#he's just too good you know; he's chosen to carry this weight on his shoulders that's his resposibility

[wlntrsldler]

THE PROPHECY | LUKE CASTELLAN

synopsis: series of events between zeus!reader and luke that started the prophecy. not canon-compliant; inspired by the prophecy by taylor swift.

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Hand on the throttle, thought I caught lightning in a bottle, but it's gone again.

"Do you think Thalia knew I loved her?"

There was a bite in the air, as there always was when the summer began to fade and fall began to creep up at Camp Half-Blood. It happened every year, at least for the past three years you've called Camp Half-Blood your home.

Luke sat beside you on the hard, dirt floor, looking up at the green of Thalia's pine tree. The summer campers knew of her legend, but it was the year-rounders like you and Luke who understood her sacrifice best. There was a feeling of guilt and gratitude that engulfed all of you, like the protection Thalia blanketed over the campgrounds. You were thankful that demigods had a place to feel safe, but it came at the cost of a life. Thalia should be here.

"Of course she knew," Luke replied, unconsciously yanking out the blades of grass that flourished between the cracks in the floor. "She's your sister."

"Yeah, but do you think she knew I chose to love her?" You clarified, turning your head to face him. You did this every year, you and Luke at the foot of Thalia's tree once the summer campers all left for the year. “I mean yeah, I had to love her because she’s my sister, but do you think she knows that I would’ve chosen to love her even if she wasn’t? I feel like I never told her that. We always fought.” 

Each year you studied Luke and noted the things that were different. He's older now. His arms were more defined, muscles beginning to form on his otherwise lanky frame. He'd grown taller in the last few months and his body was adjusting to his new height. The pants he wore all of last summer were discarded a few months ago. They stopped short on his ankles and Luke decided that it was time to let them go. 

Another bead was added to his necklace, three wooden beads clanking against each other, just like yours, when he moved his body too quickly. A new bracelet adorned his wrist given to him by a young girl in the Hermes cabin before she left to go back to Virginia for the year. Luke had a collection of bracelets stashed in his bedside drawer. It was a reminder of all the demigods he wanted to protect. Some became painful reminders of the ones he couldn't.

Luke pursed his lips, "Sisters fight. I don't think she took it personally."

Each year you studied Luke and treasured the things that stayed the same. He still had the same smile as he always did, bringing you back to when you and Thalia first met him all those years ago– just three kids fighting for your lives all on your own. You and Luke were the same age, him only your senior by a few weeks, but he took the protector role seriously. Luke was your safe place before Camp Half-Blood. 

His curls were the same, especially in the mornings when he first gets out of bed; all wild and unruly, just like how he is when he wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Some people say it's because he's the son of Hermes so mischief ran through his veins, but there was nothing about Luke that mirrored his father. He was too good to be like the gods.

"I just wish my last words to her weren't that," You uttered, a bitter taste in your mouth as you replayed your last conversation with Thalia. In the final stretch of your journey to Camp Half-Blood, you and Thalia got into an argument. In hindsight, it was petty, a disagreement that any older and younger sister would have, but it felt big at the moment. You didn't speak to her for two days. And then, in the blink of an eye, there was a blinding light, and suddenly, your little sister vanished.

You don't even remember what the fight was about anymore.

"You need to forgive yourself," He said, flicking away the blades of grass he had in between his fingertips, "This wasn’t on you."

He said this every year, yet it never felt rehearsed. It always felt genuine when Luke said it. You wondered if he got annoyed at how you brought this up each year, this never-ending feeling of guilt that you didn't turn around to see if Thalia was behind you, that you couldn't protect your little sister, but Luke was patient with you. If it bothered him that you thought about it often, he didn't show it.

"Sometimes it feels like it is," You whispered, watching a singular pine fall from a branch. You like to think that Thalia did these things to let you know that she's listening. "Our dad hasn't talked to me since."

Luke clenched his jaw, wiping his hand on the fabric of his cargo pants. His warm palm took your hand, giving it a soft squeeze, "You're better off."

"Maybe."

"You are," He said, clearing his throat. His chest felt heavy as he spoke. "I have to tell you something."

You turned your hand over, lacing your fingers together. Holding Luke's hand always felt right, even when you were fourteen and he had to drag you away to safety from the monsters who were out to get you; even when you were fifteen being woken up by the nightmares caused by the empty Zeus cabin, a chilling reminder that your sister was supposed to be there; even when you were sixteen and began to take on more responsibilities at camp despite your protests. "What is it, Luke?"

"I have a quest," He admitted. He'd been keeping this from you for days. He was meant to embark on this journey today, but he pleaded with his father to give him until tomorrow to begin. He knew the day the summer campers left was hard on you. 

Your stomach dropped. Luke had been waiting for a quest from his father for years. You watched him fall into a pit of despair every time a camper who'd been at camp for a shorter period of time got a quest and returned with the glory of the strongest and bravest champions. You knew Luke wanted the opportunity to prove himself to his father. This quest was it, but it didn't mean that you were enthusiastic about the idea. "When do you leave?"

"In a few hours."

"Oh."

"Are you upset?"

"No," You said, then paused. You thought about it. Luke let you think in silence, rubbing his thumb along your skin. "Yes, but I can't do anything about it. I can't stop it."

"Say the word and I will, you know that," Luke rebutted, staring at you now. "I won't go if you don't want me to."

"Luke," You sighed, "You can't deny the gods."

"For you, I'd try to." Sometimes Luke said things that worried you. You'd always been told that your allegiance should be to the gods, your parents. Sometimes you felt differently, but you never said it out loud, but Luke had no problem doing it. He made it clear that his allegiance was to the people he loved, to you. 

"You should go," You said, ignoring the shake in your voice. It was tempting to tell him to stay; Tell him to be content to live a quiet life in the safety of these grounds, to be content with the glory he received from being the head counselor of the Hermes cabin, as the best swordsman at camp. But Luke craved more to life than this, you knew that. He needed more than another notch on his belt from Capture the Flag. He deserved more. He deserved a father who cared about him. Maybe this quest is the key to giving him exactly what he needed. You couldn’t in good conscience keep him from that.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." The lie burned your tongue. While some demigods returned victorious, some never returned at all. The thought of it made a chill run down your spine. It made Luke flinch.

He wrapped his arms around you. The position was awkward, but neither of you cared. When you were younger, his curls tickled the side of your cheek when you hugged him. You used to be able to look him in the eye back when you were the same height. You used to be able to memorize the features on his face; the crinkles by the side of his eyes that would appear when he'd smile, eyelashes brushing against the stray hairs of his eyebrows; full cheeks dusted with the faintest shade of pink from the beating sun or the wind chills; a crease under his lips that cast a shadow on his chin.

Now that you're older, his curls fell against your temple when he held you like this. His face was thinner, jaw more defined and cheeks hollow, like his youth was being drained from him each year. But his heart remained the same. A steady thump against your own, a beat that became synonymous with home. 

“I feel like this is a test,” He murmured, shaking as he spoke. He’ll blame it on the wind if you asked, but he knows that his words would fall flat. You always did know when things felt wrong with him. Sometimes he thought that you knew him better than he knew himself. Luke licked his lips, “Like he’s expecting me to fail and prove what he’s known all along.” 

“You always tell me that I’m more than what the gods think of me,” You said, looking up at him. Luke was staring at the sky, jaw rigid as he fought back the tears. There were only a handful of things that made Luke emotional– talking about his father was one of them. He used to cry when he talked about May, too, but now when someone asks about his mother, his tone turns robotic. He recited her fate like a broken record, waiting for the inevitable looks of pity from the onlookers. You brushed your thumb along his jaw, “Luke?” 

“Hm?” His eyes darted to yours, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips as he studied your features. Luke always knew you were beautiful, but sometimes when he was this close to you, it knocked the breath out of his lungs for a moment, like he couldn’t believe you were real. 

“You always tell me that I’m more than what they make me out to be,” You repeated, holding his face in the palm of your hand, “And yet you never believe it for yourself.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle. You’d called him out on his hypocrisy more times than he could count. You were right, though. He did always tell you that the opinions of the gods didn’t matter, not when they didn’t know you like he knew you, not when they were too preoccupied in their own world to realize that you were the greatest thing they created. 

“You are more than what your father thinks.” 

He wanted to believe you, he really did, but all his life he’d been told that he was destined for something great. And yet the things he’d been able to accomplish so far seem so miniscule, irrelevant, in the context of the gods. He craved more. 

When Luke was a child, May Castellan used to mumble the same phrase over and over again. He didn’t think much of it then, nothing that his mother said usually made any sense to his nine-year-old self anyway, but the more time he spent at Camp Half-Blood, the clearer her words became. Luke was destined for something, it’s in the cards, it’s in the hands of fate. This quest might be it, the first step to reaching eternal glory. 

There are times though, during moments like this, with you beside him, when he thinks that he’ll be fine not reaching eternal glory. He can live out his life happily with just this; you and him at the foot of Thalia’s tree, with you telling him he’s more than what the gods want him to be. After all, he’d give up eternal glory if it meant being with you. 

“You’re gonna be okay without me around?” He teased. For years, it had always been you and Luke. It was a type of co-dependence that made Chiron and Mr. D's eyebrows raise. They found it dangerous. You overheard them talking in the Big House about it once, how unnatural it was for two demigods to choose each other despite the dangers of it. You joked that it was a trauma bond of sorts, but you and Luke both knew that it was more than that. Neither of you said it out loud, though, both too scared to ruin whatever this was.

“No, probably not,” You confessed. Your words took him by surprise. He was expecting you to join his teasing, but he found no trace of banter in your tone. You bit your bottom lip, “But you’re gonna come back, so I’ll be okay. I need to be okay with you being gone. I can’t expect things to always stay the same.” 

Luke couldn’t help but frown at your words. He knew you were right like you always were, but he didn’t like the idea of things changing. So much in his life moved with the tides, and up until he met you, he was fine with it. But the idea of the two of you changing, the idea of one day not having this, not having you, well, Luke didn’t think he could stomach the idea. His lips hovered over the crown of your head, almost touching you but not quite, “Not us, though. It will always be us.” 

Luke didn’t know what he was destined to do, what prophecy the gods and the Fates had in store for him, but the only thing he was sure of was you. And that was never going to change if he could help it.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ silent dreaming

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SUMMARY ↳ Link is silent in all that he does, including his dreams. For Link, it is simply how it is, and must be. He is the chosen hero, and thus he serves the Master Sword and Goddess Hylia. It is absolute. He must protect everyone, because he is the only one who can. It must be lonely. His unwavering dedication is something you admire deeply, but you also worry about the weight he carries. pairing: any!link x reader (but i picture botw/totk) warnings: none :D tags/notes: gender not specified reader, fluff, romantic undertones, sweet, just kind of dreaming of the future, selectively mute link wc: 799

Link is ever so faithful to what matters.

You see it in the way he fights. Every swing of his sword is precise and intentional. Every twang of his bowstring reverberates with promise. Every step he takes into battle speaks of strength. All to keep everyone safe.

You see it now, as he walks alongside you. His eyes diligently roam your surroundings. His demeanor seems relaxed, but you know better. His hands occasionally twitch at the smallest of sounds. His ears wiggle, listening for any sign of danger. His vigilance is a constant, comforting presence. Even in the quiet moments, he remains ever alert, ensuring your safety above all else.

The path ahead is serene, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The forest around you is alive with the sounds of nature—rustling leaves, distant bird calls, the gentle murmur of a nearby stream.

“Do you ever get tired?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Link spares you a small glance to show you he’s listening. His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Of always being on guard,” you clarify. "Of always having to protect everyone."

He looks back ahead. You think he seems content to ignore your silly question, but then he looks back at you and shakes his head.

For Link, it is simply how it is, and must be. He is the chosen hero, and thus he serves the Master Sword and Goddess Hylia. It is absolute. He must protect everyone, because he is the only one who can.

It must be lonely. His unwavering dedication is something you admire deeply, but you also worry about the weight he carries.

“I hear Lurelin is nice this time of year,” you muse. “Perfect for a nice break.”

Link's lips twitch into a small smile, and he shrugs. He lifts a hand, making a motion that speaks volumes. After.

You nod, understanding. The mission always comes first. It's a fundamental part of who he is.

The path begins to wind down towards a small clearing, where the stream you heard earlier meanders through the forest. The sight is tranquil, a small haven amidst the wilderness. Link gestures towards a fallen log, indicating it as a good place to rest. You both sit down, the quiet of the forest enveloping you. He removes his gear, setting his sword and shield within easy reach, always prepared.

For a moment, you sit in companionable silence, listening to the sounds of nature. The worries of the world seem to fade away, replaced by the simple peace of the moment.

“I wish you would think about yourself more,” you admit softly. “Hyrule knows you as a hero, but I know you as more than that. You’re a person too, with your own thoughts and desires.”

Link's eyes meet yours, and there's a softness there that you rarely see. He reaches out, placing a hand on yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. It's his way of saying he understands, that he appreciates your words.

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing. The world around you seems to hold its breath, as if honoring this rare moment of stillness. Link's gaze returns to the horizon, his eyes reflecting the warm hues of the setting sun. The tranquility of the moment seems to seep into him, if only for a short while. You watch as his shoulders relax, just a fraction, and his vigilance eases slightly.

"You know," you say softly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, "I've always wondered what you dream about. When the battles are over, and the land is at peace, what does Link want?"

He tilts his head, contemplating your question. It's a rare thing for him to think about his own desires, so accustomed he is to putting the needs of others before his own.

Then, he points a single finger at you. His answer is clear.

Your heart swells in adoration for him. A glimpse into a part of him that he seldom shares, a dream of a simpler life, far from the burdens of his destiny fills your mind. You can almost picture it: the two of you living quietly in that seaside village, days filled with gentle waves and warm sun, nights spent under a blanket of stars.

“Then let’s make that happen,” you whisper, determination in your voice. “When this is all over, let’s go somewhere. Just the two of us.”

Link’s eyes soften even further, and he nods. He doesn’t need to speak; his eyes convey his gratitude and agreement. You both sit in silence for a while longer, soaking in the tranquility of the forest. The birds continue their songs, the stream bubbles merrily, and for once, the world feels peaceful.

notes: wanted this to be a lengthier oneshot, but i said all i needed to

[murciafire]

Not My Hero

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn! reader

Summary: You were always so self-sacrificial, and Jason finally had enough of it

Warnings: sexual assault; abuse (if you squint)

Words: ~2.2k

Notes: well, if this ain’t me with my own insecurities. Hopefully, someone out there gets it. But oh man, the angst in this was crazy, made me take a few minutes to pause and just suffer in the most heart wrenching words I just wrote. I’m not entirely happy with the outcome but live, laugh, love.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

“Why didn’t you let me save you?”

Jason’s strained voice cut through the deafening silence that was threatening to suffocate you. His face was stricken with pain as his eyes, wild and bright, searched yours desperately. His hair, you noticed as you urgently looked elsewhere, was a mess as he had clawed through it trying to keep his temper under control. You wanted to reach out, run your fingers though his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but it wasn’t going to be. Because you fucked up—again. Because it always came down to you, didn’t it?

“Jason, it would’ve put you at risk,” you rationalized, looking at the floor. You had gone out with your friends to the club, unbeknownst to you that it was the same club that Jason had business with—well, more like forcefully extracting information from a criminal as the club was a front for illegal affairs.

Jason couldn’t help but raise his voice at your response, he was just as angry with himself as he was with you. “Put me at risk? You were the one who was in danger! Not me!” he replied aggressively, pacing back and forth in the living room.

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment, perhaps with shame too, at the fact that he was right. You had been sexually assaulted by a man at the club, and not wanting to distract him from his mission you had decided to endure it because if you were being honest with yourself, you could. Whatever happened, you would survive it—and you had become really good at surviving. You didn’t know how to ask for help, didn’t know what it was like to not carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, didn’t know how to accept an outstretched hand.

