moves to sit next to him, butterflies scattering around him so he can drop his hands. He purrs in approval when Wash laces their hands together, drawing him in until he’s sat firmly on his lap instead. “I sure hope not. I rather like you as a human.”

“Yeah? You don’t think I’d make a good butterfly?” Wash teases as he lets his head be pushed back, Tucker’s soft lips making their way up the column of his throat as Tucker hums against him. 

“I’m just privy to being able to kiss you.” As if to prove his point, Tucker guides Wash down to his lips, licking into his mouth with practiced ease. 

Wash sighs softly into it, giving Tucker exactly what he wants as they kiss deep and slow. Contentment settles into his bones, something pleasant settling in his chest and lighting him from the inside out. 

I could do this forever. Please let me do this forever.

Tucker notices the change in Wash’s kisses immediately, the biting edge of desperation seeping into their kisses as Wash tries to seer everything about his god into his brain. 

He pulls away, gently cradling Wash’s face to look at him with mild concern. “What?”

Never one to deny him anything, Wash answers honestly, his whole heart open and bleeding for the divine man sitting in his lap. 

“What’ll happen to me then? When I die?” He’s not asking out of fear nor to try and sway destiny to avoid the inevitable. Death is a concept Wash has long accepted as a truth of life, a necessity as a soldier on the battlefield. 

No, he simply wants to know he gets the honor and privilege of getting to spend more than one lifetime with Tucker.  

It takes a moment for Tucker to answer, head tilted in thought aa he looks over Wash. “All you wanted in exchange for your devotion was me, correct?” Wash nods firmly. He doesn’t need nor want anything else. “And you wish to stay with me, forever and always?” 

“Yes.” Wash replies immediately, holding a little tighter as he presses Tucker to him. Maybe it makes him crazy and codependent, but Wash decided the moment he laid eyes on Tucker that it would take the earth and sky to tear him away. 

Tucker smiles at him, kisses his face gently again and again and again, and then shares the best news Wash has ever heard in his life. 

“Then you will not die. Not as long as I live. You will stay my devoted little heart until the stars lose their shine and the earth crumples beneath our feet. You said you wanted me, Sir Washington? You have me. All of me. For the rest of time.”

It clicks for Wash what he’s asked for, what he’s being promised. A god to call his own, to have and to hold for all his life which is now as infinite as time itself. A lover who is as hopelessly devoted to him as he is; someone to have and to hold for the rest of eternity with no end.

Wash pulls Tucker into another kiss, putting every bit of his happiness into it as he grins. Tucker chuckles against him, kissing the joy right off his lips as Wash drags him further up his legs until they’re practically fused together. “You mean that? I get to have this forever? I get to love you forever?”

“Yes—“ Tucker is muffled by Wash’s insistent lips, his devotion and love pouring over into Tucker’s very being at a dizzying rate, overpowering everything in his brain with Wash, Wash, Wash.

There are tears falling down his face when they part, Tucker completely engulfed in pure unfiltered emotion that gushes out from his lover. Wash brushes them away, kissing softly over his cheeks as he coos and soothes and cradles Tucker.

“Yours. I’m yours.” Tucker finishes, wonderfully overwhelmed by the gentle worship of Wash’s hands on his body as he’s praised. 

Wash nuzzles against his face, caring and careful as Tucker shudders apart in his arms.

“And I’m yours.”

*lying face down on the ground, blubbering*

ca boos e ,,,,

Edit because I think this is being misinterpreted: The aroace tag is not colored, it's a petition for Tumblr to color it (sorry for the confusion)

Fuck it, I’m posting the first part while I finish the rest take it

Here’s God!Tucker au: Part 1

+++

Wash found Tucker by accident.

He had been traveling, trying to get back to Armonia in time for the peace talks, but he’d gotten sidetracked helping out a town with some trouble makers and then was delayed when the bridge that marked the border crossing into Chorus broke down, forcing him to go all the way around.

And then the storm rolled in.

By the time he found shelter in an abandoned temple, he was soaked to his bones, armor completely ruined by the wet that seeped into them. He guided his trusty steed in, mumbling a quick prayer of thanks for the shelter and please don’t strike me down for bringing my horse in here. I really don’t want to leave her outside in the rain.

Wash gasps when he enters, gazing in awe as he looks at the scenery around him.

The temple is large and open, beautiful columns of stone lining the whole room. Even with the flora that has seeped in, vines winding around pillars and across the ceiling, flowers blooming from their bushes, branches of a large unkempt tree escaping into the ceiling, it all has an air of elegance that has Wash holding his breath, like it’d be disrespectful to let the air from his lungs taint the marble and stone.

But the most glorious thing about this place, the thing that has Wash making his way deeper into the temple, is the giant sculpted statue on the back wall. It almost reaches the ceiling, the figure depicted kneeling as he reaches out with his hands cupped. Rain water fills it now, but Wash sees the glisten of gold coins as an offering sunken at the bottom.

The figure is surrounded by decaying gifts, bouquets that have long since eroded, food that is barely identifiable, and trinkets made of the finest metal and gems rusted and broken after years of neglect.

