#i like how every other word in my reply has the red line under it cuz my phone is like 'hey this isnt a fucking word' lmao

[maddsmallow]

hi mady. i hope you feel the same way about spencereid criminalminds as i do about hankcon dbh. blorbo in law . xoxo dove

oh abso-fuckin-lutely, connor detroitbecomehuman and spencerreid criminalminds are like. blorbo cousins. we are shaking hands 🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝❤️

#i like how every other word in my reply has the red line under it cuz my phone is like 'hey this isnt a fucking word' lmao #also i think you meant connor (character) and not hankcon (ship)? unless you did. in which i am sorry for assuming #we are still shaking handa bc fucking Yeah 🤝🤝🤝 #the blogger says words

[floralpascal]

Surprise

Summary: Lingerie drives John absolutely mad and you’ve been waiting to surprise him with the new set you bought…

Pairing: John Price x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: lingerie, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), riding that man the way he deserves to be ridden

A/N: Lingerie lover Price has been in my head for literal months and I’m so happy this is finally finished!

You didn’t know how long you’ve been laying here waiting for an opportunity. You knew it would come, it had to. The only question was, when?

You had seen your chance around thirty minutes ago. John had shed his black, oversized zip-up hoodie, leaving him in nothing but his matching sweatpants. As much as you loved drinking in his shirtless form in the pale midmorning light, you knew that you had to take the chance he unwittingly opened up by leaving his jacket unattended on the back of a kitchen chair. Distracted by some paperwork, John hadn’t noticed when you discreetly pulled the soft hoodie from the chair beside him. 

Laying on your bed, the fluffy, oversized hoodie was now the only thing keeping you warm. You had traded your own warm clothes for the new set of lingerie you had bought months ago. The crimson lace set had sat in the bottom of your drawer ever since, awaiting the perfect time to reveal it to John. The zipper of the hoodie was drawn down just below your bra line, enough to tease what hid below and pontificate the fact that you were bare in every other way. While you were sure that showing off this much skin would more than capture the man’s attention, it was cold while you waited, the morning air frigid as it slipped through the opening of your stolen hoodie.

The hoodie smelled like him. Mahogany and ash, thick and heedy. You let it envelop you, basking in the smell of home. It was the same smell found on his side of the bed, the one that you would always savor when he was gone. 

“Love?” John called from down the hall. “Love, where are you?” 

You tried to tamp down your butterflies as you simply responded, “Bedroom!”

You heard the thuds of his footsteps as he made his way down the hallway, skin against hardwood. You readjusted on the bed so that he would have the perfect view from the doorway, your bare legs extended out in front of you and his hoodie positioned so that the crimson peeked out at the top and the bottom. 

He called out from the hallway, “Have you seen my blue thumb drive? I’ve been lookin’ everywhere and I can’t find the bloody thi-”

John froze the moment he rounded the corner, his eyes landing on you with his mouth ajar and his arm frozen mid neck scratch. His attention slid from your face down your body, locking onto the burning red bra and underwear half-hidden by his own piece of clothing. He was frozen as he took you in, eyes wide. 

It took every ounce of willpower you had to maintain a facade of innocence. Blinking up at him through your lashes as if nothing was amiss, you replied, “I think the thumb drive is on the coffee table.”

John’s eyes snapped up to yours, pupils already blown wide. In a mere second, he switched from the soft, domestic man that had made you breakfast that morning to a man starved. This was the John that wrecked you for hours on end, the John that you had so hoped to draw out with your little stunt. You burned under the intensity of his gaze, giddy adrenaline shooting through you. 

Got him. 

John slowly strode to the bed, his eyes never leaving your form. Wordlessly, he crawled onto the bed so that you had to lay down for him to climb over top of you. Every muscle in his upper body was pulled taut as he settled over you, one knee on either side of your thighs. He planted one hand on the mattress beside your head and hovered the other over your midsection, clearly holding himself back from touching you while he eyed the present displayed beneath him. 

“I thought you needed that thumb drive?” You teased, your voice low and laced with excitement. It was impossible to hide it now, not with the way he was looking down at you like he wanted to absolutely devour you. 

“I don’t give a damn about that thumb drive right now, baby, ‘n you know it,” he nearly whispered, the low timber of his voice sending another shot of adrenaline through your veins. He trailed his hand down your exposed chest, your skin pebbling in his wake. Slipping his hand down to the black hoodie that hugged your frame, he moved a bit of it out of the way so he could get a better view of your front. “I was wonderin’ where this went.”

You gave him a mischievously innocent smile again, tugging at the soft fabric and pretending like you were about to take it off. “Well, if you need it back I’ll just-”

“No,” he rushed, sincerity in both his tone and his eyes even though he knew for a fact you were only baiting him. He was stern as he ordered, “Keep it on.”

“Yes, sir.”

John’s eyes flicked up to yours, burning brighter than a thousand suns. You weren’t cold now. No, now you felt like you were on fire, ablaze under the intensity of his gaze. You knew exactly how to play him, exactly which buttons to push to get that look in his eyes that you now saw. 

“You’re a damn minx, love,” he groaned. Focusing his attention on your midsection once again, he slowly tugged the zipper down, gradually baring more and more of your skin to him. Once it was undone, he moved the soft fabric to your sides, leaving nothing blocking his view of your form. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured reverentially, his eyes wide as he took you in. He ran his hand down your torso, reveling in the way you keened under his touch. Despite the growing heat, the glide of his calloused fingers against your soft skin gave you chills. His hands traveled everywhere, lightly grasping at every inch of your torso and thighs as he drank in every bit of you. His eyes were clouded with love and lust as he lowered himself down and pressed his lips to the exposed valley between your breasts. 

“John…” you pleaded softly.

John moved down to your stomach, his lips pressing a slow, sensual trail down, down, down. One hand kneaded your side while the other opened your thighs wider for him. Soon enough, he was nestled between your thighs, his broad shoulders making you open wide for him. His hungry eyes flicked from the strip of barely-there crimson lace that covered your core to your eager face. One side of his mustache quirked up in a teasing smile. 

“How long ‘ave you been waiting in here, baby?” He asked before hooking his pointer finger in your underwear to swipe through your folds. A full, satisfied smile bloomed on his face when he found you already dripping, enough that the inside of the underwear was already soaked. “Tha’ answers my question: a while.”

You bucked your hips against his hand as you rasped, “Please, John.”

“You’ve been so patient,” he cooed, continuing to run his finger up and down your slit. “You deserve it, all wrapped up for me like the most gorgeous present I’ve ever seen.”

“Just for you.”

He groaned at that, eyes raking over you spread out before him. “I’m the luckiest fuckin’ man.”

Without any further preamble, he slid a finger into you. It was slow at first, an unhurried slide in and a gradual slide out. Being soaking wet, it already wasn’t enough, only enough to tease you of more to come. 

He looked up at you as he continued to pump in and out, seemingly trying to burn this image of you in his mind. When you whined, looking for more, simply added a second finger into your heat, mumbling, “Tha’s it, love.”

You grabbed the sheets beside your head with one hand, slowly arching your back so that John got a good look at your barely-covered chest. A groan ripped through him at the sight, his love for how your form looked in the tantalizing lingerie something you knew exactly how to fuel.

“So fuckin’ sexy,” he groaned, his voice even lower and more gravelly than normal. The combination of his lust-filled voice and his praise made you clench down on the two fingers moving slowly deep inside you. 

Then, John pulled the thin lace panties even farther to the side, dipping his head down towards your core. No matter how many times you felt his tongue on you, you could never fully prepare to feel it again. He started where his fingers were sliding into you, the heat of his tongue sliding up, up, up until it found your clit. He circled the bundle of nerves slowly at first, his expert movements pulling a whine from you. 

His beard scratched against your skin, surely to leave a beard burn for later like it had so many times before. But you couldn’t care. Right now, the feeling only added to the overwhelming pleasure that was building in your stomach.

Mouth moving in tandem with his fingers, he began to steadily increase his speed. Now, John did nothing short of devour you, the pace he set almost overwhelming. He worshiped you, his mouth showing you more than it could ever tell. 

Your hand flew down to grasp at his soft brown hair, barely able to find enough to hold onto. 

“John! Fuck, don’t stop, baby. Don’t–” you babbled, your sentence devolving into a moan. 

John’s throaty groan sent shockwaves through you as he ground his hips against the bed, searching for his own relief. On any normal day, it would take a lot longer before he was this desperate, his self-control usually as strong as steel… until you eventually broke it. By the time he finally cracked – his need for you finally overtaking his self-control – he had already slowly and meticulously taken you apart and put you back together more times than you could count. But lingerie, you had found, shattered that self-control like it was glass almost immediately. Once his eyes landed on you, he was gone. There was no teasing, no edging, no slow buildup when he was like this. He needed you. 

The coil that had been tightening in your stomach finally snapped, pleasure flooding your senses. You arched against John’s face, your thighs trapping him between them. Unbothered, he simply continued to wreck you, working you through the high as your muscles jumped at each swipe of his tongue.

“Fuck!” you heaved. You lightly tugged on his light brown strands of hair as you released him from your thighs. Taking the hint, he pulled his fingers from you before trailing kisses up your body. When his lips finally met yours, he quickly slipped his tongue past your lips. 

Trailing a hand over the front of his soft sweatpants, you found him hard and straining against the material. John groaned against your lips at the pressure before pushing up to shed his pants and boxers, tossing the garments carelessly to the floor. His cock was red and already weeping as he fisted himself a few times, his eyes raking over you hungrily.

“Wish you could see how fuckin’ beautiful you look, love,” he lamented as he leaned down to you again. “Had me about to come in my boxers like I’m a bloody teenager again.”

You hummed, letting him settle his hips between your thighs once again. “Then we wouldn’t get to my favorite part,” you quipped. “Maybe I should tone it down a little then.”

John guided his cock through your folds before he finally began to push in, inch by glorious inch, the stretch pulling a moan from you. He whispered, “You’ll get it. You’ll take every bit of me just like you wanted.”

Clawing your fingers into the soft flesh of his back, you tried to relax as you acclimated to his size. The few testing thrusts he made added fuel to the fire already ablaze in the pit of your stomach. There he was, deep inside you and yet all you wanted — all you needed — was more. You needed more of him, needed everything he could give you. 

You leaned up and kissed his collarbone, silently letting him know that you were ready. Then, John fulfilled your every wish, almost as if he had been reading your mind. 

He pressed up so that he hovered above you, eyes glassy with lust as he took you in beneath him before he drew himself out of you and promptly snapped his hips to yours once again. He took in every one of your movements — the way you rocked with the force of his thrust, the way you pushed against the bed as you moaned his name — almost as if he was searing the sight into his brain. It would be a warm memory for him to take with him when he would inevitably be called away to some place on the other side of the world, a memory to keep him warm on some cold, lonely night. Hell, it would be for you, too.

He built up to a bruising pace, one that stole the air from your lungs. All you could do was let yourself be swept away in the tidal waves of ecstasy.

John. John. John. That’s all there was. 

A rough, calloused hand slid up your stomach to knead at the plush of your covered breast. Through the thin lace, his fingers played with your nipple, his touch electric.

“Tha’s it, baby. Tha’s it…”

“Fuck!” You moaned. 

If you had any sense left, you would’ve wondered how John could have the inhuman stamina that he fucked you with now. No normal man could ever hold the pace that he slammed his hips into yours over and over again. White hot pleasure burned in your veins, your moans flowing free as he wrecked you. 

You danced at the edge of your orgasm for what felt like forever, every one of John’s grunts in your ear bringing you closer and closer to the finish line. Finally, with a particularly rough slam of his hips into yours, you tumbled over that precipice, free-falling in pure ecstasy. 

John fucked you through it, allthewhile mumbling breathy words of encouragement. “Ju’s like tha’.  Come for me, beautiful.”

As you came down, you found John chasing his own high. Despite your current state, you couldn’t help but want to show off one last time to help bring him the same pleasure you had just found.

“John… John, wanna ride you.”

Stark blue eyes snapped open to find yours, lust completely consuming his every feature. There was nothing he loved more than the sight of you riding him on a normal day, let alone one where you were dressed in the thing that drove him wild. For the second time that day, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. 

Soon, he was seated on the bed and you were throwing your leg over his hip before sinking back down onto him again. Finally free to roam, his strong, steady hands kneaded at your thighs, your ass, your hips as he took in the sight of you above him like a man starved. 

As you began to move your hips, John’s grip on you tightened. With his head in a particularly ideal spot, hot lips lavished your collarbone, teeth nipping as he made his way down the valley of your breasts. 

You sped up the movement of your hips, his hips beginning to move in time with yours. Suddenly, he pulled the both of you down so that he was laying back on the bed with you over top of him, the sides of your hoodie falling over his chest. From this position, he was able to plant his feet to fuck up into you as you rode him. 

As you both continued to build back up to a punishing pace, John threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut as he groaned out a strained, “Fuck! F-fuckin’ - ah - ‘ell!”

John wasn’t a quiet man in bed by any means, but he didn’t usually yell out like this unless he was completely lost in you. It was a telltale sign that he was almost there. 

“Come for me, John,” you moaned. “Give it to me, baby. Fill me up.”

With a deep groan, John roughly grabbed your hips and fucked into you as deep as he could. Hot cum coated your walls as he slowly fucked it into you. The strong muscle of his stomach jumped under you as he emptied everything he had, his breath ragged. 

His eyes were squeezed shut beneath you, closed from the force of his orgasm. Slowly, you leaned down and kissed him lightly. His eyes fluttered open only long enough to find you, curl his hand over the back of your head, and pull you down for a proper, heated kiss. 

I love you, it said. Unmistakably: I love you. 

“I think you got a little sidetracked from your work,” you laughed. 

John chuckled, sarcastically rolling his eyes. “I think you’ve cleared my schedule for the day, you bloody gorgeous minx.”

“Is that so? You must really like the red lace.”

Slowly, he guided his hoodie down your arms and tossed it to the side. 

“I do…” John whispered in your ear. 

His fingers ghosted up your back before unhooking your bra and tossing it carelessly to the floor just as he had done with the hoodie, leaving your chest bare. 

“But I like you more.”

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 headcanons #barry sloane #captain john price x reader #cod #call of duty #my writing

[the-doomed-witch]

BOOP!

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The cuteness aggression gets insufferable once you get some time with your wife after a long day of work.

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, bc wanda is just so cute also not proof read

Author’s Note: another one i wrote in like 30 minutes… welcome to skye-should-be-studying-but-they-keep-writing-short-fics episode two 🙏 (gif is mine)

MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // READ ON AO3 // REQUESTS CLOSED

— ✦ —

Both of you sit on the couch, snuggling together after a long hard day at work. You nuzzle up against her neck, finally having felt her tangible presence around you after weeks. Work has been so tiring for you as well as Wanda, that both of you had begun to live together vicariously through memories. Hell, all of her features look so interestingly novel to you.

But when you look at her closely right now, after so long, she never fails to pass as the most adorable person you know. Her eyes still focus on the sitcom playing on the television. Oh Wanda’s mesmerising green eyes…

Her nose scrunches up as she smiles. The curve of her smile, the laugh lines. She’s the most lovable being to you.

You cannot control the feeling, you want to just keep on looking at her. So you immediately straddle her waist and grab her face in your palms. “Baby, what are you doing?” She speaks between little laughs. Oh my God. Stop being so cute.

You kiss her lips, hands finding their way around her neck. Wanda giggles between more kisses, her laughter is churning your insides. You adjust your seat around her waist, but she gets it wrong. “Y/N, detka, I’m sorry I don’t…”

“Oh no, no, I didn’t mean that. I know you’re tired, so am I.”

“Then?”

You stare into her eyes, viridescence engulfing them. A smile is given to her, which she reciprocates. “Goodness, Wanda. You’re the most adorable person ever.” She laughs gratefully at your compliment.

“Am I now honey? You think I’m adorable, hm?”

“I can’t comprehend how to describe it. I’ve felt your warmth around me after so… so long. I think I fall in love with you every single time I look at you. You’re just so-”

You boop her nose with yours. “What’s going on baby? What’s all of the sudden-” She gets interrupted by another boop.

You boop her nose with a finger again, and it makes you chuckle. Wanda looks at you with a blank red face, the blood rushes into her cheeks. She’s never been treated like this before, so tender, so light.

“I. Want. To. Bite. Your. Red. Cheeks.” you say, punctuating each word with further booping. Her face burns - she feels noticed under your gaze, as if she’d been invisible all her life.

“Y/N, I’m so confused…”

“I don’t know either Wands. I just want to bite your cheeks, squish them, boop your nose, give you so many kisses. I don’t know!” You pull her face close to yours and place little pecks on her freckles, “Can I call you pookie?”

Wanda throws her head back, laughing. “Oh dear, I love how you’re being so affectionate around me. I missed you. I missed us.”

You reply to her, “I missed you more, pookie.”

Her forehead rests over yours, as she cups your face between her warm hands. “I love it when you call me that.”

“Okay. Pookie.” You kiss her again, and again, and over again. Your teeth grit against each other in a tight smile, your visual focus on her. Her auburn hair is tied up in a lazy bun, and she’s free from her regular makeup. Just natural, sitting beneath you.

You pull strands of hair away from her face, a gaze filled with nothing but adoration. When you’re done playing with her hair, you hold her hands and kiss each of them softly. Throughout your little efforts, Wanda stares at you, occasionally giggling.

“I cannot eat you. That’s sad for me. But…” you smooch the tip of her nose, “I can kiss you all over. Lots of kisses, all of them for you.”

She wraps her hands around your waist, “Oh dorogaya… What’s going on today?”

“I love you so much.” you speak before planting more loud hearty smacks on her face. She’s adorably captivating. Wanda tries to hold you in place, saying, “Stop, Y/N! It tickles!” But it only ever encourages you.

“Darling, please…” Her hands entwine with your hair, pulling your face a little away. Reluctantly, you pull yourself back to see her precious smile.

“You’re my pumpkin pie, sweetheart, my dearest darling, absolute ray of sunshine, honeybun, sugar plum, my most beloved, littlest pookie!”

“Oh my, my, thank you for showering me with so much love. I love you very much.”

“You look like a strawberry with your red cheeks. I love you berry much!”

“Stop- I can’t help smiling!”

“I’ve been gifted with the best wife ever. Like, ever. My heart is just exclamation marks when you’re around.”

You kiss each of her cheeks and hug her tightly, snuggling in her arms. She kisses your forehead, wrapping the two of you in a heavy blanket. Patting your head, she says, “Good night, Y/N.”

Lightly, you kiss her shoulder and rest your head on her again. “Night, pookie.”

“You’re not letting that name go, are you?”

“Mhm.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fluff #mcu wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x you #elizabeth olsen x reader

[wonijinjin]

sign of the times

author’s note: this is a more serious themed request. as someone who definitely doesn’t have the most desirable body and is struggling right now this request was a very sweet one, it was my pleasure to write it.

synopsis: when you feel insecure seungkwan is there to show you how much he loves all of you.

word count: 1.0k | genre: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort | pairing: seungkwan x gn! reader | warnings: heavy topics mentioned, body image issues, insecure reader, mental health mentions

you never considered yourself to be the most stunning of them all, the star of the room, the shining diamond. you knew everyone had their flaws, of course they had, however the human heart doesn’t always know everything your brain wants it to believe. self love is a very fragile thing, and can be broken just as easily by a feather as if it weighed tonnes like a block of bricks.

when seungkwan entered your bathroom the first thing he noticed was the way you quickly looked away from your form in the mirror, a sense something he never expected to see shine in your eyes…disgust? you pulled your shirt down subtly, and brushed your hands delicately under your eyes in a quick motion before turning to him. the smile he loved dearly was present on your face, but he knew better; it was the shadow of its own twin, the real one. you got very familiar with shadows recently, the cracks of sunlight disappearing slowly but surely, undetected to the naked eye. you were going through a rough time in your life, the stress taking a toll on you. just by this one moment of being caught red handed he saw through it all; you didn’t know how he saw the single teardrop proving being in pain dropping from the corner of your eye, sitting below your pretty lashes stubbornly. how his eyes drifted to the wavering of your hand above the soft material of the clothes covering your precious being, the other grabbing it angrily, holding onto the fabric for dear life as it was your saving grace from an unknown threat. he slowly raised his gaze, boring into the orbs of your own, searching for an answer he had not received thus far.