“You would’ve been in danger,” you continued to push. “If you had saved me, it would’ve taken you off course of your mission. It would have jeopardized you—compromised you.”

Jason whirled to look at you, his eyes cutting to you sharply. “Mission? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Jason asked in total disbelief and annoyance. He felt the ground sway beneath him as he was still reeling from what you said.

“Do you really think I care about a mission at that time when the woman I love was being threatened right in front of me?” He continued angrily. “If it was you or taking down a mafia boss, I would’ve chosen you every single day of my life.”

“But you didn’t,” you said, voice so small it almost came out as a whisper. “And it’s okay.”

Jason looked at you, expressions flitting across his face as he felt a surge of emotions overwhelm him. He was so angry at you, but mostly with himself. It was not okay; how could it be? He had failed you and you were saying it was okay? Jason felt his chest tightening around his heart that was becoming heavy.

“We both made a choice tonight,” you said quietly. “And we’re both still alive so let’s just go to bed.”

Jason opened his mouth to argue some more, but as he looked at you, he clamped his mouth shut. He exhaled through his nose, trying to grasp onto reality, anything to center himself and his eyes landed on yours. You looked exhausted, tired from the events of this evening and tired of the emotional turmoil you were going through. Jason knew you were looking out for him and that you weren’t looking out for yourself. He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Fine,” he gave in reluctantly, crossing his arms.

You stood up, the air around the both of you still thick with tension as you walked to where he stood to give him a hug, but his eyes hardened with every step you took.

“Let me look at those,” Jason commanded. Your eyes travelled down to where Jason kept his eyes trained, seeing the bruises that the man had given you begin to bloom more apparently through your sheer shirt.

“They’re just small bruises,” you brushed off, which made Jason flinch.

“Let me see your bruises, y/n,” he ordered.

Knowing that he wouldn’t stop until he saw them, you crossed the gap between you two and he gently—with the utmost tenderness, pulled up your shirt, his fingers grazing the bruises on your hips lightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed, irritation dripping into his voice. “You were hurt, and your first thought was to protect me? Instead of taking care of the wounds on your body?”

“I didn’t think there was much to say,” you mumbled out.

His eyes filled with cold rage. “Are you listening to yourself right now? Why the hell did you let him hurt you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“My friend and I figured it out,” you argued, trying to keep your voice steady but failing.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t need me,” Jason spat, his voice filled with hurt and malice. “You got hurt, your body was injured, and you chose to hide it from me? You really think I would have been fine with it? You know this is exactly why I get frustrated with you? This right here?”

He gestured to you, and you flinched, your voice breaking. “Of course, I needed you.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he asked angrily. She always kept things from him that he needed to know, and he was getting sick of it.

“It was already a tough night for both of us,” you offered weakly. “I didn’t want you to be more worried than you already were.”

Jason took a step back as if he had just gotten slapped. You really thought your selflessness was a virtue, and the more that Jason thought about it, the less impressed he was becoming with your behaviour. You were hurt, assaulted, and bruised and your first thought wasn’t about yourself. It wasn’t even seeking comfort or help. It was to protect him—and if Jason was going to be honest with himself, it was getting old.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jason snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was annoyed at your apology, but he was even more annoyed at the wall you had built up—that you had always pushed him away.

An unsettling silence fell between the both of you and you had felt that the way things had turned out was your fault—it always was. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “I’ll just go.”

You began to walk away from him, but he grabbed your arm. “You’re not going anywhere. I need to know why you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“Why you’re always thinking about me,” Jason said exasperatedly, pain tinging his voice.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, utterly confused.

Jason stood still, completely silent. Were you really this blind to reality? You were hurt and you still made a point to think about him and not yourself.

“Do you realize just how much it hurts me when you do that?” Jason asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you hurt yourself for my sake?”

Jason continued to glare at you, even as the realization began to set in. He couldn’t believe that you were now just starting to understand what he had been trying to tell you for so long.

“You think your selflessness is helping me?” he said bitterly, his voice rising with every word. “Don’t you think it hurts me seeing you hurt? Not only physically but emotionally?”

“I-I d-didn’t know,” you stumbled over your words, feeling so lost at the realization.

“Are you kidding me? Do you understand just how much it hurts me seeing you put your needs aside? Seeing you get hurt?” Jason asked, his eyes starting to well with tears. “What’s so wrong with me that you have to do that?”

His voice cracked as he talked, his eyes desperately searching your face. “What am I doing to make you behave like this?”

“Nothing!” you exclaimed around the lump that burned your throat. How could you tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was entirely yours? That you didn’t know how to open up, or how to share the weight of your own trauma. How you were terrified of being a burden to another person, and so you kept it all to yourself. “Nothing is wrong with you, Jay!”

“By always putting my needs before yours, it’s only hurting me more,” Jason said, his head hanging low, defeated.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jason,” you said, voice breaking. That was the last thing you ever wanted—you had bottled everything in so you wouldn’t, so why does this hurt so much more?

“I know you didn’t,” he said quietly. “But I’m so tired of seeing you hurt.”

There was a lot that you had decided for yourself that night: you had decided to not tell Jason, you had decided what his safety was. Jason was hurt, angry, and confused. He wanted to tell you how much he hated you, but even more so he wanted to tell you that he loved you too.

“I know that you did your best tonight—that you tried to protect me,” Jason said, his voice cracking. “But you’re not my hero. So, stop trying so damn hard to help me.”

You stepped back from him, feeling so overwhelmed, drowning in your own self-deprecation. “What if I don’t become the person you need?” you cried, your tears burning your face.

“What if I need you as you are?” he fought back. “Just because you may not be what I expected right now, doesn’t mean that you still haven’t exceeded my every expectation.”

“It’s not fair that you can be so nice to me even when you’re angry,” you sobbed, voice cracking.

Jason pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. Just because you’re not perfect—no, just because you think you’re not—it doesn’t mean that I can’t be patient with you. That I can’t love you. And that I can’t stay by your side—because I can. Yes, you’ve made me angry. You’ve hurt me. You’ve shut me out. Yet I’m still here. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you. You are so perfect to me right now, I can’t even put it into words. You’re hurt right now, and I can see it. And it’s killing me to see you like this. Y/n, I don’t need you to be perfect. You can be messy. You can be angry. You can hurt me. Because I’ll always love you.”

You sobbed against his chest, your body wracking with so much guilt, and hurt, and brokenness, because you were such a fuckup. How could he love you?

“You don’t deserve that, Jason,” you cried. “I shouldn’t be hurting you. I shouldn’t even be with you!”

Jason pulled back, his eyes ablaze as he looked at your face desperately. “Why? Why shouldn’t you be with me? Y/n, why do you keep beating yourself over this? Why do you keep pushing me away? Why can’t you accept that I love you? Why can’t you accept that you can be loved? Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?”

You looked away from him, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“You don’t know?” he sighed. He placed his hands on your gently, pulling them away from your face. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You looked up, your eyes glistening with tears as Jason tried to look at your face.

“We’re not doing this,” Jason said, his voice stern. “You’re not leaving me because you think you’re not worth it. You’re not leaving me because you don’t think you can be loved.”

You looked at him so vulnerably—nervous, fear, and insecurity written across your face.

“Y/n,” Jason said gently. “Listen to me. Just listen. You are worth it. You are perfect. You are everything that I could ever want. Do you understand? I don’t care that you’re not perfect. That you mess up. I don’t care that you push me away because I love you. You’re not leaving me, got it?”

You shook your head, wracking over sobs. Jason pulled you into his arms once more, caressing your head.

“Say it, y/n. Say that you’re not leaving me, and that you understand that I need you right now.”

You tried to steady your breath enough to say the next words: “I’m not leaving you. I understand that you need me right now.”

You broke off, crying again and Jason gently caressed your face. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s just you and me now. We’ll always figure it out.”

[quills-of-freedom]

Crossroads Chapter V

I can only apologise for the lateness of this, my ask box is flooded with requests. (Thank you for your interest) It started with burnout, then my laptop broke, then I was busy (I still am really) and this year I've lost family members and just all round been a time where Tumblr isn't my main priority. Thank you for understanding 💓

Previous Chapters:

I

II

III & IV

Warnings: Angst, a lot of it. Smut, fluff, violence.

Kinks:

Praise kink. Whining pathetic Reiner. Breeding kink.

Reiner

If your choice is Reiner, continue reading. If it's Porco, you'll find it here when it's uploaded.

No cheating!

The chokehold you've been placed in wasn't a pleasant one, both men gazing at you longingly, their eyes pleading for you to make the right choice, to pick them over the other. Can't you see they are the one that loves you? The one person who truly would do anything for your heart. The other choice is evidently the wrong decision, for the opposition could not possibly admire you as much as they do.

With a tightness in your throat you take a step away from Porco and towards Reiner; the breaking of Porco's heart was almost audible from where you were standing, his hand immediately flying over his chest to cover his new deep wound.

"I'm sorry, Porco..." your strained vocals press. "There's just so much I need to know that only Reiner has the answer to. We can catch up later, okay?"

"No, yeah..." He whispers, his head nod/shake exaggerated by his shell shock. His eyes seem to be looking right through you, not at you, as they become glazed with sorrow. "I uh... I understand. Just... look after her, okay?" His gaze snaps over to Reiner, whose deep frown is prominent.

"Of course." Reiner nods in reply as you take another side step towards him.

"I'm so sorry, Porco..." you repeat, the guilt so heavy you could barely stand.

"Don't be." He croaked, forcing a smile.

"Come on." Reiner ushers you to his side turning to take you further into the Forest. "We got a lot to talk about."

Your head nods curtly, following the broad-shouldered man into the treeline. You're sure you made the right choice. The questions running around your head every night, haunting you, why did Reiner do this? Why did he do that? Was it all a lie? They had to stop, for your own sanity. Breaking Porcos heart was collateral damage, unfortunately, but closure was what you needed to move forward. You glance back at the man who just saved your life as you step into the shaded trees; now sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. Your heart stings before the brush Reiner pushes aside for you springs back into place, covering the broken man from your view.

"Will he be okay?" You ask quietly, eyes glued to the floor as you stepped over thick shrubbery and fallen limbs of the trees.

"Yeah." Reiner mutters. "He's a good fighter."

"No, I mean-"

"I knew what you meant."

After a while of walking, Reiner finally is satisfied with a location for a temporary place to stay. The journey wasn't too long, but the heavy atmosphere made every second feel like a short eternity. Every footstep away from Porco's crumpled form was difficult, the desire to turn and run back to him was sometimes so strong it almost possessed you. But you remained focused, reminding yourself of why you'd chosen Reiner in the first place.

You watch the Blonde Warrior out of the corner of your eye as you help him set up camp. God's he hadn't really changed... physically anyway. Or had he? He looked a little older, his chest and shoulders a little broader. Maybe to shoulder the weight of the world he seemed to be carrying? But everything else was the same. His mannerisms, the way he carried himself as he strutted through the brush... reminding you of the first night you had spent together.

Feels like a lifetime ago...

The small huffs he was making as he rolled away a heavy log were the same noises he'd make during training. It was hard to believe everything had changed so much from that time. You close your eyes imagining you're back in time. This is just another training exercise Shadis has sent you all on.

Sasha, Connie and Jean arguing over who gets to avoid sleeping in the middle of their small tent.

Ymir and Historia cosied up by the fire.

Marco on his back gazing at the stars, eyes filled with childlike wonder.

Such simpler times...

Your throat tightens, hand forming into a fist as you breathe through this wave of emotion. Back then, Eren wasn't a mass murderer who has totally lost his sanity. Sasha hadn't been shot. Ymir hadn't been eaten by Porco. Marco wasn't killed by the man you're now standing with.

You picture the scene so vividly in your mind, you could almost hear the fire crackling, the burning musk of dampened wood filling your nose.

"You alright?"

Your eyes snap open.

That was an actual fire you could smell, freshly built by Reiner as he now started on the tent.

"Y-yeah."

Every fiber of your being, every cell in your body wished you could reach through the fabric of time to go back to those good old days, even if just for mere minutes.

The events of the last few years have taught you that hauntings are indeed real but they're all within yourself. Your heart twists and yearns for the company of ghosts who's presence you no longer felt.

Reiner has to really focus on the task at hand as he begins to put up the tent poles. The mirror image of your first time together. A tent in the woods and now... well now, he was sure one wrong move and you'd try to kill him. Again.

Last time was so nervous he fumbled, stuttered, and dropped equipment. Now he feels so empty. A glance into the past of the life he once had. Over the last four years he would have given anything to be able to see you, to touch you once more. And now he has that chance, he feels so unworthy he can hardly look at you.

But God were you still beautiful.

He walks by you to get another pole, not daring to ask you to pass it to him.

The sleepless nights, tossing and turning in a cold sweat from the thought of what could have been. But he couldn't abandon his mission, his comrades, his country - just because he fell in love with an island devil.

What he wouldn't give to smell your scent again. To hold you in his arms. Just one more chance. Please.

He walks back towards the tent when his hand accidenlty brushes against yours. It was only so slightly, both of your minds elsewhere. To have any spacial awareness in the tight clearing wasn't likely when both of your cognitive functionings had spluttered and stalled.

You both freeze.

Reiners eyes widen like he's just been electrocuted, his jaw tense.

You take the pole from him, your face beginning to smoulder with a coloured hue, taking it to the tent and finishing the job for him.

"I'm sorry." He grumbles behind you.

"Its no big deal."

You can't even turn to look at him, instead you focus upon your task. Now it's your turn to be nervous, to fumble and suddenly totally forget how to set up a tent, even though you'd done it a thousand times.

"No, y/n... im... I'm sorry."

You realise now he's not talking about accidently touching you.

You now turn to meet his gaze, silent tears pouring down his cheeks. All the regret, sorrow, frustration, guilt... its finally now able to release somewhat.

You don't know what to say.

You glance down, fiddling with the bamboo pole in your hand. You wanted your answers. Here they are for the taking.

So why can't I even look at him?!

Your eyes widen in sheer horror as Reiner Braun, the holder of the armoured titan, the man who caused so much death and destruction, falls to his knees before you, grabbing your hand and gazing up at you. Those honey eyes that had been witness to the atrocities he was capable of, now full of agony.

"Please, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness..." His words struggle through his sobs. "I wouldn't even ask for it. But I'd give anything for you to understand... why I did what I did... why we did what we did..." His mind flitters to Annie who was gods know where, and Beartoldt, poor Beartoldt, the timid and kind hearted boy who was dragged into this infernal hell - the boy so kind he couldn't even fully utilise the Colossals full power.

That knife that had been permanently wedged into your back since the reveal four years ago suddenly loosens at his words, the sight of him being such a sorry mess pulling your heart in ways you didn't expect.

You've been to Marley.

You infiltrated their way of life, and boy was it a sorry one.

Segregation, indoctrination, false histories, much like your own world- he gave his heart to his cause. He gave his heart to a lie.

Much like yourself.

Paradis wasn't full of witches and devil's. It was full of people just like his mother. His cousin. Like himself.

And even when he'd learned Paradis wasn't this realm of darkness he was led to believe, if he didn't finish what he started, his loved ones would surely suffer for it.

You sink to your knees along with him, not being able to bear how broken the man you love has become, your own tears shedding as you hold his face to ensure his teary gaze locked onto yours.

"I do, Reiner. I understand. I know what you've been through. We've seen your country. We're all a byproduct of this cruel world..." you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "The only answer to hate and segregation, is love and acceptance. I forgive you, Reiner. I may not be able to forget... but I know now you were just doing what you had to do. Just like we were when we... attacked Liberio. Sort of... its... complicated. But you know that better than anyone, right?"

