#mmck writes prompts

[onceuponaprime]

Titus/Cor - ♔ : Finding the other wearing their clothes

I wanted to do something along these lines with them for a while, so this prompt really worked out.

Absolute romantic sap denial with a dash of Cor and Titus being bad at feelings.

Titus wakes to an empty bed and soft sounds from the other room. Cor’s scent still lingers, and something good wafts from outside the bedroom. For a while he simply lays there, breathing deep. No nightmares chased him while he slept, and he’s gone so long without a full night’s rest that he almost doesn’t know what to do about how good he feels. The alarm clock on the bedside table lets him know that it’s horrendously early, a four glaring at him in red, long before either of them need to be at the Citadel. Still he should move. Getting dressed would be a start. Almost regretfully Titus pushes away the warm sheets and rises from the bed, stretching before he searches for his clothes. He finds his pants easy enough, pulling the old soft pair up his hips as he looks around for his shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to abandon the search. He knows exactly where it is.

It steals his breath when he rounds the corner. Cor standing over the stove, humming softly, with Titus’s shirt hanging loosely around his shoulders. The domesticity of it is almost painful and he almost wants to shatter the peace and everything good. But he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t break the spell, not this time. Maybe he can have this, just once. All he needs is once. He steps silently up to the island, leaning on the counter as he watches Cor work.

“Making a habit of stealing my clothes, marshal?”

“It’s comfortable,” Cor shrugs, glancing over his shoulder. “And maybe I like the view.” Something akin to a growl rumbles in his throat and he manages to take a few steps towards the man before Cor stops him with a wave of his spatula. “Not until I’m finished.” There’s something else in his voice, something almost unsure, and Titus knows it, knows it’s because he never stays.

Just this once.

Titus hums, peering over Cor’s shoulder as he works the omelette in the pan.

“There’s coffee, I don’t make it much, but mugs are in the cabinet and you’re free to help yourself.” Titus nods, managing to pull himself away without stealing a touch and makes his way to the coffee pot. The mug he grabs from the cabinet is a warm grey, and he fills it nearly to the brim with steaming black coffee, ignoring the ceramic filled with sugarcubes nearby. He sniffs and then takes a sip, unbothered by the heat.

“Good,” he manages, a little awkward, but Cor smiles as he reaches for his own mug and takes a drink.

“Mind setting the table? Forks are in the top drawer by the sink.”

Titus makes to do so without reply, suddenly unable to speak, afraid of what he would say if he did. So he opens the drawer and pulls out two forks, an almost odd sensation between his fingers, and then tears off two paper towels from the holder. Cor shoots him a look but he ignores it in favor of setting the utensils on opposite ends of Cor’s small round dining table. Then he sits, unsure of what else to do, staring between his coffee and Cor, unable to look away from the man for long. There’s something almost mesmerizing about watching him, and Titus knows somewhere it’s because it will be the first and last time he allows himself this. Already he’s making sure it is immortalized in his memory, savoring it now. After his darkest nightmares he may call upon this moment, something warm and recent, but he will do it rarely and with an utmost reverence he will not allow himself to acknowledge. There’s a light clang from the kitchen as Cor sets another plate on the counter and lifts the pan and splits the meal between the two easily, breaking the spell.

A vision in grey he makes his way to the table with the two plates, setting one before Titus before sitting in his own seat across from him. Cor watches him with a carefully blank expression, but Titus can see the expectant gleam in his eyes. It smells amazing, better than anything he’s fed himself in too long to remember. He takes a bite and groans.

“Delicious,” he says, and cuts himself off from saying anything else by shoveling another mouthful of food. There’s a pleased sound from Cor, and then they eat in silence.

When they’re finished, Titus takes his empty plate to the kitchen, standing at the sink longer than necessary as he tries to think. Ceramic clinks as Cor adds his own dish to the sink, moving around him to start the water and rinse them off. Neither of them speak, but Cor brushes closer and Titus turns his head and accepts the kiss. Almost tender, but not quite, and Titus resists the urge to turn it into something more.

“I’ll be right back,” Cor says softly when they part, breath ghosting across his lips and his tongue darts out to chase the feeling as he nods.

His head clears when Cor’s gone, and he takes a deep shuddering breath before making for the door, lacing his boots and waiting there. Cor returns shortly, in his own sleep clothes with Titus’s shirt in his hand. He holds it out and Titus takes it, puts it on before he can change his mind.

He’s halfway out the door when Cor stops him.

“Thank you,” he says, and the open vulnerability there makes Titus look back. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

There’s nothing he can say, but he offers a smile, small, tender, and without joy. It’s all he has to give, but it is enough, it has to be.

[onceuponaprime]

Prompt: Drautos reading/quoting his favourite poem/quote to Cor.

Sorry this prompt took 40 years but I’m not much of a poet and didn’t take the easy way out so yeah… This is sappy romantic but how could it not be?Also the smut sort of happened oopsSo yeah rated E on this one 

Cor’s room is the same as it has been, but Titus looks around out of habit all the same. A soft green cover on the bedside table catches his attention, and he pulls away from the insistent kisses Cor keeps pressing against his neck to get a better look. Familiar words line the cover and he can’t help his curiosity. It steals his attention from the man in his arms easily.

“What is it?”

“Markena and the Great Poets of Eos,” Titus reads aloud as he steps fully away and reaches for the book. It’s a newer copy of the old classic, not like the one he had back home, but there’s an odd comfort from feeling it in his hand, like he can pretend his life is as simple as it was when he first read it.

“Oh, that,” Cor says, coming to stand beside him. “Just something to read before bed, Monica said it would do me some good. Are you familiar with it?” Titus hums, leafing through the pages delicately. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing the old book again but Titus feels open about the subject, his usual guard gone for now, and he doesn’t care to get it back.

“Very, I used to read it constantly when I was a boy. Barshel was my favorite,” he pauses, the memories stinging suddenly. “I haven’t read it in years, I lost my copy when I was eighteen.” Not a complete lie, in truth it had simply been left behind with everything else when he’d stepped onto that Niflheim ship. Titus shakes his head, he won’t think about that now.

“Barshel?”