“hi.” you whispered in a gentle tone, the love for him never leaving from your irises which always smiled at his every day and every night. “hi.” he replied back; one step forward, two steps forward. “my love.” he kissed your cheeks; one cheek, the other cheek. his breath was warm and tender, felt like home. the sigh escaping his lips made you realise: he was your home. and being home provides endless comfort when needed. “i can’t find love towards myself anymore, seungkwan.” you smiled again, this time sadness seeping through the line between your lips. he smiled back at you, mirroring your face. “i know.”

he was silent throughout the moments when the tears fell, when the hands once dangling on your sides searched for support by connecting around his waist, head taking a rest on his being; trying to find solance in home. “you are okay. we have been here before.” it was like breathing to him; loving you, taking care of you, making sure you were protected, well. it was light for him like a feather, the weight of your burdens, your concerns. “just to stop you from crying, i would take it all. take it all if i could.” his heart burned and twisted with sorrow, his everything was in pain. you felt his big hands give you a squeeze. “i am here, i am listening sweetheart.” so you talked. and talked. and talked. “i am becoming the shadow of my true self. stretch marks, eye bags, cellulite, sadness.” his most hated confession to hear, to get information about. how lowly you thought of yourself sometimes made him itch to solve the issue, to love you so much more he already has, to want to show you more how much he treasures you.

“i have a question for you, my love. do indentical snowflakes exist?” you looked at him confused. “of course not, every one is different, it is common knowledge. but why would you ask me this all of a sudden?” his grin made you laugh, even though you didn’t know the reason behind it, just seeing him made you happier. “exactly because you said what i wanted to tell you yourself. that being unique and different applies to every human being. and snowflakes change after being formed, just like humans do after being born. sometimes one bit melts off, then another one finds it and they get attached in a new shape, molding the flake throughout its whole journey to the ground. they are never perfect, always changing. you and me, we too always change, sometimes we are at the top, nearly what we perceive as perfect, then fall apart a bit, just to be rebuilt again. what you’re going through, mentally or physically doesn’t mean you are not yourself. and certainly doesn’t give a reason for you to feel insecure in front of me, ever. i love you for you, and i swore i would love you always. so please, don’t hide your uncertainties and pain anymore?” he shyly pleaded, tears visible in his eyes. he himself didn’t expect to get this emotional, but seeing, feeling the fear, the sadness you locked in your heart made him angry. angry at your surroundings for making you stressed, for making you overwork yourself to the point where you didn’t even recognise yourself anymore. angry at the world for making you feel like you had to be…ashamed? why would you be? just because your body changed? what does that have to do with one’s heart and true soul? he didn’t know. your sobs never stopped; they were like a desperate cry out for him, and he wished he could heal you faster than time, however he knew this was gonna be a long journey.

he kissed the top of your head, swaying from side to side by the bathroom sink, letting you grab him tightly, taking the place of the fabric of your shirt. “you don’t have to say anything right now. let’s stay like this for a little while.” he felt you nod against him, quietly hiccuping while trying to process his words, trying to find the truth in them; trying to accept them, accept yourself again.

the next time he spoke he didn’t know how or when would his words come true, but he knew he was right. “we’ll be alright my love. you will be alright.”

#wonijinjin #caratsland #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen #svt drabbles #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x y/n #seventeen seungkwan #svt boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan x you #seventeen boo seungkwan #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan

[callsigndragon]

A little bit of courage | Bradley Bradshaw

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: all the fluffs

if you want to be tagged on everything tgm or on everthing rooster related, let me know down below in the comments! (with some love, very much appreciated! ❤️)

“Can you say that again? I want to check that I didn’t hear you wrong,” you say, feeling a ton of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. And not the good ones.

Rooster chuckles, taking one hand from the wheel to grab yours. “I said,” he kisses your knuckles and keeps looking ahead, “that I want you to meet my family.” 

“Oh, yeah. I heard you right.” 

“Are you scared?” Rooster asks, stopping the car at a red light and looking at you. 

“Scared of meeting the people you work with, and not only that but also Maverick, who is not only your boss but also the closest thing to a father you have?” You look at him with wide eyes and a trembling smile, giving away your true feelings. “How could I be scared?” 

“Honey, you know Phoenix and Hangman already.” 

“But I haven’t met all of them at the same time!” You reply, covering your face. “Okay, just tell me when, so I can get mentally prepared for it.” 

Bradley doesn’t respond for a few seconds before turning to the right and parking the car in front of a two-story light blue house. There are a few other cars and some bikes parked in the front, and you can hear animated conversation in the backyard. “...now?”

“Bradley Bradshaw, you have the worst timing in the history of timings.” You groan, looking at your brand new dress that he bought for you. “So that’s why you bought me this? So I didn’t get angry?” 

Bradley pouts, looking like a child who has lost his favorite toy. “Are you angry?” 

“I should.” You reply with a stern tone. 

“But you aren’t, right?” He leans closer to you, pecking you on the cheek. “Right?” 

“Don’t think kisses will fix this.” You scoff, grabbing your bag. 

“Well, it depends on where I kiss you. I'll show you tonight."

You feel your face burn at the teasing tone on his voice, and the silent promise of fun activities that might take place tonight. “Let’s get inside before you start something here.” 

Bradley gets out of the car, adjusting his clothes. Yellow Hawaiian shirt over a white t-shirt, and jeans. “You’re way too loud for that, baby girl.” 

“Bradley!” 

"Come on, everybody is waiting." He says, placing his hand on your lower back and leading you to the backyard.  

Bradley's family is sitting under the brown cedar outdoor pergola, talking and laughing as the day fades and the San Diego sky darkens. Phoenix and Hangman, the only two faces you can recognize, are talking with a blonde man with glasses. They seem to be sharing something from the past with the other man, because she keeps shaking her head every time Jake speaks, as if he weren't telling the story as it really was. 

There are more men and two other women, one of them seems pretty young. The blonde girl turns in your direction when he sees Bradley walking towards them, and when her face lits up, you know that she must be Amelia. Bradley talks a lot about her. 

“Roos!” 

“You need to stop growing up, look at you!” He gets closer to her, hugging her tightly and messing with her hair. 

“Hey! Don’t do that.” She whines, fixing her hair with her fingers, before turning to you. “You’re y/n! Bradley talks a lot about you.” 

Bradley’s ears turn red, and he clears his throat. “I don’t talk a lot. Just the normal amount.” 

“Puh-lease, Bradshaw. You literally spent three hours talking about how marvelous she is, how beautiful she is, how she is the most-” 

Bradley covers her mouth with his hand before she can keep embarrassing him. “It’s all lies.” 

You nod, tightening your lips in a thin line to not smile. “Sure, all lies.” 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest.” He grabs your hand and walks you up to his family. “Hey, where’s Mav?” 

“He’s with Mickey at the BBQ.” A woman with long, dark hair says, getting up from her seat. She’s Amelia’s mom, Penny. “And you, my dear, you must be the girl that has Bradley wrapped up around her finger.”

You chuckle, looking at your boyfriend. “I think it’s the other way around, ma’am.” 

You spend the next few minutes getting introduced to the other aviators and learning their names, their call signs, and the stories behind them. It feels like you're part of the family already. 

Maverick walks out of the BBQ station, Mickey close behind him, and places large amounts of meat on the dinner table set under the patio lights suspended from the big porch's ceiling. You don’t know who is behind the decoration, but they know how to create a cozy, inviting ambience. 

“Hey, Mav! Want you to meet someone.” Bradley speaks when the whole group reunites around the dinner table. 

“Oh, you’re y/n? And here I am, all greasy and sweaty.” Mav chuckles, offering you his hand. 

“That’s like your everyday outfit.” Penny chimes in, making the rest laugh. 

“Ignore my wife, please. She’s on a crusade to make me look like an idiot.” Maverick explains, rolling his eyes. 

“You don’t need any help with that, honey!” 

“I’m Pete Mitchell, but everyone calls me Maverick. Or just Mav.” He shakes your hand, chuckling at the fit of giggles around the room after her last dig against him. 

“Nice to meet you, sir.” 

The night goes on smoothly. Small conversations over the most delicious food, laughs, jokes, happy memories, and sad ones are shared... When Rooster told you about his family and how none of them were blood related to him, you were a bit skeptical about it. But seeing the way they talk and share stories, how they always have each other’s backs, how they make plans for the near future and for the distant future, knowing that no matter what life has in store for them, they will be there, makes you realize that this found family is in no way inferior to any other one. 

If any, it puts many families to shame. 

“He loves you.” Maverick says, sitting next to you once dinner is over, and everyone is scattered around the backyard, some of them even playing a game called, dogfight football. You’ve never heard of that before. 

“You think?” You ask him, playing with the edge of your dress. You haven’t said that yet. Not because you don’t feel it. You love him, and you’re sure of that. 

But somehow... it never seemed the right moment. 

“I know. I’ve known him all his life. He has it written on his forehead.” He chuckles, watching Bob fall to the ground trying to catch the ball. 

“I don’t know, Mav… We’ve been together for a while now, but… Maybe he’s not ready for a-” 

Mav raises a hand, stopping your train of thought. “He has lost every single member of his real family over the years, and for a while, he was alone. I wasn’t the godfather he needed, and I almost destroyed his career.”

“What did you do?” 

“I pulled his application from the Naval Academy,” Maverick admits, feeling horrible. 

“Oh god… Why would you do that?” 

He sighs, weighing his options. “His mother asked me to. He doesn’t know.” 

The news come as a shock. Why would he tell you this? He just met you! And now, you have that feeling of knowing a secret that you shouldn’t. 

“Mav… why are you telling me this?” You ask, wanting to know why he is trusting you with such information. 

“Because I want you to know that the other important woman in his life, his own mother, didn’t think he was prepared for being a fighter pilot.” Mav explains, watching Rooster and Hangman run around the backyard. “People have been underestimating him all his life. They thought he wasn’t prepared for the Navy, they thought he wasn’t prepared for the uranium mission…” 

“Uranium mission?” 

“That’s classified.” He grabs your hands, squeezing them a bit. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you may think that he’s not ready for a serious relationship, but he brought you here, with his family. He is ready.” 

You stop for a second, thinking about the implications of his words. He really did that. 

“He has brought you here, wanting to show you the family he has. The family that he wants you to be part of.” He insists, turning his head to look at all the members of this small but lovely family. 

“I’m not an aviator, Mav. I don’t fit in” 

Mav shakes his head. “Nobody wants you to fit. You’re different, and different doesn’t mean bad. It means that you have other specialties, and that we can learn a lot from you.” 

“I don’t have a lot to teach y’all.” You chuckle, looking at your hands. 

“I think you do. Bradley says that you encouraged him a lot on this last mission.” 

You smile, remembering Bradley sitting down on the kitchen table, looking at the report in his hands, wondering if he was able to pull it off, or if he was going to burn in. “He can do whatever he wants. He’s more capable than he thinks.” 

Maverick nods, kissing your hands before getting up. “And that’s why you’re here, love. To remind him that he can do whatever he sets his mind on. Even when the rest of the world tells him he can’t.” 

When Maverick walks away, you stay there for a while, thinking of everything he has said. Maybe he really is prepared for that serious relationship you crave. Maybe he just needs a bit of encouragement. 

“Honey, are you okay?” Bradley’s voice startles you, making him snort when you jump on the bench you have been sitting for a while. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry. I was just… thinking.” 

Bradley sits with you, removing his shirt and putting it over your shoulders. “About what?” 

“About how much I love you, how proud I am of you, and how glad I am to finally have met your family. Nat and I are going shopping together next week.” 

Rooster smirks, liking his lips, while an airy laugh leaves his body. “You realized what you’ve just said?” 

You nod, kissing the corner of his lips. “Want me to say it again?” 

He shakes his head, grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, and lifts your head so he can look you in the eyes. “I love you too, y/n.” 

He leans in, kissing you softly and lovingly, and he’s worried that you can hear his loud heartbeat. 

“So you only needed a bit of courage, huh?” You joke, placing your head on his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nevermind.” 

Taglist:

@shrimping-for-all

@purplevortexx

@xoxabs88xox

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun rooster #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster x y/n #rooster x you #bradley rooster x reader #rooster imagine

[leafyaa]

Chapter 17

"Heizou hurry up! Just bring Maple and blanket and leave the rest in the trunk."

"Okay okay! But Maple is being fuzzy about me carrying him!" Heizou exclaimed while Maple was trying to get out of his grip by trying to scratch his face.

"Ugh I'll carry her just hurry up and open the door!" Sara yelled as she grabbed the blanket and quickly wrapped the cat inside only for its head to stick out.

They both rushed inside the hospital looking for your room.

You just sat there on the bed facing the blank white wall, not saying a single word. Your head was carefully wrapped with bandages.

Kunikuzushi went to buy some water on your request but hadn't returned yet.

You just felt empty.

That letter...

You didn't want to think about it but it kept appearing in your mind as if to taunt you.

It was her exact handwriting too.

Sure she was just a 6 year old girl and sure it had been a while since you’ve seen her write anything. So this was just all a set up... Right?

Okay so if it was faked it still couldn't explain the other thing...

On the bottom of the letter you found another line saying

'She lost her first tooth, aren’t you proud?' It was definitely not written by Hikari, but by someone else.

Right under those words were some red liquid splatters of something you didn't even want to guess..

But the tooth..

The tooth surely was real right? It felt real.. Like a real tooth... Like a kid's tooth..

The tooth was still inside the pocket of your kimono. You had shoved it in there before the police came which was probably breaking the law but whatever you would hand it in later.

But surely everything must have been a prank, right?

More uneasy thoughts filled your head and you felt as if you were about to throw up.

But before that could happen Sara and Heizou stormed inside the room, scaring the shit out of you and your cat out of their grip. She immediately jumped onto your bed and curled into your arms while you looked at your friends.

"Y/n we're so sorry we couldn't be there on time-" Heizou began and Sara continued his sentence.

"They didn't allow us to enter and it took a while to convince them to allow us to pick up Maple." Sara finished with a sigh. The both of them walked over to your hospital bed, sitting on the chair placed next to you and held your hand.

"Y/n, how are you doing..? We've received the news and the investigation has been reopened.." She spoke with a calm voice and watched your blank expression at Maple nuzzling her face into your hands.

"I.. Don't know.." You replied with honesty. Just a minute ago you were interrupted by the both of them bursting inside your hospital room, but now you were staring mindlessly at Maple.

Sara looked hesitant at what to say. She was never good at comforting you about Hikari, after all she never lost a kid before.

Heizou on the hand was somewhat better but still, both of them never had a child they loved. They never felt the feeling of losing complete hope in continuing to live on. And you kept that in mind of course.

"Let's pray for her, okay?" He spoke, trying to break the awkward silence.

You nodded slowly and silently prayed for your daughter to be okay as Heizou took your other hand. You loved her with your whole heart, a heart that could be shattered in seconds if you would receive the news she wasn't here anymore.. You still held hope that she lived even though all the evidence reduced the odds of finding her..

"I want more information." Kunikzushi stated as he sat beside a man dressed in black. He was outside with a plastic bag with two drinks standing next to a bench while talking to the person beside him who read a newspaper.

"Unfortunately it's confidential information, my friend. I can't just give it away." He spoke calmly, turning the page and continuing to read.

"Then why are you here? Just to mock me??" Kunikuzushi became more agitated with every second passing. What was Ayato doing here if not to tell him about what was going on with you?

"Until my investigation is completed I can not reveal anything. Best is, if Y/n tells it herself." He spoke and stood up, dusting the imaginary dust off his clothes.

"Now then I'll take my leave. Make sure to take good care of her." He spoke as if he too felt a sense of responsibility.

"Wait what if.. I give you more intel? Anything, I'll give you anything you want.. Money if you so desperately need it…" Kunikuzushi spoke with desperation, trying to convince Ayato into giving him information while Ayato walked without turning back or stopping.

"Apologies, unfortunately this time, I can not accept it. You have to ask her yourself about her situation. After all, you still love her even if she does not reciprocate it." Kunikuzushi clenched his fist and angrily glared at Ayato as he walked further away in the parking lot. How dared he to just dismiss him?

There was no way he could ask you about the situation. So he had to come up with something else.

⇠ previous ⭒ masterlist ⭒ next ⇢

Notes:

It's safe to say I nearly failed every subject but okay. My update is way too late bc I was too lazy to continue to write this chapter so apologies for that. I hope you enjoyed this and I think I'll have another chapter ready in an hour, day or another week

Summary:

You've dated Scaramouche in your high school and college years but just as you wanted to announce your pregnancy to him he broke up with you without any reason. He left you to be a single mom for 7 years. But now that your daughter has been missing and abducted for a year and you've not been doing well and out of a sudden he showed up into your life again trying to apologize for his past mistakes..?

Taglist:

@swivy123 @kichiyosh1 @wwwrizchan @k1t0 @killumeow @pinkdreamerbailifflawyer-blog @samarill @xiaotopia @aqualesha @eattingshits @omoriaddict @mave-in @sketcheeee @xiaossocksniffer @elernity @ohmyfinggod @luvkvni @kunikissr @meadowofdarts @kaorieee @scaramochies @ekriis @rizakari @xxrexx @lovingveliona @magica-ren @lilybythevalley @theflatdoorkicker @lazy-sanns @reixtsu @fullw0rld @kunikuzushis-darling @childesgingerhair @kochothehoe @mercy-not-merci @ash1

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin au #genshin impact au #genshin impact modern au #modern au #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #ITIFILWYA

[mochalate]

[3] precipice ; porco galliard (2/2)

pairing: porco galliard/f!reader  chapter word count: 24.6 k  chapter content/warnings: secret meetings in the dark, crushing on your bf/gf, porco's scandalous sexual history, some angsting about marcel, girls' night out  chapter summary: The most precious secrets are the ones that are the hardest to keep. a/n: this is overdue, isn't it? 🤭🤭posting as two parts because I learned tumblr has a post length limit!! As always, please let me know what you think, I love hearing from my fellow galliard girlies. <3 Read on AO3? || See Series Masterlist? [<-Chapter 3 (1/2)][Chapter 4->]

The old woman gives Porco his change. The coins are cold against his palm, from sitting near her ice chest. He doesn’t like how they jingle in his pockets with every step; and he plans to give them to the children, once he gets back to them.

“Just the one, dearie?” she asks, in her quakey voice.

Porco nods.

Her husband hands him the ice cream cone wrapped in tissue. He says something too, but the man doesn’t have enough teeth left for Porco to make out the words.

“Thank you,” he replies, hoping it’s appropriate. “It’s good to see you two as well.”

It’s a pleasantly warm afternoon, but they’re both bundled up in matching brown coats. Pigeons flock at their feet, pecking at the breadcrumbs they’ve scattered around. They’re sitting on one of the wooden benches under the elms that line the path through the park. Mottled light filters through the drying, thinning leaves in large patches— Liberio is entering autumn. It's fairly crowded, with people wanting to enjoy the cooler weather.

(It’s a nice day, for once.)