He nods, his eyes crumpling closed as he desperately leans into your touch, the one he's been longing for, for four years.

"But were we a lie? Did you mean what you said then? How you and beartoldt were dead... and it was all a lie?" Your tragic eyes blink at him.

Reiner places his head against yours. "No. We were real. I had to say that to convince myself... God, y/n if only you knew... this whole situation is just... bullshit."

You laugh softly.

Bit of an understatement, but yeah.

"And you..." Reiner then whispers, placing the side of his index finger under your chin. "How've you been holding up?" His eyes search yours, looking desperately for any sign that you still love him as he does you.

"I've just been... moving forward." You answer honestly, a phrase he'd often tell you in encouragement.

"That's my girl..." His voice almost a whisper.

You freeze at his words, wanting nothing more than for this stupid fighting to stop. His hand runs through your hair, his eyes gazing into your very soul.

"I've... missed you." He admits honestly, still pawing your hair. "I'd do anything to be able to have you in my arms again. I thought of you... every damn day for the last four years."

Your heart swells both with love and despair.

Fuck it.

You press your lips against his, immediately your senses bombarded with his familiar smell, taste and feel.

That little nudge was all he needed, his eyes closed with a pleading brow, holding your jaw delicately as if he would break you if he allowed himself to go at the pace he wanted. The whimper from his throat an indicator of his honesty that he had indeed, wished for this for a long time.

Your kiss deepens, his tongue smoothly sliding into your mouth, boldly entering as if it hadn't been away for years. He pushes you back gently, one large hand grabbing your thigh from your kneeling position, pulling it up to his hip as he lowers you with trembling arms. You swing your trapped leg free, more than happy to feel his weight between your hips once again as the hold on his self control begins to dwindle and falter, another, louder whimper sending heat surging through you.

You revel at the feeling of his hair between your fingers once again, and enjoying the new scratching sensation from his facial hair, as his mouth makes its way down your neck, slowly and yet also hurriedly at the same time. His quaking body holds back, a large paw pulling your shoulder stap down your arm as his mouth now trails to your chest.

Reiner had hungered for you for too long, and boy was he starving, his other large hand grabbing your ass cheek firmly, his hips slowly thrusting, looking for some sort of friction against you, something, anything. The pathetic whining puppy look turned you on if you were being honest with yourself.

"Let me have you again..." He pleads, face flushed already from this short interaction.

You're surprised at how quickly he's lost himself in the red haze but you weren't complaining.

"You're so perfect, so beautiful... please, y/n, let me feel your insides again... I'll do anything to make you feel good again... let me make you feel like you're floating... I wanna feel you cum around my cock..."

Your entirety burns at his words, your own red hue starting to develop under your cheeks. He'd certainly become more brazen over the years. Or maybe it was just sheer desperation? You didn't know, nor did you care as you nod to signal his permission.

A groan rumbles him as he pulls down your shirt with a roughened haste, his hot breath looking like titan steam as he gasps at your form, eyes heavy-lidded and predatory.

"Look at my princess..." He whispers in awe as he then pulls off his own shirt, quickly returning to your touch, those mere seconds far too long away from your skin. He grabs your breast, leaning down and placing it in his mouth, his other hand reaching between your legs, sliding his hand down your trousers and slowly rubbing you over your underwear. He groans at the warmth of you, your already dampening cloth an invitation for him to ruin you.

The testosterone soaring through his body made him think of how he'd almost lost this moment to Porco. Porco fuckin' Galliard. The loser who would touch himself at night thinking of you, images of you naked from Ymirs memories... well now he once again had the real thing.

Sucks to be you, Galliard.

And boy was Reiner going to prove to you that you'd made the right choice. Reiner already has the previous knowledge of where all of your sweet spots were and he was going to get them all. His mouth moves to your next erogenous zone all while slowly circling your main one through the soft fabric.

Your body is engulfed in flames, your lips parted in gasps, your fingers digging into the grass beneath you as Reiner assaults your senses with no mercy. You'll not receive an ounce of mercy either, his hungry mouth now moving to your next sweet spot, still humping at nothing.

You whisper his name in encouragement, a loud croaked whine from him as a reply.

He suddenly sits up, hair a mess, face flushed as he roughly pulls down your trousers throwing them carelessly to the side, his eyes not once leaving your form.

"I'm going to devour you..." He huffs, mostly to himself the force of him now yanking your panties down pulling you closer to him. "You belong to me and only me....I'll remind you of that."

He arches over you, unzipping himself free, that beautiful cock just as fat as you remembered with that delicious upward curve at the tip. It throbs and dances angrily, weeping with precum as he grabs the base of his shaft.

"I can't hold back any longer..." He breathes, looking into your eyes. "I won't last... I've needed you for too long."

"I don't care..." is your reply, your equally starved body more than ready for him.

He pushes himself in firmly but at a stress pace, the size of him always a tough pill for your insides to swallow. Your mouth hangs open at the sensation of his girth splitting you open so deliciously, your walls pushing and resisting him.

He cries out loudly, your tight insides snuggly protesting his invasion as they spasm, seemingly swallowing him whole yet pushing him out at the same time, like they can't decide what they want. But he knows what he wants, and with a final push, he was at the hilt.

He wastes no time, lifting up your leg and thrusting within you with feverish glee.

Your body can't seem to comprehend what was happening, your eyes closed in bliss, pleasure flowing through you and building up from each push of his form, that curved tip pushing against your G-spot and pleasure zones you'd forgotten you'd had, places only Reiners dick could stretch and reach.

With each movement, a loud groan or hiss sounded from the feral warrior, the wet, sloppy sounds music to his ears as you sing your song of pleasures.

"Shit... ah... all mine. Fuck, please... please don't make me wait this long again. This body feels so good... so perfect... baby... urgh I'm not gonna last... cum for me, sweetheart... I'm going to make you a mess..."

The words of filth from his mouth only add to your mounting pleasure, your body being the thing that has pushed him beyond his sanity.

Your nails sink into his back as he works you, your ability to speak has all but gone.

"Nurgh, harder..." He instructs. "Make me yours again... show me how good you feel right now."

You obey, sinking your nails harder into his back, his hiss of pleasure drowned out by the hiss of steam emitting from his small wounds as they heal.

"Again..." He moans.

You agree as he thrusts with more urgency knowing that the tightening of your insides meant he was pushing you towards your end.

"Good girl..." He smirks into your neck. "You're my good girl... cum for me..."

You gasp as you snap, your insides spasming and pulling him further into your orgasm. His loud groan fades away as everything goes black, your face numb as you're carried away to realms beyond your understanding.

You feel his thick liquid splatter against your cervix as you slowly fade back into your assigned dimension, your breath heaving as his spluttering cock is audible while it spews and vomits his seed into you. He collapses, grunting but he remains inside of you, the white sticky substance from his body leaking from you, his dick still as hard as it was when it first invaded your insides. You wince as he slowly begins thrusting again, your swollen and oversensitive cunt not yet ready for another assault.

"Gonna impregnate you..." He whispers with a smirk, somehow still not within his own mind. "You're gonna be all swollen with me... fill you right up... all big and full... URGH!"

You groan as you feel him pick up the pace. How is this even possible? Did he want you that much?

Your question is answered for you as he pushes your legs to your chest, the deep and full feeling almost too much as your sensitivity returns to pleasure.

"You've always taken me so well, princess..." He praises as he watches you with awe. "Such a good little pussy... so tight... all m-mine..."

You'd almost forgotten about his little kink of getting you all full of his seed but sure enough, he's quick to remind you as he continues to stuff himself as far into you as he'll go, his breathing hoarse and his groans even more so.

"R-reiner..." you gasp.

"Yeah baby... moan my name... I'll never get tired of hearing that..."

He plunges harder, the mess he's making down there evident as his balls and pubic bone are smeared with his thick load and your own wetness. It squelches and slides yet not once does your unbridled passion nor pleasure leave you.

"Look at me..." He orders, gazing into your very soul. "There's no way I'm letting you go again. You're mine. Say it."

"I..." you stammer through pleasure. "I'm y-yours Reiner. All yours..."

Satisfied, he plunges harder, the breath leaving your body as he partakes in self indulgence within you. His grunt of approval with your words loud and gruff, his focus on the last few pushes before your next orgasm.

"Shit, Reiner..." you curse as you swirl the drain, falling and tumbling into your second wave of bliss.

"Mmmm take my load...." He grunts as he cums again, maybe not as strong as the one he'd just had but just as sweet nonetheless.

He rolls off you, panting having pushed himself a little too far while his chest heaves. You immediately feel his hot goop spill out of you, the sheer amount of it surprising you. You knew he was capable of a huge load, but this?

He takes your hand, his gaze at the sky with a pained expression.

"I missed that..." His pants are heavy and laboured.

"Yeah... me too."

*

"Wait... what do you mean?" Armin whispers, eyes wide. "Are you... sure...? You can't be sure, right?"

"Tell me you're lying!" Mikasa screeches, grabbing Jean's coat with desperation.

"I'm sorry, you guys..." Jean's teeth clench, fighting and failing to hold in his sobs. "I saw it with my own eyes. She was eaten by the jaw titan. I couldn't get to her, I was flanked either side by Flochs flunkies... I'm sorry we couldn't rendezvous sooner, it was too dangerous. But yeah, that was a couple of hours ago now..."

Mikasa's legs tremble, Jean holding her arms to keep her steady as he continues; "When Eren finds out... I can't imagine this is going to help his current mental state, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who witnessed it."

Connie slumps to the floor - or rather the rooftop they were all standing on. "No... not another one... I cant... I can't keep doing this!"

"Come on guys..." Jean snarls through tears. "We still have plenty to do. She wouldn't want us putting our mission on the back-burner like this!"

His words are met with only sobbing as a reply.

"So they're here..." Armin ponders solemnly. "Which means -"

Their mourning is cut short as a huge explosion is heard, their automatic flinch and yelp of surprise now seeming like second nature as their ears are filled with a distant enraged roar.

Mikasa dabs her eyes, looking in the direction of the military building. "Looks like Eren has heard the news..."

Jean nods. "Come on, get it together! We gotta move!"

They all nod leaping into action, flying their ODM gear through the streets towards the plume of smoke, dust and titan steam.

Mikasa's thoughts race as she blasts towards another loud roar and smash. Maybe y/n managed to cut her way out? Please, anything but this. She can't lose anyone else...

She blinks away tears as she pulls herself up higher, the huge figure of Erens titan form now coming into view in the distance. She can already feel Eren slipping through her fingers, no matter how tightly she grasped. She couldn't lose you too.

Eren transforming has of course attracted all attention, Mikasa spotting another Jeagerist also heading towards the disruption. With a tug of her wires, she slings around the corner, blades raised and ready as the enemy spots her.

"He-!"

Before he could even finish his word her blade had sunken into his chest and removed again.

"Keep your eyes open!" She hears Jean yell. "They'll surely be more!"

"Its the Cart titan!" Armin calls down from up higher. "Its armed! It's got that artillery on its back!"

"Shit!" Jean hisses as they fly. "That thing cuts through us like paper mache!"

*

The plans gone to shit.

Porco thinks as his Titan form sprints through the town on all fours.

What's made Jeager expose himself like this?! Whatever the reason, I'm glad Magath is with Pieck up on the wall with the artillery. I hope Reiner heard the explosion, there's no way we can get word to him now.

His eyes spot a familiar figure, one of the Ackermans not too far away, also heading towards the attack titan. He gets poised, ready to attack when the image of you stabs into his head.

Shed be crushed if I killed her comrades. But... she made her choice. Right? Ackerman is a huge threat. I need to get rid of her now before she causes more trouble later.

He positions himself on a rooftop, titan eyes glaring and ready to pounce towards her in a sprint. It'll only take a couple of bounds before he's on top of her.

*

You sprint through the forest as fast as your legs can carry you, the thundering footsteps of the armoured sprinting pretty far ahead of you. You'd left your god damn ODM gear in that clearing Porco dropped you off in and Reiner in all his wisdom wanted you to get it yourself, the later you are to the fight, the better in his eyes.

You break through the clearing where Porco had released you from his mouth, the only sign of his previous presence the almost fully disintegrated titan corpse.

Your fingers fumble as you quickly grab your gear, glancing up and seeing Reiner leap over the top of the wall, disappearing with a huge crash on the other side. Your thoughts race as you attach your gear to your belt, working as fast as you possibly could to -

You freeze.

You heard a roar.

A different kind of roar.

One that filled the sky with static and a bright orange glow.

Zeke... he's... he's done it.

Deafening crashes emit in the distance, only pushing you to move faster. The amount of drills you've taken to get equipped as fast as possible didn't seem to have had any effect as each second felt like an eternity. You needed to be there. You needed to get there quickly. And even when you're done, it's a good run to the wall, nothing around you to sink your hooks into.

Finally ready, you break into your frantic sprint, your gear clinking loudly with your violent steps.

Please god, please... keep everyone safe... I just want this all to end...

Was that really Zekes scream? Had he done it? Turned everyone into a titan?!

*

"Keep em off him!" Mikasa screams as she zooms around and over Eren who is grappling with Reiner.

"There's titans everywhere!" Armin screeches. "Get the thunder spears ready! Take down the cart titans artillery!"

"Jean's taken down the Jaw!" Mikasa informs him as they zip towards the wall. "He saw it ready to pounce, but for whatever reason, it didn't."

"There's no time to ponder on details just now." Armin pants as they fly together. "Keep your focus on the job at hand."

"That goddamn monkey!" Jean curses from behind them. "He really did it... he's turned everyone who drank that wine into a titan!"

"Stay focused!" Armin reminds him. "Are you certain the jaw is down?!"

"Got him with a thunder spear. I missed my shot but it's down and won't be fighting anytime soon."

"Good." Armin hisses through his teeth. "We need to -"

He's interrupted by a loud cry from Mikasa.

"Its y/n!"

"What?!"

Sure enough they see you blasting over, taking in the situation.

The three of them blink in disbelief as they watch you head over towards the grappling titans.

"Focus!" Armin smiles. "Although... I cant say I'm not glad..."

Your eyes flicker across the scene, taking everything in. Zeke was down. Titan steam made visibility pretty low. Reiner was stuck against Eren with a long necked titan nibbling on his nape. You weren't too worried just yet, knowing Reiners armour will keep him safe for now. But then you see Gabi, alone and far too close to the fight in a town now swarming with Titans.

Landing next to her you grab her arm.

"Come on, hold onto me, I'll take you somewhere safe." You instruct.

Her eyes are wide staring at something you weren't yet aware of.

You turn to follow her gaze, a figure emerging from the thick, hot steam.

Your lips part and some unseen force seems to punch you in the gut as you see Porco, staggering towards you - half of his head is missing, his face covered in blood and yet... and yet he's smiling.

"It took everything I have to heal just this much..." His voice croaks, the effort of speaking too difficult.

He stumbles, still walking towards you.

Before you could even react, the titan chewing on Reiner leaps from him and heads towards the man who saved your life. The man who's heart you'd not long ago crushed cruelly in your palm.

"PORCO!" You scream.

And he was gone.

His legs flail in the air as the long-necked titan chews him in half right before your eyes; a scene now all too familiar.

Everything goes numb as you hear a roar of rage from Reiner, the surge of emotion giving him strength to pummel Eren into the ground with a single punch.

The world around you spins as you lose your balance.

Whether it was grief. Whether you'd just had enough... you didn't know. But all you were aware of was the hard ground meeting you before everything goes black.

*

Your eyes open, but you're not within the normal realm. You realise this is a dream and you recognise this place. It's the meeting place for you and Porco. The one you've shared for four years. Except now, he's standing with his back towards you.