“He wrote poems about chivalry and fantastical things, love and war, the sort of stories boys read when they’re still young enough to believe them.”

“I never took you for a romantic,” Cor teases, sitting on the edge of the bed near the table and looking up at him with humor dancing in his eyes.

“We’ve all got our secrets.”

“Fair enough,” Cor snorts. “Maybe you can give me a recommendation, I’m not very far, really I didn’t even know where to start. Do you have a favorite for me to try?”

Titus flips back to where a simple bookmark holds Cor’s place on one of Markena’s sonnets and thinks. His suggestions leave him when Cor moves to sit with his back against the headboard, feet crossed at the ankles, the lamp beside him casting a warm glow on his bare chest. Suddenly he remembers why they were here in the first place, and it definitely wasn’t reading. Book still in hand he gets one knee on the bed, nudging Cor’s thighs apart until he can rest his weight between them, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for.

“How about this,” he says, free hand splaying over Cor’s stomach as his eyes flick over the once familiar words. “Warmth beneath my eager hand,” he reads aloud, tracing his hand up. Cor shudders beneath him.

“Trying to seduce me with poetry? That’s new,” he chuckles breathily, cheeks already dusting with pink.

“Well it seems to be working,” Titus replies, circling a nipple with his thumb before moving on to the next line. “My lips leave a scorching brand against skin like honey beneath my tongue.” He drops his head against Cor’s collarbone and licks, sucking the pale skin there just shy of leaving a mark. Cor arches beneath him, gasping at the touch. “Touch like fire tracing down, until I take him in my hand.” His fingers slip beneath the waistband of Cor’s sweatpants and a soft moan leaves Cor as Titus wrap his fingers around his cock. “Velvet soft and hard as stone.” He tightens his grip and Cor claws at his shoulders.

“Drautos,” Cor pants, practically squirming beneath his touch. “Stop teasing.”

“I haven’t gotten to the best part,” he says, not letting up on his torturous touch and grinning all the while.

“Drautos,” Cor warns, a mix between a growl and a mewl, and oh what a sound that is.

“So impatient.” He looks back at the book in his hand, committing the rest to memory before setting it aside. He pulls away it’s only to tug Cor’s pants down his legs and remove his own, getting what he needs from the bedside drawer before he leans close, lips almost pressed to Cor’s ear. His hands ready and tease as he recites the rest in a whisper, and when they finally come together Cor cries out and the rest of the poem is forgotten as limbs shift and tangle and Titus fucks him into the mattress.

After, they lay sated side by side, and Titus doesn’t flinch away when Cor draws absent patterns against his chest. Just this once, he tells himself, the same mantra he’s come to use more and more when it comes to the man beside him. Just this once he’ll allow such intimacy. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, lets himself stay in the now and ignores the future.

“You never told me what your favorite poem was,” Cor muses, breath tickling his shoulder.

“I was distracted.” He can’t fully shrug, but the short movement is there and Cor hums in amusement.

“Do you remember it?” He shifts his weight to look down at Cor, arm still trapped beneath his head. Their eyes meet, and Titus looks away, in part to break the spell, and in part to call the old words to him.

“It used to be some poem about a knight when I was a boy. That changed after…” He pauses, doesn’t elaborate, but Cor’s silence is understanding, and he continues. “Hm, how did it start? Calm? No.” He looks back at Cor, and the look in his eyes makes the words come easy, and he hardly falters. Eyes closing only to focus, he recites the poem, only stumbling a bit.

“Docile dreams on waking brings a peace which isn’t mine.A wish like summer, warm and fleeting, gone when given time. It tells me then, the wind the breeze, how foolish be my dreams.For that which fades is always gentle,And that which stays is hard as stoneI myself shall ever linger, weathering the greatest storms. And if my heart shall falter. I will soldier on. For that is what I am,And there is nothing beyond.”

He falls silent, tongue suddenly leaden in his mouth, and turns his head away. He’s left himself raw and exposed, but his urge to run clashes with the comfort so he remains still.

“I can see why you like it,” Cor says, voice quiet and thoughtful, and Titus looks back at him to see a new strange look in his eyes. “It reminds me of you.” A hand comes up so fingers can thread through his short hair, and Cor’s thumb brushes the corner of his scruffy jaw. “Sad, but deeper than that, more…” Cor trails off, swallows, and tightens the grip in his hair.

He opens his mouth, and Titus silences him with a deep and probing kiss, refusing to hear Cor’s answer, afraid of what he’d do. Instead they kiss, back to their typical harsh passion, and his head swirls with things left unsaid, and the poetry that could describe his foolish wants and whims, and the feel of Cor’s body beneath his.

[onceuponaprime]

“You wouldn’t be in this bad of shape if you just knew when to quit.”

I was gonna do a shippy thing for this but then it sort of didn’t do that and ended up being some Nyx thoughts so I hope you like it despite the wait. 

“You wouldn’t be in this bad of shape if you just knew when to quit.” Crow scolded 

“Ah well, you know me,” he said, wincing at the pull and burn that lanced through his chest as he spoke. Damn. Nyx didn’t think he’d been hit by anything, but something must have caught him somewhere amidst all his warping, he hadn’t exactly had time to check. Maybe he’d broken a rip or two, a fracture that might have flared to attention after his last admittedly rough landing.

“Hey, Nyx, stay with us okay.” Pelna’s voice cut through the growing haze in his mind and he shook his head, stumbling over the battlefield as Pelna and Libertus practically dragged him out of the remaining fight.

“Always the hero,” Libertus grumbled, shifting Nyx’s arm across his shoulder and making him wince at the pull.

“Someone has to be,” he replied, hardly more than a quiet mumble.

“Yeah, yeah, save your breath, tough guy,” Crowe chided as they continued to pull him along while he tried to keep up, dazed and pained between the two men.

Suddenly they stopped, and Nyx jerked hard in their grip, groaning as it tugged at his chest wound.

“What happened?” Nyx looked up, Captain Drautos shifting in and out of focus. Great, just what he needed.

“He just went down, sir. Getting him to the medics now,” Pelna supplied, shifting just so like he wanted to move around their superior officer.

“Just went down?” The skepticism was clear in the Captain’s voice.