The old woman— Porco doesn’t know her name, but she’s been here for as long as he can remember— gives him a wry smile. “He asked if you wanted spoons, to share with your lady friend.”

Porco swallows. “It’s not like that. We’re— we’re colleagues.” He can feel the chill emanating from the ice cream against the sudden, anxious warmth on his skin.

“That’s what I told him!” She smacks the man across his upper arm. “No armband on her! She’s one of us, you old lout. Don’t you go getting this poor boy in trouble.”

Her husband chuckles.

Porco thanks them again, and begins walking back; but the exchange has his nerves on edge. Was he being careless? Was this too dangerous? This was a mistake. It was selfish of him to ask you to come here, out in the daylight.

The carpet of red and yellow leaves crunches under his boots. He sees you alone on the bench. Your uniform is stark white against the muted, earthy colours around you. Just a nurse; spending her lunch break out in the only green patch for miles around.

You’re watching the children play. They’ve somehow roped Colt into their game while Porco was gone, and he’s chasing them across the grass.

“Po— Galliard,” you greet him pleasantly as he comes up.

Right. You’re a nurse from the hospital nearby, and he’s Galliard. It couldn’t be any other way, not out here; no matter how much he felt otherwise when he looked at you. He’s stupid to have forgotten that. He’s stupid to have forced you into it.

Porco hands you the cone, and pulls his hand back even though he wants to let his fingers linger against yours for a little longer.

“For me?” you ask, pleased. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. Thank you!”

The delight on your face makes him guilty, somehow. “You didn’t get any for yourself earlier.”

You lick the ice cream. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to. All their customers were…”

“Eldian,” he completes. He swallows back a sigh, and goes to lean against the tree behind the bench. Stupid.

You turn to look at him with a sad smile. “You can’t sit with me, can you?”

“It’s not a good idea,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault.” You tell him, turning back.

This is a public park, and it’s one of the handful of areas outside the internment zone that’s open to Liberio’s Eldian population— upon obtaining permission from the relevant authorities, of course. And still, the two peoples separate like oil and water. The path that runs through the middle of the park is a boundary. You’re allowed to be here, but on this side— the Eldian side— you’re an oddity.

(Of course, no one on this side dares say anything about it. But they do stay away; and none of the other children join in with the candidates’ game.)

“You and Colt seemed friendly with that old couple,” you comment, still looking ahead. “Who are they? They weren’t wearing armbands.”

The old Marleyan couple has been here since before he was born, and he's sure they'll be here long after he's gone. “Their son was in the military,” he explains. “An Eldian saved his ass thirty years ago, and carried him back behind the lines after he lost his legs to a landmine.”

“That's terrible.”

“Well, he survived. And now he runs an ice cream shop, so mom and dad express their gratitude by bringing some over every weekend for the Eldian kids.”

You sound impressed. “They've been doing it for thirty years?”

“Give or take. We don’t buy anything from the regular shops because…” He trails off. Because, there’s a good chance they would add rat poison to the sprinkles— but he doesn’t want to tell you that.

He doesn’t have to continue though, since Colt chooses this moment to trip and fall teeth first into the grass.

(Again, Porco thinks in disbelief. Good luck for everyone but himself.)

Colt picks himself up but stays on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. You gasp out a soft ‘oh no’. The children worriedly look at each other, suddenly silent, and cautiously approach him.

You're trying to hurriedly hand Porco your cone to go check on him when Colt explodes upwards, and tackles Falco to the ground with a triumphant cry. The other three shriek and scatter.

Porco watches you laugh, sitting back down with your arm resting across the back of the bench. He watches the ice cream melt, beginning to run down your fingers. Something squeezes his heart. He really does want to hold your hand.

“Hey,” he says. “My throat’s been kind of sore.”

You scrunch your eyebrows as you look up at him. The dappled sunlight shines across your face. “Warm water will—”

“I think I'm going to go get it checked at the hospital before I head home.”

Your frown deepens in confusion before understanding dawns. “Oh! Oh, you could do that. Yes.”

“I'm going to tell Colt I'm leaving. You're uh, you're probably heading to your shift after you finish eating, right?”

You nod, incredibly seriously.

And so Porco finds himself, about twenty minutes later, at the reception counter in Liberio General’s marbled foyer. The nurse on duty is a small woman, with her black hair in a wavy— almost curly— bob. She’s standing; but she’s short enough that her shoulders barely clear the tall counter. The way she’s staring at him is unnerving.

It’s because she’s staring at him, Porco realises. Not at the armband.

“Uhm…” he says, because the silence has stretched on for a fair bit now. “Like I said, I wanted to see our regular nurse but she wasn’t at—”

She blinks at him. Her eyes are large and round. “You look fine. Really fine. Wow.”

Porco blinks back. “... thank you? But I—”

“Were you really going to die, or would you have been fine anyway if they just let you steam in the corner for a bit?”

Porco thinks he should probably be offended by this, but there isn’t even a hint of malice in her words— which is impressive, because those were hard words to say without malice. And honestly, with that uniform, she reminds him of you; just a little. So he decides to engage with her.

“…Are you talking about back in the Mid-East? Were you there?”

“I wasn’t with you, but I was there.” She leans closer. “So, were you? Going to die.”

“I was bleeding pretty bad. Probably would have.”

“Wow. I wish I could heal like you.” She pulls back her sleeve, and shows him a long, thin burn on her forearm. “Got this from a pot. It’s so ugly.”

“It’s not that bad,” Porco assures her. It really isn’t. “Can I see my usual nurse? Her name is—”

“I know who your nurse is. She’s not here yet, though. What seems to be the problem?”

He doesn’t think he can get away with a sore throat. “My, uh, eye hurts. And sometimes I see spots. Big ones.”

She frowns. “And it won't heal itself? It sounds like you need a doctor, not a nurse. I can make you an appointment—”

“No! She… she needs to get me a referral. I’m uh, military property, after all. Can’t go around making my own appointments.”

“Oh, is that how it works? That’s inconvenient.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic.

Porco almost feels bad for the blatant lie. “It is.”

“Hmm. But she’s not here yet.” The nurse thoughtfully taps her chin. “If it hurts real bad, I can get a surgeon to smash your skull in and then we can wait for the whole thing to reset. That should fix it.” She looks pleased with this idea. “I don’t think we need a surgeon for it at all! You wouldn’t even have to wait.”

Porco’s mouth falls open. “Helos, lady. You know I can still feel the pain, right?”

“You can?” She looks shocked. “Oh my. That’s inconvenient.”

“…It is.”

Porco’s almost ready to go and take his chances back at the park; when you pop into his vision, a little breathless.

“Hi, Hannah.” you say to the nurse at the counter.

She chirps back a greeting. “You’re breathing hard. Did you run here or something?”

“Thought I’d be late.” Then you turn to Porco, biting your lip. He thinks he can hear a barely-suppressed giggle in your voice. “What are you doing here, Galliard?”

The nurse at the counter— Hannah, she seems to be your friend, so he tells himself to remember her name— tells you about his eye.

“Ah, it is an immune privileged site,” you tell her. “It makes sense.”

“Oh, it does! Why didn’t I think of that?” Hannah gasps. “Will we really have to smash in his skull to fix it after all?”

You look stunned, and more than a little concerned. “Why are we— ? Hannah, did you tell him we’d do that?”

“It was just a suggestion,” she says sheepishly. “Look, lunch is almost over, but why don’t you go have a look at him in exam room three? That’s Dr. Klein’s today, and he’s always late. There’s time.”

“Dr. Klein…” you mutter. “Thanks, Hannah. I’ll do that before clocking in then, okay?”

You barely wait for her to answer, before giving his sleeve a tug— his heart skips a beat— and leading him out of the foyer. The examination room is only a short distance down the corridor. You hold the door open for him to follow you inside.

This room is far more spacious than number sixteen. It’s about half the size of the clinic. The walls are made of panelled wood, and the shelving doesn't seem to overflow. Sunlight shines through the tall windows.

(Porco doesn’t know when he started finding the smell of antiseptic and the sight of sterilised steel to be this comforting.)

He leans comfortably against the examination table. He's never been here before, yet it feels strangely familiar, as he watches you moving around. You’re drawing the curtains. The room dims, but the curtains are light; and the day outside is sunny, so it’s still fairly well-lit.

“Can you sit on the table, please?” you ask him, as you rummage through the drawers. “In case anyone comes in without knocking.”

He obliges.

You pull out a small penlight from one of the drawers. “So, something is wrong with your eyes, is it?” It flashes on and off, as you make sure it works.

Porco can see you relax too. The practised, formal expression melts off your face. You come to stand between his legs; and when you look at him again, your eyes are full of affection.

(He puts his hands around your waist, just like last time. But this time, he doesn’t need to let you go.)

Fuck, he thinks. Beautiful. He isn’t capable of making longer sentences at the moment.

And he can’t hold himself back anymore. He grabs your face between his palms, and kisses you. You make a muffled noise, but you don’t resist.

“Would it be cheesy to say,” he says after, with his hands still on your cheeks, and his forehead resting against yours, “that something’s wrong with them, because I can’t stop looking at you?”

“Incredibly cheesy. But I don’t mind.”

Porco hums, and tugs your hands into his lap. His back is to the door. Like this, no one coming in can see how your fingers are intertwined with his. Finally.

It feels quiet.

He realises his mind has been noisy all day; anxiously trying to keep this secret. Trying to live in two worlds at once— one where he's supposed to be, and one here with you.

Maybe he should be saying something, and making the most of this brief time he has alone with you. But somehow, he’s content just like this; holding your hand, feeling its warmth without words.

“Porco,” you say, looking down and gently squeezing his fingers, “thank you for coming to see me again.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He squeezes back. “Hey, look at me. I’ll always come back to you, alright? Don’t ever doubt that.”

You open your mouth to say something else; but there’s a knock on the door. You jolt backwards and wrench one of your hands out of his, to grab the penlight. It clicks on just as the door swings open.

It’s Hannah from earlier, here to tell you Dr. Klein would arrive in five minutes.

You look calm, and your voice is level when you tell her you’re almost done. But Porco can feel your hand trembling in his.

It's noisy again. And too bright.

It wasn’t always like this.

No, that’s not entirely true. It used to be like this. Then it wasn’t for a little while. And now it is again.

For a little while, you weren’t scared of doing things. You thought you finally knew what those right answers were, and figured that the ones that didn’t really make sense to you didn’t make sense to anyone— especially not the people here in the hospital. You thought you didn’t have to make those choices you didn’t agree with.

That’s why you told Dr. Klein he had to try and save Julie.

That’s how you learned you were wrong.

And now here you are again, terrified of taking a step outside the lines.

It’s certainly easier this way.

(It is, it is.)

Did you get it right the first time? Or were you just making old mistakes?

(You admire Porco; and how casually he’d asked you to join him at the park, and then at the hospital. You feel terrible that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to do the same for him.)

“Sorry, I'd invite you, but…”

When Eileen gives you that apologetic look, uncomfortably fiddling with the end of one of her long, red braids; the easiest thing to do is to say you understand, that it’s alright. And then you watch her scurry away down the corridor to join the other nurses about to take their break out on the grounds.

Eileen had graduated with you.

She was from a small town too, but not as good as yours, so maybe that was why she knew the answers so very well. You’re sure she must have sworn up and down to the disciplinary board that you’d made a mistake.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame her.

One of the nurses glances back over her shoulder as she’s leaving, and accidentally catches your eye. You desperately try to stop yourself, but you can’t help the flash of hope. Maybe they changed their minds, maybe Eileen convinced them that—

Then she whips her face forward, and leans towards Eileen to whisper something. They erupt into giggles.

It's pathetic, you think as they disappear around the corner, that it still upsets you this much.

You’d thought it would be different, after being away for months in the Mid-East; hoped that was enough time for them to forget. But nothing has changed. You’re still the one who made a mistake— the one who wouldn’t even admit to it.

The one who it was better not to talk to, just in case.

You’re standing in the corridor outside one of the general wards. It’s a quiet night. In the ward, there’s just an assortment of allergies, and a few broken bones. Only a handful of the rickety cots with their starched white sheets and thin pillows are occupied.

It’s not nearly busy enough to keep you distracted from how terribly your shift is going; and there’s still hours left before you can go home. You sigh, and lean your back against the wall.

The hospital has had lightbulbs installed recently. They burn yellow under their flower-shaped lamp shades, all along the corridor. You tilt your head to peek underneath; fascinated by the loops of glowing filament.

Would it have made a difference, you wonder, if it had been this bright back then?

The memory makes your stomach churn. You turn your gaze down towards the dull red carpet, trying to blink away the ghostly afterimage of the bulb’s guts.

The night of the accident had been a new moon, dark and cloudless. There hadn’t been any bulbs then. Just a thousand candles lining the corridors; the windows shut to keep them from going out. The stuffy heat of the flames and what felt like a hundred bodies packed into the narrow space, a writhing mass of white bandages and the red and brown of blood, too enveloped in strange shadows to make out where each person started and ended; only the noise of children wailing for their mothers, people calling out other’s names. So many names.

Stephen, Stephen, are you here? Please, is my son Stephen here?

Have you seen Sarah?

Maria…? No, no, NO!

And then there was Julie.

Silent.

(No, not silent. Not entirely, not yet.)

You’re so lost in reminiscing, you don’t notice the muted thumping of the wooden cane on the thin carpet, until its owner is right beside you.

“I was hoping you would be here,” a man’s voice says.

You’re jolted out of the memory. Exhaling, you look to the side.

(You remember that voice, how could you forget?)

“Director Klein. Good evening, sir.”

The old man adjusts his cane. “And a good evening to you too, my dear. Would you join me in my office?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. It wasn’t really a question, after all. The Director rarely asks questions. You push yourself off the wall to follow him further up the corridor.

White. That’s always your first impression of him. Snow white hair and beard— both neatly clipped and combed— and a white shirt under a pristine, long, white coat. You’re sure he carries that cane purely for the effect the carved golden handle has on people; because his back is straight and his steps are strong and confident, as he makes his way up to his office. He's missing at least fifteen of his seventy years.

You remember the last time you walked behind him, down this exact path, with blood crusted under your fingernails, and stained into that skirt you would eventually go home and throw away.

My son was alive, ALIVE!

Ma’am, it was a mistake in the paperwork—

Yes, a mistake! Yours!

Director Klein’s office hasn’t changed, either— tall bookcases, stuffed with leather bound volumes; and the walls so covered with photographs and certificates you would be hard pressed to find a square inch of the flowery wallpaper underneath. He takes his seat behind the heavy cherrywood desk.

You’re left standing in the middle of a room that feels cramped enough to make you claustrophobic; and yet big enough to have you feeling small and awkward at the same time.

“How are you?” he asks. There’s sincerity in his voice.

“Fine. I… fit in better than I thought I would, there.”

“You can still come back.”

You swallow, and look away. “I still don’t want to.”

“I’m only trying to help you, child. Don't be stubborn.”

He sounds concerned. He sounded concerned that night too, when you really thought you could have made a difference by pleading your case.

Dr. Klein, you agreed with me. Why are you—

I didn't have time to check for myself! You really must have made a mistake!

“I appreciate you offering, sir. But I think it would just cause a lot of trouble if I came back here full time. I’m— it's not worth it.”

Dad, she's a new nurse. It's understandable. But our reputation is on the line. You need to clear it up with the committee so they don't think a doctor—

The Director scrutinises you for a few moments. Then he sighs. For a second, he looks much more like the old man he is. “Very well. It's not what I wanted to discuss. Please, sit.”

You sit.

He reaches down to open his desk drawer, and pulls out a red folder that he slides across towards you. It’s emblazoned with the military coat of arms.

You look curiously at him. He gestures for you to open it. You do, and find a single sheet of paper.

“A confidentiality agreement?” Your heart beats a little faster; but a quick skim reveals no details, except for a vague description of titan research. “What for?”

The Director raises an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be much of an agreement if I could just tell you.”

You read the document again, slower this time. Project Merlot, proclaims the bold type on top of the page.

“You can’t tell me anything?”

“Not unless you sign.”

The idea is exciting. I wish I had something interesting to tell you, is what you’d said to Porco. Well, here it is. Something outside the routine of the clinic, and something other than being treated like you have a contagious disease.

What gives you pause, however, is the fact that it has something to do with titans. ‘Research on titans’, especially where the military is concerned, was just a polite way to say ‘experimenting on Eldians’.

(The memory of Falco, trying to hide his nervousness flashes through your mind. One of the most insidious rumours about Eldians is that they don’t feel pain. You know how much of a lie that is.)

“Why would you want me on this?” you ask the director, frowning. “Considering… my reputation.”

He peers at you over his glasses. “Zeke Yeager requested you specifically.”

You’re surprised. Why would an Eldian want to take the lead on a project like this? “He’s involved?”

There’s a hint of a smile on the Director’s face. “Again, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve signed one of these myself.” He takes off his glasses, and produces a soft-looking cleaning cloth from his breast pocket. “I admit this probably won’t be the most pleasant of projects,” he says, wiping the lenses, “but if I may venture to say so, it is precisely because of your reputation that I think it would be better with you on it.”

You stay silent, unsure.

“You can take a day to think it through, if you prefer.”

The thought of asking Porco what he thinks half-forms in your mind; but suddenly, you’re annoyed— annoyed that you’re so scared all the time, that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do things without some kind of permission, even when the opportunity seems to fall into your lap.

Things have to change.

“May I borrow a pen?”

The Director smiles— it’s a rare sight— and gives you the one from his breast pocket. You take a deep breath, and hover over the dotted line for just a second, before signing your name in glossy black ink.

In the back of your mind, you know this is objectively going to be a terrible job— one which will more likely than not end with you having to throw more bloodstained skirts away. That’s why you’re the one signing your name, and not the children of one of the higher ranking officials. It’s how these things usually work.

But as you close the door to the Director’s office behind you, you find yourself feeling more and more like you won’t regret it. Not if you can help make sure even one person suffers a little less. It’s what you’re good at.

“Ah— I was hoping you’d still be here.”

It feels like déjà vu, when you turn to the side. He looks so much like his father.

“Doctor,” you say. You don’t greet him any further.

Benjamin Klein awkwardly shuffles his feet. The last time you saw him, he had all the charm that came with being the son of a rich, important man— it had dazzled you too. Right now though, he looks a little small.

“How are you? Is the new appointment treating you—”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been away from my post for too long. Please excuse me.” You walk past him, back towards the general ward.

It feels awful, being even slightly rude to him. You think you may throw up right there from the nerves; all over his shiny leather shoes. But if you’re going to stop being scared, biting your tongue and being nice to this man simply doesn’t fit. No matter how powerful he is.

He doesn’t take the hint. That probably also had to do with being the son of a rich, important man.

“I feel terrible about what happened. It’s been a while now, and—” he starts saying, following along beside you.

And you think it’s okay to be seen talking to me again.

“— we never got to have that cup of coffee together. Will you let me make it up to you?”

There had been a time, when those meaningless flirtations he would offer you had actually made you happy. But now you’re at the ward doors, about to step back into that cold place; and all you can think is that he’s incredibly selfish.

“I don’t think I’m free, doctor.”

You catch only a glimpse of his disappointed face, as the doors swing closed.

For the longest time, you’d tried to force yourself to believe that no one had had any choice in that whole affair. But then Porco had shown you that there was always a choice.

Doctor Klein hadn’t been alone in the choices he’d made that night. You know you’re not the only one who saw that the little Marleyan boy was beyond help. You know that there were several eyes who couldn’t meet yours as you pleaded with his mother in the middle of the corridor, while your fingers were still sticky with Julie’s blood.

You shake your head to clear it. Being at the hospital always brought the memories back, but there’s no point remembering any of the details now.