Wash thinks he understands why this god was so well-loved. His face is soft and kind, the curl of his lip happy and maybe a little mischievous, long locs fall over his shoulder and down his back, gold making up the beads of his lovingly carved hair. He looks like a dream, a figure Wash would’ve been more than happy to worship just to look at him.

He steps in front of the statue, carefully observing every detail. On the back wall, right above the figure, a single line of carved text reads:

Long live the god of giving

God of giving, huh?

Something rises in his gut when he realizes the name of this god has been left out, not a trace of it written anywhere on the walls or on the trinkets left behind.

It dawns rather suddenly on him as he tries to name the feeling, something oddly familiar about the situation of a god so beloved also being so quickly forgotten.

This wasn’t a god the people worshiped, this was a god the people used.

The decaying gifts ring hollow under Wash’s revelation, the statue, while still beautiful, humming with a new sense of entrapment and sadness. By the state of the temple, it seems like this god ran out of things to give, abused and rung out for all he was worth until he stopped being useful.

Wash has seen it before, watched people beg for favors, for miracles, for the impossible, only to ditch their god the minute they receive their blessing, never even giving thanks, only ever coming back to ask for something else. He’s seen temples be built, be full and then be torn down and left for ruin in a matter of months.

He usually doesn’t care, doesn’t pay enough mind to all the new gods coming and going. He really only prays and worships out of habit, a polite set of manners that have been engraved into his soul (and he doesn’t have a death wish. There are certain gods willing to kill if you disrespect their temple or their people).

But there’s something about this statue, about this god of giving, that makes Wash wonder if maybe he’s a spiritual man after all.

“I would’ve never stopped worshiping you.” He whispers to himself, slowly getting on his knees and reaching up to cradle the underside of the statue's hand.

“I would’ve given you everything. Lose myself by offering you all I am. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re gone because…

Because I think I would’ve given you all my love.”

“Is that a promise?”

Wash turns to face the voice, his sword already unsheathed and ready to cut down the intruder—

Oh. Oh shit.

“You— You’re—“

“Lavernius Tucker, god of giving. Pleasure to meet you.” The man smiles brightly, the same warm and mischievous one depicted on his statue.

Wash eyes widen as he snaps to look back and forth from the man and the statue and—

Holy shit.

He’s… smaller than Wash was imagining, not the same plump and soft figured man they carved into the stone. He’s got more angles to him, lean and thin without much mass covering his body. There’s a tired droop in his shoulders, eyes weary and slanted. Wash thinks he’s leaning on a pillar more for support than for seduction.

“Are you alright?” Wash snaps out of his daze, shaking off the shock as his blood bred need to help takes over. He steps towards him, dropping his sword without a second thought in case the god keels over suddenly.

The man—Tucker—seems surprised at the question, standing a little taller as Wash comes forward with the same energy as a mother hen. He lets Wash crowd him, his hands gently skimming over his body for injuries.

“Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Just been a while since anyone has come here, especially someone as… sweetly devoted as you are.” He sways forward into Wash’s touch, his eyes fluttering as he soaks up the blessed affection.

Wash shuffles in his feet but doesn’t pull away. He’s never really met a god before, so he’s not sure what the proper reaction to a god showing favor is. It certainly doesn’t feel right since Wash just got here. “I— I haven’t

even worshiped you before.”

“Mmm, but I can practically taste it off you.” Tucker traces his hands over Wash’s chest until they hang gently on his shoulders, the touch sending shivers up Wash’s spine. “You may have stayed here to hide from the rain, but you didn’t need to say anything to me, didn’t need to pray or give thanks. But you did. You did and now I’m bound to you, my loyal little devotee.”

“Bound to me?”

He nods, giggling as he pushes himself closer to Wash to clasp his hands behind his neck. “You’re my only follower now, silly. You’re the one whose belief gives me power and with power…” He nudges his nose into Wash’s cheek and Wash can’t help but drop his head to meet him there, something deep in his bones singing as this gorgeous god seeks out his attention.

Tucker practically whimpers at him, resting their foreheads together as Wash moves to place his hands respectfully on his waist. He’s shaking, Wash notes, possibly from years left neglected and bound to this fragmented temple.

He breathes in deep and slow, savoring the feeling of being so carefully worshiped, something he’s never had in all his centuries of existence.

“With power,” He continues, “I can give you anything you want, just say the word.”

Right, god of giving. Probably thinks that Wash’s affections are an offering in turn for a wish or a miracle. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful to this fragile looking god. He deserves to be worshiped, to be loved and respected, his name sung in glory by all those who follow him.

Wash makes his choice.

“What if I just want you?”

Tucker startles at that, shock evident on his face. Wash keeps his face serious, not a single bit of doubt or hesitation to be found. He wants this, wants him, whatever that means.

His god seems to drop at that, like a puppet without its strings. He practically glows when he smiles again, something so much more genuine and happy then the one he had before, the one that’s immortalized on his statue.

Wash thinks that this is the Tucker that they should've worshiped all those years ago. Tucker kisses his cheek, a submissive little thing that has Wash heating from his cheeks to his shoulders, and proudly proclaims to Wash—

“Then I’m yours.”

There’s a lot of polls about prev and mutuals and I’ll be honest I don’t know the majority of people I follow and it’s got me curious