“I’m fine, just a scratch,” he said but he was ignored as the others tried to convince Drautos to let them through.

Just as he thought they were in the clear Drautos spoke, “Take off his uniform. Now.” His tone brooked no argument, and Pelna and Libertus immediately set to undoing the the complex gear. Apparently there were more buttons than he thought.

“Hey now, you guys aren’t even gonna buy me dinner first?” Nyx quipped, hissing between his teeth as they jostled him out of the layers of leather. No one laughed, which alright maybe he expected as much, but the fact that no one even scolded him for his poor humor was making him a little nervous. A lot nervous he corrected as someone, maybe Captain Drautos himself, took one of the kukris from his belt and cut his shirt clean down the middle.

“Shit, Nyx,” Crowe gasped somewhere from his right and that coupled with the way Pelna’s breath audibly caught in his throat it stole any joke he might have made away from him.

“That bad huh? Must be a lot of bullets.”

“It’s not bullets, Nyx,” Libertus said, something wavering and almost frightened in his voice. It made him feel sick, that and the fact that he could smell burning flesh, his burning flesh to be precise.

Not sure what he’d find Nyx looked down and immediately wished he hadn’t. Even through the haze of shock and pain he could see the marks, angry lines like lightning across his chest, bright like a recently smoldered flame and ashen where the skin had been burnt away. Well that explained the burning pain, he thought, before tipping forward and retching into the dirt at the captain’s feet. Libertus and Pelna barely managed to hold him up, but they righted him once he finished, the taste of bile heavy on his tongue

“Get him to a van now,” Drautos ordered and then turned his attention to Nyx. “Under no circumstances are you to engage in any sort of combat or use any sort of magic until you’ve been cleared.” After a pause with no response he added, “am I understood?”

“Crystal clear, sir. Do nothing until you say otherwise.” Drautos scoffed but stepped aside and Libertus and Pelna moved him a little faster than before, one of them calling out for a stretcher to whoever else was nearby. Behind them he heard Crowe speak to the captain, not low enough for him to miss the exchange. .

“Can the king’s magic really do that?”

“There was always a danger in using it, now we know the extent. Limits will be set and-” They were too far now for him to catch the end of the captain’s sentence but Nyx knew whatever it was couldn’t be good. It was starting to settle in, how serious this all was.

“Come on, Nyx,” Pelna said, interrupting his thoughts. “We’re almost there.” Soon enough Nyx was drifting, the burning beneath his skin the only thing left to ground him.

[onceuponaprime]

Drautos/Cor: " Never trust a survivor until you learn what they did to stay alive. "

I don’t know what this is but I hope it works

Heavy uneven breathing was the only sound to break the silence between them. Titus inhaled slowly, letting his body calm after their frantic coupling as his mind drifting to places it shouldn’t. Something that had been happening more frequently as of late. Beside him Cor was still panting, a now familiar sound that lulled him into an odd state of contentment that made his tongue loose.

“Do you have any regrets?” Cor snorted a breathy chuckle and though Titus wasn’t looking at him he knew the man was shaking his head.

“You’re really asking that now? Your timing is impeccable.”

“Not about this,” he assured quickly. They were far past that now. “About your life, your past, things you can’t change…” The bed creaked as Cor shifted to face him, but Titus kept his gaze on the ceiling, tracing the nonsensical patterns of the plaster absentmindedly.

“Of course,” came the easy reply. “I regret not getting to better know my father, not spending more time with my mother. I was arrogant and audacious in my youth, and I regret not seeing how foolish I was until my pride was stripped the hard way. But I accept them and keep going.” He paused for a long moment, and Titus was almost tempted to spare him a glance, but he kept staring at the ceiling until it seemed to blur. “Everyone has regrets, it’s part of what makes us who we are,” Cor finished and Titus ached.

“What if they’re harder to swallow?” Titus swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, but the words were free, falling from his lips with a rare freedom. “There was an old man in the village the refugees from mine fled to, he welcomed most with open arms except the warriors. And when it came to me, with my wounds hardly scabbed, he said something that stayed with me. He said ‘Never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive’. My life is filled with so many regrets. You don’t know. You don’t know the things I’ve done-” There was a confession on the tip of his tongue but Cor interrupted him before he could bare all his sins. Probably for the best.

“Your past is the past,” he said, shifting once more until he was hovering over Titus with a hand against his chest. “Whatever you did, whatever you regret, you survived and that means something.”

“How can you trust me when you don’t know?” Titus asked, searching those light eyes for an answer he couldn’t find. Cor smiled softly and simply kissed him deep and hard before pulling away completely. The bed dipped as Cor stood, Titus watched him, taking in the sight of bare skin as Cor stretched with an appreciative hum.

“You’re a good man, Drautos, whatever your past holds,” he said and Titus held back the wince, suddenly guilt ridden like he hadn’t been for a long while. But Cor left him no time to dwell on it or retreat. “‘I’m going to clean up,” he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way across the room, pausing at the door and gave Titus a raised brow over his shoulder. “The shower is big enough for two.” Then he winked and slipped into the bathroom before Titus could form a retort.

He weighed his options for a moment, long enough for the sound of running water to make it to his ears and conjure images far more tempting than they should be. Despite the dark feelings within him he couldn’t shake the temptation, ever a moth drawn to the flame. With an exasperated sigh at his own lack of restraint Titus followed, content to let his regrets lie for now.

[onceuponaprime]

drautos/cor - "you're in no position to demand anything of me."

“If you don’t stop with the torture you’ll regret it, Drautos,” Cor hisses between clenched teeth, arching into his teasing touch as Titus tightens the grip on his wrists.

“You’re in no position to demand anything of me, Marshal,“ he practically purrs back. His free hand traces the smooth skin of Cor’s abdomen once again, finally dipping down to give Cor what he wants, and the response he receives is achingly perfect.