(Even if no one will let you forget it.)

Eileen and the others are back. It doesn’t even cross your mind to try and approach any of them. The distance feels too big to cross by yourself.

You’re neither here nor there now, you realise— rejected by Marleyans, yet still distrusted by Eldians.

That was the strange thing about the military base, you think. It’s the strictest place— by far— when it came to marking out that boundary. But it’s also where it blurred the most; in a way it never could outside the battlefield. Fighting beside someone, bleeding beside them was a camaraderie that turned it into a line in the sand, right up at the edge of the waves.

You know that kind of connection, forged in blood, is dangerously addictive.

It’s still the best place for you to be.

You’re distracted by a tap on your shoulder, and someone calling your name, for the third time tonight. You turn, half-expecting the ghost of the deceased, previous Director Klein.

But it’s only Hannah.

(It’s still unexpected, since this ward is the farthest from the administrative wing, but not as much.)

“Took you long enough!” She brandishes a folder at you. “I didn’t trust those bitches to give this to you if I left it with them. Here, it’s a temporary schedule for next week…”

For someone with less than two years to live, Porco thinks as he leans into the plush meeting room chair and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, Zeke really is taking his sweet time.

Just like the walls, there’s not much to look at up there— there aren’t even any windows in the room. Porco figures it’s more paranoia than any actual need for security, here on the third floor.

(After all, there was plenty of time to dream up imaginary assassins, when the last time you faced a real enemy was twenty years ago.)

It’s his first time being deemed important enough to be here. This is the fancy meeting room— the one where the asses usually occupying these chairs are highly paid, and have great retirement benefits. Where you walk in, and are immediately faced with a row of larger-than-life, grandiose portraits of former Generals; decorated with medals and standing in front of red velvet curtain backgrounds.

Like he said, not much to look at.

Porco gets up, and walks towards the only things worth anyone’s attention in the room— the row of copper plaques right below the paintings. He runs his hand over the engraving. Names. Dozens of names, his among them. Marley’s titan holders.

Their names, and their years of service.

(Only the years of service. The military didn’t care when you were born, or how long you’d gotten to grow up.)

He follows the lists down to the very end, running his fingers over each line, letting the syllables of each name rest in his mind for a second before moving on to the next. He’d like it if someone would do that for him, he figures.

And then he arrives at his own.

Porco Galliard: 850 —

It's like an open grave. He tries to imagine what it would look like in ten years, picturing the curves of the eight and the six and the three that would one day be carved into the plate.

For a moment, he’s surprised by how naturally the number comes to him. And then he steels himself. No, there’s nothing surprising about it. He will make sure he gets his full term. He won’t leave you behind any sooner than he has to.

Porco’s eyes flick to the name above.

Marcel Galliard. 845-846.

One year. The twelve years before; with all the meals they’d shared, the times they’d walked home together, the countless memories of birthdays, of fights, and just plain talking in the middle of the night— none of that was worthy of being recorded. No, just the one year.

(A rare courtesy from the military, really. Marcel hadn’t actually made it past the winter.)

Maybe it was for the higher ups too, Porco muses. To help them rationalise how they treated people like tools, simply discarded once they were too blunt to use.

But they aren’t just tools, they’re people; and they stubbornly persist.

The memories of a direct predecessor came like remembered dreams— the details always vague, but sometimes the emotions were remarkably clear. But going back any further was difficult. There was no telling what could trigger it. Porco had spent hours in their old room after he inherited the Jaw, rummaging through Marcel’s things— increasingly desperately— to no avail.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Pieck tells him of an inexplicable happiness, a sense of security when she smells apple pies now. In the brief time they’d had before Marcel was sent to Paradis, he’d suddenly been able to cut and shuffle a deck of cards like a seasoned magician. Porco now gets uneasy on snowy days, when he used to love them.

(He can’t help but feel he got the short end of the stick there, somehow.)

He wonders what will be left of you, in the memories he has to pass down. Will his successors love sweet vanilla, like he tasted on your lips? Will they be comforted by the sight of the elms lining the streets in the old part of the city? Maybe they would feel strangely compelled to turn their eyes to the ground, and watch the swaying shadows of the leaves on the cobblestone.

Porco misses you.

He hasn’t been able to talk to you— really talk to you— for two days now; not since you anxiously approached him on the training grounds under the guise of having to reschedule his regular checkup, and told him about the temporary schedule that would have you working the evening shifts at the hospital all week.

(Porco can only think God had decided to fuck it up for him again.)

(One time, when he’d made a similar comment, Colt had said with some surprise that he didn’t think Porco was the religious type. Porco doesn’t really think of himself as a religious type either, he just likes having something to be angry with.)

He glances at the clock on the wall. You should be locking up the clinic right about now, busily wiping down the counters and locking the cabinets.

“What are you smiling about, Pock?” Pieck asks him.

He’s shocked that he didn’t hear her coming up to him, and that he hadn’t remembered to keep his face straight while he was thinking about you. “Nothing. Just in a good mood.”

She looks at him wryly. “I won’t say you’re never in a good mood, but it’s rare, and you’ve been grumpy all day so far.” I’m not buying it, her eyes say.

Drop it, he says, rolling his own. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’ve been so distant lately.”

It’s a lighthearted comment, but Porco immediately feels guilty. There’s never been a lot he doesn’t share with her, not since they became the two left behind. “Pieck, I—”

Pieck smiles and pats his shoulder. “It’s just a joke. I’m not going anywhere yet, don’t worry.”

(Her name is, after all, right above Marcel’s.)

He thinks this is the part where he should be a good friend, and reassure her that he’s not shutting her out. Tell her he’ll tell her later, at a better time. But he knows there will never be a time where he wouldn’t be burdening her with his secret. So he just swallows, and nods.

“I haven’t been in here in a long time,” she comments. “The plaques are a little creepy, right?”

More than a little, if he’s being honest. “It’s like they can’t wait to get rid of us.”

“Good luck to them.” Pieck runs her finger up the list; going back thirty, forty years. It stops, on one Francis Zimmer. “Him. He’s the one who liked apple pie, I think. I looked through the newspaper archives in the public library.” She looks a little sad as she continues. “He asked for it as his last meal.”

Porco bumps her with his elbow. “Don’t go getting all mopey on me until after the meeting, please.”

“I won’t, that’s your job,” she teases back. “How about we go sit down again? I think Reiner must be getting lonely.”

Porco glances back over his shoulder, to where Reiner is still sitting at the long meeting table. He’s poured himself some water, but it sits untouched in front of him; as he forlornly contemplates it.

“I think he’s about to start crying into his glass,” Porco says incredulously. “I don’t want to be there for that.”

Pieck sighs. “He’s been through a lot, Pock. Cut him some slack.”

“I cut him plenty of slack,” Porco scoffs.

He’s about to continue, but there’s voices in the corridor, and the door opens. Commander Magath walks in, followed by another army official, and then Zeke.

Once everyone has taken their seats, Zeke starts to distribute the stack of red folders he has with him.

“Everyone comfortable?” he asks, jovially. “This has been in the works for a while now, but I can finally introduce to you all, Project Merlot.”

The army official— he’s got an absurd amount of medals pinned to his chest— scowls at him. “Before Yaeger continues, I am reminding everyone that anything which is discussed in this room cannot be repeated outside of it.”

“Of course, Major,” Zeke says. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “It would be disastrous if the public were to hear that there will be pure titans inside Liberio quite soon, after all.”

It’s remarkable, you think, how boldly the mess hall on base puts up a menu every day; when everyone knows they’ll run out of almost everything by three, and that whatever’s left will be indistinguishable by taste, sight, or smell.

“I think this one’s yours,” you tell Claire, frowning at the ambiguous brown lumps floating in the gravy in front of you. “These are potatoes, right?”

Claire pokes at them with a fork. “I don’t know. They feel kind of chicken-y to me.”

“I think they’re both potatoes.”

Claire picks up a piece with her fork, and cautiously takes a bite. She chews thoughtfully. “...at least there’s pudding today,” she says after a moment of consideration, nose scrunched.

Someone shouts near the outside entrance to the hall. You and Claire turn to look down the rows of long wooden tables. A group of soldiers has just come in, shoving open both doors, and everyone sitting nearby is yelling at them to stop letting the cold in. Outside, the autumn afternoon is grey and overcast.

The sun has only shown hints of itself since this morning; when you woke up to a day so cold, you could have sworn you’d slept through the months to winter. The brown cardigan you’re wearing over your uniform is barely enough to keep you comfortable.

The hall is warm enough though, with so many people in it; but the noise of a dozen conversations from several very loud, very boisterous young soldiers blends together into a cloud of sound where you can’t pick out any one thing. It buzzes in the background of what Claire is saying, drowning her words in its mush.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” you ask, squinting your eyes, as if it will help your ears.

She repeats herself, a little louder. “I said, is that the lipstick I gave you? It looks nice. I told you it would suit you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

When you’d reached for your usual shade this morning, you’d remember Porco’s story about Braun. It had just been a silly thought, that you should change the colour just in case— you doubt Braun even knew you were wearing makeup at all— but you’d tried on a different one just for fun. The brownish-pink looked unexpectedly nice.

It had made the ache in your chest even worse.

You want to be able to show it to Porco. It’s been four days since you’ve been able to see him, and each passing sunset makes you miss the golden evenings in the clinic more and more.

(You miss him so much.)

“Are you sick?” Claire asks. “You look a little pale.”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit.

Claire scowls. “Are those idiots still giving you trouble during your shifts? You have to report them, it’s harassment—”

“I’m fine,” you insist. Their behaviour honestly hasn’t been bothering you all that much recently. “It’s just a few of them, and I don’t like them anyway.”

Claire looks at you suspiciously, but then sighs and pulls out a small notebook from her pocket. “If that’s what you want to do. Do you mind if I work on some of the wedding planning? I’m running behind.”

“Go ahead,” you say. “What are you working on?”

“The guest list,” she replies. “We decided to keep it small, so I’m deciding who gets the cut.”

She looks concerningly gleeful when she says that.

“You’ll be invited, of course.” Claire says, misinterpreting your expression. “But I won’t have the invitations printed for a while. Do you need a plus one?”

There’s the smallest lump in your throat when you say you don’t.

Claire hums, focused on her list. “Cassandra’s out, that’s obvious.” You don’t know who Cassandra is, or why Claire is sneering at her name. “Michael stays,” she continues absently.

“Michael?” you ask. “The soldier from the hospital? I didn’t think you liked him.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t like him, but I can’t not invite him. After all that business with his family…”

Claire vaguely explains, but you never do find out what happened to Michael Sells and his family; because at that moment, another gust of cold wind washes through the hall, and you instinctively turn your attention to the door.

You see the red armbands first, and your heartbeat quickens.

Zeke Yeager walks through the door, followed by Pieck. You’re disappointed, but you keep waiting, watching the door that’s slowly swinging closed. Just when you bite the inside of your cheek, and prepare to turn your attention back to Claire, it’s pushed open again.

Porco.

You don’t know how he immediately knows to look in your direction, but he does; and you have to clasp your own wrist in your lap to stop yourself from waving at him. He doesn’t acknowledge you— he doesn’t even smile— but his gaze keeps coming back to linger on you as he makes his way across the room. He sits with the other two Warriors. The bench faces you; but it’s on the opposite side of the room— the unofficial Eldian side.

(You wonder if you had sat closer to that invisible wall, if you could have found some cracks to whisper to him through.)

“Do you think I should ask the caterers for crab cakes after all?” Claire asks.

“I like them,” you reply.

Porco’s resting his face on his palm, elbow on the table. He’s turned towards the other two, but you think you can see him stealing sideways glances at you, over his fingers. You swallow and shift your eyes away. You can’t stare. Not this openly, not here.

“I’m getting the blue dresses for the bridesmaids, I think. It’ll be great for a summer wedding.”

“Blue is lovely,” you say, a hand over your face to cover your smile.

You fake interest in Claire's notebook, and slowly raise your eyes to look over her shoulder. Porco is talking to Pieck now, attention away from you. You take the opportunity to really look at him. You feel like you could do that for hours; brushing your fingers through his longer blonde strands, running your thumbs over his face, memorising every detail.

(How cruel that you have to wait, when he’s right there in front of you, and you already know you’re condemned to spend more time apart than together.)

“Do you want to come clothes shopping with me on Thursday?”

“I’d love to.”

Porco makes eye contact with you again. You think you must be going insane; because even that little quirk of his mouth, the biggest reaction he can afford, envelopes with you a warmth that blossoms from your heart and goes to the very tips of your fingers. You’ve never felt this kind of happiness before. So pure, and so unreasonable.

(For now, it’s enough to endure the sorrow of having to pretend you don’t adore him— of having even the breadth of this room between you.)

Claire is putting away her notebook. “You haven’t touched your food! Are you sure you aren’t sick?”

You scoop up the maybe-potatoes. “I’m just a little distracted.”

Lunch passes much too quickly after that, as you finish your meal; stealing glances across the room the whole time. All too soon, you’re getting up and following Claire towards the door. It takes an immense effort to not look towards Porco’s table as you cross it.

The chilly breeze is still blowing, but the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds now. It’s one of those early autumn days that just can’t decide if it wants to be warm or cold.

“Do you mind hanging back for five minutes while I go to the bathroom?” Claire asks.

You agree to wait, and go to stand behind a pillar to protect yourself from the wind blowing through the open corridor; while she hurries down to the bathrooms. You notice a poster crudely pasted on the concrete, its edges lumpy and shrivelled from the paste. It’s a notice for a new weekly charity clinic in the internment zone, sponsored by the military hospital; asking Eldian soldiers to let their families know.

Interesting, you think. I wonder if Director Klein is behind it.

You’re perusing the poster, trying to figure out how you can volunteer, when you suddenly feel the weight of an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You tense up, about to shout in surprise— and then Porco’s voice is whispering in your ear.

“You look nice today.”

The cry catches in your throat. His warm breath— the ghost of that whisper— lingers against your ear. His body brushes against yours, familiar enough to make you blush. Something is slipped into your hand.

And then, in the same second, the weight disappears— and you see him casually continuing down the corridor.

(Did he just…?)

Your heart is pounding. You clutch your cardigan around your body, and whip your head all around to check if anyone saw.

There’s not a soul.

(He didn’t even let me see his face, you think, giddy.)

You look down at the thing he’d pressed into your hand. A small sheet of paper, messily torn and folded in half. A note.

‘I want to see you,’ it reads, in a hasty print. ‘Meet me in the usual place whenever you come back. Even if it’s late. I’ll be waiting for you.’

You hold the note against your chest, willing your heart rate to go down before Claire comes back.

It doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

The night before Marcel left for Paradis, he’d shaken Porco awake, and they’d slipped out of the house.

They’d squeezed themselves through the gap in the wired fence— there was no need to, not with the red sashes that now encircled their arms, but it had made the whole thing a lot more exciting— and made their way past the edge of the city and into the first of the rolling fields on its outskirts.

The grass had been damp, and the crickets had been loud. The stars had stretched out above them, twinkling in a sky so filled and endless that for once, Porco hadn’t felt caged.

That’s the kind of sky he sees right now, through the branches of the elm.

It’s almost midnight. The moon is high and full.

He’s worried— not because he thinks you won’t come (the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind), but because it’s late, and because it’s cold. He’s leaning against the tree, making sure to stay in the shadows; as he tries to picture the route back from the hospital.

The road is well lit, he tells himself. She’ll be safe.

He sighs, wishing he could come pick you up from your work.

(Did you wish that too? He wonders if you ever felt envious of the other nurse, who he’s seen meeting the PSA agent at the gates more than once.)

The crack of a dried leaf pierces through the night. It's the sound of something trying to be quiet. Porco flattens himself against the tree and cautiously turns his head to look around, heart rate kicking up.

It's just a cat, padding into the moonlight.

It spends a few moments sniffing around, before suddenly darting away across the grounds and into the darkness, chasing something only it can see.

Porco relaxes again, and turns his eyes back towards the stars.

On nights like this, when the wind carries the scent of damp earth from somewhere far away, it pulls him back through the years and right into that field.

Marcel had done most of the talking. It hadn’t been because Porco didn’t have anything to tell him. No, he’d had too much. So much that it all got tangled up and stuck in his throat, a big ball of questions and hopes and anxieties that he’d been too young and too embarrassed to whittle down to the one thing he really needed to say.

I’ll miss you, come home soon.

Marcel had filled the silence by pointing out constellations, and telling Porco the stories he'd read about them. It wasn't the kind of thing either of them ever talked about— there hadn't been much time for fairytales after they entered the Warrior program— but they'd made Marcel learn how to navigate by the stars to prepare for his mission; and he claimed it helped him remember everything.

“The way I see it,” he'd said, suddenly roughly pulling Porco into a headlock and mussing up his hair, “we're going to be looking at the same sky. So I won't be that far away, not really.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Porco had scoffed, scrabbling at his brother's arm, “That's so sappy. I'm gonna throw up.”

Nearly ten years on, he remembers the waver in his brother's voice, and now figures Marcel had been saying that for his own benefit as much as for Porco’s. He thinks Marcel may just have been a boy who liked stories.

Ten years on, that field has a factory on it, belching smoke into the sky and vomiting muddied water into the grass.

(He can't ever go back, but Porco always did think those old stories were pretty depressing anyway. The wisdom of the ancestors seemed to amount to ‘if you step out of line, you will die horribly, and all of it will be your fault’.)

Porco takes a deep breath. It’s cold enough to sting.

And then, he hears your voice calling for him; so soft it’s almost a whisper.

“Porco? Are you here?”

He steps out from under the shadow of the elm, heart pounding with anticipation, and sees you under the moonlight. You’re searching for him, clinging to the strap of your bag; and turning all around, taking faltering, circling steps.

Then you see him, and stop.

Porco thinks that joyous smile on your face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s so enamoured by it, he forgets to move his feet, and you reach him first.

“I’m late,” you say, still whispering. You’re standing barely an inch away.

It’s still too far. “That’s okay, I just got here,” Porco lies. You’re worth waiting for.

He pulls you by the arm, into the shadows with him; and gently pushes you back against the tree, one hand cradling the back of your head. He can barely see your face, but it's enough.

(For now, it’s enough.)

There's no words; only the sound of slow breaths as you gaze up at him. You let your bag slide down to the ground. It lands with a muffled thump. Time slows down as your eyes wander across his face, finally settling on his lips. Your hands come to his shoulders. Porco’s free arm snakes around your waist.

This is where you’re supposed to be, he thinks as he leans down. Right here, with me.

It’s been too damn long.

He missed how warm your lips are. He missed how your hands clutch at his jacket, how they trail up the sides of his jaw; and further up into his hair. It's a little different today, though— your fingers are surprisingly open and free, without inhibition, when they’re tugging at it. They’re telling him that you like this, you like this.

He knows, because he feels you kissing him back just as fervently, pressing your chest up against him; heat radiating from—

Ah, fuck. Porco reluctantly straightens up.

(He needs to control himself. He can’t let himself go too far, too quickly.)

“We should— we should go inside,” he manages to say, blood still rushing in his ears. His breath mists in the cold air.

(He has to do this right.)

“I— yes. We should. Inside.” You sound dazed. It’s almost enough to make him lose his resolve.

Porco leads you by the hand, making sure your path hugs the shadows around the building as much as possible. At the door, he waits as you fish the keyring out of your coat pocket, and fumble with the small padlock.

Once you’re both inside— the door locked behind you— he has an idea.

“How about we go upstairs?”

You pause, then nod. So he takes your hand again— so addictively soft, and smaller than his— and leads you past the clinic, and through the narrower door that opens into a cramped stairwell. It’s windowless, and completely dark.