Where you'd normally greet the other with glee, the atmosphere felt... different.

"Porco!" You gasp, sprinting towards him. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't respond.

You give him a small shake, panic gripping you harshly. "Porco, please tell me you're okay. What happened?"

He takes a step away. And another. And another.

You go to follow him but your feet are glued to the floor. With all your might, you just can't seem to pick your legs up off the ground.

You shout.

You scream.

You plead.

But without ever looking back, Porco continues to walk across the sand dune towards the star-filled sky until...

Your eyes fly open. You bolt up, breath heaving and tears falling down your face.

"Hey... its okay. You're okay..."

Reiner hovers above you, looking worse for wear.

"What happened? Where is Eren? Did Porco... was he really...?"

Reiners head lowers. He's not really sure how to respond to your question. He sees how broken you are. He didn't want to be the one to make it worse.

"Eren started the rumbling." Connie mutters from the corner of the room. "He's a lost cause."

Your brain fails to register his words.

Mikasa and Armin wrap their arms around you, more than glad to see you alive.

"Wait... what?" You struggle to comprehend. "No, he wouldn't do that."

"Its true." Armin whispers in your ear as he hugs you. He pulls back from your squeeze, looking forlorn. "We... we've joined forces with Reiners side. We... we have to stop Eren."

You let out a loud laugh, confusing your friends.

"So... this is what it's took, huh? For the pointless fighting to stop... its a little late... poor Porco... oh god... Porco..."

Reiner gives your hand a squeeze as you crumble into sobs.

"Who?" Jean frowns.

"Porco Galliard, the jaw titan." Reiner informs him. "He saved y/n's life earlier today. He hadn't eaten her. He saved her."

Your friends glare at the floor, guilt bombarding them.

"We need a plan." Connie huffs.

"We need to rest before anything else. Reiner is in no shape to fight and neither are we." Jean admits. "I mean, how much time do we have? Hours? Days?"

"I don't know..." Armin sighs.

You get to your feet slowly, still a little unsteady.

"This ends now. It has to. We can't take anymore."

The room remains silent and they ponder.

"We have to either kill Eren or let him kill everyone else."

[oftenwantedafton]

The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 8

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - restraints, captivity, sexual content, blood kink, minor violence

Also available on AO3

You’re bound to the bed.

Each wrist is separately linked, fastened above your head so that your arms are stretched. Already aching. Your head throbs from slamming against William’s and then the wall. You’re still fully dressed. One ankle is bound again. Barefoot.

You’re alone, but you know he’s watching. “William, please don’t do this, I’m sorry…” The metal digs into your skin. “I didn’t want to leave you, I just…I can’t stay here…please, William, please…” Your voice trails off. Your throat is so parched. It’s like trying to swallow gravel.

The door opens and your breath hitches. Afton crosses the room and stands beside the bed. He’s carrying something. A knife, you realize. A heavy butcher knife for carving. Held loosely. He’s comfortable with it. He’s used it before. Your eyes widen and you squirm against your restraints.

“You’ve disappointed me.” His voice is low, quiet. Dangerous.

“I know, I was bad, I’m sorry, just let me—”

“—I warned you there would be consequences, did I not? For every action. A gifted reward. Or a merited punishment. Now you’ve chosen the latter. You chose this,” he emphasizes, laying the flat of the blade against your abdomen where there is a faint gap between your skimpy printed tank top and shorts. The metal is cold. You’re afraid to breathe too deeply. You have no doubt of how sharp that kitchen utensil is. “Wasn’t I good to you? Fulfilling your every desire…” He lifts the knife, dragging the point softly along the outside of your clothes. You can barely feel it through the denim shorts, but the thin cotton and spandex top is quite another story.

“You were. It’s not you, it’s this place. I’m worried about my mother. I don’t want to miss college. I can’t spend the rest of my life chained up here. Surely you understand that.”

The blade now rests against your throat. You don’t even dare swallow.

“You chose this,” he repeats softly. The knife lifts away and you gasp for air.

The security guard turns on his heel and walks away.

***

The evening drags.

Your fingers are numb. Your shoulders are on fire. You think Afton might still be watching, as exhausted as he must be. Your know your pleas fall on deaf ears and eventually you surrender, falling silent.

William returns in the morning. The rumpled uniform clothes confirm your earlier suspicions. He'd obviously spent the night spying on your bound form. He releases your wrists. You try to work feeling back into them. Use the bathroom. Brush your teeth. There are no lingering touches today when he helps you undress for the shower. Brisk and formal. His eyes refuse to meet yours, no matter how much you plead and ask for forgiveness.

Pajamas today. Again, each task of assistance performed stiffly and rapidly. No more wrist restraints, for which you’re grateful. He leaves without uttering a single word.

Each day becomes like this now. William refuses to speak, his first words in an indeterminable amount of days a warning when you try to reach for his hand after he’s replaced the shackle one morning. “Don’t touch me.”

Sometimes he brings the knife in. Lets it sit on the counter. A reminder. A threat. It frightens you. But it’s something. Some additional indirect contact made between you. Your breathing becomes shallow when he lays it along some exposed portion of skin. Your throat or your shoulder beneath the strap of whatever you’re clothed in or tucked beneath your shirt. Pressed along your thigh. Testing. Teasing. Then the kiss of metal is gone. You don’t dare try to touch it yourself. You know you’d never be fast enough. You still don’t think you could bring yourself to physically harm him.

There are no more shared meals together. The books and music and movies lay untouched. You barely eat. You know you’re losing weight, your collarbones and ribs more prominent than before. You’re losing track of the passage of time. You no longer know what day of the week it is. What month it is. Surely not past August yet. You stare into the one-way mirror. You stare at the ceiling. You try to touch your captor again and again, any part of him your fingers can curl around. He shrugs you off as if your touch is poison. His eyes still evade yours. You even long for the knife at this point. He’s ceased bringing it with him. The quiet anger almost worries you more than when he gives voice to it. Surely he’ll forgive you eventually.

He has to.

The silence and touch deprivation are becoming unbearable.

***

William settles into the chair behind the monitors in the security office, watching you. He watches you like this every day, though you don’t realize it. Or maybe you do. Maybe you are aware. Some sixth sense. Something linking you.

One month later the rage is quieter but still there. The betrayal. He does not like how it makes him feel. He’s accustomed to failed relationships; his own ruined marriage and shattered bonds with his children proof enough of that. Now there are the other children. The ones that sleep and do not judge. Then there is you. His special, perfect girl. He misses your touches and your kisses. No matter how falsely they were offered. He could still feel, still taste the lingering threads of truth and sincerity in them. There was something there. Something about you and he together. This bond. He can’t have been that mistaken. He knows he isn’t. The way you keep trying to reach for him. The way you seem to even enjoy the touch of the knife. That’s why he’s been depriving you of it. Making you hungrier. Maybe you understand a little better now.

Maybe this is how it should have been all along.

He glances at his wristwatch. His shift is nearly over. Time to make sure the mall is empty and secure. He hasn’t been in the habit of returning to you at night.

Maybe tonight will be different.

***

William enters the living space that evening and you look at him, surprised by this visit. Even as confused as you are about the time and date these days, you know it’s not morning. He hasn’t done this in a long time.

The older man still avoids your gaze. He walks right past your seated figure on the loveseat, pausing only long enough to dump an empty canvas bag on the kitchen counter. Laundry day, then. He collects it every so often. He’s got a duffel bag as well. A change of clothes for him, maybe. You hear the water running in the shower.

Your feet are bare. You’re wearing a white gauzy button front dress and white lace boy shorts. He’s shown no interest in anything you choose to wear from the assortment he’s provided anymore. The fragrances do not seem to tempt him like they once did. He is no longer enamored with your presence. He displays no interest in anything beyond seeing his prisoner’s most basic needs are met.

You walk to the bathroom, the sounds of the links whispering together lost in the noise of the forceful spray of water. Afton’s uniform is folded neatly on the sink, a bath towel and his bag nearby. Your fingers gather the curtain and you drag it back, stepping into the shower still fully dressed.

William turns immediately, making you think he’s known you were approaching all along. He slaps away the hands that reach for him and shoves you against the wall, firmly but without malice. Your clothes are instantly soaked, the plastered thin material exposing everything beneath. Again your hands reach for him, your grasping fingers easily deflected. He still won’t meet your gaze. “Don’t touch me again.” A low warning that’s barely audible. He pins your wrists beside your head. The water runs over your parted lips. You think that’s where his eyes focus. His chest heaves. He drags you back through the spray, one hand wrapped tightly around your upper arm. The other jerks the faucet handle off.

The chain rattles as he pulls you back to the bedroom, still dripping. Rivulets of water spill over the knife blade cheeks. You’re shoved onto your back on top of the bed. He climbs over you. Your hands make another futile attempt to touch any part of him you can. His fingers clamp and pin them down. His panting mouth hovers near yours. “You don’t want me, remember? You don’t get to touch me.”

“I do want you. Please, William, please…”

His eyes meet yours finally, at long last. Completely black. The arms held taut are shaking. “You’re lying to me again.”

“I’m not, I’m not, William, please. I want it. I want to be good for you, I want to be yours…”

His knee wedges between your thighs. You squeeze him there, whimpering at the contact of his body with your sex covered with damp lace.

“Do not fucking move,” he growls.

You freeze obediently. Waiting. He moves off of you. Returns quickly. Bringing back something he’s kept nearby. Metal against your drenched skin. The knife in the space between the leg opening and waistband of your underwear.

“Hold still.” You feel the fabric give. He repeats the process for the other side. Your hips lift and the blade makes contact with your groin, slicing your flesh, staining the delicate fabric. The look that washes over his features when he sees what you’ve made him do. The line of crimson mixing with the crystal shower droplets. Raw hunger.

His body moves down. His tongue licks the stripe of your injury. You writhe beneath the contact, moaning. He sucks the skin. Vampiric. Ravenous. You force yourself to keep your hands still until he gives you permission to move.

The knife tears through the skirt front of your saturated dress. Severs the flimsy bodice portion covering your breasts. His fingers knot roughly in your hair, shoving your head back into the pillow. His breathing is so desperate he’s drooling. A thin trail of saliva you can’t stop staring at.

Your legs are spread for him. A faint pressure at your entrance. His cock resting there. You’ve lost track of the knife. You’re willing to bet William hasn’t. Another test? You don’t dare fail this one. The pressure increases agonizingly slow. He’s waiting.

“Yes, please, please…” You wince and try to stifle a sob when he begins to enter you in earnest. Your face becomes wet with tears now, mixing with the water from the shower. He pushes in further. Sighs a moan. His lips finally drop to yours when he slides in fully. Shuddering. Inside you at last. Pain. Your teeth sink into his lips. His kisses are frenzied, all over your face. How long it had been since he’d last put his mouth on you. You lap at him, drunk off the feeling of being truly touched after going without for so long. Afton thrusts back and forth, still struggling against the narrow confines of your body. You feel the blood weeping from the laceration, but the discomfort is muted beneath the bright stinging stretch around him. Your teeth find his shoulder. His hands restraining your wrists relaxing. Fingers threading through yours. He presses into you. Withdraws. Returns. It’s smoother now. There’s new wetness that’s not from the shower. Your own slick. Your womb welcomes the intrusion.

William reaches between your bodies. Touches the blood trail. Rubs it over your clit. Goes back for more. Paints your lips with it. Licks it off of you. Back to touching you again. The words you try to utter are senseless. You’re overwhelmed. Helpless sounds of pleasure. Moans of satisfaction sighed in reply. You shatter against him. He follows your careen over the cliff. Descending into bliss.

***

Your wound is dressed. You are dressed. Bedding changed. Necessary, as it is soaked from your wet bodies. Bloodstained, from your injury. From giving yourself to him.

The knife is nowhere in sight.

[firstkanaphans]

Hi. Can we get an U for AlanGaipa? I just missed them soooo much. Please. 🥹

[U] + AlanGaipa was requested by five different people and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why it was so popular until I remembered that Alan and Gaipa are the only FK characters with actual adult jobs. No one requested [T] (for any pairing), but it’s one of my favorite fluff tropes and I wanted to write it, so I added it here. Hope y’all enjoy!

[U]ndressing them after a long day at work + [T]aking a bath together

Alan already had the bath running when Gaipa got home.

“How was work?” he asked as Gaipa walked straight into his arms.

“Over,” he mumbled into Alan’s neck.

Alan stroked his back and placed a soft kiss on top of his head. “You should have taken the day off,” he said. Gaipa worked too hard. It was one of the only sources of friction between them.

“No, I–I think it was good,” Gaipa said, pulling away. He didn’t go far, though. His arms were still wrapped around Alan’s waist as if he couldn’t stand the thought of letting him go. “It helped keep my mind off of things.”

Alan was grateful for that, at least, because his mind had been on Gaipa all day long.

In the sudden silence, Gaipa turned his attention towards the bathroom. “Are you running a bath?” he asked, finally stepping away.

“Oh, right,” Alan said, rushing into the next room. Luckily, the water hadn’t yet started to run over. He turned the tap off just in time.

“This is lovely,” Gaipa said, following him into the room. The lights were off, leaving the room lit only by candlelight and there was a pleasant aroma wafting over from the bubbles in the tub. “Is it for me?”

“It is,” Alan confirmed and then he ushered Gaipa closer to him. “Here. Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

He began by slowly unbuttoning Gaipa’s shirt and the whole time, Gaipa just watched him. Gaipa was usually very self-sufficient—he worked hard and wasn’t used to being doted on—so Alan liked to spoil him. He slipped the shirt off of Gaipa’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then he did the same thing with his pants and boxers.

Soon, Gaipa was standing in front of him completely naked, but there wasn’t any eroticism to the moment like there normally would be. Instead, there was just a warm feeling of comfort. Of safety. Of coming home.

Alan cupped Gaipa’s cheeks in his hands and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. When he backed away, Gaipa’s eyes stayed closed for several seconds longer as if he wanted the feeling to last.

“Enjoy your bath,” Alan whispered. “I’ll pour you a drink and then I’ll get out of here. What do you want? Wine or beer? I brought both in because I know you don’t usually like wine, but—”

“You can’t leave,” Gaipa said suddenly. “You have to join me.”

Alan shook his head. “No. This is for you to relax. To get your mind off of thing. You—”

“I want to relax with you. Please?”

And so, after stripping himself of his clothes, grabbing a beer for both of them, and turning on some soft, atmospheric music, Alan and Gaipa climbed into the bathtub together. It was a very large tub and they settled in easily with Gaipa’s back pressed against Alan’s front, with Gaipa’s head resting against Alan’s shoulder. Gaipa exhaled as if the weight of the world had been lifted from him. Alan didn’t say anything. He just held his boyfriend in his arms.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year,” Gaipa said eventually. Alan squeezed him tighter. “I miss her so much.”

“She would be so proud of you,” Alan said. The words were sentimental, but they were also true. Despite being left with enough inheritance to stop working entirely, Gaipa had chosen to go to the market everyday, carrying on the legacy his mother had left behind.

“I was thinking today about how different my life is now,” Gaipa said. “Not just because she’s gone, but also because of you. It’s ironic that I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. I just wish she was here to see it.”

“She knows, baby,” Alan said, gently kissing the top of his head. “She knows.”

They stayed in the bath until the water started to cool and afterwards, Alan dried Gaipa off, dressed him, and they got into bed together to waste the last few hours of the day. Tomorrow would be better, but for now, at least they had each other.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hiya. I have an ask for Scott Forrester again. ❤️ The prompt is: #20 “There ain't no secrets anymore.” Thank you so much.

Tagging: @district447 @delightfulheroshoeflap @upsteadlogic @ottitt @too-strong-to-lose @@hearthockey @alice30martini @tems13

Takes place before When in Rome

It’s in Berlin that Scott learns you used to have a husband.