[onceuponaprime]

Drautos/Cor: I. "Broken Glass"

Man this is an old prompt oops but proof that I do get around to them eventually. Kind of ended up longer than I expected, and the light smut was a surprise. These two are so bad at feelings…

Also on AO3Rated M

Cor knows he’s taking a gamble coming here, but he doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice. He’d been to the old apartment building a handful of times, each visit more charged than the last. The stairs creaked in odd spots, the lights flickered in the hall, and Cor had yet to be here when the building didn’t look like it was on its last legs. It wasn’t his place to comment on the place, regardless if he knew the captain of the Kingsglaive could do better. Huffing a bit from the trek up the winding stairs Cor arrives on the right floor and adjusts the collar of his coat. This could be a mistake, probably was a mistake, showing up here unannounced with his only reasoning being a bad feeling in his gut. Worst case scenario Titus slams the door in his face, but at least he’d know the man was ok. It wasn’t even five and no one had seen Titus since he’d finished his morning duties and disappeared at noon. It wasn’t like him to take half a day off, to just up and disappear with a few shrugs from glaives as an explanation, or to ignore any messages from Cor and other staff. Something was off, and Cor was going to figure it out.

When he reaches the door he hesitates, unsure if this is the best plan or if he’s better off just leaving. He could just shoot Titus a text and wait until tomorrow, but the uneasiness gnawing at his gut won’t leave so with only some reluctance Cor raises his hand and knocks.

“Drautos you in there?” No answer. He knocks again, a little harder this time, voice raising just a bit. “Drautos?” Silence on the other side. The man probably wasn’t even home, he was worried about nothing. The door across the hall creeks, and a curious face peers out. The kid’s expression changes when he sees him, something almost like relief in his eyes. Cor recognizes him, hard not to when the one time they’d met was on his first walk of shame out of Titus’s apartment. Mika was his name. From what little Titus had told him the kid was his neighbor across the hall, the one that brought his groceries once a week.

“It’s you!” The kid exclaims before Cor can say anything and runs up to him, wringing his hands nervously. He looked worried. Shit.

“Something wrong, kid?” The boy stops, shifts from foot to foot before looking at the door between them.

“I heard a crash, but no one answered when I knocked, so I uh… Mister Drautos doesn’t like to be bothered so I… I was afraid to get help,” he says, almost ashamed.  “I was waiting for.. I don’t know, but you’re the only person I’ve ever seen visit, I’m sure he’d want to see you.”

If the whole exchange didn’t happen so fast Cor probably would have felt embarrassed, would have thought about the kid’s words more. As it was concern was now tight in his stomach, and his only real focus was figuring out what was going on.

“Slow down, kid, it’s alright, he’s probably fine.” He says it to assure the kid as much as himself. “When did you hear the crash?”

“Uh, maybe half an hour ago? Not too long, but still.”

“Hear anything besides that?”

“No, sir. Just the door slamming when Mister Drautos got home today. He’s never home early.” Cor sighs and looks at the door again, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. When he looks down again Mika’s giving him an expectant look. “Are you gonna go inside?” His brows rise high enough for Mika to flush and look away.

“I don’t have a key, kid.” To emphasize his point he jiggles the door knob. He doesn’t expect it to be smooth, but it’s obvious the door is unlocked, and he masks his surprise quickly.

“Um, guess he forgot to lock the door,” the kid states even though it’s obvious. Cor’s almost grateful for the fact, it’d be more complicated otherwise.

Cor tightens his hold on the doorknob and takes a deep breath.

“Drautos?” When he once more receives no response he lets worry win over logic and slowly opens the door, but before he can inspect the small living space there’s a dark blurr arcing through the air and he pulls the door back, arm outstretched to keep Mika behind him. Glass shatters against the opposite side of the wall making Mika flinch.

“Go home, kid, I’ve got this.” The kid nods and scampers across the hall and slips back into his apartment, poking his head out a moment later.

“Let me know if he’s okay?”

“Sure, kid.” Mika seems satisfied with the answer, nodding as he closes the door again and leaves Cor alone in the hall, fingers flexing around the doorknob before he tries again.

“Drautos, it’s me, I’m coming inside,” he calls and this time when the door swings inward there’s nothing to defend against.

Broken glass lays strewn about the entrance and Cor steps over it gingerly to take in his surroundings. The small wooden side table that used to house the old radio Titus had was in splintered pieces in the middle of the small living space, broken bits of radio mixed in with the debris. Titus himself was in the corner, left leg kicked out in front of himself, arm draped over it, hand empty but still curled as if it was missing the bottle now shattered on the floor. His other hand was cradled in his lap, right knee drawn up to protect it. In all honesty he looked like shit, hair a mess atop his head, face flushed, and eyes glazed and unfocused.

“Are you drunk?” Cor moves closer, unable to slip of his shoes like usual with the floor turned into such a sharp little minefield.

“Does it matter?” Titus slurs, head tilted back to look at him but making no move from his sprawl on the floor.

Cor approaches slowly, picking his way through the mess on the floor until he’s standing above Titus. The man’s head rolls back and Titus glares up at him weekly, forced to lean back further into the wall to see him. There’s a lot to take in, his appearance disheveled and messy, the sweatpants and old shirt are freshly stained with spilled whiskey, the change in posture also exposes the way Titus was cradling his right hand close, and now Cor can see the hints of awful bruising on the side of his hand.

“You’re hurt,” Cor says as he crouches down. Titus flinches away, curling in on himself slightly.

“It’s fine,” he says, glaring at him weakly, and Cor matches his stare as he carefully bats his left arm away. Defeated Titus holds his right arm out, and Cor sees the extent of the damage, blood oozing slowly from the side of his hand where he must have crushed the radio, a shocking show of brute strength if Cor wasn’t more concerned with whether the hand was broken or not. He grasps Titus’s wrist carefully in his hands as he inspects the damage.

“You have any medical supplies?” Titus takes a while to respond, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Bathroom cabinet,” he says after a tense beat of silence.

“Alright come on then.” Cor stands and tugs on the wrist in his hand until Titus finally forces himself to his feet. Almost immediately he sways, staggering on unsteady feet until Cor is forced to wrap an arm around his waist to support his weight. What should be a short walk takes twice as long when he’s forced to drag Titus with him, the man now sullen and quiet.