Porco wraps an arm around your waist, and firmly grips the bannister with the other. He tells you to be careful. The polished wooden stairs creak as he climbs up one flight, and then another with you; moving his feet cautiously into the darkness, more sweeps than steps.

(He feels every breath you take, and wishes he could always keep you this close.)

After a while, the bannister stops abruptly. He feels around blindly in the dark, keeping you pulled snug against him. There’s a door handle. He gives it a turn. Locked.

He uses his fingertips to trace along it, and finds the indent at its base.

“Get your keys.” He instinctively keeps his voice low.

He hears the keys on the ring jingling in the dark. “I think I have the right one,” you say; quiet but excited.

Porco guides your hand to the lock. He hears you taking three tries to push the key in, and then the bolts sliding back.

The door opens, into a room that’s almost big enough to be a hall. Moonlight washes it with a faint glow, incredibly bright after the pitch dark of the stairwell; bright enough to see the dust motes in the air. The wallpaper is peeling. Cardboard boxes are piled waist-high all around, some of their bottoms torn and the files inside them spilling out. What look like old, rusted bed frames are pushed against the farthest wall.

It resembles the older wards at the hospital, with nice, tall windows all along the outside walls. Framed inside the tallest, widest window at the end of the room— behind a simple iron grill— are the elm branches. The moon peeks through the leaves.

The place is old, abandoned, and dusty.

Porco finally feels at peace.

“Oh, it’s so much prettier at night,” you breathe. “Where can we sit?”

Porco hums, and picks his way through the maze of boxes with you, finally finding a relatively clear spot on the floor right in front of the large window. It’s a little chilly to be sitting on the bare wood, but when you hug his arm and curl into his side, it doesn’t feel all that bad anymore.

“I… brought us something,” you tell him, a little hesitantly. You’ve let your coat open, and the white of your blouse glows in the moonlight.

“Actual chocolate?” he asks with a chuckle.

You laugh. He’s missed the sound. “No. I wanted to get us something sweet, but all the shops were closed because it’s so late.” You pull your bag into your lap; and after digging around for a moment, take out a bottle. “This was all I could find.”

“Is that wine?” Porco asks, an eyebrow raised.

“You’re always doing things for me,” you say, sounding like you really want him to understand something, but he’s not sure what. “And I just let you. I— ” You stop, and bite your lip. “Do you like it?”

Porco grins at you. He’s more of a hard liquor kind of guy, but somehow, whiskey doesn’t seem half as appealing right now. “Of course I do. Pour me some?”

You look pleased with yourself . “I can go get glasses from the clinic.”

Porco doesn’t like the idea of you stumbling around in that dark stairwell. “No. We’re drinking straight from the bottle.”

“Exciting!”

(That surprises him. He thought you'd be a little more flustered about it. He'd been hoping for it, in fact. He thinks it’s adorable.)

The key ring jingles again as you twist one of the keys into the cork, and struggle with it for a few seconds. Porco’s about to offer to help, when it comes out with a pop. A few drops spill on your coat. The small stains look like ink under the moon.

(Where did you learn how to do that?)

“Oh, I hope that comes out okay,” you say worriedly. You tilt your head back and swallow a mouthful of wine, then hold it out towards him. “Here. It’s good.”

Porco accepts the bottle but doesn't drink. He leans back a little, resting on his palm. “You seem a little… different.”

In the dark, he can just make out the anxious look in your eyes. “...Good different?” you ask.

He considers it. What was it really, that felt different? The way you’d kissed him. How you matched him step for step in the stairwell earlier, when he thought you’d be scared, and now this wine…

You seemed surer of yourself, Porco realises.

“Yeah, good different,” he tells you with a grin. He takes a swig of wine. It’s plenty sweet. “What changed?”

A little of that shyness he likes so much comes back; and you can't meet his eyes, even in the moonlight, for your next words. “Maybe you're good for me.”

(He may be good for you, he thinks; but you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to him.)

Porco kisses you, once, twice, and then once more because he can’t help himself; tasting the wine on your lips each time. “Can I ask you something? Why did they send you here?” How did I get so lucky?

It’s a lighthearted question, but something shifts. You tense a little, enough for him to notice.

“You don’t have to talk about—” he starts.

You sigh. “No, I want to tell you. I have, for a while.”

And then you tell him, all about a little Eldian girl named Julie, who had been in a terrible accident— a train derailment— with over a hundred others. You tell him how she’d had a piece of iron impaled straight through her stomach, and how she had been crying without making a sound, waiting all alone— abandoned in a hallway like a discarded doll— for someone to help her, while her blood continued to stain the carpet. That you’d finally convinced a doctor to attend to her, and how he’d floundered in the middle of it; after they brought in a Marleyan boy.

“He left me—” you swallow thickly, and take a few deep breaths. “He left me and Eileen with Julie, and I had— I had my hand inside her, to put pressure on it, to stop the bleeding—”

(He thinks you drink a little more of the wine than you should while you’re talking; but even though your lip wobbles and you choke more than once— a knife twists in his heart each time— the tears stay glistening in your eyes and don’t drop.)

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “You don’t have to finish.”

You shake your head. “The boy was dead already. I don’t know if they messed up at intake, or if he died on the way to the ward, but he was dead. Crush injuries. But Dr. Klein didn’t want the paperwork to look like he gave up on him to work on an Eldian girl.”

Porco doesn’t comment, though he has lots of choice words for this Dr. Klein lining up on his tongue. He just comfortingly rubs your arm.

“I yelled at him to stop being ridiculous, trying to revive a dead body. And it wasn’t— I didn’t make a mistake, I know it. He was right next to me, I could see—” You stop abruptly, and then continue after a moment. “I eventually got him to come back. But the little boy’s mother wanted someone to blame, and she got it in her head that he didn’t get the help he needed because of me. Dr. Klein, Eileen… none of them backed me up.”

“Do you regret doing it?” Porco asks, gently.

“No!” you cry, snapping your face up to look at him. “I just— I don’t know if I made a difference.”

“It must have made a difference to her.”

You shake your head again. “Julie died anyway. She was too far gone. And I don’t know if Dr. Klein was right to stop trying.”

Porco pulls you into his lap without warning. You squeak in surprise, but he doesn’t let you move, holding you tight against him.

“It made a difference to her,” he repeats. “Don’t you dare think otherwise.” He feels your hand braced against his chest, how the shaky breaths against his collarbone begin to slow.

“Thank you, Porco,” you say after a minute, and he thinks you may be crying now; but he knows you’ll be alright. He hears it in your voice.

Porco kisses the top of your head. “It’s the truth.”

For a minute, it’s silent.

Then you speak again. “I think you were loved a lot.”

He raises his eyebrows. Several faces flash through his head. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“Not like that!” you say with a laugh. “I mean growing up. Your family must have loved you so much, because…” Your voice grows softer “...because you’re so good at showing affection. You must have learned from them.”

Porco feels his face heating up. “It’s not anything special—”

“It is,” you insist, as you curl into him a little more comfortably. “You’re good at it.”

Porco holds you tighter, feeling the warmth of your body, and the calming way your chest rises and falls with each breath. Your comment stays in his head as the conversation continues, even when your breathing slows and you start slurring your words.

(He can tell you’re falling asleep. He wonders if he should walk you back down so you can get to your room, and a real bed; but then you reach for his hand, and he decides an hour or two like this wouldn’t hurt.)

Was he loved? He thinks he was. He thinks of his mother, who made sure he never felt alone or insecure, after his father was gone. Who was always there to hug and kiss him, and tuck him into bed; no matter how tired she was. Who pretended she had already eaten, when there wasn’t enough food left in the pantry for three portions. Who now pretends she isn’t worried to death about him every time they send him to the edges of the empire.

He thinks of Marcel. Porco knows he was reckless— is reckless— and that Marcel had often been the only thing standing between him and his teeth getting knocked out. How the only thing he ever wanted in return was to ruffle his hair up a little bit. He knows he only learned how to get along with children, because Marcel had figured out how to get along with him first.

Porco wishes he could introduce you to Marcel. He thinks you would have liked him.

He thinks Marcel would have liked you too.

You wonder if the salesclerk— was that even what you were supposed to call her? It didn’t feel right— has sore cheeks from smiling so much. The slope of her lips hasn’t shifted even a little from when you walked into the boutique about an hour ago. It’s still perfect— formal, yet welcoming.

The older woman instructs the girl modelling a red dress to spin and show off the flare. She’s on a little round platform. It’s disturbingly reminiscent of a music box with a ballerina.

On the opposite sofa, Claire frowns. “I don’t know… do you have one that’s more coquelicot than rose?”

“Don’t force yourself to like it, Claire,” Sophie says, sipping on her champagne. “I know the embroidery is pretty, but it’s not worth it. The rolled hem won’t hold up with that fabric.” She addresses the woman. “Do you have something similar with a blind hem?”

Hannah pinches your blouse and pulls you closer to her, a little clumsily. Her drink tips dangerously as she leans over the cushion to whisper in your ear.

“What’s the difference?” she hisses. “And what in the world is coquelicot?”

“I don’t know,” you hiss back. “Isn’t that your fourth glass already?”

“Is it? They’re free though, it’s okay.”

Hannah has certainly adapted to this place better than you have.

You knew Claire was rich, but you didn’t know she was this rich. When she’d invited you to come clothes shopping with her, you hadn’t exactly expected her to patronise the night markets; but this was one of the most expensive boutiques in Liberio. The kind of place where you didn’t have to do anything for yourself, not even trying the clothes on.

It must look even more beautiful in the daytime, you think.

Everything is detailed. There’s luxurious gold trimming (real gold) on the creamy white walls. An ornate crystal chandelier lights up the cosy space, along with half a dozen lamps that have lacey shades. The legs on every table and side table are made of a delicately twisted iron, meant to resemble vines. Rolls of the most beautifully printed and embroidered fabrics you’ve ever seen are draped over them.

It should have felt cluttered, but somehow it’s all so tasteful it just looks intimidatingly expensive.

Even the sofa you’re sitting on— the cushions are a muted mint, incredibly soft, and its blue-green throw pillows are embroidered with red roses and pink peonies. The threads are so thin and delicate, you’re afraid to rest your weight against them.

Hannah doesn’t seem to mind though. She sits comfortably, with her ankles crossed, smiling pleasantly (and a touch too widely, unlike the salesclerk— or perhaps the ‘manager’ would be a better word?) as she looks around the room.

“Claire!” she says suddenly. “Look at that green silk. I think that would look so nice on you.”

Claire looks where she’s pointing and nods. “Show me what you have in that fabric, please.”

“Gladly, Madame.” The salesclerk— manager, proprietress?— claps her hands, and the ballerina hops off her platform. They both glide to the back of the shop. You see Ballerina undoing her buttons on the way.

Hannah stands up abruptly, and sways in place.

Claire raises an eyebrow at you. You mouth a four, pointing at your own champagne flute, and she stifles a laugh.

“Maybe you should sit down, Han.” Sophie suggests, eyebrow raised. “Or at least put the glass away. You’re going to spill it.”

You’ve known Hannah since your time at the hospital, and you spend most of your time with Claire. One is the opposite of secretive, and the other is far too poised to ever need to hide anything. Sophie is still a mystery to you.

Sophie has only ever spoken to you once— on the train back from the Mid-East— and you’ve seen her a handful of times while you were there. She’s always looked more like a strict school teacher to you than a nurse, with her half rimmed glasses and her black hair usually pulled into a tight bun.

Hannah looks at the glass in her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she raises it to her lips, and drinks the whole thing in a single breath.

“No spills,” she says, holding the glass upside-down with a flourish.

Claire laughs out loud, while Sophie sighs. Hannah does a little bow.

You can’t help laughing too. Even aside from Hannah never failing to raise everyone’s spirits, you’re already in a good mood.

(You feel well rested for the first time in days.)

Hannah plops back down next to you. “Claire, didn’t you say you wanted to tell us something earlier?”

Claire suddenly looks very serious. “I did.” She runs a finger around the edge of her glass, and then takes a deep breath. “I’m resigning.”

“You are? When?” you ask, dismayed.

“You’re leaving?” Hannah cries.

Sophie just looks annoyed. “You’re quitting your job? Claire, no matter how nice he is—”

Claire waves her hands to shush everyone. “I’m not quitting being a nurse. And I’m not leaving Liberio. I applied to the new private hospital.” She takes a sip of her drink. “It only makes sense. It’s closer to where the apartment is, and the pay is better.”

(You’re surprised to see Claire looking a little sad, about something that made sense.)

“And,” she says, looking at you. “They’re still doing the interiors, so I won’t be gone for a while. I just wanted to give everyone a heads up.”

Sophie leans back, satisfied. “The private sector pay is great. I’m much happier out of the military. Don’t have goddamn sergeants thinking they can yell at me.”

“Oh, no one yells at Claire,” you say without thinking; your tongue loosened by the alcohol, and by how touched you are at her reassuring you. “They’re all too scared.”

Sophie peers at you over her lenses. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… how are you so pleasant?”

You feel your face warming. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so nice. Everyone gets a little jaded after seeing the frontlines, but look at you.”

“It's because she didn't see much of it,” Claire says. “She was only there for the last couple of months.”

The Warrior Unit was supposed to be a temporary assignment. Just somewhere the board decided to stash you, out of the public eye; until the whole business with Julie had been sorted. You weren’t really part of the unit, not back then.

And so you’d been left behind while the rest of them were sent to the Mid East. But you never did apologise— Director Klein ended up having no choice but to sign off on your formal transfer.

(It had happened almost overnight. It led to Claire finding you standing awkwardly at the entrance of the tent; wearing boots that had been issued last-minute, and at least one size too big. They’d made you feel even more like a child, far out of your depth.)

Sophie adjusts her glasses. “You haven’t even seen titans?”

“No.”

“Hope it stays that way.”

“This wasn't like Helena, Soph,” Claire adds, “The Warriors steamroll over everything. And it all happens so far away, relatively speaking.”

Hannah claps her hands. “This isn’t a fun topic! Claire, congratulations on the new job.”

Sophie shakes her head, as if to clear it, and nods. “Congratulations. Maybe I’ll apply too.”

“Oh!” Hannah suddenly sits bolt upright. “And maybe I’ll apply to the Warrior Unit!”

Sophie smiles wryly. “I thought your plan was having a rich patient fall in love with you. Not a lot of eligible bachelors over there.”

“No, but she’s over there.” Hannah gives you a one armed hug. From her, it’s as warm and comforting as a bear hug from most others. (Even if her drunkenness has her clumsily punching your arm on the first try.) “What’s so great about guys anyway? I don’t have half as much fun as I do with you three. Claire, is Eric fun?”

“Not as much as you,” she replies, with a barely straight face.

Porco's pretty fun, you think. He always makes me laugh.

But there's a tinge of melancholy to the thought.

Claire was leaving. She would leave, and one day she’d go so far— Odiha, or maybe even further— and you wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. They all would. And then Porco would too.

And then no one would know.

No one would know that he’s more than fun. They wouldn’t know how he’s been kinder to you than anyone else in your entire life. They wouldn't know that he makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

No one would know how he made you feel wanted.

They wouldn’t know, because even though it’s safest when it feels like you’re the only two people in the world, it meant that world would disappear with him.

“You look like you finally got a good night of sleep,” Claire comments.

Your heart starts to race, though you’re not sure exactly why. “Oh, yes. I slept well last night.”

(No one knows.)

The first thing that makes Colt think something is up, is when Porco spends the whole night chewing with his mouth closed.

The second, is his reaction to Olivia telling him— very suggestively— as she pours him yet another glass of whiskey, that her shift would be over in another hour.

“Yeah? It’s still pretty early, but be careful on your way home,” Porco says.

Colt chokes on his drink.

Zeke snorts.

Pieck’s eyes go wide.

A stream of beer dribbles out the corner of Reiner’s mouth.

The bar is busy, and loud. There’s a table celebrating a birthday, and the residents of the internment zone were never ones to let an excuse to celebrate pass them by. You had to take the happy times when you could, even if they were borrowed from someone else. Cheers periodically erupt from near the dartboard. It’s difficult to see through the crowd surrounding it, but Colt’s fairly sure the birthday boy has taken it off the wall, and added an extra challenge to the whole thing by moving it wildly around.

He’d been meaning to go join in, when Porco Galliard turned down a hookup. Colt has only just started getting buzzed, but the shock of it almost sobers him.

Olivia, with her attractive red lip, and long dark hair that could only be described as tresses, was reminiscent of the princesses from Falco’s old books; if those princesses knew how to make the best drinks in Liberio, and seemed to have an aversion to buttoning the top half of their blouses.

In short, it was not the response of a rational man; especially one with Porco’s habits.

Pieck claps him on the shoulders. “Porco! You shouldn’t have come out if you were feeling ill! Here, drink my water.”

Porco looks bewildered. “Feeling ill—”

Reiner wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sighs. “I hope you don’t throw up in our room. Pace yourself, for god’s sake.”

“Why would I—”

Colt gently takes the still full glass of whiskey out of his hand. “You know there’s no need to try and keep up with me, right? I would never think less of—”

Porco snatches it back. “What the fuck are all of you talking about?”

Olivia, to her credit, seemed to be taking it in stride. She leans forward, elbows on the counter. Colt idly wonders if the buttons had actually popped off at some point. Or maybe it was more comfortable for her like that. It did seem too small. He doesn’t think he should ask.

“It sounds like they’re concerned about you not coming home with me, champ,” she says with a playful grin. “Is it something I said or did… the last couple dozen times?”

“Helos,” Porco mutters. “I’m fucking fine. I don’t mean to insult you, Liv. I just want to drink and go to bed today.”

Zeke conspicuously sets down his glass, and takes a puff of his cigarette; which usually meant he would be spouting some sage wisdom. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later, Galliard.”

Porco rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t interrupt. It never works. Colt would know.

"You're still in the sweet spot right now," Zeke continues, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the already hazy air of the bar. "Where they don't see a dead man, only some fun with a guarantee of no strings attached. No offense, Miss Olivia.”

“None taken. He’s very fun.”

“That makes him sound selfish,” Pieck comments. “Pock here’s quite sensitive, actually.” The way she says it, it’s somehow genuine and teasing at the same time.

Zeke waves the lit cigarette around as he speaks. It flits through the smoke like a boozey firefly. (Colt’s aware the metaphor is absurd, but the alcohol is starting to hit him. People said he never knew when it did, but look. He did.)

Porco slams back his drink. Colt winces. That was most definitely a sipping whisky.

“Fuck you guys,” Porco says, voice hoarse. “I need to take a leak.” He shoves himself backwards, the bar stool screeching, and then stalks off in the direction of the bathrooms.

Colt trades a look with Pieck.

(Really, he wanted to exchange a look with everyone to see what they thought of that, but she was the only one who looked back.)

“I don’t know what’s up with him,” she says. “He’s starting to worry me though, to be honest.”

Colt finishes his drink in another two gulps. He was the only one who could help Porco now. Pieck couldn’t go into the men’s bathrooms.

And so he goes after him.

He finds Porco not inside the bathroom, but in the hallway outside of it, where the noise of the bar is contained behind a stout wooden door.

(So he didn’t have to piss, Colt thinks. Maybe that’s important.)

“Galliard.”

Porco, who was moodily staring at his own boots, snaps his head up in disbelief. “Leave me alone. I’m not horny all the time, fucking sue me.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Colt asks.

“Lots of things. Want a list?”

Before he can chide him for the sarcasm, Colt trips on his own feet, and stumbles rather than walks the last few steps. He ends up leaning heavily on Porco’s shoulders, trying to regain his balance.

For all his flaws, Porco doesn’t try to push him away. “Are you drunk already? We haven’t even been here for an hour.”