You’ve been quiet ever since you’d stepped off the plane, preoccupied, stressed. He recognises the behaviours but they seem alien on you. He’s worked with you for just over a year now and he’s only ever seen you calm and collected.

It gets worse when you step into Europol HQ. He sees the tension in your shoulders, the way you clench your jaw. You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here. It’s because of the way they treat you, he realises.  Sympathetic looks and gentle shoulder squeezes. They tell you how good you look, how well you’re doing. The prodigal daughter returns, he thinks at the time.

It isn’t until later when he meets your father in law that he realises the truth of the situation. The older man is high up in the UN, the fly team are investigating the death of one their clerks. You don’t expect to see him, Scott can tell that much because you stiffen when he appears, your body rigid as he embraces you.

“Natalia.” He says as he steps back and surveys you. “You still look as radiant as you did on your wedding day.”

The revelation throws Scott, it throws everyone. He sees your cheeks colour as you excuse yourself and disappear from the room. He has always known there was a reason you left Berlin, something beyond your love of travel and old world architecture. He never imagined that it was a husband.

“I had no idea she was married.” He tells Jaeger later that evening as they share a glass of whiskey in her office.

She was the one who had chosen you to be her replacement. At the time he didn’t question it, you were smart, fierce, diplomatic. Everything he needed in a Europol liaison.

“Widowed.” Jaeger corrects him and it’s another blow. Suddenly he understands everything that’s happened today, why you’re reacting the way you are, why you never mentioned you’d been married. “Matthew died a few months before she arrived in Budapest, it was a very quick illness. She couldn’t stand to be in Berlin without him after that.”

She sighs as she takes a sip from her whisky glass.

“It was a very painful time for her. They had been trying for a child, his parents clung to the hope that she was carrying a part of their son with her but then the months went by…” She trails off, shaking her head as she looks out of the window. “Natalia felt like she disappointed them.”

It’s a lot to unpack, even for him. He can’t imagine what it must be like for you, the pressure of that, the weight of it. You’ve carried it all on your own over the past year, it breaks his heart to think about how isolated you must have felt.

“Do you know where she is?” Scott asks Jaeger as he sets his glass down upon her desk.

Jaeger checks the watch on her wrist before removing a post it note from the pad in front of her before scribbling an address.

“I know where she’ll be.”

*******

Scott finds you at Berlinchen, a restaurant Jaeger had described as a hole in the wall. You’re tucked away in the back corner, nursing a glass of beer as you hunch over your phone, scrolling through your pictures.  You don’t look up when he sits down alongside of you on the cushioned bench.

“I’m not interested.” You say, your gaze fixed firmly on your screen. “And I’m having a really bad fucking day.”

“I know.” Scott says quietly. “Jaeger told me.”

You raise your head and the expression on your face, it almost breaks his heart. Your eyes are red rimmed, your complexion ruddy, there’s moisture on your cheeks from where you’ve been crying. He can’t imagine how hard it must be, to come here again, be in this world, around those memories.

“Is that your husband?” He asks you, gesturing towards your phone and you look back down at the screen, clutching it in your hand. “Will you tell me about him?”

It takes a few attempts but finally you manage to force the words out. You tell him that Matthew used to be a translator, that you met through work. He spoke seven languages and was learning Pashto before he died because he wanted to work with the refugees who were coming into the country. You smile as you recall his laugh, how it sounded like a guffaw, always echoing through whichever room he was in. You remember Saturday mornings exploring the city, walking hand in hand as you studied the architecture. Scott holds your hand through every memory of it, the ones that make you laugh and the ones that make you cry.

You seem lighter when the two of you finally leave Berlinchen, it’s almost ten pm when they start shutting up shop around you. Scott wraps his arm around your shoulders, warding off the cold as you lean into him.

“Thank you for tonight.” You say softly as you tilt your head to look at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about Matthew, since I’ve allowed myself to remember him.”

“Natalia…” Scott murmurs as his eyes meet yours. “Our friendship, it doesn’t come with conditions. If you need to lean on someone, lean on me.”

Love Scott? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kindoffruity]

Praise - Chapter 3 - Aonung's POV

Chapter Three - Aonung’s POV

Aonung had been too caught up in Neteyam, he realized that Neteyam probably only sought him out because he wanted to feel special. While Aonung enjoyed making him feel like he was the most perfect Na’vi in existence. Aonung recognized that Neteyam could have just been seeking him out because Aonung gave him what he wanted. 

Aonung decided he would give Neteyam space, he wanted to see if Neteyam would seek him out first or if anyone’s attention would have been enough for him. In order for Aonung to succeed in ignoring Neteyam, he had to completely ignore his Forest boy. 

If he hadn’t ignored Neteyam , he knew he wouldn’t have been able to hold back. He had grown fond of seeing his large smile and those big golden orbs filled with hopefulness. Aonung felt dejected, like his sun was briefly taken away from him.

It was a bit dramatic but there wasn’t an activity or person besides Neteyam who could have filled this little hole in his heart. Even his friends and their ridiculous shenanigans could not keep him from thinking of Neteyam. 

“I know! Let’s go hunting, the biggest catch gets. . .” The conversation continued eagerly while Aonung was spaced out, he watched Neteyam kick sand and walk down the beach with his shoulders slumped. “I wonder what's wrong,” Aonung asked himself. They were on two opposite ends of the beach but he could tell something was off by his posture. 

“What do you think?” 

Suddenly eyes were on him, Aonung played it off like he had been listening, “Let’s do it. Let’s invite the jungle brats to show them how real men hunt.” Aonung joked with his fellow friends.

- - - - - - - - 

Aonung felt like he had to show off during the hunt, he needed the biggest fish just to show Lo’ak what a real man should be able to provide. It was merely him setting a standard of what he expected for his sister. 

Aonung was dragging the large fish onto land when he heard Roxto complimenting Neteyam. He wasn’t sure what came over him, it made him instantly bitter. Unfortunately for Neteyam, Aonung couldn’t help but take that bitterness and jealousy out on him. 

There was something about the way Neteyam smiled at Roxto that made Aonung want to smack Roxto with the fish he had caught.

“Roxto you know that fish is common if anything,” Aonung commented, walking by with a smug look on his face, “I think you’ll need to strengthen that baby tail some more, and then you might have a chance,” Aonung added. 

Aonung felt awful right after those words left his mouth, Neteyam looked hurt for a brief second but then covered it up. Aonung beat himself up inside, he hadn’t meant to hurt the other’s feelings, he was just upset that someone else was complimenting Neteyam. 

He worried that Neteyam didn’t care who the compliment came from. 

Aonung huffed and continued forward lugging the large fish past Neteyam, he could feel those eyes on him and it took everything for him to not turn back around. 

- - - - - 

Aonung knew he had to apologize to Neteyam for hurting his feelings but he had a hard time finding the strength to admit he was messed up. How would he start it? Would he tell Neteyam that he had chosen to ignore him to see how long it would take him to come back to him? 

Aonung constantly found himself staring at Neteyam, now it was his turn to seek out the Forest Na’vi. He was constantly looking to see where he was, if he was happy, or if he was carrying the weight of the world on those small shoulders. 

Aonung swore he was going to fix it, he just needed a good time to talk to Neteyam. But Neteyam had other plans. 

It happened so fast, first he had been talking to a few friends and next thing he knew he was snatched up by a strong grip. “Let’s go now!” Neteyam shouted at him, Aonung didn’t fight it, he allowed himself to be pulled away from the group to a familiar rock at the end of the beach. 

“What is your problem, Aonung?” Neteyam yelled at him, he could tell his Forest Boy was highly upset. 

“He’s cute when he’s angry too..” Aonung thought to himself with a smug look, his eyes trailing down to admire the other up close, he easily was distracted. He forgot he needed to respond for a moment. 

“I have no problem, have I done something wrong, Forest Boy?” Aonung couldn’t take his eyes off of Neteyam, he missed how flustered and embarrassed Neteyam had gotten any time they got this close. 

“Why have you been avoiding me!” Neteyam was demanding answers from him, his eyes glaring at him. Aonung knew he had it bad, because he even found Neteyam cute when he looked like he wanted to drag him by his braid. 

Aonung wanted more of that reaction. 

“I haven’t been avoiding you, mighty warrior, I was simply giving you your space.” Aonung made sure to keep his tone level-headed and simple as if Neteyam should have just figured it out. 

“Bullshit! You have been avoiding me!” Neteyam cursed at him, he didn’t know what the word meant but Neteyam looked pissed. 

“Just say you missed me, I know that’s what happened. Rotxo wasn’t good enough for you. You missed someone praising you for every little thing, right?” Aonung finally spoke, his hand sliding around the other’s thin waist and pulling him closer. He was sure Neteyam hadn’t even realized how close they were. 

“Not someone! Not Roxto! You!” Neteyam was definitely frustrated with him, just shouting his confession. Aonung hadn't prepared for that confession just yet. Aonung couldn’t help but to blush a bit as he looked down at the smaller Na’vi. Neteyam was fuming, and he had every right too. Aonung had intentionally riled him up. 

“You suck! I hate that you spent weeks talking to me, praising me, making me feel like I am worth something to you and then you cast me aside for no reason! What did I even do to you?” Neteyam looked hurt, Aonung could see it all on his face no matter how hard he tried to cover it. Aonung would always be able to read him like an open book. 

 Aonung couldn’t stand it anymore, he felt awful. It started off as a joke, or a test really, to see how long it would take Neteyam to come back to him. But he didn’t think he would have hurt Neteyam this badly, that was his fault, he was inexperienced with these kinds of emotions. 

“And-” Neteyam was going to start shouting more at him, Aonung didn’t even give him the chance. He smashed their lips together, it wasn’t good- really. He had basically missed because Neteyam was shouting at him. He swore he hit Neteyam’s teeth. It was sloppy, and the two quickly separated staring in disbelief. 

“I.. I am sorry Neteyam, I thought if I pulled away you’d come immediately. Then at the hunt, I was jealous- you looked so happy when Roxto said you had done a good job. I was worried that I was pursuing you in vain. I thought you just wanted attention and nothing else- but I wanted all of you.” Aonung expressed, he wasn’t good at expressing himself. He felt like he fumbled his words and made Neteyam seem like a trophy he could just keep to himself. 

Aonung watched the anger disappear from Neteyam’s face the more he spoke, Aonung rambled a bit about nothing really. The second he had shut up though, he was pulled down by his neck for another kiss. 

This kiss was much better, Aonung was surprised, eyes wide open as if he didn’t believe it was real. The second it registered that it was real, his large arms instantly wrapped around that slim waist pulling them against one-another as Neteyam locked in him in the kiss. 

Aonung could have held the kiss for longer, but Neteyam had baby lungs and they needed to split up. Neteyam was panting, trying to catch his breath while Aonung was just flushed and even a bit shy for a second. 

There was a comfortable silence before Aonung broke it, “You’re a good kisser.” Aonung complimented and Neteyam looked amused, “Better than you for sure.”

.

.

.

.

[nobodies-png]

Destiny Trio - Love Languages

Headcanons and analysis on Sora, Kairi and Riku's love languages and the way they show their appreciation.

I started writing a draft with this very same prompt for the orgxiii but my god, i forgot how time consuming it is to write for 14 people all at once without repeating myself too much

so i'm taking a break from that by doing the exact same thing with less characters lmfao

Giving: Acts of Service, Physical Touch

Receiving: Gifts, Quality Time

[Acts of Service]

Sora is a bleeding heart through and through, so it makes sense to me that his first and foremost love language is acts of service - one way or another, he's always doing things for the sake of others, both big and small. Without a doubt, Sora is the type of person who would gladly give you the world and ask for nothing in return.

Because he's willing to help anyone, it's extremely easy to see Sora as gullible, naive and easy to take advantage of. And that might've been true when he was younger! However, those closest to him know about that stubborn streak of his: every day, Sora wakes up and actively chooses kindness over everything else.

This intense mindset is what drives him forward, it's also what makes Sora so reliable. No matter the situation, he'll always be there for those he cares about.

He'll be there if you need someone to help you with chores or to keep you company during sleepless nights, telling you all about his adventures until you fall asleep. He's the one staying behind on the island, looking for that good luck charm Kairi gave you, the one you lost while playing on the beach. The second he hears you're sick, or lonely, or feeling bad in general, he's at your doorstep calling out your name, so that you can tell him how to help. To him, the best feeling is knowing that his loved ones are cared for and safe, that they don't have to worry about anything.

And because he makes friends wherever he goes, it means he has many, many connections. If he can't help you out directly, then chances are he knows someone who absolutely can.

Out of the group, the one who gets carried away the most is Sora. So in this case, acts of service is a double-edged sword - he'll stop at nothing to help others or to do what he believes will soothe their pain, even if it means sacrificing himself for it.

One of my favorite portrayals of Sora is seeing how years of being "the chosen one" affected him while growing up, to the point where he doesn't see any alternatives to martyrdom because he's so used to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. So whenever he wants to show someone that he cares, he does it through acts of service because - in his eyes - there's nothing else that he can offer other than being helpful and fixing what's wrong. Because he's supposed to being the one to save everything and everyone.

[Physical Touch]

This love language isn't as loaded as the previous one - Sora is just a naturally touchy-feely, clingy person!

He's usually leaning or touching his friends and loved ones in some manner, either by having an arm around their shoulders, holding their hand, linking arms, leaning on them, etc... You name it! Hell, this isn't even limited to people Sora knows or cares about, because he'll also be pretty friendly and casually affectionate with people he just met.

His welcoming aura, paired with the incredible hugs he gives, makes Sora an absolute machine when it comes to getting people to eventually drop their guard, no matter how hesitant they may be towards physical contact. The main example to this is Riku!

Of course, if confronted directly about boundaries and such, Sora would respect them to the best of his ability and make it an habit of asking for permission before doing anything.

Also I lied, there is a bittersweet tone to Sora's affections.

It might not seem like it, since he's extremely casual with physical touch, it means a lot to him. In a way, being able to reach out to people, know they're right there next to him, that he can actually hug them, helps ground Sora.

I imagine he becomes even clingier over the years, a side-effect to constantly losing his best friends and all the people he's befriended in his journeys. One would expect physical touch to be a love language he likes to receive instead of give, but it all ties back to Sora's inability to let himself be cared for.

Perhaps he re-contextualizes it as him letting others know that he'll always be there, that they're the ones who can reach out for him and he'll actually be there - as opposed to him needing their presence to feel whole and calm. Who knows!

Giving: Gifts, Words of Affirmation

Receiving: Acts of Service, Quality Time

[Gifts]

Kairi is also very openly affectionate with her loved ones, but she shows how much she cares about them through gifts.

Typically, she tries to get small, cute and useful things to her friends - perhaps erasers shaped like fun animals, hair clips to keep the hair out of your face or some scrunchies, sometimes it's things she knows you've been eyeing for awhile. Sometimes it's matching lunchboxes! Kairi is extremely attentive to her surroundings and those around her, so her gifts tend to come in at just the right moment. Like Sora, she likes to make the lives of her loved ones a bit easier and more colorful.

Her love for lucky charms and trinkets is known by almost everyone on the islands, but contrary to popular belief, Kairi only makes them for very special occasions - they're very meaningful gifts for her, after all! In her words, if she were to give everyone she knows one, they would lose all their magic.

Like the ones she gives to Sora, these charms are meant to represent a promise between her and her loved ones - that you'll come back safe and sound to her, that you'll never forget her. Because Kairi is used to being the one left behind, these charms are a way for her to be with all the people she has to say goodbye to, even if its just a very small part of her.

It also goes without saying that Kairi always gives the best gifts during any event that requires them, like Secret Santas, special holidays, birthdays and so on. Even if you don't know what type of gift you'd like, she'll figure it out. It's almost scary!