Opening the door is tricky but Cor manages, propping Titus up between the door frame and the wall so he can rifle through the cabinet with both hands. It’s a tight fit for two grown men of their size, but Cor tries to ignore it. Besides the basics, the cabinet is rather barren, and Cor is surprised he even finds a bottle of antiseptic and a small roll of gauze. He would prefer more, but at this point he’ll take what he can get. Dustin was the real field medic, able to save a person’s life in the harshest conditions with the most simple of tools, his own talent in that field wasn’t much, but he could clean and dress a wound and that’s all he needed now.

Titus doesn’t fight him when he takes his wrist again and holds his hand over the sink, doesn’t flinch when he wets one of the nearby hand towels and dabs lightly at the wound. Cor tries not to look at him, keeping his focus on the task at hand, but every so often he steals a glance. Throughout it all Titus’s expression remains unchanged, eyes glued to their hands as Cor works, a sharp inhale the only reaction when Cor pours a generous amount of antiseptic on the wound.

“I’m going to have to touch your hand to make sure you didn’t break anything,” he says and Titus says nothing, hardly even shrugs, and Cor just sighs and as gently as he can, begins running his fingers over the bones in his hand, dark bruises standing out starkly against his own pale skin. Nothing shifts beneath his careful fingers and no sharp bumps interrupt his careful inspection. “Doesn’t seem like anything’s broken, but you should be careful until the bruises fade.” Again Titus says nothing, simply lets him wrap his injured hand in silence. When he’s done he tucks the end of the gauze between the wrappings gently and lets go, but Titus makes no move, simply stares at his hand with a faraway look. Cor sighs and wraps his arm around the man’s middle again. “You need rest, c’mon.”

The trek to the small bed on the other side of the apartment is no easier than the one to the bathroom was, but Cor gets them there without incident. He removes his arm from around Titus and gets ready to ease him down on the bed when the man snakes an arm around his waist and pulls them flush, wobbling from the sudden shift before they steady. Warm breath ghosts across his neck smelling sharply of alcohol and he shudders, the tables turned abruptly.

“What are you doing, Drautos?” The question is quiet, but it thunders in the silence.

“Isn’t this why you came here?” Lips brush his ear and trail down, kisses that are sloppy wet and impossibly soft. “It’s why you always come here.”

“You’re drunk,” Cor reminds him, but he doesn’t push him away. Titus leans back slightly, eyes clear and dark.

“And?”

“And you’re not yourself,” Cor insistes, planting a hand on the man’s chest and holding firm. His eyes stray to the destruction in the middle of the living space, pointedly trying to ignore Titus and his advances. “What happened, Drautos?” In an instant Titus’s demeanor changes.

“I don’t want your pity,” he snaps, but the anger in his words doesn’t match the look in his eyes.

“I’m not giving it.” They stand there for what is easily a minute, staring each other down, stubbornly waiting for the other to give in first. Much to Cor’s surprise it’s Titus who does it, sagging until he drops onto the bed unceremoniously, head in his hands.

“It’s the same every year,” he mutters. “The same damn thing every year. My home burned, I watched it, saw people die, I can still feel it.” He shudders, lets his hands fall away to lay shaking in his lap. When he finally looks up at Cor it’s with the face of a broken man, and Cor feels his heart clench in his chest. “They play a broadcast on the anniversary every year, to talk about the fall of my home, of Cavaugh…” Cor waits while he tries to compose himself. He’s never seen Titus vulnerable like this, alcohol making him open in a way that hurts him to see. “It turned into a debate and-” He stops abruptly, like he’d finally realized his own openness, jaw clenched.

“You broke it,” Cor finishes. Without thinking too hard on it he moves to sit next to Titus on the bed. “I don’t pity you, Drautos, but no man can go unaffected from something like that, it’s only human. Sometimes you lose your temper, it happens.”

“Why did you come here, Leonis?”

“Honestly, I was worried about you.” Titus tenses and Cor doesn’t dare look over at him.  “I can go,” he adds. “You’re fine now, I can go.” He stands, barely makes it a step forward before Titus reaches out and grabs his arm.

“Stay,” he whispers, “please. I don’t… I don’t want to think, and the silence…” Cor turns to look at him, cheeks flushed with slowly sobering shame and it tugs at him in a way it shouldn’t. He moves carefully, slow enough that even Titus and his addled senses could stop him if he needed to, and cups his cheek, slowly lowering himself to straddle his lap. With one hand he tilts his chin up, forcing Titus to look him in the eye.

“Alright, I’ll stay, and we don’t have to think about it. It’s what we always do.” When he leans forward to kiss him Titus tastes of cheap whiskey and regret, but he doesn’t let it deter him. This was why he came here as infrequently as he did, Titus was right about that, and now at least it would provide a much needed distraction for both of them.

When their kisses grow more heated Titus wraps his arms around them and shifts until Cor’s back meets the stiff mattress and he’s forced to tear his lips away. If there wasn’t such urgency behind the movements it’d be ridiculous, he’s still wearing his shoes, but he’s not given the time to feel strange about it. It’s a slight struggle, almost comical, for Titus to remove his top, awkward as the action is with one hand. Cor doesn’t try and help him, simply runs his hands up his sides, digging his nails in with just enough pressure to make Titus hiss. Just the way he likes it. Titus leans on his right arm, letting his injured hand rest close to Cor’s head as he uses his left to ruck up his shirt above his chest, head dropping to give graceless attention to the newly exposed skin. Their hands fumble against each other as they both make to free each other from their pants. It’s easy to tug Titus’s sweats down enough to expose his length, but Titus makes a low frustrated noise akin to a growl as he struggles with the zipper on Cor’s jeans.

“Let me,” he says, is free hand finding its way into that messy dark hair and pulling slightly. Titus relents, and he’s able to pop the button and slip the zipper down, reaching under the band of his briefs and freeing his slowly hardening cock.

Not wasting a moment Titus bats his hand away and takes hold of him, pulling a gasp from his lips. There’s little finesse as Titus strokes him, no gentleness in the way he tugs him to hardness, urged on by the gasps Cor can’t contain.

“Wish I could fuck you,” Titus says, releasing his grip to press closer until their lengths brush together. Cor arches into him with a moan, core clenching with want, hand teasing both their lengths until he slips it around and pulls Titus closer with a grip on his ass.