Colt raises his head. He can find his balance later. “Galliard,” he says, looking him straight in the eyes, so he knows Colt is serious, “you know you can trust me, right?”

Porco’s throat bobs. “Yeah, man,” he says, voice thick. “I trust you.”

There’s no easy way to ask this. Turning down Olivia, the hurrying away after showers— it could only mean one thing, from him.

Colt takes a deep breath. “Galliard, after your injury. I know the nurses treated you—” He feels Porco tense under his hands. “— and it’s difficult to even think about, but—”

Porco isn’t breathing. He stares at Colt, eyes wide.

“—but did your dick grow back wrong?”

There’s silence, punctuated by uproarious laughter from the bar.

And then, Colt’s on the floor.

Porco pushed him.

“Motherfucking hell, piece of fucking shit—”

He’s swearing up a storm, but really, Colt doesn’t mind. It’s not directed at him. It’s just how Porco deals with his emotions, sometimes. It stopped bothering him after the first five years. (As long as Falco's not around.)

“Well something’s bothering you,” he insists from the floor. It's disturbingly sticky as he pushes himself up. “You’ve been acting weird ever since we came back from the Mid East.”

“Give it a rest—”

“You’re even broodier than usual. Is Mrs. Galliard okay?”

Porco drags a hand over his face. “Ma’s fine, Grice. Thank you for the concern.”

And then, Colt remembers something that’s been bothering him for a while now. “And then you asked that nurse to come with us to the park—” Suddenly, it all clicks into place.

The dawning realisation must be obvious on his face, because Porco’s has gone white. He can tell, even in the dim lighting. “Grice—”

“You’ve got a crush on her.”

Porco’s making a really weird expression now. If Colt didn’t know better, if he didn’t know how the alcohol made him overly dramatic, he’d think Porco was about to cry.

“... and what would you say if I did?” His voice is hoarse again.

Colt thinks about it. “That it’s understandable. She saved your life.”

Relief blooms across Porco’s face. The pinch between his eyebrows disappears. “Then—”

“But that you’re—” Colt pauses to hiccup. “— being really stupid by indulging in it like that. Quit it before—” Another hiccup. “— she figures it out.”

Porco pushes him aside, and starts to head back to the bar. Colt can’t see his face, so it’s difficult to decipher his tone, but the words are oddly clipped back. Like he’s forcing each one out. “Wow, Grice. I thought you’d be the blindly supportive type.”

Colt’s confused. “I thought you didn't like fairy tales.”

Sylvie’s cooking smells heavenly.

(It always has, right from when Theo was a kid, and she was making magic out of a can of peas.)

Theo cautiously peeks in through the kitchen window. He can see the table set for two places. One’s for her, of course. But that other one…

Was Porco home?

“I can hear you crunching through the leaves from here, Theo,” she calls, not looking up from the pot she’s stirring. “Come in. The plate’s for you.”

And so Theo meekly makes his way to the front door, and slinks in like a particularly dirty stray cat that the family has taken upon itself to feed. Confident, but ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. He makes sure to wipe his shoes on the mat— he’s pretty sure Sylvie’s hospitality would reach its limit if he got mud on her nice carpet.

He takes a seat at the table. It wasn’t too long ago, he thinks with some sadness, how he had to drag in a chair from the living room to sit at this table. Back when all four dining chairs had been spoken for.

“Porco came by already tonight. Said they were going out to the bar, if you want to avoid it.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I know his liver will be fine, but as a mother…” She takes a deep breath, and keeps stirring her pot.

“Oh,” Theo says.

Sylvie had given him more second chances than he could count. It’s why he believes Evie every time she calls him selfish.

(It’s why Wolfe fell in love with her, he thinks. That endless forgiveness, when he knew better than anyone how much Theo didn’t deserve it. He would have given Theo those chances too, though; if he’d survived that first one.)

Sylvie turns off her stove, and carefully walks the pot over to the table. Theo tears himself a chunk off bread off the loaf on the table. She ladles stew onto his plate, humming all the while.

“You’re in a good mood,” Theo comments. It’s nice to see Sylvie like this. She’s usually so worried about her son.

Sylvie waves off the comment as she sits down. “Oh, it’s just that Porco seemed so happy today.”

“Yeah? Something good happen?”

“I wouldn’t know, he didn’t tell me a thing. He said he was just here to make sure you had cleared out.”

Theo blanches. “And what did you tell him?”

“That it wasn’t his business who stayed in my house,” Sylvia scoffs. “Well really, I told him I’d take care of it. He took it how he liked.” She leans toward him. “But he seemed too happy to care either way,” she says conspiratorially.

“The kid does wear his heart on his sleeve,” Theo agrees.

(Porco always had. Right from when he was in diapers, wrinkling his nose at Theo’s off-key singing. In Porco’s defence, there were actual stray cats who could caterwaul more melodiously.)

“Oh, I love him too much for him to be able to hide it anyway.” She smiles to herself as she reaches for the bread. “That’s the thing about love. Everything shows.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “That’s so sappy, I’m going to throw up.”

Eric clears the side of his desk for Claire as she sets her shopping bags down and rests her hip on its edge. He allows himself a moment to admire the ring glinting on his finger. That had been a good choice.

The office is on the night shift. Claire’s not strictly supposed to be here right now, but most people are sleeping at their desks and weren’t awake to report it. It’s one of the few public buildings that got electric bulbs put in this year, and Eric is slightly displeased that they generate enough heat that he needs to take off his sweater vest. It’s one of his favourite parts of autumn, and now it’s been delayed.

“... and then when we went to look at perfumes, she picked out this honeysuckle one. It was too sweet for me, but she’s cute enough to pull it off.”

“I think you’re sweet,” he attempts.

Claire swats him on the shoulder, but he can see she’s smiling. “That’s not the point! The point is, you should have seen her face. She was definitely thinking about someone. I’m not about to pry though.”

Eric hums. It’s not in disinterest. He’s just trying to make sure he’s filing everything away correctly. He’s still got a headache from Chief Gerard yelling at that poor secretary this afternoon for misplacing documents. The poor girl had been swearing someone had messed with them, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Are you still working on that missing persons case?” Claire asks.

Eric frowns. “Technically, I am. But it isn’t going anywhere, so the Chief assigned me to something else.”

“Oh?”

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m temporarily partnering with Detective Rolland.” He discreetly rolls his eyes towards the man sitting on the other side of the room.

Rolland is a psychopath. Eric knows this. Chief Gerard knows this. Everyone knows this. But the man had a knack for closing cases. Criminals all but lined up to confess. The Chief didn’t let him investigate alone anymore, though. There needed to be someone making sure his methods would hold up in court.

Eric thinks it just warps the younger detectives’ idea of what’s acceptable.

In fact, Eric wouldn’t put it past him to not care about the protocol around properly signing out files.

I should look into that, he thinks to himself, as he watches Thomas Rolland pull back his sleeve, to check the time on his large, gold-plated watch.

Hannah's getting a suspicious amount of character development, isn't she? 🤭 Please leave a like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed!

#porco galliard x reader #porco x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #angst #fluff #my fic #snk precipice

[cerenemuxse]

"He Squawks!"

7th October 1963

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

Under an agreement between James and the rest of the North Westerners, after every October 6th, James is allowed to spook any of his fellow co-workers. This year has a bit of a surprise for him.

For Traintober 2023: Day 8 - Bird

~

In Tidmouth Yards, three engines were laughing about as they cleaned up the little mishap one of them caused. Troublesome Trucks had been derailed by accident.

“Thon wis quite a scare, Jim!” piped up Donald with a chuckle. “Ye could’nae even wait a single day noo, could ye?”

James laughed loudly. “Of course not! It’s past my birthday, just like we agreed~!”

“We ken, auld man!” Douglas said cheekily as he pulled a Troublesome Truck back on the line. “At least we won’t be needin’ the cranes.”

“Ye’re gettin’ better at spookin’,” Donald added with the same cheekiness.

“As if I was never good at it!” huffed the red medium-sized tender engine playfully, giving a cross look at the Scottish twins. Within seconds of silence full of steam being bellowed, all three engines burst into laughter once again as they continued pulling the trucks back onto the tracks.

Once they were done, Donald asked. “Sae, who’s yer next victim?”

“Emily, of course! As always.”

“As always?” asked Douglas with a chuckle. “Sae we’re always first? How sweet, Jim.”

With another playful huff, James replied, “Well, you’re the furthest away from my branch line, and I haven’t seen you both in a while, except for the weekends, that is.”

“We saw ye yesterday, auld man,” reminded Douglas.

“But still-!”

“We get it, Jimmy,” interrupted Donald. “Still cannae believe ye’re turning fifty-ane ance this month is over.”

“May I remind you that you’re both fifty-four years old. You’re both not that much older than me, ‘auld man,’” James retorted with a tease, mimicking the twins’ Scottish accent.

“Alricht, get goin’ then if ye want tae catch Emily,” huffed Donald, shooing the larger engine away. “We dinnae want the Big Man findin’ oot aboot this.”

“Right!” puffed James. With two sharp whistles from the polished brass object, James reversed and gathered his goods train that was headed to the docks. Half of the train was from the Ffarquhar Quarry and the other was from the Goram Fell Quarry, so the trucks were full of stone. Thankfully, these trucks weren’t Troublesome Trucks. Otherwise, they would’ve gotten James back for the incident that had occurred moments prior.

The red medium-sized tender engine pulled out of the yard with his goods train and went onto the Main Line, heading towards the Brendam Branch Line.

…

Brendam Docks was busy as usual with Salty bustling about and Cranky loading and unloading cargo. Goods trains were being set up as James approached Cranky.

"Here's James!" he exclaimed, whistling sharply. "Here's my train, Cranky!"

"You're gonna have to move along, James!" exclaimed Cranky with his typical grump. "I need to load another train now. You can put it underneath the dock manager's building for now!"

Without another word, James whistled once more and moved ahead. He made sure the brake van of his goods train sat right outside of the roofline of the building. Once that was done, he collected his brake van and moved along, only to find another engine stalled ahead.

Although James hadn't planned on adding this particular engine to his list, he gave it a second thought. With a soft but mischievous chuckle, he whispered, "I've been a little too nice to Edward."

His driver, Fred, caught wind and immediately spoke up. "Oh, don't you even think about it!" he whispered hastily as he grabbed the handbrake. "Come on, old boy! We're gonna be late!"

"Pft! We'll be fine. I'll only take a moment!" he whispered. Fred and George looked at one another before giving in, with Fred letting go of the handbrake. James snickered as he approached the blue medium-sized tender engine as slowly as he could. Knowing that Edward lacked the ability to open his smokebox door, James moved closer than he typically would. Once he was at the halfway point of Edward's goods train, he stopped, making sure Edward hadn't taken notice. The other engine didn't do anything but hum about, presumably waiting around. With a devious grin, James rushed forward with full force and hollered, "I'm behind you!" as loud as he could.

Edward let out a very loud squawk, startled by the sudden scream and red blur rushing past him.

James immediately pulled on his brakes the moment the sound left the other engine's mouth. The noise had shaken him out of his joy, making it short-lived. Slowly, he reversed until his smokebox aligned with Edward. He popped open his smokebox door, seeing Edward's face.

Edward's eyes were blown open, his lips creased together in a thin straight line, and his cheeks were burning to a near sooty black.

"Did you just-?" began James.

"Naw!" immediately squeaked the smaller engine, trying to be stern. "Naw, I didnae!"

"You squawked like a seagull!" exclaimed James, flustering Edward even further. "I can't believe it! He squawks!"

"James, please-!" he insisted, still trying to be stern.

"I wonder if Duck quacks?" asked James smugly. "Now wouldn't that be a treat?"

"James!"

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, Edward, if that's the problem."

"Well, aye, but-!"

"I've gotta go now! Talk to you later!" exclaimed the red medium-sized tender engine giddily before rushing off, leaving behind a very flustered Edward.

~

Just a fun short story! Looks like I did get a chance to join Traintober this year just for a bit.

#ttte james #ttte edward #ttte donald #ttte douglas #engines of sudrian rails (shipverse) by muxse #engines of sudrian rails by muxse #traintober 2023 #this idea has been brewing in my mind for a good while #so with the recent changes i made to the storyline #it was perfect timing #my writing #ttte fic #ttte #ttte au

[sunaluvs]

“You need to stop being so reckless. Next time I see you, you’ll be missing an arm.”

Izuku smiles, a small wry curve of his lips. A line of blood tracks straight down his forehead from a sizeable scrape where he’d been tossed face-first into a concrete wall by a villain. Crimson splatters with ashy dirt on his hero suit to form an ugly image of his night. A single look to his torso had given you more details than he’d told you. His expression scrunches into a wince at the sting of alcohol on his head wound. You feel no regret for dabbing the cotton pad slightly harder than necessary.

“And don’t bother apologizing,” you grumble under your breath, “You never mean it.”

You’re somewhat gratified to see that he appears a little sheepish from your words, at least.

“I am sorry for coming to you like this,” he murmurs gently, dark viridian eyes studying your features.

Your hand falters in its motions for a second. Sorry for waking you up late again, is what he means. Sorry for worrying you, sorry for letting you care for me. He’ll never apologize for his job, though. He’ll never be sorry for saving lives.

Touch easing up a little, you sigh and use your other hand to gently hold his jaw and tilt his head up. You aren’t sure what he sees in your face, but it makes his gaze soften and eyebrows furrow a little. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you reply quietly. “Don’t apologize for needing me.”

He huffs a crude chuckle, slightly uncharacteristically mocking, “I pay a professional doctor with a healing quirk at my agency to do exactly this,” your eyes narrow, ready to snap back about wasting his time with an inexperienced nurse when he continues. “I came here ‘cause I wanted to see you.”

That stumps you silent. Your fingers twitch around the cotton they hold up, unmoving. Your eyes stay firmly on the broken skin, refusing to discover what expression he’s giving you. Throat dry, heart pounding almost painfully against your chest, you force the next words out into the air,

“Good… Don’t go anywhere else.”

He exhales a light breath through his nose. Stiffly, you remove the pad, now soaked through with blood, and throw it into the garbage can next to you. You rip open a new one to replace it. As you bring it back to his forehead, your eyes unintentionally pass over the rest of his features, where they freeze, captivated by the gaze he’s set on you.

When Izuku had trudged apologetically through your front door at half past two in the morning, you’d immediately taken him in by the bruised arm and trotted to your bathroom, pointing at the closed toilet seat with a clenched jaw. Obediently, he’d sat and you’d begun your work standing over him.

Despite this position, however, you barely tower over him as much as you might have liked. Though he’s sitting down, Izuku is still ridiculously big. Physically, his body is dense, compact with firm muscles and strong bones so that he’s always somehow still larger than you. This is only emphasized by the self-assured, unwavering presence he’s learned to carry with him throughout the years, his innate intensity filling out all the lingering space between you and crowding the air in your lungs.

This same intensity shines in the look he fixes on you, like he’s trying to sink into your thoughts to figure out what those words really mean. Like maybe, if he could peer into your mind, he’d finally be able to understand why every encounter with you feels as intimate as it does.

The air around you seems to hold its breath, afraid to exhale in fear of shattering this moment, one as sacred as the hush of a crowd contemplating their prayers. Without realizing, your eyes had dropped down to his mouth, the bottom lip swelling purple and red, pleading to be further bruised. The second you register his tongue flicking out to lick them, you snap your eyes back to Izuku’s. Your mouth dries at how low his gaze has dropped, too. 

An eternity passes where none of you do a single thing. Slowly, naturally, you drift closer, heads tilting like two magnets split off a whole piece coming together again. His breath wafts warmly over your face, and even beneath your bathroom's shitty fluorescent lights, his eyes seem to glitter impossibly brighter at the proximity. Your nose brushes lightly against his, mind intoxicated with the heady, earthy scent of him surrounding your senses. It clouds your every thought, until your eyes are sliding shut and you’re closing the final centimeter between you—

And his phone rings.

The shrill noise startles you both apart. Your breathing picks up at the shock of being seized back into the present, away from this isolated space in time you had crafted for yourselves. In the cramped space of your bathroom, the ringing should be deafening to your ears, but the sudden blood rushing through your head overcomes its disdainful shrieks. You lower your head in a flimsy attempt to hide the embarrassment spreading through your cheeks, busying yourself with the first aid kit and forbidding yourself from even glancing at him. You have no idea what he's doing or how he looks, but the hard weight of his stare and the continuous ringing begin to make your hands clammy.

You’re desperately trying to get your breathing under control when  you finally see his hands move in your periphery. Calloused fingers slip into his pocket for a moment before reappearing with a phone. He taps the screen and clears his throat.

"Hello?" His voice is rough, blunt edges of restraint scraping pleasantly against your ears, "Yeah, it's all good. I'll be back soon," a pause. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just… doing a quick round over the surrounding neighborhoods, making sure everything's quiet," another pause, then he laughs, a weak and strained thing. "Yeah, yeah, it is, so no need to worry about me. I'm not number one for nothing."

The words make you swallow dryly around the lump in your throat, fingers tightening their hold on the bandage in your hands. They're a reminder for what you'd almost stupidly forgotten: he is the number one hero. Before he is his, before he is yours, he is a hero that belongs to the public. It’s not a reality that could change simply because you wish it to, because more than Izuku may desire you, he needs to be the one to keep this country safe. He’ll wear himself down to the bone doing what’s been instilled in him to do since childhood, and has become intrinsic to who he is.

You can't allow yourself to long for him, not when you'd only receive the leftovers of himself that the people don’t want. 

A few more things are said before he's murmuring his goodbyes. The call ends with a simple tap to his screen. Silence fills the air once more, frigid and still.

Then, he softly calls your name.

"Can… can we talk? Please? I—"

"There's nothing to talk about." Your voice strikes the air like a judge's gavel; rigid, resounding, final. With wooden movements, you apply the bandage on the cleaned wound and don’t bother giving him your usual double check to make sure everything has been tended to. You turn away and begin putting everything back in the kit.

"You're all done. I have to be at the hospital at six tomorrow." Please leave, please don't make this harder than it needs to be.

And maybe he thinks that this conversation would be better had another time, when you're both not carrying the weight of your exhaustion and the implications of what had almost occurred. Or maybe he's also realized what you'd foolishly forgotten earlier; that a relationship with half of a man is hardly a relationship at all. Whatever the reason, it renders him quiet and yielding. He gets up as you take your time putting everything away, and treads slowly towards the open bathroom door. He pauses beneath the arch, and you squeeze your eyes shut like a child trying to hide from the seeker in front of them. 

A beat passes, then, softly, "Sleep well, Y/N."

Faint stars begin to twinkle in the artificial darkness you've created for yourself. Your ears strain to hear the final footfall of Izuku stepping out and the low echo of your front door falling shut. A shaky exhale pushes itself out of your chest. For minutes, you don't open your eyes, frightened of the reality that might stare back at you in the mirror.

You can't allow yourself to love a man that barely belongs to himself.

#izuku x reader #bnha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku angst #bnha angst #mha x reader #mha angst #izuku drabble #bnha drabble #izuku midoriya angst #SORRY this is a bit rubbish but i havent written anything in months so im rusty rn #it might be rough for a little while but im trying to ease back into writing so lets see how it goes :3 #a.writes #❥.bnha

[seiya-starsniper]

WIP Word Search Game

I AM 8 BAJILLION YEARS LATE WITH NO EXCUSES (that's a lie, I was sick so haven't written too much lmaoooooo) but thank you so much for the tags @five-and-dimes and @hardly-an-escape

My words are cold, warm, soft, hold, hurt and book, scare, red, hip, tree. Let's see what we've got!