I also like to think that she's quite good at arts and crafts (and that's why Naminé is so artistic) as well as writing, so she'd include very heartfelt notes with her gifts.

[Words of Affirmation]

In KH2, we see that Kairi was very eager to start protecting Sora and Riku in return instead of staying by the sidelines, the culmination of all those themes about being left behind over and over - so I like to think that words of affirmation is Kairi's secondary love language because it's more of a skill she's had to develop over the years.

She was rarely allowed the chance to do anything for herself, but she knows that people will listen to her words, if that makes sense?

Like, let's be honest: as close as the Destiny Trio might be, growing up with two boys who will constantly fight for your attention is kind of tiring - the amount of mediating Kairi has had to do from a young age is amazing. So that awareness, paired with the fact that she was adopted by the mayor of the islands, made Kairi very aware of the effect her words would have on people, whether she liked it or not.

She's always been kind and considerate, but her words tend to be a little sweeter because of this whole thing. Whenever she sees someone in need of a listening ear, she'll be very gentle, allowing the other party to steer the conversation to whatever they're comfortable discussing with her.

Her advice is always solid, but it might feel a little distant to some, like she's specifically choosing to say the safest things for your situation.

This is something she outgrows as she becomes older, the current Kairi doesn't have to suppress her own stubbornness anymore, after all - she calls it how she sees it, and might tease you from time to time, but she always make sure that you feel heard, seen and cared for, passionately talking about how much you inspire her.

And this is also where her letters come into play! It's way easier for her to put thoughts and feelings into a letters or notes, because she does get flustered over rambling and gushing so much about her loved ones.

Giving: Acts of Service, Quality Time

Receiving: Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch

[Acts of Service]

Riku is a stark contrast to Sora and Kairi, he struggles with being as openly affectionate - both verbally and physically - as them, which leaves him with two love languages that don't necessarily focus on either of those two things.

He shares acts of service with Sora, but Riku helps those he cares about specifically to repay all the kindness and patience he's been shown. And in this aspect, he's more similar to Kairi - instead of grand gestures, both prefer to do little things to make others happy.

In fact, Riku doubles down on this. He's proud to know others rely on him, whenever someone might approach to ask him for help, but he greatly prefers helping from the shadows (less embarrassing and less chances to get flustered that way). He'll wake up early to make breakfast or make whatever necessary preparations for the day, just so that you can take a few extra minutes in bed. If you need to run errands, he's most likely taken care of half of them already so that you only have half of the work left.

To differentiate him more from Sora: Sora is on your doorstep the second he finds out you're sick, but Riku is most likely the reason you never got sick in the first place because he's probably been fussing about you wearing enough layers.

One thing I love to headcanon about Riku is that he's great at everything and anything - as long as he's doing it for someone else. He'll put in the extra effort if needed, but really he'll only succeed if his motivation is helping someone he cares about. And because he makes sure that no one sees his failures (if possible), it makes Riku come across as this perfect guy, which is most likely what fueled his rivalry with Sora when they were kids.

[Quality Time]

Because of the chaotic life he's led, Riku appreciates the quiet moments even more.

Whenever he feels restless, or whenever he sees his loved ones stressed and in need of a break, Riku won't hesitate to pull them away from their responsibilities into an impromptu date. You will hang out with him and you will relax or so help him.

Like every person native to Destiny Islands, his first instinct is to seek the nearest body of water (if the ocean isn't that easy to get to). An empty beach, river or lakeside on a sunny day is the perfect way to relax - whether you want to swim around, walk along the shore, or just dip your feet into the water and talk until the sun sets.

He's never been one for large crowds or huge outings with dozens of friends, so one-on-one time is perfect for someone like Riku. If you ever need someone to just sit with you in absolute silence, you can count on Riku to be there for you. If you need that to be a daily or weekly occurrence, he'll set up seven alarms to make sure he's never late.

You'll get to see Riku's most vulnerable side, when he trusts you enough to show that he genuinely wants to be closer to you - even if all you two do is talk about groceries, what you'd like to do next week or to show you the funny shit Kairi and Sora text him when half-asleep. He'll stumble over his words at times, apologize for the smallest of things that you never even noticed or thought were an issue, like getting a little sassy and regretting it instantly because what if you weren't as close as he thought you were, etc.

All in all, under all those layers of nonchalance and effortless perfection, Riku is one huge mess, but he trusts you enough to know that. And he'd be over the moon to know you also trusted him enough to lower your guard around him.

[captainkurosolaire]

X3 ~ Deathly Design

Reference ~ Unfortunate Future ~ ♪"Unbroken"♪

 Upon a dry-desolate land field of sands. A destroyed-convoy caravan left a smoke-signal upon the skies torched. Scattered around could only be explained as a massacre. Ruins, mangled, battered, broken cadavers of crimson-wearers.

Said their red-they famously wore represented the blood they sacrificed or had spilled. Trying to play honor among fellows. Putrid, disgusting… When did it happen? When did pirates become a bunch of soft-heart; little bitches? Care about others outside their Crews. Facade, another lie. Maelstrom sells others' beliefs; they're what Rules the Seas. Taking over-every route. Policing and enforcing marine-law. Creating a hub that’s only known-remaining.  How many Beast Tribes, they chase out of their territories? How many walls were made against nature? How many-times, they had to get on their knees, and got bailed out by a Warrior who had no reason to be involved. Calling themselves pirates, poor imitations. Only vigil remaining of pirates were the ones who were chased out, those who had semblance of identity, voices too distinguished, still-carry. 

Embers were being snuffed out, their crews, desires of freedom, stomped out prematurely, eaten and spit down their throat, and then told to say, thank-you. Those-who governed with invincible numbers and that fleet, was all they had. Revenge consumed one man. Who carried the burden, weight, of his dying breed of people, a self-inflicted-martyr. Pressure, twists like a knife, darkens a soul. Shouldering the responsibility of bygone-eras. He once reigned with gallantry. Individual-rogue was dead. Wishful thinking to hope this was a cruel-dystopian-joke, future’s roots finally known. 

Good-riddance. This manipulated realm would rejoice their thanks in time, they’d acknowledge and revere him. While he conquered them all for their benefits, because no-one else was capable.

All those left skewed, left to the afterlife, to be absorbed into the soils and amount to actually something, and attained freedom. If they-were actual pirates. He’ll be waiting for their appreciation in the Seven Hells, expectantly. Bloodstain leather-studded boots walked away from the scene. Mantled-cloaked, holding himself like some prestigious, acclaimed pirate-king, dreadful-aura surrounded him. Behind a land-slide rock, sweat profusely leaked from a leg-shaken Maelstrom; yuck a survivor. Cowardice behavior showing their genuine-hide, self-preservation. Unfortunately this poor-sod, encountered this individual-once. Newly pure-destructiveness wasn’t seen before. His eyes-bulged, tears ruined his face, from a snot weeping nose. Hurt people,           Hurt people. All you must know.

Those blonde brows-angered together, his fellows with their entrails what-was-left of them, was upon his clothes. Looks like they got some-richer texture on their coat. Revenge was infectious like a poison-droplet; it could taint a whole barrel. That scoundrel… N-No-monster had to be stopped! This wasn’t the first-instance. Random locations of Maelstrom being deployed supposed to deliver or pick-up rations or goods, were being chosen, tactically. Small-ports, barely guarded, were being butchered, harvested. Malice did this for sport. Bilge-water rats squeaking pests amongst his lion den. Take away duty and employment expected from trade-deals. You risk clients and employers-ire, you create severe rifts. Costing a whole City-State ton not just gil, but reputation. He couldn’t oppose them directly in the open-waters. He could drain them of resources, create panics. Make a civilization of needy-greedy denizens start growing irate. Maybe put some teeth-back in their maws. A rifle was aimed shaken but nerves fought until steeled thinking of his kindred. The-kid had one-shot. Think a Miqo’te with trained senses didn’t hear, smell, that filth in that-rubble? He swung-back preemptively and the bullet-clanked against a plated-bracer worn on his wrists. Deflecting and taking rotation, golden-eyes-staring into the soul. Foul presence of dominance. Unbridled walking akin to tyrannical bosses. He owned this world and fucked it, You-forget how small it was? We trampled on it instinctively after-all, Our true-purpose. Amusement came, a smile, and shake of his head. “Want ta’ die, boy? I’ll get you t’ live-eternally.” Voice carried bass. Authority, sheer-certainty. For he alone, Him alone is believed, Necessary.

“Good-jewelry can b’ made. Think, I’ll cut yer toes, fingers off and wear em’ as a bone brooch. I’ll gouge-an eye, feast upon it while your other is left t’ witness. I’ll keep you breathing-barely functioning until I choose. To give ye freedom. We’ll see, if you’ve got in-fact a spine and strangle-it around that pretty-neck like a noose. Like you hang my condemened people, every’ Sun' while getting fancy promotions and bein' publicly applauded.” Verbal painting ran through the mind of his opposition, on-a-wrong side of misfortune-law, visualizing, he felt his entire-being on a different plane altogether, happened. Blackbeard took the slowest-stride, heavy-stepping on soils. The lad-of-red was devoured long ago, by fear. Piss soiled his pants, until hysteria roared out and screamed, horror. “W-w-why us! Why us?!” He needed to reload his rifle. Couldn't find-strength like his digits-were already gone. This pirate’s-dreadful Presence, was… unfathomable wicked.

Playful-remorse showed on the Seeker. “Mommy-send you out here to die? Cruel of her yet not unexpected. Wanna-know why? Cause I can.” Speaking of the ill Admiral Merlwyb, nobody remained holding balls left to stand against her. She collected them in her purse. A purest savagery reason, a Scourge no-doubt about it had become the very-thing he once, paraded around-to-exterminate. A chilling-grin forebode on that visage. Pirate-stopped in his tracks letting-confusion and relief travel in his victim. An-attack was already made. Living-animated chains from his sheathed scimitar’s hilt had conceal, snaking around his leg burrowing in the sands.              Creeping until jailing his prey to his shackled-fate.

“Play pirate. Get th’ real-deal’s attention. I’ll b’ nice… Unlike you all-did with courtesy, bringing the severed-head of my wife, sayin’ ye found her. Maybe, I’ll do that with you. Leave you as a parting-gift on the Admiral’s desk, Starlight is comin’ around th’ corner. Get a little-sweet on her.” Vengeance, irrational-rage, vile revenge had finally-claimed the-once heroic pirate to act on bottled-past. “I-I-I Didn’t do that terrible act, I swear!” He proclaimed trying to run away, his feet-entangled, chain already taking his ankle, tripping up on his own feeble-true design finally shown. Those little-badges worn, ranks, they only account so far. Then when you’re left without numbers, bodies, you’re nothing more than another’s, kill count. Tsking, disappointing from his pursing-lips. “O’ poor-lost-soul so unguided, I’ll ferry ye’ home... You wear that-crest. Collective-n-crew, a walking ship, ye-live like a hivemind donning your crimson uniforms. Wanna carry the-others blood so badly, fine. I’ll paint that symbol. There’s a sea-that-finally swallows ye’ all.” There was no-deterring this mindset. Black-clad Captain, was overwhelmingly taken by murder on the mind. Had become-his-recent favorite vice.

The victimized-man crawled trying to scurry but the predator enacted haste for execution. As he neared-closer, in the clouds-roaring a draconian-cry shrieked. Snowflakes descend below-staining, unimpressive in Blackguard’s dismay.

Newly brandished, foiled Noble Hero, of the historical past had come to save days. Opposing forces from several-fates yet again, staring to beholden gaze.                          Piercing Blues to Unyielding Golds. A shining-pillar white knight, once thought dead, had resurrected with redeeming qualities and elegance, pristine. Once former being a spitting-image of Captain.  Now they’ve flipped, again.

Would’ve and should’ve stayed that dead, a pirate’s desire remained. A cold-unforgiving scowl gave rise to this incomplete-world, a Blackest Sun heralding as a Champion. Wasn’t going to forgive this transgression ruining spoils.

Meet The Sworn.

Ft. @lordshiroelune

[morimementa]

@thefirstghosthunter Here's the final part! I hope you like it!

TW: Mpreg.

Some of the unspoken tension that had been filling up the room dissipated. Void rotated his neck, posture now more relaxed. His back felt softer now, less like concrete and more like flesh. Judging by the contented hum he made when you circled your thumbs over his spine, he was feeling it too.

“If this had to happen, I’m glad you were there to mitigate it,” He admitted.

You patted his back. “I’m happy to help.”

Void swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. It took a second try, but he was up before you could offer your help.

“I’m fine,” He reassured you as you reached for him. “I just need to use the bathroom. This thing’s heavy,” you watched as he went into the adjoining bathroom, then turned away as the door shut.

You kicked at the carpet, suddenly bereft of distractions. It’d been so long since you had a conversation with someone that wasn’t purely business. Despite the apprehension and the dredged-up trauma, you’d enjoyed it. it’d been pleasant to talk to someone who understood what you were going through. It was like having an extra set of hands to help carry a huge weight.  The knot of anxiety that had tied up your heart since your imprisonment had loosened. On impulse, you pulled the completed scarf out of your bag and held it in your lap. Your creations had a funny way of choosing their owners and you had a feeling this one had chosen your new friend.

At least, you hoped that was what he was. The detective wasn’t out of the woods yet. You had to prioritize his care over your desire for companionship.

Void soon emerged. He stretched as he came back into the room. “Thanks again for the back rub. I’ve been needing that for a while.”

You beamed at the praise.

“Do you need anything else?” You asked. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks. Just sore, really.” He looped his arms under his belly. “I swear this thing’s gotten bigger in the last five minutes.”

You winced. “That’s got to be painful.”

“I’ve had worse.” He said it lightly, but it made your heart drop into your shoes. You knew full well how much ground worse could cover.

“Where are you on the pain scale?” You fiddled with the scarf, nervous about his answer. He sat down next to you.

“2 at most,” Void rolled his shoulders. “It’s manageable. Nothing compared to werewolf bites.”

You faltered. “You…You got bit by a werewolf? More than once?!”

He sounded like he was smiling. “The mask protected me. You know, I’m surprised you’re not put off by it.”

You relaxed your grip on the scarf. “Oh, I’ve seen anomalous objects before. Granted, I made most of them. Did you make yours?”

“No, I don’t have your abilities.” He sat down next you, bracing his back with one hand. “I recovered it on one of my missions. It’s an interesting story if you’d like to h-ah…”  He trailed off, wincing.

You sat bolt upright and dropped your project to reach for him. “What?! What’s wrong?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” He touched the side of his belly with a grimace. “It’s just…I think it might be kicking.”

“Oh,” You reached for him, fingertips brushing his arm. “Are you sure?”

He took your hand and pressed your palm against the spot. Your heart flip-flopped as you felt and saw his stomach move. Judging from the grunt of discomfort, it wasn’t much better on his end. You scowled, suddenly angry at the thing that was causing your new friend so much pain.  You rubbed the spot, trying to calm it down. Void exhaled shakily as it kicked again, shifting his weight to his haunches.

“That’s a good sign, I think.” He said, voice strained. “Fetal movement like this generally only happens in the third trimester.”

You nodded in agreement. “You’re doing well. Most people who dealt with this had panic attacks at this point!”

“’M not surprised.”

Void’s breathing had gone deep and a little unsteady. His hand remained over yours and you could feel him squeezing a little. The creature was more active now and you jumped as it prodded harder.

“It,” he cringed at the next kick. “It’s not painful, it just…It feels strange.”

You winced at the tremor in his voice. It took a valiant effort on your part to not whisper death threats to an unborn stork. You poked his stomach.

“Knock it off!” You said with as much authority as you could muster, earning a quickly muffled laugh from Void.