“Next time,” he promises, arching up, seeking friction.

Like he always does when their intimate Titus takes the hint, wrapping his calloused hand around them both, pumping them both as he begins to rock his hips, creating the perfect friction. Cor lets his hand join in, their fingers meeting and bumping as they work each other closer to completion. His thumb stretches and swipes over the weeping head of Titus’s cock, and he comes with a strangled groan. Alcohol always makes it fast, and when Titus’s hand stills as he rides out his pleasure, Cor chases his own until he finally hits his own limit, their come making a mess of his stomach. Titus drops, a dead wait on top of him until his wriggling and shoving gets the larger man to roll to his side, a tight fit on the narrow bed. Cor sits up and stands, only a bit unsteady as Titus flops onto his back and immediately takes up the space he left.

“I’m gonna clean up,” he says, and Titus only grunts in response, eyes fluttering to a close. Cor sighs and makes his way to the bathroom, wetting the remaining hand towel and wiping the mess of come from his abdomen. When he gets back to Titus he’s asleep, something he definitely needed. He doesn’t stir when Cor leans over him to clean him off and tuck him back into his pants, not even when he rolls him onto his side, no small feat.

There’s a fair many thoughts vying for attention in his mind and Cor ignores all of them as he sets about fixing up the small apartment. The small room near the front of the apartment ends up being the utility closet, and he grabs the old broom that must have come with the place and sets to work. He’s grateful now that he didn’t bother taking off his shoes as he carefully sweeps the broken glass around the front of the apartment into the dustpan, depositing it into the trash with a clinking rain. The sound doesn’t wake Titus, he doubts anything will until he’s slept off the dangerous mix of hurt and drink, so Cor doesn’t worry too much about keeping quiet. The splintered pieces of the end table and crushed radio are easier to pick up, and he sweeps up after the larger pieces are in the trash just to keep himself busy.

Titus had asked him to stay, but damn if it makes him a coward he can’t. Titus had been too open, too vulnerable, and Cor feels like he’s seen a side of him he had no right to see. Best to leave now, before he wakes, now that Cor knows he’d be alright. Still it doesn’t stop him from pulling a glass from the cabinet of the small kitchen and filling it with water from the tap. He doesn’t think too much about it when he sets it on the bedside table, Titus snoring soft and oblivious as he covers him with the blanket on the foot of the bed, even though he has to tug it out from under Titus’s legs first. A knot lodges in his throat and he swallows past it, making it out of the apartment with a sudden speed, making sure the door will lock behind him. When it clicks shut he lets out a long breath, head resting against the wood. Damn why did everything have to be so complicated.

He doesn’t let himself stay there for long, makes his way across the hall and knocks lightly on the door. Mika opens the door just a crack, relief on his face when he sees it’s him.

“How’s Mister Drautos?�� Cor sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“He’s gonna be fine, kid.”

“Was he happy to see you?” Cor says nothing, hands balling into fists at his sides before they relax again.

“I dunno, kid,” he replies with a shrug, turning to walk away before the boy asks him anything else. “But he’ll be fine.” There’s more he could say but he stops himself, leaves it at nodding goodbye and making his way down the hall.

If he tries he can pretend he’s not running away, but though he tries to keep his thoughts from straying down that path they do it anyway. Maybe he was running away, but it in all honesty he had no idea what he was running from. But maybe that was a lie too.

[onceuponaprime]

“Please don’t do this” FOR YOUR FFXV COMRADES BOY

Thank you for prompting me for my boy! He’s had a rough time. Someone really should have read the group email…And this is long? Did not think I was gonna keep going but I did.

I borrowed his buddies @drakochan‘s Irica and @stray-dog-strut‘s Lance briefly because Silas loves them. 

Silas had a bad feeling about this, and not just because Magitek gave him the heebie jeebies. There was a constant hum in the air as the airship’s engine moved them closer to Insomnia. It was all too convenient. Not a single glaive had been left behind for this mission, and for some reason Silas couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Do you get the feeling something’s off or is it just me?” The larger glaive he’d found himself patrolling with remains silent, but Silas was used to holding both ends of a conversation on patrol. “Because I got a bad feeling about all this.”

He leans up against the nearby railing and chances a glance down to the next level where two MTs patrol oblivious to their presence. Suddenly the ship shudders and shakes as if hitting some sort of turbulence and Silas stumbles, only keeping his footing thanks to his grip on the railing. He rights himself, keeping his weight low in a defensive stance so the movement of the ship won’t send him sprawling, and glances over at his fellow glaive, who has one of their kukris drawn and ready.

“What are you doing?” There’s no reply, but the glaive, still masked, looks at him for a heartbeat that seems to last forever, and then lunges at him.

It’s only his low posture and his hand still on the railing that gets him out of the way in time, using his grip on the rail to push himself away as the larger glaive comes down with a strike hard enough to cleave the metal. Shit shit shit.

“What the fuck! Are you trying to kill me?” As soon as he says it he stops, hands already grasping for his blades and freezing against them. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” There’s no answer, and Silas ducks and twists out of the way as the glaive, who he’s still trying to identify, rushes forward again.

There’s no time to really think, Silas just moves, his own blades now drawn as he does his best to deflect his sudden enemy’s attacks. This was really happening. Holy shit. Silas had never been the best with the standard kukris of the Kingsglaive, he’d lost count of the amount of times he’d been corrected for his lack of finesse, but he was trying desperately now. The one thing keeping him alive now was his quick reflexes and the fact that the glaive now trying to kill him was bigger and stronger, which really wouldn’t be good if they caught him. Magic had always been his strong suit, but the thought of unleashing it in such a tight space didn’t seem like such a good idea, so reflexes it was. At least until he could find a way out of this mess, even as he could hear fighting down below. Then the side of the ship explodes somewhere behind him and he stumbles, one of his kukris flying out of his hand and skidding across the floor as the ship slowly began to tip. He flails his arms desperately, trying to keep his balance, trying to keep hold of his last line of defense. Silas glances back for half a second to see the wind howling outside the chunk of missing airship, and his opponent lunges. He makes it half a step back, not far enough to avoid the full blow.