Putting this under a cut because it got long!

Cold:

From an Untitled Dreamling Forced Marriage AU

Dream wishes he had tried harder to convince Robert to open their marriage. Then maybe he could have had someone else’s child, and taken the fall for an affair and run off, out of this cold, loveless place. But Robert had vehemently refused him even that small comfort, and Dream now finds himself hating his husband for it. Now he was trapped forever, with no escape. 

Warm:

Continuation of Untitled Portrait of a Man (I Want to Obliterate Me)

“Hey,” Hob greets warmly, breaking Dream out of his reverie and forcing him to reboot his brain. “Hob,” Dream says, cringing internally at how breathless he sounds despite Hob being the one breathing heavily at his door. If the other man notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “It’s bloody hot outside,” Hob replies. He runs a hand through his sweat soaked hair and Dream has to clamp his jaw shut before he blurts out something stupid like “it’s bloody hot inside too”.

Soft:

From the Untitled sequel to A Dream for a Viscount

He wakes to sunlight filtering through the windows, soft and gentle. Hob is snoring peacefully next to him, a rarity as he is normally an early riser while Dream prefers to sleep in. Dream’s last night of heat had been his most fervent, and he blushes when he remembers how desperately he had begged for Hob’s knot, had even begged the alpha to stay inside him until they both fell asleep. 

Hold:

Continuation of Untitled Portrait of a Man (I Want to Obliterate Me)

Dream doesn’t expect Hob to show up for their final session. He has every right not to. When he had left Dream’s apartment last week, Dream had buried himself in his work and his sketches. He obsessively stalked the man's social media accounts and downloaded dozens of photos to use a reference in case he needed them to finish his project. In case Hob decided to not come back. The photos don't hold a candle to the real thing though.

Hurt:

From the Untitled sequel to Break Me, Shake Me

Johanna explains to the group gathered who Dream is, and why he’s agreed to help them. Though many of the group regard him warily, as they should, they all fully accept that he's yet another person that's been irreparably hurt by Roderick. Dream wonders what it is they see when they look at him. Roderick has not left him with scars, nor starved him. But there must be something in his expression because Dream catches more than a few pitying glances. 

Book:

Continuation of Untitled Portrait of a Man (I Want to Obliterate Me)

“So are you going to let me see what you've done so far, or do I need to wait for the finished product?” Hob asks, settling himself back on the lounge and looking far too comfortable. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get dressed, much to Dream’s chagrin. It’s not that he minds Hob’s company, but he’s so horny he might actually explode if Hob doesn’t dress and leave soon. “When I have something worth sharing, you will be the first to see it,” Dream replies, more curt than he'd intended. Hob doesn't seem bothered by his shortness though, he simply huffs in amusement before he stands and walks over to where Dream is sitting as he finishes some additional lines on his sketches. On instinct, Dream pulls his sketchbook close to his chest when Hob is close enough, and when he looks up, he finds himself staring at the most brilliant amber brown eyes he’s ever seen. He almost tells Hob to sit back down just so he can sketch them.

Scare:

Not found in any of my WIP documents (but I'm sure that'll change soon enough!)

Red:

Follow up to SnowBaz Dreamling shenanigans, requested by @bazzybelle

“ ‘m not drunk,” Morpheus insists. Hob snorts. “Sure, sure, and I had the queen of England over at my place this summer,” Hob jokes. “I’m serious!” Morpheus insists, huffing and puffing out his cheeks like a small child. It’s absolutely adorable, if not absolutely terrible for Hob’s balance. Morpheus’s cheeks and lips are both flushed cherry-red from the cold, the most color Hob’s ever seen on the other man since they met. It was a really good look on him. A very tempting look. “Pretty sure your boyfriend would agree with me,” Hob replies, reminding himself that no matter how cute and tempting Morpheus looked, Hob wasn’t a homewrecker. Even if Baz would have thanked him for him and written him a check for enough money to pay the rest of his rent and tuition for the rest of the year.  Morpheus furrows his brow. “Boyfriend?” he asks in a confused state. “What boyfriend?”

Hip:

From the Untitled sequel to Break Me, Shake Me

“What do you like, baby?” Hob asks again. “Tell me, I’ll give it to you.” Dream wants to say, look at me. Tell me you can't live without me. Instead, he places a hand on the alpha’s chest, pushing him back and off of him until Hob is sitting on his ankles watching him, his eyes never leaving Dream’s. Then Dream turns and presents himself, bracing on his elbows and knees as he spreads his legs as wide as he can manage.   “Take me rough, just like this,” Dream whines. “I want to feel you so deep inside me, I forget everything else.” Hob growls and grabs him by the hips, before the alpha finally, finally does what Dream’s been fantasizing about for weeks and sinks himself into the omega’s cunt. 

Tree:

From Chapter 3 of Set the Night on Fire

“You need to leave,” Dream says, his voice low and dangerous as he hears the adventuring party  advance further into his territory. By his estimates, they would be at the bottom of the trail leading up the mountain in an hour.  “What? Why?” Hob asks, sitting up and now fully awake. Dream does not explain further, he simply grabs Hob by the waist, careful not to squeeze too hard on the soft human’s body, before he dashes out of the cave and jumps from the cliff, taking off into the chilly morning air. “What the fucking hell!” Hob yells as Dream carries them high above the trees, and as far away from the fast approaching humans as the bounds of his curse will allow. He cannot allow the humans to see Hob. He cannot allow them to think Hob is aligned with him. If they do, they’ll kill him, and Dream would not be able to stand it if he loses another human companion.

tagging @pellaaearien @bazzybelle @arialerendeair @blueberrymffn @beauty-of-nyx @tj-dragonblade @bruce-wayne-simp @delta-pavonis @lostelfwriting

Your words are: blue, rich, sky, jacket, and heart

#dreamling #seiya writes #seiya gets tagged #seiya's wip previews #nsft #omegaverse #angst galore! #if there's one thing these word searches make me do #it's write more so I can fill the prompted words LMAO #thanks for tagging me friends!!! 💖

[skybluewritings]

Plane- Pope Heyward x fem!reader

Description: (Name) ends up at the same college as her former academic rival Pope and is forced to share a flight with him.

AN: References to panic attack.

She took a swig of beer from the red solo cup, the burn of the alcohol warming her throat. She had felt prepared for tonight when she had slipped on a cute bodycon dress and her favourite denim jacket. She scanned the crowded party, wishing she hadn’t lost her roommate. A strange shyness crept over her as she helplessly looked to the different clumps of people talking.

Back in Kildare she’d had no problem at parties, it was easy to know what to say. But here at Columbia she felt completely out of her depth. Everyone seemed so much more older and wiser than her, despite also being freshman. For as long as she could remember she had wanted to escape to a different life, now more than anything she longed for a familiar face. And the universe listened to her.

In the corner of the room looking just as lost as she felt stood-Pope Heyward? He was staring reflectively into his own solo cup as he swirled it with his wrist. He was wearing blue jeans and a navy Kildare jumper. It was a far cry from his usual shorts and loose fitting t-shirts. She longed for her own Kildare jumper, which was still shoved at the bottom of her suitcase.

She supposed it wasn’t all that surprising that Pope would attend the same college as her. He was insanely intelligent. They had been in a lot of the same advanced classes before she had transferred to Kildare academy in her Junior year. Despite having a reputation as a fairly nice guy, a smug smile would spread across his stupidly handsome face every time he beat her for top of the class. She had once been so mad the pencil in her hand had nearly snapped in two. Past annoyances aside it was relieving to see someone she knew.

The ground was sticky under her new nike shoes, as she made her way across the tightly packed room. She hoped it was just beer.

“Pope hey.” She said.

He ignored her continuing to investigate his cup. He probably hadn’t heard her over the music.

“Pope hey.” She said again, still no reply.

She moved closer to him. “Pope!” It came out louder than she had expected.

He let out a gasp, his cup falling to the floor. His brown eyes snapping straight to her.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” She apologised bending down to collect his discarded cup.

She pressed the cup into his hands, his jaw clenched as he looked inside it. “It’s empty.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I guess I overestimated the volume of my own voice.”

“Yep.” He replied in a clipped tone.

It was just beer, she thought to herself skin prickling.

“Anyway, how’re you finding college so far?” She asked brightly.

He shrugged at her. “Well no one’s spoken to me in 15 minutes so.”

“To be fair you aren’t helping yourself brooding in the corner.” She pointed out.

“I’m not brooding, you make me sound like batman.”

“You’ve definitely got the muscles for it.” She teased, immediately regretting it as soon as she’d said it.

It technically wasn’t untrue she’d seen him at the beach a few times surfing, she had found her face heating up when he’d once caught her staring.

“Uh thank you?..”

“Sorry-that was just a joke.” She stammered.

He let out a heavy sigh. “(Name) what do you want? We barely even knew each other back home.”

“That’s not entirely true we went to the same school.” She firmly reminded him.

“Until you pissed off to the kook academy.” He told her.

She desperately wanted to know who put the stick up his ass.

Her lips pressed into a line. “I forgot people still used those words. You know you can drop all that stupid shit, we’re not children anymore. What’s even the problem?”

“That’s easy for you to say, you aren’t the one who has to worry about how you’re gonna keep the lights on in your house. So I’ll stop using them when it stops being a problem.” He icily replied.

Yeah so clearly this conversation was clearly over.

“I’m gonna go get another drink it’s been fun?” She said earning an eye roll from him. “Enjoy college Pope.”

As she walked away from him she hoped she wouldn’t ever have to interact with him anymore at college. And once again the universe worked its magic.

Two and a half years (and many more college parties) later, she was 21 years old on the plane back to North Carolina. It had a been a few months since her last visit and she was excited to go back. She had felt like a different version of herself in New York. Not that it was a bad version, just different.

She usually enjoyed the short flight home. She would engross herself in a new book or gaze out of the window with her music blaring. But this time her usual peaceful journey had been interrupted by a child kicking her seat.

She turned round in her seat. “Excuse me sorry, do you mind asking your child to stop kicking my seat?” She politely asked the boy’s mother.

“He wasn’t kicking your seat.” The woman replied.

“I promise you he was, it’s all I’ve felt the past thirty minutes.” She assured her.

“My son’s a good boy how dare you accuse him of things.” The woman snapped as the boy once more booted her seat.

“See he just did it!” She said in exasperation.

The woman glared at her. “I didn’t see anything.”

She glared back at the woman. “Because you weren’t even looking.“

The boy did it once more she turned to the kid. “I swear to god if you don’t-“

“What's going on?” A familiar voice asked.

Pope stood in the narrow aisle a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Of course he had caught at her yelling at a child.

“Pope hey.” She said far too casually.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

She shamefully sank back into her seat. “Yeah I’m great, what are you up to?”

“Flying home…”

“Oh fun.”

Silence hung between them neither sure how to further the conversation. He then placed his duffle bag in the overhead compartment before falling into the seat next to her.

Her mouth fell open a little. “What-why are you sitting here?”

“It’s my seat.” He explained. “Unfortunately.”

How was she meant to go an entire flight next to him? They were bound to annoy the other as they usually did, every time they interacted.

“Look let’s just keep to ourselves ok? You do your thing and I’ll do mine.” She decided.

“That’s good with me.” He agreed, closing his eyes and getting comfortable in his seat.

And as the plane took flight things became promising. The little boy had stopped kicking her seat and Pope rested. She read her book- until her kindle ran out.

“What no!” She groaned as the device switched off.

“Fucking hell.” She swore softly as she dropped the kindle into her carry on bag.

She pulled out her phone and was horrified to find it only had 5 percent battery. And she’d need that remaining percent to call her parents after the flight.

She had no idea what to do with herself. It wasn’t as if she could just strike up a conversation with her delightful classmate.

She alternated between drumming her manicured nails against the arm rest and flipping open the shutter attached to the small oval window.

“I’m so bored.” She complained to no one in particular.

“Oh my god can you please keep it down?” Pope demanded.

She jumped at his sudden outburst. “I thought you were asleep?!”

“I was until you woke me up with all of your noise.”

“It’s not as if I meant to.” She huffed. “My kindle died.”

He snorted. “Your kindle really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” She asked defensively.

“I don’t know it’s just typical that you of all people would have a kindle.” He laughed unkindly.

She folded her arms across her chest. “All your favourite books in one place what’s wrong with that?!”

“Until it runs out of battery.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“Buy a physical book?” He suggested.

She rolled her eyes. “Wow great help you are.”

“I’m full of bright ideas what can I say.” He said dryly.

She needed five minutes away from him or she would scream.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” She told him standing up from her seat.

The plane started to shake from turbulence, she clung onto the headrests in front of her as she moved. A particular jerk sent her hurtling backwards directly into Pope’s lap, a shriek leaving her as she fell.

His eyes were wide. “What are you doing?!”

She swallowed hard. “I fell?”

“Yeah I can see that!”

Her throat tightened. “It was the turbulence!” She stammered.

“Get off of me!” He yelped.

She scrambled off him and bolted to the bathroom. As she slid the lock into place she replayed the moment over and over in her mind. Why did she have to constantly humiliate herself in front of him? And why had his cologne smelt so intoxicatingly good? It was nothing like the smothering cologne of other guys at college. But then she guessed Pope wasn’t like the other guys at college. He never really bragged in lectures or smashed cans of beer against his forehead at parties. He had a lot of friends but seemed to keep to himself. He was smart in a way that was humble (at least with everyone else but her), in the classes they shared. And he was surprisingly snarky.

As she washed her hands the plane began to shake, she quickly dried her hands on one of the cheap paper towels and successfully returned to her seat without anymore incidents. She avoided eye contact with Pope as she shuffled past him, the seat belt sign lit up.

The intercom dinged. “Ladies and Gentleman we’re experiencing a little turbulence, nothing to worry about it, hang tight.” The captain assured them.

“A little, is he serious?!” Pope asked her, as she clicked the clasp of her seat belt together.

“He said it’s nothing to worry about it, I wouldn’t worry.” She replied, mostly trying to convince herself.

The shaking of the plane increased, her chair shuddering underneath her. He suddenly grabbed her hand. She glanced over at him, his eyes were squeezed shut and his chest rising and falling sharply.

“Pope are you ok?”

“It’s happening again.”

“What do you mean again?”

He shook his head. “We’re gonna crash.”

She squeezed his hand gently. “We’re not gonna crash, I promise. It’s going to be ok.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “I can’t breathe.” He whimpered.

“I’ll distract you ok?” He nodded weakly in response.

She wracked her brain for something, anything. “When I was six I was obsessed with the little mermaid. More than anything I wanted to be a mermaid, I never shut up about it really. So one day after school my dad takes me out on his boat tells me we’re gonna go mermaid spotting. We go out pretty far and I see this huge grey tail in the distance slapping against the water.”

His breathing had started to slow, she continued on. “And of course I now know the truth, but back then I was too young to know any different. So I go into school the next day and tell all my friends I saw a mermaid. And they all believed me until you pipe up that it was probably just a whale.”

He opened his eyes. “I think I remember this.” He quietly told her.

She smiled softly. “I should have been upset with you but I just remember thinking how cool it was that you could tell the difference, I thought you were so smart.”

The corners of his mouth tugged up slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah, I still do.”

“For the record I think you’re really smart too.”

Butterflies swam in her stomach. “Thank you.”

The turbulence gradually came to a stop and she found she still holding his hand.

“Oh uh sorry.” He excused dropping her hand.

“It’s okay, I kinda liked it.” She joked, he blinked at her. “Joking of course.”

“Oh right yeah.” He shyly chuckled.

"Why don't you ever talk to me at college?" She asked.

"I wanted to I mean I want to!"

"Then why don't you?"

"I didn't think you wanted me to." He confessed.

"Why wouldn't I want you to, remember that time I tried to talk to you at the party when we were freshmen?" She reminded him.

"Because you're a kook and I'm a-"

"Really you're gonna use those names again?"

"What else am I meant to call it?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know just something that doesn't make me cringe."

He let out a sigh. "Point is I guess I believed you thought you were better than me. But I was wrong. I'm really sorry."

"I forgive you." She smiled. "And for what it's worth I've never believed I was better than you. Besides I actually thought, you thought you were better than me!"

He let out a laugh. "To be honest I just get nervous around pretty girls."

"You think I'm pretty?" She breathed.

"I mean yeah-you're beautiful."

Her pulse quickened. "So are you." She told him.

For a moment the two stared at each other, before Pope cleared his throat. "Anyway did you have a chance to look at the uh safety card?" He blurted out pulling the sheet of plastic from the pocket in front of him.

"No, it didn't cross my mind."

"I think we should take a look at it especially after what just happened!"

The two of them burst into laughter at the absurdity of the entire flight. She would definitely be getting his number before they got off the plane.

#the outer banks #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward #jj maybank #sarah cameron #jiara outer banks #jiara canon #pope x reader #john b routledge #kiara outer banks #one shot #fluff #academic rivals #enemies to lovers #pope heyward x fem!reader

[haoluvr]

work husband

now presenting, everyone's favorite…work husbandjoshua!

notes: this is purely fluff as work husband joshua has not been able to leave my mind recently and the thoughts just kept rolling.^^

——————————————————————————

joshua really was the poster boy for a work husband. he brought you coffee every morning and made sure you ate. he would always help you finish your assignments even if you didn't need it. he walked you to your car at night and protected you from your superiors if they were in a bad mood.

but he did this for everyone, right?

being work partners was just a cute joke between the two of you, wasn't it?

but as time progressed, the lines started to blur and you found yourself letting your eyes linger on him for a little too long. you kept trying to find deeper meaning in his actions.

did he go out for dinner with the other people at the company? you weren't sure.

did he help other people finish their work? occasionally.

did he bring coffee for the rest of the employees? sometimes.

but you knew that he didn't walk other people to their cars late at night.

you knew he didn't go on spring walks and smell the flowers with other employees.

and you knew he didn't visit others' houses "just because”

you were special.

and once you noticed it you couldn't stop noticing it.

how you could catch him staring at you from across the office and would immediately whip his head back around. (though you could see the back of his neck quickly growing red)

how you would accidentally brush you fingers against his when he handed you a cup of coffee, leading to him almost dropping the cup on the ground in shock.

and how he would always shift around in nervousness whenever you moved closer to him as he walked you to your car.

so you made the first move. god knows joshua wasn't going to.

it was late at night when you finished working and joshua was still waiting for you in his cubical. the two of you walked through the parking garage and when you reached your car you turned to him and smiled.

"mr. hong, do you like me?" you asked bluntly, not leaving any room for misinterpretations of your words.

he quickly turned hot under the collar and looked around nervously. "what makes you think that?" he asked back, not giving you an answer.

"just a hunch, now tell me, do you?" you asked again.

"well, it depends on what you mean by 'like' he started, “if you're asking if i like you as a person then, obviously!” he smiled awkwardly trying to change the question at hand. he started to talk again but you brought up a hand to cover his mouth.

"joshua hong, answer my question," you said, wanting a clear answer, “i’m asking if you like me romantically.” you clarified.

his eyes widened and darted around, looking at everything except for you. he mumbled something under your hand so you slowly moved it away and waited for his answer.

"i think so…" he said quietly, not knowing how you were going to take his answer. he liked you. he definitely did, but he wasn't sure how you would react.

"you think?" you laughed a little, his nervousness clearing growing as you didn't reply to his (somewhat) confession.

"y/n.." he said quietly, not wanting you to keep him waiting.

"you know, i don't hang out with just anyone outside of work," you said, "you're special to me, mr. hong."

his eyes shot to meet yours, looking for any traces of sarcasm but your eyes were as sincere as ever. you did like him, and now he knew it.

you grabbed him gently by the collar of his expensive suit and pulled him to meet your lips, engaging him in a sweet kiss. he melted into your touch and you couldn't help but smile against his lips.

pulling away, you looked at the man in front of you, out of breath with his hair messed up and tie askew. what a gorgeous sight.