“That tickled. Are you trying to assert dominance or something?”

“Is it working?”

“I don’t think it cares.” Another kick. “Yup. It has a mind of its own.”

You glared at the bump. “Stupid birds.”

“Stupid birds indeed.”

You ran your thumb over the spot it was kicking and Void shuddered. You jerked away as if you’d touched a hot stove.

“I’m sorry!” you babbled. “I know I’ve been really touchy with you, and it’s not appropriate considering we just met-.”

“------,” Void speaking your name brought your rant to a halt. “You misunderstand. I like it when you touch me. I,” he sighed. “I don’t get a whole lot of physical contact. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until now.”

“Yeah, I can relate. I had a feeling your job was isolating, detective.”

“Simon.” Void murmured. You blinked in surprise.

“Sorry?”

“My name’s Simon.” Was...was he blushing through the mask? “I figure this puts us on a first name basis.”

You sat silent for a moment, absorbing the new information.

“Simon,” you said after you’d collected your thoughts. “Would it help if I held you?”

Simon wrung his hands, looking away as he fought an internal battle. Finally, his eyes met yours.

“Yes,” It was almost too quiet to hear. “Yes, it would.”

He scooted back on the bed, mindful of the bump. You crawled over the mattress to lay beside him. Simon settled into the pillow mountain with a sigh. Hesitantly, you reached across the gap between you two, careful to move slowly to make sure every touch was permitted. Simon edged closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder. Wrapping your arms around him, you eased yourself under him so the bump rested on your flank. You were hoping to shoulder some of the burden. Judging from how he relaxed under your touch, it’d worked. You noted that the creature had stopped kicking, which was encouraging. He nestled into the crook of your neck, hair tickling your chin.

 “How do people do this for 9 months? I’ve been at it two hours and I’m exhausted.”

“I’m guessing the nap didn’t help?”

“Being unconscious isn’t the same thing as having a nap. Trust me, I know the difference.”

You began to stroke Simon’s hair. “You’ve most likely got a little more time before labor starts if you need to rest.”

“Yeah,” he yawned. “That sounds like a plan. -----?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have wanted to do this on my own.” Simon slung an arm around you, pulling you in. Feeling brave, you decided to ask the question that had been on your mind.

“Does this make us friends?”

Void laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. Just don’t tell Kris we cuddled in a hotel room. She’d never let me live it down.”

“My lips are sealed,” You promised. With your free hand, you picked up the scarf and laid it around his shoulders. He glanced at it quizzically.

“What’s this?”

“All my friends get handmade stuff. It’s the rules.”

“Is that so?” Void stroked the soft wool, then brought it closer to his face to admire the stitches.  He rubbed it against his cheek, happiness radiating from under his mask. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

He sighed, letting the scarf go to put his head back on your shoulder. You could see he was struggling to stay awake now. He was leaning more heavily on you, arm heavy on your torso. You chuckled.

“Rest, Simon.” You petted his hair. “I’ll keep watch.”

Those were the words he’d been waiting for. He closed his eyes, surrendering to sleep. You smiled as he began to snore softly. It encouraged you to think he trusted you so completely. You could get used to this whole “having friends” thing. With Simon sleeping in your embrace, you felt like you could take on the world. You stretched your right arm out, barely managing to reach the bedside light to dim it. Ordinarily, you would have been tempted to leave it, but not now.

The dark was far less scary with a friend.

Epilogue

“-----?”

“Yes?”

“My water just broke.”

“…I’ll get the towels.”

[azxremoon]

alr alr drop the promell & gladiell lore !! who made the first move? who said the silly three letter word? WHO MAKES SURE THE OTHER IS OKAY?

i've been hoarding this for so long i'm so sorry hdfjshckc N E WAYSS

FIRST MOVE

There had always been something lingering between me and Prompto. Something on the tip of our tongues and promptly bitten back by our respective insecurities and interruptions. It was always written off as us simply being affectionate childhood friends who bounced off of one another, but the yearning to become something more intensified. But how could I, the fake that I am, call someone so great "mine"? They deserve better. It didn't help that Prom didn't want to go against the Bro Code silently established by dating his best friend's sister. Even if Noct assured him that he trusted him, his insecurities continued to stand in the way.

Our shoulders pressed comfortably together while we overlooked the world beyond Lestallum in a comfortable silence for...well, I lost track of time long ago. My mouth moved before I could process the weight the words carried, only for his words to hear in the open night sky. I couldn't imagine a life without Prompto and even if it was merely as friends, that would be enough. His face lit up with a smile and rosy cheeks that had me melting in his hands palms while the distance between us closed and everything felt so undeniably right. It wasn't until the next day that we looked at each other while we were getting ready, memories of the night before flashing in our minds.

A romantic relationship with the Lucian princess treads a complicated line that makes him wonder where Gladiolus Amicitia ends and the Chosen King's Shield begins. Everything about us is different from your normal friendship, from who we are down to our titles, that starting something so intimate isn't that easy. At the end of the day we were still friends and that was enough, that should have been enough. But each lingering touch reciprocated, the sweet nicknames, the inside jokes, the security his presence brought, it all felt like so much more and ignited hope. It was like a key to a door we both refused to acknowledge.

The confession is as abrupt as mine was to Prompto, only a bit more emotionally-charged. Zegnautus Keep is cold and oppressive and I have little recollection of winding up in an unfamiliar room hen we were just on the train. But Gladio isn't. He's warm and the epitome of safety as he holds me close like I'll disappear (again) if he lets go. Each word is so passionate and devoted that it clears any insecurity and doubt, only heightened by the way his mouth moves against mine. It's too chaotic to really establish what this means for us now, but the heart in my hands like the one in his may just be enough.

ARE YOU OKAY

As the team support, I usually check over everyone first and supply first aid as needed post-battle. I usually initiate it by asking how everyone is and if there is anything I can do to help, fretting over everyone and caring for even the smallest physical or emotional wound. Noct says I worry too much, but I don't think so. It comes to naturally to me. I have a habit of prioritizing others before myself, so Prom becomes a bit of a mother hen and makes sure I take some time to myself as needed. Gladio checks in with a keen eye and question of how I'm holding up, all with a tone that dares me to try and lie through my teeth as if he wouldn't catch it.

Emotionally, Gladio is a bit more gruff and will call out my shit if I try to brush my own pain away, especially if it's to focus on someone else instead. It hurts in the moment, but it's definitely helpful in the long-run and I know he just wants to see me as my best self. But he does lend an ear, or a fist if someone was the cause of my tears. Prompto, meanwhile, is a lot more gentle and less confrontational. He lends good advice and a has a very comfortable presence that keeps me grounded. He reassures me that he'll always be around to listen and assures me that none of my worries are silly, and that they're all valid.

[black-raine]

Swooning For Him | Skiico

Rico had forgotten when it all started, it had been too many cold spent nights to remember. Yet recently somewhere deep inside him had chosen to take quite the liking to his leader. It was a warm fluffy feeling, one he knew well enough to recognize the instant he felt that heart wrenching twist in desire, a greater admiration higher then all the respect combined he had for Skipper. 

It was eating him from the inside out, the explosion of sudden lust every time he simply glanced at his commander's handsome face. He didn't know how to handle it, what to do with it, or how to express it. And that, is why he was watching a classical romance movie at three AM. 

Rico watched in awe every time the man pulled a smooth move, obliviously taking down metal notes on every sly comment. But once the movie had brought them to a drive in theater the horror film began rolling, and Rico couldn't have been more glued to the TV as the women clung onto the man's arm, soon their attention more so in each others eyes. "Oo la la~" he cooed with a smirk as they shared a steamy kiss under the glow of the screen. 

He wanted that, desired the passion carried through their touches. Yet an abrupt sound made him look around the room, but upon finding nothing within the shadowy background of the HQ he turned back to the TV with a shrug. But that's when he least expected to hear... 

"Rico?" A deep and raspy voice spoke out, his words carrying around the room in whispers. 

Practically jumping out of his skin with a hushed yelp Rico turned around to face the slumped over figure. His eyes widened, his face casted darkly in the dim light from the TV, burning heat rising to his cheeks as he realized exactly who was stood before him. 

A flipper reached up to rub at his eyes gingerly as the other stretched out before scratching against his stubble in a soft groan. As his tired baby blues opened Rico could see the slight flush on the older penguins cheeks from where they hid just behind his curled wing tip. And Rico couldn't help but let his gaze fall down to those orange edges of Skipper's beak, swallowing hard.

"Thought you might be up." Skipper yawned, waddling towards him and sitting rather closely. 

Rico's heart pounded against his rib cage, practically trying to rip itself out as he sat still, unable to move a muscle comfortably. The movie continued on, yet somewhere near the end Rico had felt a sudden weight on his shoulder; upon looking down he found Skipper, once again sleeping with sounds of soft snores while leaning up against him. He was warm, warmer then he'd ever felt him and it oddly felt right, like Rico thought this was how it should have always been. 

After taking a few moments to steel himself, he slowly started stroking Skipper's back with a quivering wing, his rough feathers running across the others as naturally as a river over smooth stone, and the surface felt so new to him; almost too right, too good. The feeling was calming yet his heart was beating so rapidly it stung. It was so bitterly sweet. To feel how good it could be this close, and yet to remember how far away this reality truly was. 

The more he thought about it the more his shoulders slouched, causing a stir in the older penguin resting on him. No, no this wasn't right. It felt too pleasing to finally fulfill even a small amount of his craving for him, barely scraping the top layer and yet somehow it didn't make sense at all the more he pawed lower. Ah, lower...a place Rico could never get out of his head no matter how hard he tired. Maybe just a few seconds weaving his flippers through plush folded heaven wouldn't hurt, right? 

So close, he was so close until; "Ah~ mmm..." 

Twisting away awkwardly Rico's skin crawled with anxiety, so eager to coddle his commander yet too scared to even squeeze his small tipped tail. That was it, the final straw for tonight; he simply couldn't bring himself to lay a wing on him. So for now, the sleeping Skipper had won. But Rico promised himself it wouldn't stay that way as he gently scooped his leader off the cold floor and practically poured him onto his bunk. 

A pleased smile grew over Rico's beak watching Skipper doze so peacefully, but after a moment more of simply getting lost at the sight of his captain Skipper began to weakly punch at the inner wall of his bunk. Rico wanted to chuckle at the view he had, it wasn't often you saw Skipper having a dream, but by the looks of it, it must have been a hell of an exciting one.

His flipper brushed the softest part of the smaller males body, his beak hovering above his face, only inches away from his mouth...but his stomach churned at the thought, at the image. His chest ached, he didn't want this, it didn't feel right to think about doing this. Yet his mind told him otherwise, his heart was urging him to follow its whims...as was his body. "Ahhhh..." A soft groan slipped past his exhale as Rico closed the distance between them, pressing his nose against the soft feathers of Skipper's cheek.

The action made the penguin flinch and squirm, a quiet whimper leaving his throat, though he did relax slightly into it, nuzzling the soft fabric underneath him and allowing the sensation of Rico's breath to fill his ears and send a tingling shiver down his spine. "Mmn..." He hummed happily in response. Though it wasn't as meaningful as Skipper was fast asleep, his body simply reacting to the sensations on its own. 

Rico backed away, feeling the guilt settle within his chest; yet something akin to joy slipped through along with all his mixed emotions. It was that light as a feather feeling again, like he was walking amongst New York's whitest clouds on a slightly breezy summer afternoon. Skipper always seemed to have that certain effect on him, and as hard as he searched why that was, the more he fell in love with his commander and still didn't quite know exactly why. Everything made sense when Skipper lead him through battles, missions, anything dangerous like the true leader he was; yet when Rico touched and truly felt their skin make contact his head was a puzzling mess, even more so then it usually was.  

But then he remembered, the warmth, the sparks it ignited between his wing tips, quivering mouth and his flipping stomach as if Skipper had set fire to his insides. How he felt the rush of desire, the urge to just give in and kiss him. The temptation to press their bodies together in a hug like they were needed again and to hold him close for as long as the other would allow him. How he craved to be closer than he already was. Even now, with Skipper sleeping so peacefully and in the presence of someone he liked, all he could feel was the same overwhelming longing coursing through his veins just as the day he realized he had these desires for his captain. To run his flippers softly through his beautiful plumage, to brush his beak against his. All the realization waving over him gently tugged on his heartstrings, encouraging him to pull his eyes back open to stare lovingly at his leader. 

Those same feelings coursed through him now, but he also felt nervous, like a solider on their first real mission. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to act, he didn't know what to say. All he knew was that he wanted to do it...he wanted to kiss him.

And so he did.

Skipper's eyes shot open immediately at the unexpected pressure as Rico pressed their beak tips together in the gentlest of kisses. It startled the older male, and he instinctively tried to shove him away, but it was already too late as his hand came up to touch the one cupping his jaw. He froze, his breathing coming to a halt for the slightest second as he felt a pair of gentle flippers trail lightly over his cheek. After that the tension drained from his entire body, the pain in his heart faded and he could breathe easier. Though he still held his breath as he heard a low moan escape the larger penguin. 

Oh boy. 

That noise alone was enough to make his entire being tremble, his wings shake, and his legs quake beneath him. This was wrong, they shouldn't be here, they shouldn't be doing this. His body was begging to pull away, yet his tongue stayed locked with his captor's, tasting the faint fishy tang of cod and grouper while a hint of kippers snuck through, all mixed with the salty taste of a few fallen tears and the musky scent of his feathers. But most importantly, he felt so good. So unbelievably good against his face that Skipper hardly was believing himself for letting this happen. But it was Rico, someone he felt he could trust with his life, and oddly he felt as ease with the situation, in some ways expecting for it to have happened even sooner then this. 

And as Rico slowly backed away, he couldn't help but wonder if he was going crazy; when Skipper slowly released the squeeze of his eyes all Rico saw was passion. Raw hard passion. And that's when Skipper pulled his solider back in his personal space, crashing their beaks together as if starved and rolling Rico into bed with him. "Took you long enough," he chuckled softly between kisses. 

Tonight was going to be a very long night...

[1,670 Words.]

[akindofmagictoo]

manuscript search tag game

once again chosen with dice as I slowly make my way through my list! this comes from @zmwrites <3

my words are smooth, grim, scowl, warm

smooth (Hurricane draft 3) (Theo’s doing his best)

She looped her rope around a hook near the base of the mast, then stretched, flinging her arms wide. The back of her hand hit something and she spun around. “Sorry!”

It was Theo, looking better than yesterday but still half-asleep. “It’s alright. Good morning.” He gave a small smile. “I take it you’ve been up for hours already, and yet somehow you look more awake than I feel.” His hair was still rumpled, strands sticking up in several directions.

She shrugged, stifling a smile. “What can I say? I’m an early riser. Did you sleep alright?”

“It took me a while to get to sleep, but I did sleep well.” He rubbed his eyes, then attempted to smooth his messy hair. “I’m just not cut out for mornings. Also, my head hurts.”

grim (Hurricane draft 3) (this one was difficult to search for lol)

Something looked familiar. She squinted, willing the Firebird to carry her a little closer a little faster so she could be sure. Of course, the Marquess flew the Jolly Roger, but from her yardarm fluttered a length of yellow cloth. One Tempest recognised.

“Listen up!” she shouted. Every face turned to her. “The Hurricane isn’t there. So what? I know where to find her. First, though, we go see what the Marquess is doing there, and why she’s flying Aella’s sash. She’s probably there to throw us off, but I won’t risk it being a double-cross. Aye?”

There was a chorus of ‘aye’s in response, but they were dispirited and quiet.

“So we don’t lose hope just yet,” Tempest continued, just as firmly. “We haven’t found our ship or our girl yet, but it doesn’t mean we won’t.” She said it in an attempt to convince herself, too. They would find her. They had to. “We’re gonna chase down the Marquess and then we’re gonna go find the Hurricane. And aboard one of them, we’ll find Aella. We will. Aye?”