It hurts having a kukri halfway buried in your gut, thats the first thought he comes up with. The second thought is that he’s going to die. He lifts his eyes from the handle of the kukri, and meets cold green. With the hood blown back, Silas recognizes the glaive immediately and can’t hide his shock.

“Decima?” The woman huffs and pulls back, taking the kukri with her. Silas gasps and stumbles back, his free hand flying to the wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding, magic weakly leaching from his fingers by instinct.

“You always were so clueless,” she replies, blowing a strand of golden hair out of her face where it had come loose from the usual bun she wore in battle. Silas couldn’t tell what was putting him into shock faster, his wound or the sudden unexpected betrayal.

“Why?” She doesn’t look like she has any intention of responding, but pauses long enough to lift a finger to her earpiece, eyes never leaving him. It’s a brief contact and she returns her full attention to him.

“I don’t have time to explain this to you, chatterbox.” She steps forward, and the woman he once thought of as powerful and controlled becomes suddenly menacing, and Silas feels fear well in his chest.

“Please don’t do this!” He takes a step back, unsteady and wavering, trying to think up some fantastical scenario where he gets out of this alive. Decima doesn’t say anything, lifts her mask backup to cover her face as she approaches.

Suddenly the sound of the wind and humming engines is almost deafening, and the air wips at his face, he looks to his left, out the gaping hole in the side of the ship, and does the only thing he can think of. His left hand flicks out, a poor angle for a throw, and sends his kukri spinning out into open air. Decima’s eyes widen in disbelief, and before she can reach him he disappears, warping to the blade and dropping into freefall.

Somehow he manages to miss the crashing airships and debris hurtling through the air around him, spreading his arms and legs to give himself some control over his movement as he falls. He has a deathgrip on the handle of his remaining kukri, the only thing that will keep him from becoming paste on the forest floor below as long as he can nail one last throw. His heart thunders in his chest as the ground rushes up to meet him, a clearing in the trees the perfect target for a landing. Fighting the wind resistance, Silas adjusts his form, and throws the kukri with all that remains of his strength. It’s hard to see with the wind beating at his eyes, but there’s little time to wait now so he closes his eyes and warps.

His meeting with the ground is not gentle, all the air forced out of his lungs with the impact leaving him gasping as he rolls onto his back. He was alive. Holy shit he was alive! When he catches his breath he manages to painfully push himself into a sitting position, checking the damage Decima had left him. The magic had done the trick with the deeper part of the wound, but there was still a shallow stab wound in his abdomen, though the bleeding seemed to have stopped. By some miracle it wouldn’t kill him, and Silas lets himself breathe a sigh of relief before his brain catches up with his body.

Shit!” His hand flies to his earpiece and it does nothing but let out a harsh static. Silas pulls it out with a curse and tosses it away. “Okay calm down, Silas, just calm down.” Easier said than done. Decima had tried to kill him, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t the only backstabber in the bunch and he couldn’t even contact anyone. Damnit his friends were up there, his family, and he couldn’t do anything. Before his thoughts can derail further there’s another explosion from and airship above and Silas watches it fall with a lump in his throat before he sees where it’s headed. Which just happens to be straight for him.

His body moves, weak as he is he hauls ass for the nearest treeline, sheathing the blade still clenched in his fist with more force than necessary as he runs for his life. The initial impact shakes the ground, and the explosion sends him flying, fire hot against his back but not close enough to catch hold. Flying through the air for the third time that day Silas thinks that things couldn’t possibly be worse, and then he hits the ground, and doesn’t think of anything.

When he regains consciousness sometime later with a splitting headache, he can’t remember how exactly he ended up sprawled out in the woods surrounded by the burning wreckage of a Nif airship. There’s a fuzziness in his head, dulling his senses. He remembers the mission, the fleet, the railing beneath his arms, pain, and then nothing. Part of him thinks it’s better that way, and the sinking dread in the pit of his stomach tells him he won’t like the answer. No matter what he has to make it back to Insomnia, battered and bloody as he is, he has to figure out what’s happening, because if he stays here Silas knows he’ll die. So he drags himself to his feet, and starts walking toward Insomnia, squinting at the sky in an attempt to have the Wall help guide him. No soft shimmer catches his eye, probably too messed up in the head to even see the damn thing as he trudges on. Nyx would probably be surprised he hadn’t tried to crack a joke, but he was so tired, body moving forward by sheer force of will. He’d be impressed though, Silas thinks, and maybe he could fill him in on whatever was going on. When he got back to Insomnia he’d have to buy the guy a beer, maybe open his damn mouth, do all the shit he should have done before. Thoughts of his friends keep his mind off the pain, and Silas finds it easy to imagine Irica taking one look at him and telling him he looked like shit. It brings a smile to his face, even though the movement hurts, pulls at a split lip he didn’t know he had and tugs on bruising he can definitely feel now. Lance would pat his back to be a dick but he’d be there to help patch him up with Irica and everything would be fine. Everything would be fine, he tells himself, a mantra in his head as he stumbles along, head throbbing. It’s a lie, part of him knows it, but he clings to it all the same and doesn’t let it go.

[onceuponaprime]

Fictober Prompt 1

Titus/Cor Astral AU (Fisherman Titus and some spin on Leviathan Cor) from @titusdravtos One fic into this and I already broke my 500 word maximum rule... oh well.  I really like this au......... The stories say that the Astrals take many forms, and have many messengers that do their bidding across the wide expanse of Eos, but the truth is shrouded in mystery that few are blessed to understand.  Titus Drautos never expected to be one of those few. 

There was a storm coming, he could smell it in the salty sea air. No matter, he would be done gathering his catch before the dark clouds brewed overhead. He has no intention of reliving his last encounter with such weather. His small boat rocks gently beneath him as he leans over the side just enough to catch hold of the lip of his net to begin pulling it in. Something struggles in the net, something strong enough to make his muscles strain as he heaves against the waterlogged rope in his hands. A big catch would feed the entire village, and if he has to judge based off the effort it was taking to bring in his catch, this would be a feast worthy of song. Titus heaves with all his strength, tipping his boat dangerously, and is rewarded with a flash of a long silver tail thrashing at the surface. That looked like no fish he knew, but he ignores his curiosity for the moment, and pulls with all his might until his catch drops into the middle of his vessel. Eyes wide he can do little more than gape.