"does that mean i'm officially your husband now?" he asked, "not just at work?" his eyes wide with hope.

"let's start with boyfriend first, okay?"

—

#seventeen imagine #seventeen fluff #seventeen #joshua imagines #joshua fluff #hong joshua #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Kento had never been fond of winter. The dark chill of the world always far outweighed whatever beauty he found in the glistening snow and slow climbing sun rise. The icy roads, chapped skin, and seemingly constant shivering made it hard for him to find any joy until the warmer months returned, which he would spend largely alone; until of course he met you.

He didn’t realise for a long time that this kind of weather could only be made bearable when there was the promise at the end of each frigid day of being warmed in every sense of the word by the one he loves most.

He anticipates this relief now as he walks through the door, his broad shoulders bowed and his hair damp over his eyes. The flurries of snow had started to come down faster as soon as he had parked his car, and the short walk to the front door was enough to dust his whole head white. Now inside, whatever he didn’t brush away is beginning to melt and seep through his golden strands and flow down the back of his neck, and his mood is very quickly deteriorating.

When his winter gear has been put away, he pads further inside, the sound of your distant greeting reaching out to him like a ray of sun. He finds you wrapped up in one of your fluffiest blankets on the bed, your closed eyes cracking open and a smile blooming on your face at the sight of your husband.

“Hi,” you say softly, “I thought a walk to the store for new Christmas lights was a good idea. ‘M still a bit cold.”

He chuckles, peeling his clothes off his body and tossing them into the laundry basket. He looks around the room and sees you even managed to garland half the walls with them before getting into bed.

“It looks nice,” He quips as he crawls under the covers with you, delighted to find you bare underneath and eagerly presses his skin to yours. “You could have asked me to pick them up on my way back though.”

“It looked so pretty out though, and I wanted to stalk people and see their decorations through their windows.”

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You bring up a hand to his face and coo, his cheek still bright red and cool beneath your palm.

“Why won’t you wear the scarf I made you, love?”

“I’m inside most of the work day, you know I only like to wear it when we go out together. Remember ice skating?”

You nod, but the concern hasn’t faded from your eyes.

“I get it. I just know how you hate being cold,” You say, your fingers stroking his slowly drying hair.

“Well I’m warm now,” He soothes, his arm around your hips pulling you closer as if to affirm his point. He loves nothing more than to know there is no space between your bodies, as if your limbs have been melded together and all either of you know is the expanse of one another’s skin. He traces his nose down the side of your face, finding your neck and leaving supple kisses and licks that make you sigh.

“What are you doing, Ken?” You ask, in a playful warning tone as he climbs over your body, caging you in his embrace as he continues his kisses along your neck.

“Trying to get warmer still,” He replies, his hands separating your thighs to allow him to lay between. His deep, beautiful eyes meet yours and his lips hover above your own. “Will you let me?”

“Always,” You reply in a whispered breath, a squeal punctuating your sentence as his fingers run up and down your slit, coaxing your cunt to relax and slicken for him. When your hips start to buck, he takes it as a cue to line himself with your hole, pushing in steadily as his mouth ravages yours, your lips gliding against one another languidly with breathy moans passing between the two of you.

He doesn’t go fast, and you don’t urge him to. Today you are content to let your hips meet like waves to a beach, rolling leisurely and letting the pleasure build over time. All the while, your hands explore just as you had as new lovers, retracing the same lines and caressing every curve as though it were newly found.

You pant affectionate words to each other in between the primal uncontrolled sounds of love making, barely intelligible given that both of you can’t ponder on anything beyond how good the other makes you feel, and how you want to make them feel good in turn. The both of you hold off on the orgasm, content to let this continue until you can no longer take it, even when the goal of warming up has long been achieved, your bodies flushed and skin sheened with sweat.

Kento catches a brief glance at the window, witnessing the snowstorm outside before returning his attentions to you and fucking you with renewed fervor. Enduring winter seems easy if only for the promise that you will always be his source of warmth.

happy holidays ily sunny 🎀

Oh. My. God. Who are you, what is ur tumblr @, why are you a better writer than me 😭🥺💕

#ask #smut #nanami kento #☀️ favs #this is literally so beautiful i am so envious rn omG

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2023 :: Day 23

Prompt :: Suit Characters :: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Grathgar Senkasch Word Count :: 1,237

FFXIV Write 2023 Master List

The sands of Gangos were cool, thankfully, because the sun beat down otherwise on the cove where the Bozjans convened for war plans and debriefing. Though Nomin had come at the behest of Marsak when she had chanced to revisit Kugane once getting back from the First, she had distanced herself from the meetings. At least the ones that were more about upping morale, or providing words of inspiration. As it stood, Nomin felt as if she were not the greatest at either.

Instead, Nomin stood several fulms away from training dummies that the soldiers often used to keep their skills sharp. She held a gunblade in one hand, feeling its weight within her grasp. It had certainly been different from holding a spear, or using her bow. Hells, it had been weightier than the rapier and focus she had come to use to channel her aether to utilize red magic.

“Y’ain’t gonna get better at usin’ the thing the more ye stare at it, lass,” came a gruff voice.

Nomin looked behind her to the owner of the voice. There was a hrothgar standing there, his arms folded over his chest, and his expression not very discernable under his mane and scruff of white hair. A pair of goggles had been situated upon his head, crowning it.

The hrothgar’s name was Grathgar, and the one who had introduced to Nomin a gunblade of her own after she expressed mild interest in it. It was a training blade more than anything, with a failsafe so that the aether charges within had not produced as large a bang as the more combat-ready ones did. However, it was weighted to feel the same as holding the real thing.

“No need to remind me…” Nomin replied, partially frowning. She looked down at the blade and the cylinder that had clicked into place when she looked at how many charges it had. Flicking the cylinder and hearing it spin, Nomin walked over to Grathgar and huffed a quiet sigh.

“I hesitate to ask, mostly because the thought doesn’t really tickle my fancy…” Nomin started. “Though I don’t suppose there’s something that would fit me? A suit of armor so that I might get a feel for the weight and material while I train?”

Grathgar offered a soft chortle to the inquiry.

“Aye, that we do. We likely have somethin’ or other around here fer ye size…” Grathgar scratched his chin momentarily. Throwing a hand up, he then turned and led the way toward one of the supply tents. “Let’s see if we can get ye suited up, then.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Grathgar then asked, “ye ever wear somethin’ heavy an’ more suited fer protectin’ yer softer bits?”

“Nothing like plate or, uh, scale, if that’s what you’re asking,” Nomin admitted. She afforded the scales on the back of her hand a brief glance. “I’ve never really been one to stand on the front lines if I could help it. There are typically others more trained for it than I ever have been. The closest I’ve gotten is what I’ve worn for lance training in Eorzea -- but most of that has been leather and chain for protection.”

“Ah…then ye have quite an adjustment to make…” Grathgar responded. “We have armor that’s suited fer our practices, but it’s still gonna be heavier than what I imagine ye’ve been given afore.”

“Then it’s lucky I have this time to train and get some form of understanding of what I’ll be working with.” Nomin had fallen into step next to Grathgar, though had to skip forward every now and then just to keep up with his longer gait. “I don’t expect to use a gunblade immediately -- certainly not in the current short term. I’ll likely still be using a bow, or my red magic in order to aid and assist where I can. But at least having this training under my belt should I ever need to employ it in the future will be handy.”

The curl of a smirk grew on Grathgar’s lips as he and Nomin approached the supply tent. There were brief greetings made to those that were manning it, and Grathgar had explained briefly the situation as to their visit. The person that had been there nodded with some level of enthusiasm to getting to help with outfitting the Warrior of Light with something more than just light leathers and reinforced cloth.

With a little bit of aid into the armor and getting them secured, it took Nomin and the others a good chunk of a bell to ensure that each piece fit snugly and just right so that there were no mishaps due to misshapen pieces fit for a larger or smaller frame. Of course, it also turned out that Grathgar had not been exaggerating in the slightest when it came to the weight of the armor that now rested upon Nomin.

As it stood, the cloth had been reinforced underneath with chain, and the plating on her torso needed to be fitted with some padding underneath so as not to chafe. There were steel gauntlets underneath the sleeves of her coat, and steel pauldrons that sat upon her shoulders. Her neck had been covered up with tempered leather and thick steel to keep it protected. Perhaps the only truly obvious pieces of armor were the leather and steel boots that crawled all the way up to her thighs.

On the surface, the new suit that adorned Nomin had not looked too different from what she might have seen Thancred normally wear. He seemed to have no difficulty at all in wearing his coat and armor pieces along with fighting with whatever techniques he acquired from his own gunblade trainer. He had made it look all so easy…but then again, with how it seemed the First’s passage of time before Nomin had been pulled to it had gone…it was unsurprising that he had all that time to train and temper himself further.

“Aye, there ye go, lass… Lookin’ fit fer runnin’ on the front lines o’ Bozja, ye are…” Grathgar said, looking over Nomin and folding his arms back over his chest with a contented look on his face. “Now…we should go ahead an’ get ye trained up with that blade of yers. Jus’ be mindful of the aether charges within, an ye’ll be golden. Six total -- don’t forget.”

Nodding, Nomin took up the blade from where she had rested it. It was certainly a little more cumbersome with the added weight upon her person, though she walked back toward the training dummies with Grathgar close behind. Taking in a breath, Nomin thought of the different techniques that she had been shown.

Locking her attention upon the one striking dummy, Nomin braced herself before she charged forward and swung the blade. She pulled the trigger on the blade, only to have it glance off of the dummy’s surface with a pitiful ‘click’...and then a series of other, equally pitiful ‘click, click, clicks.’

“What the…” Nomin started, pulling the trigger again. Even if it was just a training blade, something should have happened.

“Ye did make sure to put some aether charges in there, aye?” Grathgar asked, amusement evident in his tone.

Nomin had felt that rising sense of embarrassment however, and she immediately went to check the six-round cylinder.

It had indeed been quite bereft of any rounds.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #oc: grathgar senkasch #toying with the idea of revisiting nomin picking up gunbreaker just to have a tank job canonically #she originally was going to have it #but i've been waffling on it #consider this an au otherwise

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

When Theo and Adam materialized in Theo’s bedroom, the first thing Theo did was bolt to the door.

"Dad! Adam's staying for dinner! We're going to play video games. Tell us when dinner is ready."

Theo closed the door and leaned heavily against it, gathering his thoughts. Did he really hear Adam correctly before they left? Was this just a trick of his brain after thinking so intensely about confessing his feelings to Adam? There were spells where you could attempt to sway someone's opinion by focusing intensely while near them, but Theo hadn't finished that chapter of his textbook yet. Adam's feelings were probably genuine if that was what he'd actually said.

"You love me?" he asked breathlessly, watching every part of Adam's face for clues of his sincerity. When Adam sheepishly nodded, Theo released the breath he'd been holding onto. "I love you too! I mean, I like you. Like like you. My aunt says that you should never say the word love until you're in your thirties or if a guy's rich. But if I were to say it to you, it would be true."

"That makes sense, I think," Adam replied, reaching for Theo's hand once more. "I don't think you should really use your aunt’s advice given her own relationships, but I get it. We like each other then. Like like."

"Will you be my boyfriend?" Theo blurted out, caught up in the rush of reciprocated feelings. When Adam nodded, Theo wrapped his arms around him. "You're my boyfriend."

Adam laughed, suddenly free from the worry he'd been carrying with him for so long. 

"You're my boyfriend too. Can…should we….?"

The warlock trailed off, pulling away far enough to line his lips with Theo's. He leaned in for a kiss, only to bump into Theo's nose instead.

"Sorry, I've never really…."

Theo beamed despite the awkwardness. Adam wanted to kiss him. Kissing Medora had been okay, but this was Adam, the boy he'd been crushing on since he'd first learned about crushes. 

"Let me show you how," Theo replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think I've got the basics down."

Theo reached for Adam's chin, pulling his face close enough to brush their lips together. 

His lips are soft, just like Medora's. Better than Medora's. This is all I ever wanted and I can't believe it's happening.

Every part of Theo seemed to be blazing with passion. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Adam was here in his arms and eagerly kissing him just like every fantasy he'd ever had. How had his parents ever gotten bored of this feeling and had affairs? Kissing Adam was like holding onto lightning, feeling it radiate throughout his body, leaving him numb to any other sensation.

"I'm glad you two have finally figured things out. It was getting ridiculous."

Adrienne picked up a fire truck from under Theo's bed and waved it around without a care for the other two people in the room.

"Rien? What are you doing in my room?" Theo gasped, immediately pushing away from Adam in horror. "Who else is here spying on me? Luci? Saturnia?"

Theo's sister rolled her eyes, continuing to play with the toy in her hand.

"No one cares about you and your boyfriend, stupid," she teased. "I'm just here to make sure you two didn't mess this up and drag everyone through another week of your stupid pining. Luci thought it was going to be at least another month at the rate you two were going."

"Get out of my room," Theo demanded, his face feeling red hot suddenly. He wasn't sure if it was embarrassment, anger or just repressed feelings finally breaking free, but the last thing Theo needed was his little sister teasing him. "Adam and I were having a moment. Alone."

"Ha! Just wait until I tell Dad that you're upstairs kissing a boy in your bedroom," Adrienne laughed, watching as her brother's face turned pale.

"You wouldn't! Rien, come on! What do you want?"

Adrienne pretended to think seriously about the request and laughed.

"I think I can forget that I saw anything in exchange for one of those charmed crystals I saw you writing about the other day," she said. "And your dessert tonight."

"Rien, I was writing about those crystals for an exam," Theo whined. "I don't know how to make them! What possible use could you even have for one? They're used for dark summoning."

"It doesn't matter what I want it for," Adrienne laughed, still playing with her brother's truck. "I want one and you want to keep Dad from murdering you for kissing boys in your bedroom."

"I'll get one," Adam said, interrupting the glares the siblings were giving each other before Roman came up to get the kids for dinner and the damage was already done. "My dad's head of the council and my sister is marrying the queen of Pleasantview. If they don't have one, no one would. I just need the weekend to ask them for one. Do we have a deal?"

Adam winked at his new boyfriend, ending Theo's opposition before it could start. There was no way Adam could convince his father or sister to give an object capable of dark magic to an eleven year old. She wouldn't even know what to do with it anyway, which meant that she'd never recognize a fake. All he had to do was ask a witch from the Crystal Cove coven to make a replica that lit up or something and Adrienne wouldn't even notice.

"And Theo's dessert," Adrienne reminded him. "Dad's making cupcakes."

"What? That's not fair! I love cupcakes!"

"We have a deal," Adam interrupted, extending his hand for Adrienne to shake. "Thanks for keeping our secret."

Adam leaned against Theo, wrapping him in his arms as comfortably as if he had been doing it for years. The closer he got, the less Theo seemed to care about his sister's demands.

"You can have my cupcake," Adam promised.”If your dad made enough for all of us, that is. I didn’t ask in advance if I was allowed to stay for supper, but if I get one, it’s yours.”

Adam smiled and for the first time in his life, Theo didn’t mind losing his dessert to his little sister.

“Okay.”

#sims 2 #arkhelios #arkhelios adventures #theo bellamy #sim: theo bellamy #sim: Adam Darktide #adam darktide #Adrienne Bellamy #sim: Adrienne Bellamy #sims 2 pictures

[bobparkhurst]

kiss prompts - pat x dave - "just follow my lead"

for @rosescruensixxam

Pat isn’t sure how they got to this point, sand-gritted skin against sand-gritted skin, his thigh pressed between Dave’s, and one arm pushed hard against the crumbling stone wall behind his head. He can feel the heavy pulse at Dave’s throat beneath his lips as he mouths a line up his neck, just beneath the first scratchings of untrimmed stubble. Dave’s breath, hot against the side of his face, is ragged, unsteady, even as his hands scrabble to wrap themselves hard, tight around Pat’s waist.

“All right?” Pat murmurs against his ear, allowing himself to be brought close. He gets no reply, save the light thump of Dave’s head against the stone behind him. He kisses the skin below his ear. “Kershaw...”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

Pat bites lightly and feels Dave swallow, thick and slow. An almost imperceptible shiver passes over his skin. Pat stills.

“You lying to me?” 

“No.”

There’s such belligerence in the response that Pat can’t help but begin to laugh. Almost immediately, he finds himself shoved away, stumbling backwards into a loose crate. The wood is rough, splintering against his palm as he flings a hand out to steady himself and he swears under his breath as a graze of red begins to seep a little under his thumb, where a long splinter has jabbed its way into the skin.

“Why the f-”

“Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Dave’s face is black with thunder; it’s not an expression that rests easy on his wide, cocksure features, and for a moment, it is enough to stay Pat in place, half upright. His free hand flattens into an appeasing gesture and he thinks he sees a momentary flicker in the steel of Dave’s gaze.

“Listen, I’m confused,” Pat says, in as soothing a tone as he can muster. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

He straightens, flexing his injured hand, and watches as Dave’s anger melts away almost immediately on spotting the wound. As dangerous as he is in the thick of war, he has never been one to carry the heat of a grudge with him; his temper flares like a storm, terrible, frightening, and as quick to dissipate as it was to appear. It’s one of the reasons Pat likes him so much. His hands are infinitely gentle when they reach for Pat’s, cradling soft as he holds the splinter to the light. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Give it me.”

Delicate has never been the word to ascribe to Dave Kershaw, but his fingers are deft and light, worrying the splinter from Pat’s thumb with a practised ease and murmured hushes that speaks to years of playing the older brother. Blood beads where the wood pops free and Pat jams his thumb into his mouth, before taking it out to inspect. He can feel Dave’s eyes tracking the movement.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” he asks, trying to look as if he is intent on nothing but the injury, even as every peripheral sense is trained fully on the man beside him.

“No,” Dave says.

Pat hums and leans back, more carefully than before, till he’s all but sitting on the crate behind him. He stares at his hand and waits with feigned nonchalance for the inevitable. It isn’t too long before a frustrated low growl lets him know that Dave’s stubbornness isn’t quite as effective against his patience as perhaps he wishes it might be. He risks a glance up. Dave is scowling at him again, though there’s no real darkness behind it. 

“I’m going to say something,” Dave says, “and you don’t need to get a fucking big head about it.” 

Pat’s teeth clamp down on his tongue before he can say something unwise. He knows at the deepening wrinkle at Dave’s brow that he has not missed the motion. They pointedly do not stare at each other in silence for a few more moments.

“I haven’t done this before.” 

Pat’s teeth unclench. “What?”

Dave is still not looking at him. “You heard me.” 

Slowly, very slowly, Pat nods. “As in…?”

“You’re not that stupid, Piley.” Dave shrugs. “I’m not saying stop though. Just…” His voice trails and he blows a puff of air through his cheeks. “Don’t laugh.”

Pat nods, hums again and reaches out to curl a hand in the collar of Dave’s shirt. "I promise," he says and closes his fingers around the fabric, tugging slightly. His lip twitches slightly. “You know, I’m very flattered.”

Dave’s groan reverberates through the skin of his wrist, but he doesn’t pull away and there's an unmistakeable drop in the tension of his shoulders. Distance closes between them once more, until his legs are tucked close between Pat’s and all pretense is lost. In the low light, his flushed face might almost glow beneath the scrutiny.

“If you’re nervous,” Pat says, slightly more gently, “just follow my lead.”

The last thing he hears, before Dave’s mouth is on his again, is a muttered “big fucking head.”

#pat riley #dave kershaw #sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #bob: fic #pat x dave #bob: kiss prompts