The response this time was louder, more hopeful. Tempest smiled grimly. I’ll always come for you.

scowl (Hurricane draft 3) (I can’t usually post this scene bc of spoilers ... but this bit is short enough)

Aella scowled, weighting the jug in her hand, then tossed it after the boots. It shattered into pieces. The twisting movement made her ribs ache.

warm (Hurricane draft 3) (theella cuddlin time)

“Well, if you squint a bit, yeah.” She traced a heart over it. “It’s not, like, obviously a heart shape like this, but it’s a bit like it.”

The touch sent another shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with her cold hands. Still, he reached up and took her hand in his. “Your hands are still cold.”

“Eh, that’s normal for me,” she said, but she wriggled her hand further into his grip. “Yours are warm.” She snuggled against his shoulder. “You’re warm.”

I shall tag @diphthongsfordays @lowslore @sleepyowlwrites and anyone else who wants to play! your words are rise, rain, real, ring

[christiewollven]

Spencer Isle With Vic

“Well, you couldn’t have chosen a better day for a walk. Gorgeous out.” “Yeah, it’s alright.” Vic fished through his waterproof bag for his wallet while the stocky, scruffy barista pulled the coffee machine’s lever making small talk. He was the only one in the coffee shop, stopping on the way to- “Going anywhere pretty today?” “Yeah, I’m meeting friends at Spencer Isle.” The barista bounced on his knees, smirking. “Spencer Isle, woah, I haven’t been there since probably one or two years ago.”

Vic fished the wallet out. He probably overprepared, but he wasn’t sure how much his group would get done today. He invited a few of his old roommates and their significant others to a big island park and beach to spend the day ‘hanging out with some food and nature,’ as his invitation read. While the group was meant to be between three, maybe four, friends, the invites from the initial guests grew into a dozen person event. It made sense, being a place with high party potential, and with it being an 88 degree, cloudless sunny day, but Vic wasn’t expecting or hoping the attendance would get so high. The preparations doubled the night before with a couple of frantic corner store trips to get enough snacks, drinks, and bottles of sunscreen needed for the new additions. It wasn’t a huge deal, but if it was up to Vic, the group would have kept just the two or three friends he intended. He was welcome to slowly welcome new acquaintances, not all at once. He left his house in a hurry to get to the island in time after some of the new people suggested an earlier time. 

He still had to walk 6 city blocks and cross the city’s river’s half-mile bridge to the park. Getting a coffee to rev up felt like a good idea at first, but the time it was taking started to feel regrettable. The friendly but distracted barista wasn’t helping, sitting back against the supply cupboards while the machine steamed out the drink. Vic tensed up to hold the weight of the stuffed, light blue backpack and the swinging tote bag in his hand. 

“What’re you planning on doing there?” “Honestly, just hanging out and seeing what the others feel like, I think. Just chill, you know?” “Gosh, I should take advantage when my shift’s done and get over there.” The drink was finished. He didn’t notice yet. “Are you walking there?” “Yep.”

“Very very nice.” The barista drifted off, leaning forward on the front counter. “I’d climb trees a lot there, I remember. I was, like 24, I think.” 

As a hopefully obvious indication, Vic rubbed his hands together and checked his watch, trying to look more like he was in a hurry. “Yeah, I’m psyched to get there. I just hope everyone has fun.”

“Oh, that’s a guarantee, I bet,” the barista said as he glanced back to the finished coffee. He palmed a lid onto it and slid it in a cardboard sleeve. He just needed to hand it over. Not before scribbling Vic’s name and a small wave on the cup. “Like the wave illustration on the backpack!” He pointed the marker behind himself in reference. 

“Oh, hah, sure. Thanks.”

“Alright, Macchiato Vic’  Just be sure you’re watching the road, right? I know the area near the bridges gets weird with cars.” 

“I’ll definitely watch out. Hope you get out there soon. Thanks.”

Vic reached for the cup. He had 20 minutes to get there.

“You too, thanks! Have fun!”

As he crossed streets and sipped the still scalding drink at corners, Vic took a few phone calls and answered some confused texts trying to direct everyone to a meeting spot on the island. A few passersby grazed his shoulders with ‘sorrys,’ and a girl on a longboard flying down the bridge made him hug a fence. ‘Watch the road,’ the barista said, but Vic was concerned much more about the pedestrians. 

The heat from the sun, carrying bags and brisk walking made the coffee less appealing, so Vic pitched it in a can before starting on the bridge. 

The McIntosh Bridge was a half-mile stone bridge that arched slightly over the river with navy old blue street lamps lining down the middle. Roads, sidewalks and bike paths led to Spencer Isle’s main gates. There was no $10 parking fee for Vic since he walked. He made carpooling optional when the invitations grew because he didn’t want to deal with owing money to people he knew too little about. As he reached the arc’s peak, some regret seeped in as he felt the bags’ weight and growing sweat, knowing he’d have to make a return trek. 

He looked over the railing to the river below. This river allowed swimmers and boats, though the heavy underwater plant life made it unappealing to anyone who didn’t want algae hugging their arms and legs. For a popular area, there weren’t many lifeguards or security assigned to watch anyone that went in, at least not in this area. The heavy wind made white caps in the water. The highest height from the bridge was about 20 feet, so he could make out some of the underwater plants underneath, even a glimpse of a large fish. The breeze, though strong, was welcome as it wiped Vic’s forehead and arms. He walked the decline to the park entrance, a big brass gate with the name up top, letting in what was now a long line of cars inching and honking across the bridge under the hot sun. 

It took a few efforts up and down hills and through pink, purple gardens until Vic found his group, playing volleyball in a field. Vic wasn’t expecting to get physical so soon after lugging across town, but he followed suit and played on the back row, staying out of the way as best he could. Following the game, the group walked the grounds to the beach. He introduced himself and talked politely to the newcomers, trying to retain their names and offering sunscreen and low sodium almonds. He asked everyone about their jobs, homes, how they knew the original invitees. Their company, in Vic’s opinion, was alright, though he would have still preferred the smaller company. “How long have you known Tanya and Lloyd, Vic,” asked one of the new women tagging along. “Since college started, so around ten years.” “Did you guys share any classes or anything?” “Yeah, we had one gen ed class and just kept hanging out since.”

“Do you remember which class?” “Nah.”

The woman shouted to the group’s front where Tanya, a smaller woman wearing a sunhat, walked alongside Lloyd, a taller, long-limbed man pulling a wagon carrying a cooler. “Tanya! What class in college did you meet Vic?”

Tanya broke her stride for Vic and the newcomer to catch up, removing the hat, running a hand through her hair. 

“It was… Oh! It was a biology class. I remember I tried to give Vic a model skull for an assignment, but he wouldn’t take it because he thought it was a prank.” The newcomer laughed. Vic half laughed. “It’s that- I didn’t know we were doing it, so I thought this random person was trying to, like, bite my finger with it or-” He registered the listener’s perplexed stare. “I dunno, we got to talking then I met Lloyd, and now we’re playing volleyball and swimming in rivers.” All three chuckled as they reached the crowded, loud stretch of beach. 

Despite a few of Tanya and company’s reassurances, Vic was uneasy leaving his bags while they swam (the wind died down by this point). He went as far as to take his sandals off and hide them under his backpack. It wasn’t until after 10 minutes of wading and swimming in the light waves with the others that one of the newcomers tapped his shoulder. He held up Vic’s waterproof bag. It had floated out of Vic’s trunks and had almost drifted off. He trudged out and sat by the bags, combing through all of them to be sure everything remained. Nothing was taken. Vic wiped the sand off and sat back. 

He looked over the river swimmers and walkers under what was now a clear blue sky. He saw Lloyd bob in the water and give Vic a wave inward. He gave a small hand raise in decline with a polite grin. 

Over his shoulder, he saw a few hikers march past the entrance (their exit) of an island-length trail, panting but cheerful. Farther away were some parked bikes on a silver rack. Vic spied someone walking past them. From where Vic sat, he couldn’t make a lot of details out, save for a dark tee shirt and pants. Every few seconds, the person checked around before bending down to look closer at them. There wasn’t anything wrong with checking bikes out, Vic thought, but the conspicuous mannerisms of this person sustained his stare until the hikers passed by. The person straightened up and walked off before the group reached him. The man looked over his shoulder in Vic’s direction. Vic swung forward. He’d thought they made eye contact, but that felt unlikely. 

After swimming, the group set to making lunch in a clearing with public barbeques. Hot dogs, a few salads, some burgers, fruit and chips, all from Vic’s backpack. One of the new faces, a young, loud speaking guy named Arsenio, cooked everything thoroughly and made use of the ingredients Vic brought per request. The taste of the burgers made Vic’s long grocery trip worthwhile. Vic was unsure what to ask the other new people past the basics, but got talkative after the woman from earlier, Celeste, asked Vic about movies, a heavy hobby of Vic’s. He had to stop himself a couple of times from talking too much about movie theaters or specific filmmakers, but he appreciated how it opened up new conversations. 

After lunch, the group walked through a butterfly conservatory under a glass dome ceiling. A few dozen multicolored butterflies landed on everyone, most of all on Vic’s head, back and bags (Arsenio guessed it was because of the sugar from the fruit, maybe). It inspired Vic to speed walk most of the way before reaching a room full of parrots. 

The day ended with a game of frisbee golf on the park’s small, three “hole” course. As they threw on the third, Celeste tapped Vic’s arm. “Hey, Vic?” Vic jumped. Celeste laughed and apologized. “What’re you up to after we leave here?” “I don’t know, why?” “I think we’re all going to try going to Arsenio’s later to hang out more.” 

Vic raised his eyebrows and nodded, looking off, faux considering. Then he furrowed and clicked his tongue, looking conflicted. “You know what, I gotta get up early to help my brother across town tomorrow, early. He’s busy, I guess, later, so it has to be the morning because he’s trying to get to-” Celeste smiled, trying to get in. “I get you, no worries. Well, we need to try more soon, yeah?” “Yeah, this was fun. Definitely.” Vic focused on the parrots. The evening came with a deep blue bathing the island. Offered a ride back, Vic neglected, preferring to walk home. Heeding warnings, he was alright having done it before. He hugged Lloyd and Tanya, shook hands with the new acquaintances and walked back to the front gate as they drove off. 

The pink in some of the clouds started fading once Vic started walking the bridge. The street lamps blinked on with soft halos stringing to the mainland. Vic assumed he’d have the company of departing cars as he made his way home, but after a few minutes, the bridge emptied. It was less windy than the morning with a warm humidity dampening Vic. His backs patted him every step, and the sores from the sandals ached. He’d switch for something more comfortable next time and keep the supplies lower. Still, the amount they did that day made the end-of-day discomfort bearable. Vic was close to halfway across. He looked across the river to see it was getting smooth and glassy, reflecting the mirage reflections of the skyline. A small breeze came that felt like a breath. He looked over his shoulder at the shrinking island. He spied something else straight ahead.

From Vic’s position, the other person on the bridge was unidentifiable, getting a little color of black and light orange passing under the lamps. Vic turned forward again. He was only halfway over the bridge. Based on earlier, he still had twenty minutes to go at his pace. He glanced behind again. This person’s stride was more robust. In Vic’s sight, he was a few centimeters taller from his first look. Even from where he was, he could see this person was focused on him, walking and looking right at Vic. The stranger lifted a hand above their eyes. They were a couple hundred feet from Vic. 

Vic tried his best to keep forward. The lamps seemed to pass him by slower no matter how much he raised his pace. The scrapes on his achilles heels felt like burns. He began sweating, inhaling sharply, trying to move through the aches in his legs. 

He started feeling a new kind of block in his lungs that came from certain stresses. There was little chance the person behind him was that guy from the bike rack. That guy was just looking at the bikes, he was just curious about them. Vic didn’t like thinking like this. He was sure he himself did plenty of unusual things in public, but he knew other people probably didn’t think too much about it if they saw him pace in a store or do a small dance while waiting for a traffic light to change. It wasn’t fair, he thought,  to assume something was wrong if someone else did something unusual. 

He was now halfway across the bridge. The dark blue sky disappeared into black-gray clouds and light pollution from the skyline. His stomach upset. His stride became a jog that lasted a heat-pounding 30 seconds before the insides of his legs squeezed, begging him to slow down. The temptation to look back again grew. Vic’s hand shook for support and clasped the side railing. He grabbed it every few feet and felt a light burn in his lungs. It had been a long day. He got through a lot. Not a single part of Vic wanted his day to go down the toilet just because another person trying to get home was giving him bad vibes.

He stopped a moment and pretended to swat at something behind him, like he felt something hit his back legs. He brushed his shorts and looked behind him. The person, likely a man to Vic, was speed walking. Vic looked forward and did the same. Then came the shout. 

It sounded like a long, drawn out “hey.” Not like one to get attention or one in greeting. This, in Vic’s blood rushed mind, sounded like an aggressive cry. He broke into a jog again. A helplessness kicked in like he was a bug crawling for life after seeing a giant hovering shoe. The man from earlier noticed a witness and was determined to “talk sense into him” before authorities got involved. It was absurd thinking, but to Vic, right now, it was possible. 

He saw a few street lights cast brighter reflections on the water near the shore. Doing hurried math, Vic figured he had 10 seconds to decide something before he was caught: Could he jump in the water? His legs were useless now- on land- but he had enough upper stamina to swim under the bridge for a minute before making another move. This was crazy, but there were only a few seconds left. Vic thought he wouldn’t get in trouble if he told any authorities he was defending his life. He saw no boats. He stopped, inhaled and ran to the rail, grabbing it with one hand, heaving himself upward and throwing his legs over. Not his upper half though. Vic felt his backside slide backward on the rail. His hand lost grip as the rest of him crashed back onto the sidewalk.

“Ohhh, damn! Oooh, man. Hey, are you alright, boss?” Vic clenched up, half in pain, half in defense. Here it comes. 

“Aw, man. Hey, if you’re alright, say something. Otherwise, I’m calling an ambulance.”

Vic eased. He looked up over his hunched shoulder to the other guy. This wasn’t who he thought. You wouldn’t call paramedics for someone you were about to mess up. Adrenaline gave way to a hurried embarrassment. Vic held up a hand and waved it. “Nope, I’m- I’m alright, sorry! Thank you though. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” The other man slid his phone back into a pocket and crouched down, holding a hand in front of Vic. “Come on.” Vic took hold and was hoisted back onto his aching legs. 

“You good?” “Yeah.” “Alright, you sure? I was thinking, like ‘what’s he doing?’ That was like an Olympics move, but that’s dangerous. I’m really sorry for scaring you, man. I was walking behind and saw your bag. I remembered seeing it this morning.”

Vic’s heart fell through his body, through the bridge and plopped into the river. He looked up and saw the scruffy barista. 

“That’s right. The coffee place?” “Yes!” He put a hand on his chest. “Tom. You’re Mister…” “Macchiato Vic.”

[iamtheprotagoneil]

ok so im here crying over your tag essay and to crank up the angst even more, imagine neil jokingly saying to david when he was reading to him, "if i had known it takes a bullet for you to come by and sit with me like this, i would've happily gotten shot sooner 😊" and david just goes absolutely white with shock and crumbles down in fresh tears. (1)

and neil would be like, oh god no no, i'm sorry i'm just joking my stupid mouth runs away from me again 😭 david just sits there realizing how much he had hurt neil and broken his heart in the first place, and neil is panicking inside trying to comfort him and tell him it's okay, it's okay, i'm just glad you're here with me now ♥️ (2) - alicia

damn, alicia. y’all really be going off with all this angst huh 😭😭😭