“It’s you…” he finally manages to say, an awed almost whisper. The creature in his boat twists in the tangled net to give him a sharp look tinged with amusement.

“You should be more considerate about where you cast your nets, it's harder to avoid them so far from shore,” the strange mix of man and creature replies, hands trying and failing to free himself from the net. Titus has seen the stranger rarely over the past few years, only during the summer solstice would he visit for the festivities from what he said was a far off place. Titus thought he meant something like Accordo, not the sea itself. But now, now Titus can only stare in awe, until that long tail dips into the water and flicks water at him.

“If you would be so kind as to free me, I will tell you all you wish to know.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Titus replies. Carefully he makes his way closer, and leans close the impossibility patiently waiting on the other end of his boat. Titus undoes every not with gentle hands, unwilling to ruin the good net with his knife he makes sure to keep his movements precise. Slowly the man is freed, helping him as much as he can manage, skin wet yet surprisingly soft when he can’t help but brush against it. Soon enough he’s free, and Titus opens his mouth to speak but the stranger is in the water before a single word can leave him.

“Wait!” he manages after the water has settled and his boat stills. For a long moment there is only silence and then a dark head of hair appears on the surface.

“Forgive my interruption, your boat was getting rather dry. Now I gave you my word that I would answer your questions,” he says, pulling himself up until his elbows rest on the side of the small boat, chin settled in one of his hands as he looks up at Titus with those laughing blue eyes, “so ask away.”

“Your name? What’s your name?” The creature hums, tilting his head and looking at Titus curiously.

“You would ask my name first, how strange? Those few before you always asked what I was, not who.” He smiles, something ethereal and captivating. “My name is Cor, though I have been called many things.”

“Cor,” Titus repeats with something akin to reverence. This creature, this beautiful creature who Titus is starting to think must be some kind of siren, has made him question more things in the past few minutes than anything in his life. His name is Cor, finally a name to the man once so shrouded in mystery.  

“Is that all you wish to ask?” Cor chuckles, tail flicking back and forth in the water idly.

Titus focuses and asks all he wishes to know, and much to his surprise it's mostly about Cor himself, and less about what he is, though the curiosity is most definitely there. So they talk, Cor half in the water and Titus reclined in his boat, easy conversation that has the day passing them by until dark clouds begin to gather above them. Cor lets out a mournful sigh.

“You should get back before the storm hits, it's dangerous for mortals this far from shore.” Titus thinks he hears regret in his voice but can’t be sure, knows he feels an ache that they must part now.

“Will I see you again?”

“Every Solstice on dry land,” Cor replies with a teasing grin.

“Not before?” Titus almost feels like a fool for asking, but Cor gives him a soft look and holds out one of his hands. Water swirls into being above his palm, a tiny vortex that spins like a hurricane and then settles, leaving a brilliant shell in it's wake.

“Keep this with you always,” he says, and then he pulls himself into the boat further, leans close, and plants a surprisingly warm kiss upon Titus’s scruffy cheek. “I will come if you need me, Titus.” He’s back in the water and gone before Titus can do much of anything, and he stares off to the horizon for longer than he should before he begins rowing back home, his life forever changed.  

[onceuponaprime]

This prompt could have been nice but now I’m lamenting on headcanons of Cor’s childhood being not great and oops.

[onceuponaprime]

Cor x Drautos prompt: Leaning on each other if that's okay! (Like one of them is having a hard day and just leans completely on the other for a bit)

This is sort of short sweet and to the point but thanks for the prompt anon! I enjoyed thinking about it. 

What a day. What a damn day. Cor lets out a long sigh when the door to the training room closes behind him. He’s tired, worn out and stretched thin, barely keeping his eyes open now that he has a moment to breathe. When he shuffles his way to the usual bench the energy leaves him, and instead removing his jacket in preparation he simply sits. At the other end of the room the weapon rack practically taunts him and he ignores it by putting his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples in some futile attempt to ease the stressed ache between his eyes.

He doesn’t look up when the door opens and closes.

“You don’t look well, Marshal,” Titus says. Cor looks up to see him standing near the door, brows slightly furrowed.

“It's…” he falters on an explanation. There’s too much for him to care to explain and some things he dare not say. “It’s been a long few days.” Titus hums and approaches the bench, looking at him for a long moment, his expression impossible to read like it so often is.

“What was that you said about taking a break before wearing yourself out?” Cor huffs.

“That’s more of a suggestion, we don’t always have such luxuries.” “No,” Titus replies quietly, “we don’t.” For a moment he’s still, and then he’s moving to sit on the opposite side of the bench straight-backed and still. For a long while they sit in somber silence, staring off into space while their thoughts stew. It’s comforting in a way, but selfishly he wants more. Cor contemplates it for a moment and then decides to take a chance and close the distance between them. Slowly he leans his head against a broad shoulder and breathes deep. Titus stiffens instantly at the touch, a reaction he’s come to expect and anticipate at the mere hint of anything tender. He braces to be shrugged off, but before he can move away Titus is relaxing. So Cor breathes deep, relishing the scent of him as he presses his face against the worn leather of the cape beneath his cheek. Eventually Titus leans back against him, a firm comforting presence, and Cor feels the tension leave him with each breath they share.

[onceuponaprime]

Anyone want to send me Cor/Drautos prompts? I need to write Cor more because I'm definitely stuck on his twf chapter and sort of all my stuff for them in general.

[onceuponaprime]

There's so much Cor/Drautos stuff I want to write! So many ideas! Think I might work them into the wips i have but also I want them now

[onceuponaprime]

can i finish this before bed??? about a 50/50 chance rn

[onceuponaprime]

So my goal this month is to update both twf and nas and fill the two prompts i have in wip rn

[onceuponaprime]

damn couldnt get it tonight but that prompt will be done before work tomorrow if i can manage it if not thursday it is 

[onceuponaprime]

Ok bye inktober i'll do those prompts at some point but i work through monday and aco is gonna be mine tonight so i aint doin shit